such a proposal, friendship, cannot cost too much.
"We could use some good representation," he tells me. "And I hear tell you're one of the best." Mendel is the kind who can put a silk frock on a good bribe and make it walk upright. "Who's we'?" says Harry.
"The union. The association," says Mendel. "This is for you, too," he says. Bargain day. Two friends for the price of one.
Mouthpiece to the cops. Harry's worst nightmare. "What kind of representation?" I ask.
"What you sell. The legal kind. What else?"
"I thought you had all that covered. Remember? The grand jury circle jerk." He gives me a lot of consternation in the eyes, like I'm making this more difficult than it has to be. Why not just shut up, take the money, and go along? He would say it in so many words, but a lifetime of inequality has taught him not to screw with the science of seduction.
"Paul. Let's be reasonable. There's no reason for all this hostility."
He offers us a drink and before I can decline, his minions are opening cup boards and pulling drawers. Glasses with ice clinking. Corks popping.
Harry's reaching out until I nudge his thigh with my knee. His extended hand suddenly goes up to preen what little hair he has left. He shakes his head to the offered booze, this with the resolve of someone falling off the wagon.
"You take clients. All I want to do is hire you. What's the going freight? Simple as that," says Mendel.
He may be confident of Tony's loyalty, but he's not sure how much Arguillo has told me. Am I cheap bluster or expensive knowledge? "Let's say I represented you."
"Let's say that," he says.
"What would you expect me to do?" A wrinkled face. An expression that takes its color from the dark side of the soul.
"You take a retainer. Be available," he says. "That's all." What I thought. Visions of kissing his ring finger, ghostly echoes of a gravelly voice in my ear telling me that one day he will come to me and ask that I render some service.
"Think about it before you say no. We'd be a big client. Cover a lot of overhead." He is big and hearty here, full of bullshit. What you get from a car salesman before he takes the deal to his boss.
"Hey, we're all one big happy family. Tony. The association. Me.
You can represent all of us. Like I say. What's the tab? You name it." I could tell him his firstborn and he would pay it. You've heard of the devil's advocate. What Mendel is proposing is hell's own class action.
"Phil. Can I call you Phil?" I say. A big smile. "That's my name."
"You've been so nice, Phil, that I hate to tell you this. But I just can't do it."
"Why the hell not?" Friendship drips from his face like tallow on a hot day.
"Conflict of interest," I tell him. No sale. I get stern looks.
"Then you're still representing Tony?" The fly in their ointment. "Until he fires me." He swings around in his chair. A conference. Hissing voices.
Mendel's underlings are discreet, cupping their hands to his ears as they confer. There are occasional glances in our direction by his men as they whisper to him.
Mendel is not so cautious.
"What the tuck's her name?" He says this out loud.
Another hand to his ear, and he swings back around to face me.
"This woman," he says, "Goya. In the D.A.'s office. What's her part in this?" Now I am concerned; Tony has managed to compromise Lenore. If Mendel knows about her involvement, the fact that she referred Tony, it is only a short skip to her boss's office. Coleman Kline will know it shortly. Mendel has found the soft underbelly.
"Who?" I am buying time.
"You can cut the bullshit, Madriani." Mendel knows it.
"From this I take it we're no longer on a first-name basis." More stall.
He ignores me.
"We know Tony's been talking to her," he says. "Who?"
"Goya," he says. "Ah, her."
"Yeah. Her." He's thumping his fingers on the desk, waiting for an answer.
"Just friends," I say.
"Right. And the three of you were just having afternoon tea in your
"We could use some good representation," he tells me. "And I hear tell you're one of the best." Mendel is the kind who can put a silk frock on a good bribe and make it walk upright. "Who's we'?" says Harry.
"The union. The association," says Mendel. "This is for you, too," he says. Bargain day. Two friends for the price of one.
Mouthpiece to the cops. Harry's worst nightmare. "What kind of representation?" I ask.
"What you sell. The legal kind. What else?"
"I thought you had all that covered. Remember? The grand jury circle jerk." He gives me a lot of consternation in the eyes, like I'm making this more difficult than it has to be. Why not just shut up, take the money, and go along? He would say it in so many words, but a lifetime of inequality has taught him not to screw with the science of seduction.
"Paul. Let's be reasonable. There's no reason for all this hostility."
He offers us a drink and before I can decline, his minions are opening cup boards and pulling drawers. Glasses with ice clinking. Corks popping.
Harry's reaching out until I nudge his thigh with my knee. His extended hand suddenly goes up to preen what little hair he has left. He shakes his head to the offered booze, this with the resolve of someone falling off the wagon.
"You take clients. All I want to do is hire you. What's the going freight? Simple as that," says Mendel.
He may be confident of Tony's loyalty, but he's not sure how much Arguillo has told me. Am I cheap bluster or expensive knowledge? "Let's say I represented you."
"Let's say that," he says.
"What would you expect me to do?" A wrinkled face. An expression that takes its color from the dark side of the soul.
"You take a retainer. Be available," he says. "That's all." What I thought. Visions of kissing his ring finger, ghostly echoes of a gravelly voice in my ear telling me that one day he will come to me and ask that I render some service.
"Think about it before you say no. We'd be a big client. Cover a lot of overhead." He is big and hearty here, full of bullshit. What you get from a car salesman before he takes the deal to his boss.
"Hey, we're all one big happy family. Tony. The association. Me.
You can represent all of us. Like I say. What's the tab? You name it." I could tell him his firstborn and he would pay it. You've heard of the devil's advocate. What Mendel is proposing is hell's own class action.
"Phil. Can I call you Phil?" I say. A big smile. "That's my name."
"You've been so nice, Phil, that I hate to tell you this. But I just can't do it."
"Why the hell not?" Friendship drips from his face like tallow on a hot day.
"Conflict of interest," I tell him. No sale. I get stern looks.
"Then you're still representing Tony?" The fly in their ointment. "Until he fires me." He swings around in his chair. A conference. Hissing voices.
Mendel's underlings are discreet, cupping their hands to his ears as they confer. There are occasional glances in our direction by his men as they whisper to him.
Mendel is not so cautious.
"What the tuck's her name?" He says this out loud.
Another hand to his ear, and he swings back around to face me.
"This woman," he says, "Goya. In the D.A.'s office. What's her part in this?" Now I am concerned; Tony has managed to compromise Lenore. If Mendel knows about her involvement, the fact that she referred Tony, it is only a short skip to her boss's office. Coleman Kline will know it shortly. Mendel has found the soft underbelly.
"Who?" I am buying time.
"You can cut the bullshit, Madriani." Mendel knows it.
"From this I take it we're no longer on a first-name basis." More stall.
He ignores me.
"We know Tony's been talking to her," he says. "Who?"
"Goya," he says. "Ah, her."
"Yeah. Her." He's thumping his fingers on the desk, waiting for an answer.
"Just friends," I say.
"Right. And the three of you were just having afternoon tea in your
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