Christopher Buckley - Thank You for Smoking

"Ah," Nick said, "teamwork. That's what it's all about, isn't it." BR scowled. "What do you want, Nick? You're not even supposed to be here."

"But I work here."

"You're on leave. Effective as of now."

"No," Nick smiled, "I don't think so. But I think you're about to go on a long leave. And so is Mata Hari over there. Don't forget your rubbers, Jeannette."

Jeannette said, "You can't prove a th—"

BR shushed her, indicating by pantomime that Nick might be wearing a wire. It was so deft that Nick wondered if this was the first time he'd performed it.

Nick wagged his finger at Jeannette. " 'Ooh, Nick, ooh. Here, take the condoms. I got the extra large. ' That'll make for fun in the courtroom. As for you, my wonderful, supportive boss, clear something up for me. I couldn't figure out why your rent-a-kidnappers let me live. But it occurred to me that maybe they screwed up. Am I getting warm?"

BR stared.

"So you and your dominatrix girlfriend cooked up the condoms-in-the-NicArrest-boxes scheme? Very neat."

"Nick," BR said in a forbearing voice, "you've been under a lot of stress. I think you ought to get some professional help."

"Yes," Nick said. "I have been under a great deal of stress. YOU ASSHOLES!!!"

BR and Jeannette started.

"Sorry," Nick said. "Stress. Well, see you round Cellblock C."

Nick closed the door behind him feeling much better. When he reached his office, Gazelle was sitting at her desk looking particularly woeful.

"Cheer up," said Nick. "Things are going our way." "You didn't hear?" "Hear what?"

"The Captain died this morning."

"What I don't understand," Carlinsky said, "is why you didn't tell me this before."

"I didn't know it before. And would you please stop saying that. It's very annoying."

"So, as you see it, BR had you kidnapped. The kidnapping failed.

Then he and Jeannette framed you by contriving to get your prints on the boxes of what you thought, in the dark, were condoms, but were actually the nicotine patch boxes." "Right."

"You don't have any proof."

"No," Nick said, "I don't keep a video camera in my bedroom." "And you shared this scenario with Mr. Boykin the night before he died."

"Yes. He was going to fire BR and Jeannette and then. " "Don't hold back, please. It's very counterproductive." "He's dead. Why does it matter what he was going to do?" "Everything matters."

"He asked me to consider taking the fall, in order to spare the industry massive embarrassment. In return for which I'd be extremely well compensated. I decided I wasn't going to do that, and fight it all the way. Then he died."

"Was this conversation recorded?"

"No."

"Too bad. Not that it would have been admissible, but we could have gotten it into the press's hands. It would have caused such an uproar that it would have made it very difficult to empanel a jury. And we'd have ended up with a dumber one. You'll have gathered by now that I like a dumb jury. Dumber the better. Now, as to this matter of Mr. Boykin suggesting that BR may have had something to do with these tobacco liability litigants' deaths by smoke inhalation, that," he said, puckering, "is a very full can of worms."

"Yes. Nightcrawlers."

"Though again, we have no evidence."

"So, we'll start an investigation into their deaths," Nick said. "We'll feed the press, shake the bushes, the trees. Something'll drop out of them. It'll be great." Nick rubbed his hands together.

"Perhaps. But before we go pointing fingers at high places, you need to consider. It is a high-risk defense strategy. Because if there isn't something, and we've gone trampling on graves, alleging conspiracies that even Oliver Stone would reject, then we'll end up making everyone extremely mad, especially the judge, and you might end up serving a longer stretch of time than even the maximum. At sentencing time, he can decide to make you serve the term for each count consecutively, rather than simultaneously. He can also send you to a maximum security prison. And I'm not sure that's an experience you would enjoy. Of course, that's your decision. Myself, I like a good courtroom dust-up. But it's your ass, not mine. As it were."

Nick was considering all this, to the sound of steel doors clanging shut in his ears, when Carlinsky's secretary came over the speaker. "It's Mr. Rohrabacher, from the Academy of Tobacco Studies. He says it's extremely urgent. I told him you were with a client."

Carlinsky said to Nick, "I guess I should take that."

He picked up the phone. "Yes. Yes. Yes, he is here. I see. Have you told him? I see." He looked at Nick and arched his eyebrows. "Yes. All? Well, yes. We handle those. Of course. We're a large firm. I see. Let me speak with the managing partners and I'll have an answer for you by the end of the day."

Carlinsky hung up. He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid this is awkward. I'm informed that you are no longer with the Academy of Tobacco Studies."

This was a common phenomenon in Washington, finding out from a third party that you've just been fired. Usually, you hear about it on CNN, or over the phone from a reporter calling to confirm that the locks on your office were changed while you were out picking up your dry cleaning. Nick was not all that surprised, especially after receiving the frosty interoffice memo from BR informing him that he was not welcome at the Captain's funeral.

"Well, to hell with him. Let's fight him."

Carlinsky pursed his lips and furrowed his brows. "That might be awkward."

"I know you're expensive. But I'm sure we can work something out. You can attach my salary for the rest of my life." "It's not that. It's a conflict of interest." "What conflict of interest?"

"I can't defend one client by pitting him against another client." "What 'another' client?"

"Our firm has just been asked to become legal counsel to the Academy of Tobacco Studies." "You mean, just now?"

"Yes. Obviously, having the Academy of Tobacco Studies as a client would mean a considerable amount of business. What with all these smokers suing. But I guess I don't need to tell you that, do I?"

"No," Nick said, "you don't."

"If it were just my decision, it would be one thing. But I have a fiduciary responsibility to report the offer to the partners. On the other hand, who knows. Perhaps they'll decline."

"What I don't understand," Nick said, "is why you didn't tell me you were such a dick before."

"I assumed you knew," Carlinsky said.

Nick stepped off the elevators into the Academy's reception area. Carlton was waiting for him.

"Nicky," he said, blushing. "Could I have a word with you?"

"Okay," Nick said. "We can talk in my office."

"Uh, that's what I need to talk with you about." Carlton was whispering. "BR said — gee, Nicky, I feel like a real asshole having to tell you this."

"I think we're all feeling like that these days, Carlton." "Yeah. Do you want me to bring your stuff to your apartment, or.?"

"That would be fine. Do I get to say good-bye to people, or is this a Stalin thing, where I just disappear without a trace?" Carlton blushed again. "If it was me. "

Jeannette clicked by, looking very smart in suede. "Nick," she smiled. "Just leaving?" She looked at Carlton. "I told you I wanted those budget numbers now." She turned and walked off in the direction of BR's office.

Carlton said, "Our new executive VP. What a fuckin' headache, huh?"

Tobacco Lobby Fires Nick Naylor

Rohrabacher Says He Is "Shocked" By the FBI's Evidence Against Him

BY HEATHER HOLLOWAY MOON CORRESPONDENT

The Mod Squad was no longer meeting at Bert's, but in a dark corner of the Serbian Prince restaurant in suburban Virginia. They deemed this a safe bet, since not many people went to Serbian restaurants anymore. It was so empty, in fact, that they wondered how it managed to stay open. Bobby Jay said that it was obviously a front for Serbian arms merchants. In any event, it was a suitable milieu for the Merchants of Death, for two reasons. The press wasn't likely to find them here; nor were the Muslims. The FBI, seeking revenge for Nick's escape in the taxi, seemed to have convinced Akmal that Nick was an agent provocateur working for the Israelis, and had provided him with his phone number, address, mother's maiden name, everything. What space was left on Nick's answering machine tape after all the calls from reporters was taken up with abuse and threats from a number of people with Middle Eastern accents.