JL04 - Mortal Sin by Paul Levine Read Free Book Online Page B

percentage of my fee to the Everglades Society, so that Mr. Tupton’s grand works can continue after his untimely passing.”
    “How thoughtful. I don’t suppose the group is returning the favor by helping you with the lawsuit, is it? And what percentage are you contributing, Henry Thackery? A tiny morsel, a single digit, no doubt? It’ll be good for a tax deduction and a mention of your generosity in the newspapers, probably at the time we’re picking a jury.”
    “Counselor, you vex me.”
    “Good. We’re even.”
    I yawned and decided to keep quiet. Maybe if I ignored Patterson’s diversions, he’d get back on track. I stretched my legs, locked my hands behind my neck, and cracked my knuckles.
    Something touched my left leg.
    At first I thought that Nicky, seated to my left, had bumped into me under the table. He hadn’t. I glanced at Gina, sitting directly across from me. She wore a sleeveless red leather mini-dress. Too hot for Miami in the summer, but it covered so little, maybe it didn’t matter. A gold zipper ran diagonally from the hem to the neck. It was unzipped to the middle of her breasts.
    Something touched my leg again and moved upward.
    Gina’s foot.
    Unless you were watching, you wouldn’t notice her slipping slightly lower into her chair as her foot inched upward along my leg. A small smile played at her lips.
    Risk.
    Danger.
    Fun.
    They were all the same to her. Sex was enhanced if she was bouncing on the deck of a pitching boat during a gale. Preferably with a man who was not her spouse. She drove too fast, drank too much, partied too long. She liked men who risked their bodies and their bankrolls. She skied on slopes too steep and dived in waters too deep. She jumped off bridges attached to a bungee cord and told me it was her second-favorite sport. And now, with her husband two feet away, her toes crept toward my crotch.
    “Just how much did you serve Mr. Tupton to drink?” Patterson asked.
    “I didn’t serve him anything,” Nicky replied. “We have servants for that.”
    “Servants!” Patterson sang out. “As it is written in Matthew, ‘The dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.’”
    I knew where he was going. This wasn’t a lawsuit but a class war.
    “How convenient you have servants,” Patterson continued sarcastically. “Pity they’re not slaves.”
    “Objection!” I yelled. “Move to stri-eeek!”
    The ball of Gina’s foot had found a part of me that was totally unconcerned with the rules of evidence. Patterson was looking at me, puzzled for once.
    “That is, move to stroke, ah-chem,
strike
the provocative and inflamed, I mean…inflammatory comment of counsel.”
    I felt my face redden. Nicky Florio shot me a sideways look that seemed to ask whether I was competent. At the moment, I was not.
    “You intended to get Mr. Tupton intoxicated, did you not?” Patterson asked.
    “No,” Florio answered flatly.
    “Did you ask him to come to the party without his wife?”
    “No, that was his choice.”
    “Isn’t it true you provided him with female companionship?”
    “There were single women at the party, if that’s what you mean.”
    Patterson thumbed through his notes. “Do you know a Ms. Amber Lane and a Ms. Marcia Middleton?”
    Gina’s foot had miraculously withdrawn from my crotch.
    “The ladies work for me. They take reservation deposits on new condos at Rolling Hills Estates.”
    I knew the place. Located on a former marsh about six feet above sea level, the only hills were made of swampy landfill, and the estates were town houses crammed sixteen to the acre.
    “Were the
ladies
wearing those very skimpy bikinis,” Patterson asked with obvious distaste, “the ones designed by Satan himself, the ones called—”
    “Tongas,” Gina piped up, with a lascivious grin.
    “Hush!” I told her.
    From across the table, Gina winked at me.
    “It was a pool party,” Nicky Florio said. “All the women were in appropriate attire. As I