She joined him on the couch, opening her laptop. “Have you ever been interviewed by an attorney before?”
“No.”
“Well, basically I’m just going to ask you a few preliminary questions, and then we’ll talk about the incident.”
Adam just nodded. No questions for her. No anxiety-filled eyes. No glancing around her office nervously. This was a new experience.
“Have you ever been arrested?”
“No.”
“Have you ever testified in court?”
“No.”
“Ever been a plaintive or defendant in another lawsuit?”
“No.”
“You’re thirty-five?”
Adam’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How do you know that?”
“You’re my client. I’ve done some research.”
“You could have just asked me.” He looked irked, as if she’d somehow invaded his privacy. “What else do you know?”
Sinead glanced down at her computer screen. “I know you’re from Claresholm in Canada. I know you’ve been in the NHL since you were eighteen. I know you previously played for Tampa Bay. I know you have a reputation as a hard hitter, having caused a number of concussions in opposing players over the years. And I know you’re being brought up on charges of assault causing bodily harm.”
“That about covers it.”
Sinead gave a short laugh. “Hardly.”
Adam looked displeased. “Hardly?”
“The more I know about you, the better I can defend you.”
Adam sat back, coolly assessing her as he folded his arms across his chest. “And do I get to know about you?”
Sinead was taken aback by the challenge in his voice, even though his face still betrayed nothing.
“What would you like to know?” Sinead asked. She gestured at the shelves to their left. “There are my degrees. I’ve been with this firm since I was twenty-five. I’m a full partner. I take my job seriously.”
“So do I.”
“That’s good to know.”
Do you know how unnerving your gaze is? she wanted to ask him. He probably did. That was why he used it.
Adam looked wary. “Anything else?”
“Tell me in your own words what happened on the ice with Nick Clarey.”
“We were playing Philly, and I made a hit on Clarey. Philly released a statement saying Clarey was concussed and had a fractured cheekbone. I was suspended for two games. The next day I found out I was being brought up on charges of assault causing bodily harm. Kidco has hired you to defend me.”
Sinead waited for more, but after a few seconds, she realized that was it, that was all he had to say. He’s a cave-man, she thought. A simpleton.
“Could you elaborate a little?” she prodded.
“What’s there to say?”
“Do you and Clarey have a long-running, acrimonious relationship?”
“Not particularly.”
“Was he trash-talking to you or doing anything to incite you?”
“No.”
“How did you feel when you saw what your hit did to Mr. Clarey?”
Adam looked baffled. “How did I feel?”
“Let me rephrase that,” said Sinead, since feel clearly wasn’t a word he was comfortable with. “What did you think?”
“I felt sorry when I saw he was hurt. I hoped his injury wasn’t severe. That was never my intent. But I knew it was a clean hit. We’re professional hockey players. He was doing his job. I was doing my job. End of story.”
“Except it’s not the end of the story, because you’re now being charged with assault. Tell me about ‘your job,’ as you call it.”
“I’m a hockey player.”
Sinead closed her eyes for a split second, trying to ward off the frustration building inside her. “Elaborate.”
Adam looked genuinely perplexed. “What do you need to know?”
“Anything you care to tell me beyond ‘I’m a hockey player’—and don’t tell me there’s nothing beyond that, please.”
She knew she sounded aggravated, but she couldn’t help it. She needed him to let down his guard a little and give her more to work with. Unless he was unable to, because he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the makeup mirror.
Adam was starting to look as frustrated as Sinead felt. “I don’t know what you’re looking for.”
Sinead rubbed her right temple. She was dealing with a bonehead. It was that simple. Or not so simple, since dealing with a one-brain-cell wonder was going to make her job that much harder. It wasn’t a good sign when you had to pull teeth to get the person you were defending to talk.
“Look, I’m not a hockey fan, and—”
“You don’t know anything about the game, as you said in the Kidco meeting.” Adam looked dubious. “I have to be honest with you: that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”
Sinead kept her expression neutral. “Are you saying you’d prefer someone else to handle the case?”
“No. If they say you’re the best, then you must be the best, right?”
“Would you like me to recite my track record to you?”
“No need. But I would feel better if you learned about the game.”
“I intend to. Now, may I finish what I was saying before you interrupted me?”
“By all means.”
He probably thinks I’m a bitch, Sinead thought, but who cares? Arrogant jerk.
“The judge and jurors hearing the case might not be hockey fans, either. The prosecutor is going to show video of the hit, and for people who don’t know hockey and who don’t understand the game, it might seem excessive. Maybe even criminal.”
“I’m a defenseman,” Adam said, with a bit of annoyance.
“I know,” Sinead said with a touch of frustration. “But what does that mean?”
Adam closed his eyes and lowered his head for a moment, as if gathering himself. When he lifted his head back up, his expression had changed; he looked more cooperative.
“Every player on the ice has a job,” he said patiently. “The job of the goalie is to prevent the puck from going across the goal line. All of his efforts are focused on that one task. Wingers, by and large, are supposed to score goals. Their aim is to put the puck in the net. Generally, everything they do is with that end in mind. Centers are supposed to facilitate the forwards in goal scoring, while also assuming some defensive responsibilities. I’m a defenseman,” he repeated.
