ask directly about another sibling, the phone records. I wanted to do some more research first. Never ask a question you don’t know the answer to. Besides, I thought, suddenly seized with fear, what if Lisa had made up some story? Exaggerated my role in her attempted seduction? Made him hate me, because I’d pushed her away, or for whatever twisted reason? Who knew the depths of the female mind? I’d be another pawn in a new and different Futterman game.
I thought of going home.
Jules opened the door. Turned his back on me. Sprawled on the couch.
Everything seemed normal.
I sighed a provisional sigh of relief.
So, Jules said, you solve the case, lawyer guy?
No. But I’ve learned a few things.
Spit it out.
He had a new and disconcerting arrogance to him.
Nothing I’ve confirmed, I said, warily.
Jesus, he said. I think I’ll tell Dad to stop paying you.
Are you talking to him?
No.
Then that’ll be a little tough.
I have my ways.
More power to your ways, I said. You got a beer?
Jules snorted. In a you-got-me-there kind of way. Went to the fridge.
I took this to be an excellent sign.
He brought me an Anchor Steam. One for himself. He sprawled back on the couch.
You seem very relaxed, I said.
Shouldn’t I?
For a guy charged with murder.
He fixed me with a stare.
I didn’t do nothing, he said. Why should I be worried?
No reason. Kind of a stressful experience, though, I would think.
I guess, he said, taking a pull off the beer.
Smoke? he said, pulling out a pack of my favorites.
I took one. He lit them both.
Something had happened. The lost boy in him had vanished.
I drank my beer. Tried to bond a bit. Talked a bit about the Rangers.
The atmosphere was as conducive as it was going to get. I plunged in.
Listen, I said, there’s one thing.
Yo, brotha.
I was talking to the ADA. You know, the Assistant District Attorney?
Yo, you think I’m stupid?
Actually, no. I think you’re a very bright guy, Jules. I just wanted to make sure you knew what I was talking about.
I always know what you’re talking about, lawyer guy, he said, taking a good haul off the beer.
He told me about some phone records, I lied.
He gave me a straight-ahead look.
Calls from your cell phone.
And?
To your father’s office.
Silence.
Four or five of them. In the days before Larry Silver’s murder.
Jules narrowed his eyes. Looked straight at me.
And?
Well, given how you and your dad don’t seem to be talking to each other and all, the ADA thought it was a little strange.
Strange. Yes. Strange.
He took another big slug off of his beer.
Whose side did you say you were on? he asked.
Jules. You don’t seem to be getting it. I’ve tried to explain to you. I’m your lawyer. I’m on your side. All the way. No questions asked. But if I’m going to do my best for you, if I’m going to defend you to the best of my abilities, I can’t be flying in the dark. I need the facts. I need all the facts. Then I can take the facts and turn them into a story that the ADA will buy. I can’t be going to him with a ‘Shit, I don’t know what that’s all about.’ Because then he’ll be making up his own story. The story he makes up might not be so good for you. And I’m telling you, Jules, right now. That’s just what his story’s looking like. Not too damn good.
Jules laughed.
Sure, dude, he said. I hear ya.
He still seemed way too calm. I waited.
Nothing.
The preliminary hearing’s in two weeks, I said.
He looked at me.
I’d gotten his attention, at least.
You seen that show? he asked. The one with the puppets making phony phone calls?
Uh, yeah. I’ve seen the commercials for it, anyway.
It got me some ideas. Call up the old man. Get him a little crazy.
Ah. I see.
Just fooling around with the old fart. Yeah. I get it.
I was lying again. I didn’t get a thing. I certainly didn’t believe his lame-ass story.
Okay, I said. Just wanted to check that out.
Sure. No sweat.
I got up to leave.
The street outside was cold and empty. I wondered. What had turned Jules from scared and confused to this caricature of cool? He and Daddy were somehow in cahoots in this thing? Jesus. But that couldn’t be. It conflicted with just about every other piece of evidence I had.
71.
There was a poker game that night. I resolved to go. I resolved to be a man. I resolved to win.
I called Butch. He was into it.
It was at a social club in Hoboken, across the river. Neon sign in the frosted window. Hudson County Men’s Club. Peephole in the door. A big lunk with a homemade haircut opened it.
We’re here for the poker game, I said.
The Lunk nodded, opened the door.
We walked in.
It was a picture from long ago. Linoleum floors. Hideous fluorescent light struggling through decades of dust and dead flies. Wooden fold-up chairs. Mary Mother of Jesus on the wall. In the corner the regulars were playing gin rummy. Beefy unsmiling guys with a lot of black hair and a way with a lead pipe.
They ignored us.
I wondered how Mike had talked his way into this place.
I didn’t ask. No percentage in it.
