Kill All the Lawyers
Page 25
"How you doing, Irene?"
"Carl left. Just picked up and left."
"I'm sorry. And surprised. I thought he really cared for you."
"I think he does. Yesterday he wired money into my account. From a bank in Moscow."
"Moscow?"
"E-mailed me, too. Said he discovered the lost treasure of the Romanovs. People all over the world are sending him deposits, claiming to be relatives."
"For a con man, he's got a good heart."
"Stephen, have I told you how dear you are to me?"
"Not that I recall, but I've been heavily drugged."
"I think you and Victoria are splendid together. Well, maybe not splendid. But for some reason, you seem to make her happy. And if she's happy, well . . . I'm quite nearly pleased."
She leaned over as if to kiss him, thought better of it, and withdrew. But she did give his shoulder a pat. "Stephen, are you crying?"
"Sinuses," he said.
He fell back into a restless sleep, dreaming of his father. The old goat was building something. Noah's ark, maybe. He felt lips brush his and opened his eyes to find the most beautiful woman in the world kissing him. Victoria was wearing those stretchy workout pants that stop right below the knees and a flimsy sports top with thin straps. The top was cut low and stopped well above her flat tummy.
"You need a shave, slugger," she said. "And your breath smells like a wet donkey."
"What exactly does a wet donkey smell like?"
She kissed him again. "Never mind. I still love you."
"I love you, too, Vic." He licked his swollen lip and said: "I've been thinking about where we should live. If you want a condo, that's fine. You want a townhouse or a real house, that's fine, too. What I'm saying, anywhere is fine as long as we're together."
"You mean that?"
"With all my heart. With all my soul. With my last stinky breath."
She gave him an angelic smile and gently ran a finger across his bruised lip.
The pounding started again. Louder.
"Damn. What is that?" Steve said.
"You don't know? I thought Herbert told you last night."
"Last night, I was running a dogsled in the Iditarod. Although it's quite possible I was hallucinating."
"Come on," she said. "I'll show you."
She eased him out of bed. He threw an arm around her shoulder and she helped him down the corridor.
The living room was far too bright.
What the hell?
There was no back wall. Just a couple of vertical studs, the plasterboard blasted to smithereens. Herbert stood in the middle of the rubble, wearing khaki shorts and a yarmulke, holding a sledgehammer. His bare chest was covered with plaster dust. Steve vaguely remembered something about his old man building the Temple of Solomon, but this still didn't compute.
"The hell you doing, Dad?"
"What's it look like?"
"Vandalism."
"Ah'm extending your house into the backyard."
"Why do I think you're better at knocking down walls than building them?"
"Don't complain till you get mah bill. A new master bedroom with walk-in closets, and a family room."
"What for?"
"For you and Victoria, schmendrick."
Of course! His brain was still fuzzy, but it made sense. All the room they would need, even though the roof might sag and the walls would be out of plumb.
"Thanks, Dad. I saw this flat-screen TV the other day. Big as a garage door. Great for the family room."
"I was thinking about a piano for the family room," Victoria said.
"Big TV would be better. High-def for the ball games."
"I looked at this Steinway. The Living Room Grand model. It would be perfect."
"Only if you're living with Rachmaninoff."
"I'd like a grand piano."
"And I'd like a big-ass TV."
Herbert pointed the sledgehammer toward the opening in the wall. "Ah s'pose Ah could add a music room, if we encroach on the property line."
"Good compromise," Victoria said.
"I'm in," Steve said.
He wrapped an arm around both of them and gave a good squeeze. Bobby came into the room from the kitchen, nibbling on half an Oreo cookie. "Hey, Uncle Steve. What's going on?"
"I'm counting my blessings, kiddo. You want a group hug?"
"No way. Hugging's for babies."
Steve let his gaze take them all in. His father, his lover, his nephew. His blessings. He felt his eyes tear up.
"You crying?" Bobby asked.
"Sinuses," Steve lied.
SOLOMON'S LAWS
1. Lying to a judge is preferable to lying to the woman you love.
2. Thou shalt not screw thy own client ...unless thou hast a damn good reason.
3. When you don't know what to do, seek advice from your father . . . even if he's two candles short of a menorah.
4. If you're going to all the trouble to make a fool of yourself, be sure to have plenty of witnesses.
5. When a woman is quiet and reflective, rather than combative and quarrelsome, watch out. She's likely picturing the bathroom without your boxers hanging on the showerhead.
6. A creative lawyer considers a judge's order a mere suggestion.
7. When you run across a naked woman, act as if you've seen one before.
8. Love is chemistry and mystery, not logic and reason.
9. Q: What do you call a judge who is old, cantankerous, and flatulent?
A: "Your Honor."
10. You won't find it in Darwin, Deuteronomy, or Doonesbury, but it's an essential truth of human nature: we'll all kill to protect those we love.
11. I won't lie to a lawyer's face or stab him in the back, but if I have the chance, I'll look him in the eye and kick him in the cojones.
12. When you cut through all the bullshit of career, status, and money, at the end of the day all that matters is love and family.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The author of 16 novels, Paul Levine won the John D. MacDonald fiction award and was nominated for the Edgar, Macavity, International Thriller, and James Thurber prizes. A former trial lawyer, he also wrote more than 20 episodes of the CBS military drama "JAG" and co-created the Supreme Court drama "First Monday" starring James Garner and Joe Mantegna. The critically acclaimed international bestseller "To Speak for the Dead" was his first novel. He is also the author of the "Solomon vs. Lord" series and the thrillers "Illegal," "Ballistic," "Impact," and "Paydirt."