Thank You for Smoking

'Oh, right.'

'All that's missing here is the cardigan sweater. We didn't have room for that. The focus groups loved it. The nonsmokers actually wanted to buy this pack. I took it home and tried it out on my kids. And they loved it.'

'Really,' Nick said. 'I must share it with my twelve-year-old.'

24

Tobacco Spokesman Retains Criminal Lawyer As FBI Shifts Investigation Focus Onto Him

Naylor Accuses Senator Finisterre of Initiating Federal Probe

BY HEATHER HOLLOWAY MOON CORRESPONDENT

'I think,' Polly said in the hushed tones that were now standard at Mod Squad lunches, 'that your Heather Holloway strategy has not been a total success.'

'I thought,' Nick said, stirring his second vodka negroni with his finger, 'that if I made her think I did kidnap myself, that she'd hold off rushing into print with a story about how the FBI was investigating me. And eventually trip herself up trying to prove that I kidnapped myself, which she can't, because I didn't. If you… see.'

'Young Washingtonians in love,' Bobby Jay snorted. 'What a wonderful thing it is.'

'For a Jesus freak,' Polly said, 'you're very cynical, Bobby Jay.'

'It should have worked,' Nick said. 'Because I did not kidnap myself.'

'Shh,' Polly said, taking his arm.

'Why,' Nick said, 'do I get the feeling that I'm preaching to the unconverted?'

'We believe you,' Polly said, though it sounded sort of forced.

'Then that prick Carlinsky leaks it to her that he's representing me, and—this.' Nick whacked the newspaper. 'How can you be sure it was Carlinsky?'

'Because he told me he didn't. Would you believe a lawyer who managed to get acquitted a man who sold radioactive waste as furniture-polish remover, the head of the Teamsters union, and that German they caught trying to resell that submarine to the Iraqis?'

'See your point.'

'I did some checking on him. He doesn't drink, he doesn't smoke, he doesn't do the woolly deed with females or males. All he cares about is publicity. Do you know that he charged Mr. Dip 'n' Glow for every time he was quoted in the press?'

'Really?'

'When he went on Nightline, his client got a bill for half an hour, which in his case is $225. Plus for the limo to take him to the TV studio. And he wasn't even discussing the Dip 'n' Glow case. It was a show about whether there are too many lawyers.'

'Well,' Polly said, 'he'll do well for himself with your case. I have a feeling there are going to be a lot of mentions of you in the press.'

'At least he's good,' Bobby Jay said. 'He'll probably get you off.'

'I haven't been charged with anything, Bobby.'

'I mean, if.'

'We believe you,' Polly said, giving him a squeeze.

'Would you please not talk to me in that soothing tone of voice. I'm not a mental patient.' Nick looked glumly at the Moon headline. Front page, but below the fold.

'She did print my quote about how Finisterre put the FBI up to it,' Nick said.

Polly read: ' 'Leslie Dach, an aide to Senator Finisterre, dismissed Mr. Naylor's allegation as being 'lower than the scum on an eel's underbelly,' adding that it was 'the kind of odious insinuation that has come to typify the tobacco lobby as it becomes more and more desperate to maintain its stranglehold on the American public's lungs and wallets.' I'd say she gave the Finisterre camp equal time to answer your charge.'

'Told you that woman was nothing but trouble,' Bobby Jay said.

'Thank you, Bobby Jay,' Nick said. 'That's very helpful just now. Something to tide me over until you give me your wonderful intel from the FBI firing range.'

'I don't think bibulating yourself into stupefaction is going to help.'

'Boys, boys,' Polly said.

'If I can't smoke, I'm going to drink,' Nick said. 'It's the only way I know to avoid karoshi.'

'What's that?'

'Japanese for 'sudden death.' It happens to their executives a lot. They work twenty-three-hour days, then one day they're walking along the Ginza, going back to their offices at ten o'clock after a business dinner, they just fall down on the sidewalk and die. One minute they're middle managers, the next, they're on their backs on the pavement like June bugs.'

Nick's cellular rang. It was Gazelle and she was whispering. 'Nick, it's those FBI people. They're headed your way.'

'What do you mean?'

'Nick, I had to tell them where you were.'

'Why? Did they beat you with rubber truncheons? Oh hell. All right, call Carlinsky. No, never mind, I'll call him.'

'What about your panel this afternoon?'

'What panel?'

'The Healthy Heart 2000 panel.'

'Call Jeannette. No, call Tyler. And tell him to expect a lot of questions about last week's JAMA story about clots. Clots. Erhardt's got some stuff on it. It's on my desk somewhere.'

Nick hung up, drank the last of his vodka negroni in a swallow. 'So, would you like to meet some FBI agents?'

Agents Monmaney and Allman arrived a few minutes later, suggesting that they had hurried, which was not particularly reassuring. Nick saw that they were followed by a uniformed D.C. policeman, which was even less so. Nick's three bodyguards, immediately assessing the situation, made no move to interfere with these more legitimate carriers of guns.

'Mr. Naylor,' Monmaney said with his usual charm, 'would you please stand up and move toward the fireplace.'

'Why,' Nick said, 'would I want to do that?'

'Yeah. Hold on a minute,' Polly said.

'Ma'am!' the D.C. cop said warningly. What a macho guy, talking tough like that to a size six.

But — what was this? Monmaney unmistakably placing his hand on his gun? 'All right, Mr. Naylor, please stand up, keep your hands where I can see them, turn around and move toward the fireplace.'

And so Nick found himself spread-eagled over the fireplace, staring down into the fake flames, as Agent Monmaney frisked him. And then handcuffed him. Dimly, he heard the words 'arrest' and the familiar lines about how he had the right to remain silent, et cetera.

'I'd like to see some ID,' Bobby Jay said in a steely tone.

'Sir!' the D.C. cop shouted.

'Well you got that right, bub.'

'Stand up, sir.' Then Bobby Jay was being spread-eagled, or in his case, spread-hooked, and frisked by the cop.

'What's this?' The cop found something interesting in the vicinity of Bobby Jay's ankle. A bulge. Now there was a commotion and the D.C. cop had his gun out and was pointing it at Bobby Jay in what Nick thought was a slightly melodramatic way.

'Hunh,' Bobby Jay said. 'That's — you know, I didn't realize that I was wearing that. See, I live in Virginia and