Scott Turow - Personal injuries

Milacki now insisted he wasn't kidding. He claimed to have heard lots of tales. It was a favored stunt of feds undercover, especially the females, to sleep with the suspects in order to establish themselves. Of course, they denied it on the stand. It was like the coppers who posed as johns and said they'd announced their office before the blow job instead of after. The four men laughed about that as well.

Robbie, in time, again asked what he should do.

"Fire her," said Milacki. Both Tuohey and Kosic sat stonily, as though Milacki hadn't made the remark. Looking at the tape later, I had the strong impression that Milacki knew less about Evon than the other two. Robbie, as always, held to his role, and doe-ishly turned to Tuohey to confirm Milacki's advice.

"If you have an employee you don't trust, it's probably sensible to consider firing her." The mildest shrug elevated Brendan's slender shoulders, The thought was hardly revolutionary.

"But does it look like I'm guilty, if I fire her? I mean, she knows I'm hinky because I talked to her after Walter. I mean, I keep wondering. Is there something I can do to throw her off the track?"

Tuohey was long and narrow, with a thin but agreeable face. With Robbie's last remark, he retreated somewhat. The tidy gray head came up and on the monitor you could see him appraising Feaver.

"These are questions, Robbie, I think you'd best ask yourself"

"Well, I thought you'd be concerned."

"Do I look concerned? A man shouldn't wear his troubles on his sleeve, Robbie."

"Well, Judge, you and I have never talked about things-"

"And we shouldn't be starting now." Tuohey took a measure and popped out a short exasperated laugh. "Robbie, you're past the age where I can be looking after the two of you every moment. I can't call the precinct house the way I did when you and Morton were fourteen and nicking lewd magazines."

"Well, this isn't about naked ladies, Brendan. You know that."

"I do? No such thing. How would I know that, Robbie? I don't keep track of your doings. I can't. You appear in my court. You understand how I must behave. If you've done something that scares you"-skeers you-"then I'm sorry, Robbie, but I'm a judge, not a father confessor. You start telling me your sins, I've got no choice but to turn you in, and Lord knows, neither of us would care to see that." Tuohey sat straight in his chair now, delivering his brief monologue with appropriate gravity.

"He's hosing him," Sennett said with anguish behind me. But it was a better performance than mere denial. Brendan was a master, the kind of man who did not say good morning to you with only one thing in mind. Ulterior purpose clung to every remark as if it had been greased, and he was actually letting Robbie down easy with this speech, explaining his position.

"He's got to go for it," Sennett demanded. "Right now. Lay it right there. Come on, Robbie. `What do you mean you don't know what I'm doing?"'

But it did Stan as much good to coach the screen as any armchair fan. When Robbie repeated Tuohey's first name, the judge refused him with a stern rattle of his narrow face. He would hear no more. Milacki and Kosic, who had hung back, certain Tuohey would know best, now inserted themselves. Milacki actually raised a tempering finger in Robbie's direction. In the silence, Brendan Tuohey looked down and brushed some more of the confectioner's sugar from the lapels of his straitlaced suit.

"Robbie, it sounds to me like you should get yourself an attorney," he said. "Get an experienced federal man. You might want his advice."

"What am I going to tell an attorney, Brendan? What do you want me to say to him?" Sennett had anticipated Tuohey and had fed Robbie that line word for word, but Brendan was nimble.

"Tell him what you like, Robbie. Tell him what he needs to know."

"Jesus Christ, Brendan, don't you understand? She's seen a lot of stuff."

A brief, derisive sound ripped not from Tuohey but from Kosic. Rollo gave Robbie a deprecating glance through one eye and took the trouble now to stub out a cigarette. There was no further response out of any of them.

"Judge, you don't get it. It's not me I'm really worried about. It's Mort. Somebody looking at things could get ideas about him."

Mentioning Mort had not been part of the script. It invited considerable difficulties if Tuohey decided to talk to his nephew. But like most of Robbie's vamping it was clever and effective. The Presiding Judge was finally caught short.

"Morton?" he asked.

"You know him. Captain Oblivious. There were a couple of things-I mean, I don't even want to talk to him about this shit. I haven't said a word yet -

"A good thought, Robbie."

"But Judge, there was a thing with Sherm-"

"No!" said Tuohey suddenly. The rebuke, though not above a whisper, was delivered in the severe tone of a schoolmarm. "No, Robbie. I can't be hearing this. You have to talk to your attorney. That's how this must proceed. Have you someone in mind?"

"Well, Jesus, no, I mean, I wanted to talk to you-"

"Give it some thought, Robbie. This deserves careful thought."

With Tuohey's full attention upon him, Robbie spun through a series of baffled gestures. Finally, as if it was almost plucked from the air, Feaver mentioned my name as a neighbor in the LeSueur Building and an attorney who referred cases to their office. Tuohey lowered his face a bit, almost to the line of the camera, as he dutifully reflected.

"Wonderful lawyer. Saw quite a bit of him when he was Bar President a few years ago."

McManis, beside me, had taken in the unfolding scene with his customary mute resolve. He'd leaned toward the monitor motionlessly, except as things grew particularly tense, when he allowed himself to circle his thumbs. But now he looked over his shoulder, giving altitude to one eyebrow and displaying the lump his tongue made in his cheek, so that I actually felt a bit sheepish. Tuohey's claim of close association with me was mostly blarney. I'd seen him twice in connection with an initiative he'd suggested on mediation. Visiting Brendan's capacious chambers in the Temple, I always found myself thinking about the term `apartments' as in papal or royal-so many little rooms, so many county employees of such brisk cheer nearby, all of them with unfaltering reverence for the man they referred to as `the Presiding.' The outer offices were thick with relics of his rule: photos of Tuohey and various Somebodies; gavels and plaques and framed mementos. The inner chamber, though, where Tuohey worked, was spare, the bookcase decorated only with a scale of justice and a realistic portrait of Jesus laying on hands. Given his cultivated political sense, Tuohey knew that to favor one-anyone-was to exclude others.

"Very careful. Lawyer's lawyer," Brendan now said of me. "But in these circumstances-" Brendan gripped his chin thoughtfully, before delivering the judgment he'd intended to render all along. "I don't really think he's the choice I would make."

"Really?" Leaning on an elbow, Robbie looked up at Brendan obediently.

"Stan Sennett's best man." From Feaver's minute jolt, I suspected I'd glossed over this detail. I was amazed at the nuggets Tuohey had laid away. "Second marriage he stood up for him, if I'm not mistaken. Very touchy, because that's the kind of thing that could be helpful, you know. But overall, I'd say too close for comfort."

McManis let his eye roam toward me with one more sidewise ironic twinkle, but I felt lanced by Tuohey's observation. Too close for comfort, I thought. I was entirely powerless to look at Stan, although I doubted he would focus for the present on much besides the artful manner in which Tuohey was dancing further and further away.

"Suit yourself, of course," said Tuohey. "You can never tell. But were I you, I'd be more inclined to someone who's known to give the government no quarter. Do you know Mel Tooley at all? Solid as an oak, Mel. Ask around about him, I suspect you'll like what you hear. Mel in fact was famous for never flipping a client. "If you talk to Mel, he might even want to come by to see me."