“My job is to keep other players from scoring and from threatening my goaltender. Unlike everyone else on the ice, a defenseman’s role is to oppose another player. To a goalie, winger, or center, the puck is primary. To a defenseman, the puck is secondary. My job is to physically deter and impede other men—strong, fast, determined men—any way I can, within the rules. When you look at the video of that hit, you see me doing my job—very well, I might add.”
Sinead nodded. Clearly, Adam Perry was many things: Egotistical. Stoic. Attractive. Guarded. Physical. But one thing he was not was a bonehead. He seemed to possess a certain thoughtful eloquence. Sinead realized she had lost focus and quickly brought the conversation back to more mundane matters.
“Thank you for that explanation,” she said gratefully. “Now, I’ll also need to speak with some family and longtime friends. Who do you recommend I interview in your hometown?”
Adam looked irked. “Why do you have to talk to anyone in my hometown?”
“As I explained in the meeting last week, the more people we can get to attest to your character, the better for you,” she said slowly in an effort to stop herself from speaking sharply. He was beginning to try her patience.
Adam looked angry. “You don’t have to speak slowly. Just as you don’t understand why I do what I do for a living, I don’t understand why you do what you do for a living.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Sinead apologized. “But back to my question: any recommendations as to who I should talk to in your hometown?”
“I’d prefer to interview him face-to-face.”
“You can get the same info over the phone.”
“May I have his number, please?”
Adam gave her the number, frowning with displeasure. He checked his watch. “Anything else?”
Sinead just stared at him. Oh, gee, am I taking up your precious time? she longed to say. I’m just your attorney, that’s all. Sorry for the inconvenience.
“I’ll call you. In fact, you should get used to talking to me. A lot.”
Adam didn’t look happy.
“I guess that’s all for now.” Sinead rose, extending her hand. “Thanks for coming in.”
“No problem. I can see myself out.”
She watched him go. Distractingly handsome. Distractingly taciturn, too. But intelligent and thoughtful in a way that wasn’t obvious at first. As Adam’s attorney, his being taciturn was problematic. As a woman, though, the combo made him seem mysterious and enigmatic to her. The strong, silent type, as the cliché went. Sinead hated that she was attracted to him. It was inconvenient. Unsettling. She’d had handsome clients before, but there was something about him . . . She made herself stop thinking about it.
She’d start interviewing people in New York later this week. As for his brother, well, she’d talk to him on the phone initially, but she fully intended to speak with him in person, whether Adam liked it or not. She was the one in charge here, not him. The sooner he realized it, the better.
4
“Is this the latest lamb you two are leading to the slaughter?”
Adam laughed, shaking Anthony Dante’s bear paw of a hand. As per tradition, he was eating dinner with Ty and Michael at Dante’s, the Italian restaurant in Brooklyn that Michael’s brother owned.
Michael looked up at his brother, a refrigerator-sized version of himself. “Got anything good tonight?”
“Like what?”
“Veal parm?”
“Already out of it. You should know by now, Mikey: if you don’t get here before six thirty, you don’t get any veal parm.”
“But I’m your brother.”
Anthony scowled. “What am I, a freakin’ psychic? I didn’t know you were coming.”
Michael turned to Adam. “See the bullshit I have to put up with?”
Anthony flashed him a dirty look. “You want some appetizers or what?”
“What have you got?”
“The tortellini stuffed with chard, prosciutto, and ricotta is out of this world, or so I’m being told,” Anthony boasted.
Michael looked at Adam and Ty. “Wanna go for it?”
“Sounds great,” Adam concurred.
Anthony headed back to the kitchen.
“You got a brother?” Michael asked Adam.
“Yeah, an older brother named Rick.”
“Then you know what the ragging on each other is all about.”
Adam smiled, but the mention of Rick brought on a twinge of guilt. He missed his brother; missed his niece and nephew, too. He’d called Rick twice; neither call was returned. Neither of them was particularly good on the phone, and now that Rick had lost his job at the Chevy plant, he was even less talkative. Adam made a note to check his schedule; maybe he could fit in a visit home soon.
Ty bit into a breadstick. “How’d it go with Sinead O’Brien?”
“Short but sweet.” Adam took a sip of water. “She thinks I’m a moron. I don’t appreciate it.”
“Why would she think you’re a moron?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know,” Adam replied, irked just thinking about it. “She was becoming increasingly frustrated with me, and I have no idea why. She’d ask a question, I’d answer it, but it wasn’t enough for some reason. She asked me what I felt when I hit Carey.”
Michael peered at him confusedly. “Wha? What were you supposed to feel? You were doing your job.”
“Exactly,” said Adam. “But she kept pushing me to ‘tell her more’ about everything.”
“Well, it was the first time she was talking to you, and she is your attorney, not your pal,” Ty pointed out.
“True. She doesn’t seem the type for small talk,” Michael noted.
“She’s not,” said Adam. “Total tight-ass. Überprofessional. Icy.”
“Who the hell cares?” Ty groused. “As long as she gets them to drop the case.”
