all that I’ve done for you, how did you repay me? You betrayed me.”
“ A small favor? Dan, without that evidence, Shawanda will be sentenced to death!”
“So?”
“What, she’s just a nigger?”
Dan laughed. “Oh, yeah, I’m a racist. My son grew up wanting to be Michael Jordan and my daughter’s in love with Tiger Woods…No, it’s the other way around, my daughter wanted to be Jordan and my son’s in love with Tiger. Anyway, I’d love to have both of them as clients. Because they’re rich. Because they pay their lawyers lots of money. Scotty, the color of law isn’t black-and-white, it’s green! The rule of law is money-money rules! Money makes the law and the law protects the money! And lawyers protect the people with money!”
Dan’s face was red and his neck veins were purple cords. He paused and gathered himself.
“Scotty, this firm is my life. I built it from nothing to the richest firm in town. No one makes what we make. No one! And no one’s gonna hurt this firm, not your hooker, not you, not anyone. I’ll run over anyone who gets in my way.”
“What about me, Dan? You gonna run over me, too?”
Dan sat down in his chair, reached over and buzzed his secretary, then looked back up at Scott and said, “I think I already have.”
Scott stood in the middle of the office, surrounded by Dan’s trophy heads. Their sad eyes seemed to look down on him, as if they were saying, We’ve saved a place up here for you. And now Scott knew how John Walker and the others had felt standing right here when Dan had fired them without warning. He had chuckled when another lawyer had shown him John’s ad in the TV guide-one day a successful lawyer in a big firm and the next day just another
shyster trying to sleaze out a living. Now his mind conjured up his own ad, situated between ones for a psychic and an escort service: CAR ACCIDENT? DIVORCE? BANKRUPTCY? CALL A. SCOTT FENNEY, ATTORNEY- AT-LAW. WE CARE. E-Z TERMS. SE HABLA ESPANOL.
This can’t be happening, not to me!
The door behind Scott opened and two of the three black Dibrell Tower security guards from downstairs were standing there, puzzled looks on their faces.
It was happening to him.
“Your personal belongings will be delivered to your house, Scott,” Dan said. “Firm policy.”
The game was over. Scott Fenney had lost. There was nothing more to do but to walk off the field. The guards parted and Scott walked down the corridors that he had so proudly strutted just days before, A. Scott Fenney, Esq., Tom Dibrell’s lawyer, wired on success. Yesterday, the other lawyers had greeted him like a star; today they averted their eyes as from a patient dying of AIDS. Dead lawyer walking. Scott Fenney’s legal career as he knew it was over.
He and his escorts walked down the staircase to the sixty-second floor and ran into Missy walking up, looking sexy in a tight knit dress. But she did not wink at Scott Fenney today; she did not act like they were on the brink of an affair; she acted like he had a contagious disease. They continued down to the landing, where Sue stood, holding out his briefcase and 9-iron. Before he reached her, Sid Greenberg walked up to Sue with a stack of documents.
“Sue, I’m putting these documents on your desk. Copy them and get them up to Dibrell ASAP. Put the originals in Scott’s…I mean, in my office.”
“Yes, Mr. Greenberg.”
“Sid?”
Sid spotted Scott and said, “Oh, hi, Scott. Sorry to hear the news. Good luck.”
“You’re taking my client, my secretary, my office? I taught you everything you know!”
“Yeah, Scott, you did. You taught me practicing law is just business. Nothing personal.”
“I wasn’t talking about me!”
Sid shrugged lamely and walked off. Scott turned to Sue, her hands extended toward him. Scott took his briefcase and 9-iron from her.
“Good-bye, Mr. Fenney.”
“That’s it? Good-bye? Eleven years you’ve been my secretary. Don’t you care?”
Sue got a look on her face he had never seen and she seemed to grow six inches.
“For eleven years I’ve fetched your dry cleaning and coffee, run your personal errands, paid your personal bills, shopped for gifts for your wife and child and clients, lied to clients for you…Did you care about me? About my life? You never once asked about my life. Do you know I have a handicapped child and that’s the only reason I’ve put up with you for all these years? Because I needed the money? You didn’t know and you didn’t care. Did you care when Mr. Walker got fired? No. Like every other lawyer here, you care only about yourself.”
Scott turned from this stranger standing on the marble floor in the lobby, talking to him like that in front of a gathering crowd. Followed by the two guards, he walked to the elevators and pushed the down button. The doors opened and they stepped in. One of the guards said, “What happened, Mr. Fenney?”
“I got fired.”
“’Cause of what you did, standing up for that girl?”
“Yeah.”
“I know where Mr. Ford parks his Mercedes down in the garage. You want I should flatten his tires?”
“Yeah.” Then Scott shook his head. “No.”
The doors started to shut, but at the last second a hand pushed in and the doors receded. Standing there was Sue. She said, “John Walker’s wife died last week.”
They stepped outside the store and Pajamae froze.
“Boo, there he is again.”
“Who?”
“The bald man in the black car.”
“Where?”
Pajamae motioned with her head to the parking lot. Boo turned that way, but Pajamae said, “Don’t look!”
They turned and faced the store window. In the Village, cars could park in slanted spots right at the sidewalk. Then there was a little one-way road for cars to drive around the center and then two more rows of parking in the middle of the open parking area. The bald man in the black car was parked there, maybe thirty feet away. Boo acted casual and kind of looked around at different things and finally got around to glancing at the bald man in the black car: he was staring straight at them. Boo turned away.
Pajamae was frantic. “Let’s run, Boo!”
Boo took Pajamae firmly by the arms. “No. Act normal. He can’t grab both of us, not here. He’s just trying to scare us.”
“Honey, it’s working!”
Boo started patting around her pockets.
“What are you doing?” Pajamae asked.
“I’m pretending I’m looking for something.” She threw up her hands and pointed inside the store. “Now I’m acting like I left something inside. Come on, we’ll go back in and I’ll call A. Scott. He’ll come for us.”
“He better get here fast.”
“He drives a Ferrari.”
They walked back inside and Boo went directly over to the same saleslady. “Ma’am, may I use a phone? It’s an emergency. I need to call my handsome father.”
Scott had always enjoyed the ride home at the end of each day, jumping into a $200,000 automobile, exiting the parking garage, saluting Osvaldo like the president saluting the Air Force One attendants, and pointing the Ferrari north toward Highland Park…Driving leisurely through the Uptown area just north of downtown where the singles commingled, young men and gorgeous girls, their heads swiveling his way as he passed by, envy written all over their faces, wondering what it must be like to be living a perfect life like the handsome man in the Ferrari…And finally entering the Town of Highland Park, where the kids are smart, their parents are successful, and everyone is safe and secure.
But today was different.
