Steve Martini - The Arraignment

This morning, as I lean back in my chair and read the paper, my loafers crossed on top of my desk, I can’t help but smile at the story Harry has circled on page three. Not because it is news. I heard it on the radio in the car last evening on my way home, one of the local stations.

It is the final touch, the ultimate irony that even Nick, at his most calculating, could not have anticipated.

The federal government has flexed its muscle. It has exercised its powers of eminent domain and condemned an empty lot with its cavernous hole that was once the site of the old Capri Hotel.

The General Services Administration announced yesterday that it plans to build a new federal courthouse at this location.

I lower the newspaper, close my eyes, and hold my breath. Sitting here motionless, I listen, and I can hear it. Faint as a distant whisper, it lingers in the air, just at the edge of the human auditory frontier. The familiar pitch that became the signature finish to a thousand yarns of combat in court. Somewhere beyond my mortal horizon, I can hear Nick, and he is laughing.