“Ty’s right,” said Michael to Adam. “When are you talking to her again?”
“Not sure. I think she might talk to all you guys first, then maybe get me to fill in the blanks.”
“She’s a good-looking woman,” Michael noted.
“What the hell, Michael.” Ty gave him his famous scowl. “Are you encouraging him to date his attorney?”
“I don’t want to date her, guys,” said Adam. “She’s too uptight.”
“She was meeting you in a professional capacity,” said Michael. “Maybe after hours, she’s—”
“Can it,” Ty interrupted, looking steamed. “He’s here to bring us the Cup. He gets into a relationship—”
Michael groaned. “Jesus Christ, will you change the script? You’ve been spouting this crap for years. Being involved with someone has never affected anyone’s play. Happy players make good players.”
Adam stifled a laugh. They were bickering like an old married couple.
“Admit it, Ty.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ty muttered. “I guess if he finds a girlfriend, it’ll be okay.”
“Uh, guys, could you not talk about me like I’m not here?” Adam asked. That had happened at the meeting, too. Was it something about him, or were Ty and Michael so enmeshed they sometimes failed to notice the presence of anyone else?
“Sorry,” said Michael. He reached for a breadstick, broke it in two. “How’s it going with Saari? You tear him a new one for being late?”
“Oh yeah. Little prick actually had the balls to tell me to chill out.”
Ty shook his head in disbelief. “These young guys now . . . Can you imagine ever saying that to your captain? Jesus Christ.”
“No shit,” said Michael. “If we’d ever talked to you that way, maintenance would have found our body in the Dumpster the next day.”
“Damn straight.”
“He wasn’t happy when I pointed out a few mistakes he made on the ice against Philly,” said Adam.
“Arrogant kid,” said Michael. He turned to Ty. “You know who he reminds me of? Paul van Dorn.”
Ty nodded in agreement. “Yup. But we got him to toe the line, didn’t we? And that’s exactly what’s going to happen with Saari.”
Wine was brought to the table. Michael raised his glass high. “To Adam. May the season end with him skating the Cup on home ice.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Adam. He wondered if Sinead O’Brien ever let her hair down and drank a glass of wine now and then. Probably not. She seemed the workaholic type, no play. Too bad Michael was right: she was a very attractive woman. Not that it mattered. The important thing was that she got Dobbins to drop the case. He steered his wandering mind back to present company, intent on enjoying the evening.
Midway through what was turning out to be an outrageously decadent meal, Michael’s brother, Anthony, sat down at the table to shoot the breeze with them.
“Food okay?” he asked.
“Quit fishing for compliments, you loser,” said Michael.
“It’s amazing,” said Adam. “I spent years in Florida. You couldn’t get Italian food like this.”
“ ’ Cause this is the real thing, bro,” said Anthony. “You must have been able to get some amazing Cuban food, though.”
“Totally,” said Adam.
He noticed Anthony kept staring at his brother’s head. Michael noticed it, too. Finally, Michael snapped, “What? What are you staring at?”
“What the hell did you do to your hair?”
“Nothing. I went to Mario, as usual.”
“You look like Shemp from The Three Stooges.”
“Fuck you,” Michael said to Anthony. “This is why you have no friends; you insult everyone.”
“I have friends,” Anthony protested.
“Name one.”
Anthony rattled off four names.
“They’re all chefs who are as batshit as you,” Michael countered. “Name one non-chef friend.”
Anthony glared at him. “Bite me, Mike.”
“At least I don’t look like Moe,” said Michael.
Anthony shook his head sadly. “Pathetic comeback. Totally pathetic.” He stood up. “Adam, it was nice to meet you. Ty, it was good to see you again. Mikey, you’re not even worthy of uttering the name of Moe.”
Anthony returned to the kitchen.
Michael touched the top of his head worriedly. “Do I really look like Shemp?”
“Nah, you don’t,” Adam assured him. “He was just yanking your chain.”
“He’s such an asshole,” Michael uttered under his breath.
Dinner finished, Ty and Michael left to go home to their families. Adam, not tired and not particularly eager to return to an empty apartment, told them he’d call a cab later and went to sit at the bar. He ordered a single malt scotch, taking in the surroundings as he savored his drink. He liked this place; it had a real family feel, with pictures of customers past and present on the walls, as well as a few pieces of undeniably tacky art (paint by number gondolas? The Leaning Tower of Pisa?). It reminded him of one of the restaurants in his hometown, Robkey’s Bar and Grill: unpretentious, good food, decent prices, and a place people could bring their kids. He’d heard through the Blades’ grapevine that the team’s watering hole, the Wild Hart, had a warm feel to it as well. He’d yet to check it out, but a drink with the team might be a good idea; it would give them a very small taste of his human side. Even so, he wouldn’t let his guard down too much. It was too big a risk to the “awe” element Ty wanted him to cultivate.
Adam lifted his eyes to the TV above the bar to watch Monday Night Football. The game wound up going into overtime, and by the time it was done, there was only one other guy at the bar, nodding off over his whiskey. Adam felt a clap on his back as Anthony Dante pulled up the barstool beside him.
Icebreaker Page 4