William Lashner - Marked Man

“Totally insufficient, and you have some gall to even try to pass this off as complete. I attached a few pages.”

“I thought you might,” I said. “Let me see what you added, and I’ll get back to you.”

She reached into her briefcase, pulled out the big red file folder in which I had delivered to her the agreement. As I took hold of it, I glanced at Gullicksen. With his eyes still on the two of us, he was now speaking very quickly to his client.

“I put in language regarding Charlie’s testimony and possible punishments concerning Chantal Adair,” said Jenna.

“Were you unreasonable?”

“You might think so.”

“Don’t be upset if I have some changes of my own.”

“You said you had something for me?”

I directed her attention to Bradley Hewitt, who was now staring at us with quiet alarm. I pointed at him, subtly enough so it wasn’t obvious, obvious enough so he couldn’t miss that I was pointing. “Do you know who that is?”

“No,” she said.

“His name is Bradley Hewitt. Your office is investigating him in that pay-to-play investigation where you guys bugged the mayor’s office and got caught. He’s one of the go-betweens the mayor uses, and he’s testifying today. You might want to listen in on what he says.”

“It’s not my case.”

“I’m sure the U.S. Attorney would appreciate knowing what he testifies to today.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Could be,” I said.

She looked at the courtroom door, checked her watch. “Okay, sure. Thanks, Victor.”

I waved the file. “And thanks for bringing this.”

With the big red file folder clutched to my chest, I walked back down the aisle, pulled out the chair at counsel table, started to sit. Gullicksen was at my side before my butt could settle.

“What is she doing here?” he said.

“It’s a public courtroom,” I said. “Here for the show, I suppose.”

“What’s in the file?”

“Stuff,” I said. “Odds and ends.”

“I won’t let you ask about anything involving his business.”

“If his business is illegal and he is under investigation, don’t you think that could impact the custody decision?”

“This is totally out of bounds.”

“I practice law the way I play golf. Do me a favor, Arthur, and ask your client how he likes the veal chop at La Famiglia.”

At that moment Judge Sistine decided to grace us with her presence. “All rise.” We all rose. She brusquely made her way to the bench. “Be seated.” We all sat.

“Wellman v. Hewitt,” said the clerk.

“Where are we, people?” said the judge. “I seem to remember we were going to hear from Mr. Hewitt today. Are you ready, Mr. Gullicksen?”

“Can we have a moment, Your Honor?” said Gullicksen.

“I’ve already given you a half hour by my unavoidable tardiness. How much more could you need?”

Gullicksen glanced at me and then said, “Certain statements made by Mr. Carl seem to indicate there is room for a settlement to this dispute. I think it might be in everyone’s interest to explore the matter.”

“How long will it take?” said the judge.

“Can you give us fifteen minutes?” said Gullicksen.

“Fine. And I must say, Mr. Gullicksen, it warms my heart to see the parties trying to work together for the benefit of their child. You have your fifteen minutes.”

“WHAT DOES this all mean, Mr. Carl?” said Theresa Wellman as we waited in the hallway for Gullicksen to continue to hammer sense into his client’s perfectly groomed skull.

“It means we’re going to come to some sort of an agreement,” I said, “as long as you don’t get greedy.”

“What about weekends, Theresa?” said Beth. “That’s what Bradley’s attorney is trying to convince Bradley to agree to. Let Belle stay with Bradley during the week and continue going to the private school she attends.”

“I want her all the time,” said Theresa. “She’s my daughter.”

“And she’s Bradley’s daughter, too,” said Beth. “Taking care of her during the week might compromise your job. This way you’ll have her back in your life and you can continue to build on the progress you’ve made. But if we push too hard, and Bradley says no, you could end up with nothing. Take this as a gift and see how it works out.”

“I don’t know.”

“Think about it,” said Beth. She checked her watch. “You have another ten minutes to decide to say yes.”

As we watched Theresa Wellman walk away, a slight slide of victory in her step, Beth said, “What was in that red file folder?”

“Charlie Kalakos’s cooperation agreement.”

“Remind me never to get sued by you,” she said. “I had the house inspection yesterday.”

“How’d it go?”

“The boiler is a ruin, the water pipes need replacing, there’s a leak in the roof.”

“So you’re nixing the deal?”

“Of course not. Sheila was with me and was thrilled. She’s getting the price reduced.”

“Beth, the house is a wreck.”

“The inspector said its bones were good.”

“It’s a house, not a supermodel.”

“My mortgage was approved, we’re having the closing next week. Will you come and be my lawyer?”

“Isn’t this whole thing a little hasty?”

“Sheila says it’s a great opportunity.”

“Sheila’s a Realtor, she has the scruples of a mollusk.”

“I like her.”

“So do I, actually, but that’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?”

“Do you really think a house is going to solve whatever it is you need to solve?”

“Did you see how happy Theresa was? She really did change her life, didn’t she?”

“Let’s hope so for her daughter’s sake.”

“She’s an inspiration. If she can do it, I can do it.”

“And a house is the ticket?”

“It’s a start. During the inspection I was walking through all the rooms, imagining the way they’ll look after I settle in. The way, during parties, everyone will be hanging out in my new kitchen.”

“You don’t have parties.”

“But I will, with a house.”

“And the kitchen is a pit.”

“It gets morning light.”

“In April.”

“I was imagining the way my friends will stay over in the guest bedroom. I was imagining the way, whenever I wanted, I could work from home in the home office.”

“Any fantasies about the nursery?”

“Do you have a problem with my buying a house, Victor?”

Did I? Good question. Was I really worried that she was looking to real estate to solve an existential dilemma and bound to be disappointed? Or was I simply jealous that she was getting a house and starting a life when I seemed incapable of doing that for myself? And why had it suddenly gotten so difficult between us?

“No, Beth,” I said. “No problem. It’s a great fit.”

“What about the closing?”

“I’ll be there,” I said. “I promise.”

We return now tothe curious case of Sammy Glick.

Why, you’re a regular Sammy Glick, had said Agnes LeComte during our little tête-à-tête on the edge of Rittenhouse Square. I had an idea of what the old buzzard had in mind, the slow, acid drip of condescension in her tone pretty much said it all. I hadn’t reacted much at the time, one thing I had learned over the years was to measure my responses to the insults that came my way, but it registered, yes it did. And I figured I’d go right to the source to get the full measure of her slight. So after running the name through my computer, I picked up a copy of What Makes Sammy Run ? from the bookstore on my way to the airport. I was flying to Rochester. Business or pleasure?