The Anonymous Client

David C. Bradshaw matched Mark Taylor’s description-short, tough, scrappy. He also matched Tracy Garvin’s description-pissed off. He had a thin moustache under a narrow, protruding nose, which gave him an insolent quality. He was wearing a gray suit that on someone else might have looked fine, but on him somehow looked cheap. Steve Winslow’s first impression was sleaze.

Bradshaw’s eyes flickered when they took in Steve Winslow-Steve was obviously not what he’d expected-and Steve thought he saw a flash of doubt. It was momentary, however. Bradshaw scowled, marched up to the desk, and stuck his finger in Steve’s face.

“All right, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Steve shrugged. “I think I’m running a law practice. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Bradshaw frowned. “What are you, some sort of clown? I warn you, you better have a pretty good explanation.”

“I assume if we talk long enough, you’ll get around to telling me for what,” Steve said. He glanced over to the doorway where Tracy, who was supposed to call Mark Taylor, was hovering, unable to tear herself away from the scene. “Miss Garvin,” he said, “if you would take care of that other business.”

“Don’t bother,” Bradshaw said. “I’m sure that other business is tipping off your detectives that I’m here. I’ll save you the trouble. When I leave here, I’m going straight home. They can pick me up there. Or if you don’t believe me, call them and have them pick me up here, it’s all the same to me.”

Steve nodded. “Under the circumstances, Tracy, you may as well stick around.”

Bradshaw’s eyes narrowed. “Then you admit you hired detectives to follow me?”

“I admit nothing of the sort.”

“Do you deny it?”

“I’m not in the position to admit or deny anything.”

“That’s a hell of an attitude.”

“After all, I didn’t seek this interview.”

“After all, I’m not having you shadowed.”

“Can you prove it?” Steve asked.

That caught Bradshaw up short. He frowned. “What?”

“Do you have any proof of it?”

“Of what?”

“The fact that you’re not having me shadowed.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Why is that absurd?”

“I’m not having you shadowed. You’re having me shadowed.”

“How do I know you’re not?”

“I told you!” Bradshaw screamed.

“That’s a self-serving declaration,” Steve said calmly. “It doesn’t constitute proof. Can you prove you’re not having me shadowed?”

“Why should I want to have you shadowed?”

“Why should I want to have you shadowed?”

“That’s exactly what I came here to find out.”

“Well now,” Steve said. “As you have so aptly pointed out, there is no way that you can prove that you are not having me shadowed. You must realize that it follows that there is no way that I can prove that I’m not having you shadowed.”

“Because you are doing it. You won’t even deny it.”

Steve frowned. “Look at it this way, Bradshaw. If I were having you shadowed, I would not be doing it on my own accord. I would be doing it for a client.”

“Of course.”

“And if I were doing it for a client, my duty to my client would prevent me from giving you any information on the subject. I would not be in a position to either confirm or deny it.”

“Which is exactly what you are doing in this case.”

“However,” Steve went on, “if I were not shadowing you for a client, I would be forced to give you exactly the same answer. I could neither confirm nor deny.”

“Why?”

“Because if my behavior wasn’t uniform in either instance,” Steve said dryly, “my attempts to divulge no information would be somewhat futile.”

“Fuck that,” Bradshaw said. “I didn’t come here to listen to that. I say you’re shadowing me. Now forget your lousy ethics for a minute and tell me why you’re doing it.”

Steve sighed. “I’m afraid this interview is not going to be very satisfactory. Now, you say you’re being tailed by detectives?”

“You ought to know.”

Steve picked up the phone and punched in a number. “Steve Winslow for Mark Taylor.” Steve covered the mouthpiece and said to Bradshaw, “This agency handles all my detective work. Let’s see what they say about it.” He uncovered the mouthpiece. “Mark, Steve. Look, Mark, I have a fellow here in the office by the name of Bradshaw.”

“What?”

“That’s right. A David C. Bradshaw. He claims detectives have been tailing him.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“Do you admit you had operatives following him?”

“You mean he’s there now?”

“Well then, do you deny it?”

“What’s going on? Can he hear this?”

“I see. I hoped you could give me a little more help than that.”

“What do you want me to say, Steve?”

“No. I understand. You have to protect your clients.”

“Shit. Let me get off the phone and I’ll get a tail on him.”

“O.K., Mark. Sorry to bother you.”

Steve hung up the phone. “I’m sorry, Bradshaw, but you’re going about this all wrong. You can’t get information from lawyers and detectives. They have to protect their clients.”

Bradshaw scowled. “When I find your client, he’s going to need protection.”

Steve studied Bradshaw narrowly. “Now look here, you wouldn’t be trying to kid me, would you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You seem to know more than you’re letting on.”

Bradshaw laughed. “That’s a good one. I seem to know more than I’m letting on. You won’t tell me a thing. Can you give me one good reason why I should spill my guts to you?”

“I could give you ten thousand reasons.”

For a second there was a flicker of expression in Bradshaw’s eyes. Then he controlled himself, put his hands on the desk, and leaned into Steve’s face.

“You know something, Winslow, you’re smart. But this time you’ve been a little too smart. Go ahead. Shadow me to your heart’s content. See if I care. All you’re gonna get for your trouble is a big fat detective bill. Now then, if your detectives have managed to get here in time, I’ll pick them up in the corridor. If not, I’ll pick them up at home. So long, wise guy.”

With that, Bradshaw turned and stalked out of the office.

6

Mark Taylor stuck his head in the door.