Dead Man's Thoughts by Carolyn Wheat Read Free Book Online Page A

can’t be sittin’ here all day. I got things to do on the street.”
    On the way out of the building, I ran into an elated Sylvia Mintz. “My guy copped a plea,” she said happily. “Thank God! I’m free at last. Wanna go to A & S later?”
    â€œCan’t,” I told her. “I’ve got things to do on the street.”

S IX
    â€œH ey, C.J., my favorite lawyer.” Flaherty stood as I entered the lunchroom. He greeted me with a kiss so theatrical that it proclaimed to the world the platonic nature of our friendship. He was a huge, red-bearded Irishman with a wife and three kids, and he was my best friend at Legal Aid.
    â€œYou mean Hi Cozzoli, my favorite lunch,” I answered, taking out his turkey and bacon with extra bacon, extra mayo, and extra pickles. That’s Flaherty. Extra everything.
    I put the food down, sat in a chair and listened to the usual lunchtime conversation. I’d interrupted a story Flaherty was telling.
    â€œI just thought she ought to see a rat,” he was explaining. “She was standing there in her fucking designer jeans and I thought to myself, ‘There’s a little white girl who never saw a rat.’ You know what I mean?” Jackie Bohan nodded solemnly, missing the gleam in Flaherty’s eye. Jackie’s heavily political. She’s only working at Legal Aid temporarily. Till the revolution.
    â€œSo I point the rat out to her,” Flaherty went on. “It’s down the end of the subway tunnel. Big mother too, all black and hairy. She doesn’t see it. She does not see the fucker. Right in front of her, and she can’t see it. Freaked me out, man.” He shook his head.
    Jackie nodded. “The obliviousness of the bourgeoisie,” she agreed. “The refusal to see what they don’t want to see.”
    â€œI may wink a jury on the Perez case,” Sylvia said. “What do you think, Pat?”
    Flaherty turned his attention to Sylvia. Deke Fischer glowered. He’s our other supervisor, and it bugs the hell out of him when people turn to Flaherty for advice. Or to Nathan, who’s practiced law for nearly twenty years.
    â€œWho’s the judge?” Flaherty asked.
    â€œO’Malley. We already agreed the guy shouldn’t have to do more than two-to-four. But the D.A.’s won’t come down. They insist on a plea to assault one.”
    â€œSounds good,” Flaherty said. “What’s your client think about it?”
    â€œWhatever I tell him to,” Sylvia answered. “That’s the problem. I think it’s the right thing to do, but he doesn’t understand enough to know what his options are. He may have delusions that he can win this case.”
    â€œWhat’d your guy do, Sylvia?” I asked.
    â€œStabbed his best friend,” Sylvia replied matter-of-factly. “Trouble is, he’s convinced it was self-defense. Because the dead guy insulted him. And if he didn’t avenge the insult, he wouldn’t be a man. Everybody on the street would know he could be pushed around.”
    â€œYou know,” Bill Pomerantz mused, “that’s the exact same thing a cop said to me the other day. I asked him why he beat my guy with a nightstick, and he said he had to get respect on the street or he was as good as dead. I was surprised as hell that he talked to me at all, but when he said that! Jesus!”
    â€œYeah,” Flaherty agreed. “It’s hard to tell the good guys from the bad guys out there.”
    â€œMeanwhile,” Sylvia said pointedly.
    â€œWaive the jury,” Flaherty advised. “O’Malley’s a mensch. He won’t burn you. If he has to give your guy more time, he’ll let you know.”
    â€œYeah, it’s a good deal,” Deke added. Sylvia ignored him. Bill gave him a look of mingled scorn and dislike.
    Office life is funny. It’s like one of those English villages in mystery