Kill All the Lawyers

wouldn't be a bunch of losers who always need help. And what a beau-ti-ful world it would be.'

Putting a tune to it. Then laughing, a deep rumble. Kreeger had gone a little gray around the temples since Steve had seen him last. But he looked remarkably healthy and fit. Wavy hair combed straight back revealed a widow's peak. A firm jawline that never even sagged when he looked down at his notes. No more than five-nine, he had a square, blocky build and seemed to have put meat on his chest and shoulders. Prison weight lifting, maybe.

'After a short break,' Kreeger said into the microphone, 'my seven tips for living the life of self-fulfillment. Tip number one. The word 'invincible' starts with 'I.' And I'll be right back.'

Kreeger hoisted his coffee cup and turned toward the window. He spotted Steve on the other side of the glass and smiled broadly. For an instant, the smile seemed genuine, a look of pleasant surprise at seeing an old friend. Then the corners of his mouth dropped a bit, as if Kreeger just remembered the old friend owed him money. A second after that, the smile turned chilly, a frozen mask.

'To what do I owe this honor?' Kreeger asked, waving Steve into the seat next to him.

'I came here to tell you just one thing: I'm not scared of you.'

'Why would you be?'

'If you come after me, I'll land on you like a ton of concrete.'

'That's two things, actually. You're not scared and you're a ton of concrete.'

'I'm not some stoned woman in a hot tub.'

'Not sure I know where you're going with that, Counselor. Are you saying you'd like to be a stoned woman in a hot tub? Some gender confusion issues?'

'What I'm saying, Kreeger, is I can handle myself.'

'Interesting choice of words. 'Handle myself.' Did you masturbate excessively as a child? Or do you now?'

'Fuck you, Kreeger.'

A mechanical beep came from the speaker mounted on the wall.

'Whoa, Nellie,' Kreeger laughed. 'Good thing we're on a seven-second delay.'

Confused, Steve looked toward the control room. A red light illuminated the words: 'On Air.'

Oh, shit. Is this going out on the airwaves?

Kreeger leaned close to the microphone. 'You're listening to Dr. Bill on WPYG, broadcasting live from South Miami, with our special guest, Steve-the-Shyster Solomon. Phone lines are open from Palm Beach to the Keys, from Marco Island to Bimini.'

Steve was halfway out of his seat when Kreeger punched a flashing button on his telephone. 'Jerry in Pinecrest, you're on the air.'

'Gotta question for the lawyer.'

'Shoot, Jerry,' Kreeger said. 'But don't make it too tough. It took Solomon four times to pass the bar exam.'

'Three,' Steve corrected him.

'What's the difference between a lawyer and a catfish?' Jerry asked.

'Aw, c'mon,' Steve said.

'One is a scum-sucking bottom feeder,' Jerry answered. 'The other is a fish.'

Kreeger bellowed as if Jerry in Pinecrest were the new Robin Williams.

'I said what I had to say.' Steve headed for the door.

Kreeger hit the cough button, silencing the mike. 'Stick around, Solomon. At the break, I got something good to tell you.'

Steve stood in place a second. Kreeger looked at a monitor and punched another button on the phone. 'Lou in Miramar, you're on with Dr. Bill.'

'I'm a big Hurricane baseball fan and I remember when Solomon played.'

'Hear that, Solomon?' Kreeger asked, motioning Steve back into his seat. 'You got a fan here. Obviously, he's never been a client.'

'What I remember best,' Lou in Miramar said, 'was Solomon getting picked off third base in the College World Series.'

Steve groaned.

Why did I come here, anyway? To show some toughness. To warn Kreeger off. And what do I get? Ridicule on talk radio, the cesspool of broadcasting.

'I was safe,' Steve protested, moving toward the microphone. 'Ump blew the call.'

'No surprise, Lou. When Solomon loses a case, he always blames the judge.' Kreeger punched another button. 'Lexy, on South Beach, you're on the line.'

Lexy? No. It can't be.

'Why don't you get off Stevie's case, anyway?' A young woman's whiny voice. Yep, Lexy.

Whatever you do, Lex, don't try to help.

'He's a terrific lawyer and he's cute, too.'

Kreeger flashed Steve a smile. It was the same smile a barracuda shows to a porkfish. 'So Solomon has represented you, has he?'

'He got me out of like a zillion dollars in parking tickets.'

'Traffic court. Now, that's Solomon's speed.'

'You don't understand, Doc. The tickets were all for parking in a handicapped zone. But Stevie found a chiropractor who said I had bulimia, so I got off.'

'Fabulous,' Kreeger enthused. 'With Solomon, the guilty go free and the innocent do six years in prison.' The psychiatrist lowered his voice, as if letting his listeners in on a secret. 'Now, friends, you won't believe this, but Steve-the-Shyster Solomon once sued a surfer for stealing another surfer's wave. And who says we don't need tort reform?'

'Surfers consider waves their property,' Steve said. But music was already coming up, and the board operator was pointing an index finger at Kreeger from the other side of the window.

'We'll be right back after this news update,' Kreeger said. The On Air sign went dark, and he slipped off his headset. 'That was great. We should take this on the road. The Shrink and the Shyster. Maybe get a syndication deal. Satellite radio within a year.'

Maybe his father was right, Steve thought. Maybe Kreeger just wanted a sidekick.

'I'm vox populi,' Kreeger continued. 'The voice of an aggrieved populace that hates lawyers. You keep playing the dunce.'

'I wasn't playing.'

A newsman's baritone voice came over a speaker. The stock market was up. The water table was down.

City fathers were shocked, shocked to discover that prostitution was rampant along Biscayne Boulevard. Kreeger turned a dial and lowered the volume a notch. 'You know, I really admire you, Solomon. What you did to me took balls.'

Steve stayed quiet.

'You're not curious how I found out?' Kreeger asked.

Steve took a long breath, said nothing. On the speakers, the news anchor was giving the fishing report. Mackerel were running. Snapper, on the other hand, were merely swimming.

'Right in the middle of my trial,' Kreeger continued, 'the State Attorney files a notice about a so-called similar incident. What's it called?'

'Williams Rule material,' Steve said. 'The state can introduce similar incidents from a defendant's past to show a pattern of conduct.'

'Yeah. Poor Jim Beshears drowns down in the Keys. And years later, wretched Nancy Lamm drowns in my hot tub. Kind of a stretch tying those two together, don't you think, Counselor?'

'Not when each person got hit on the head with a pole you happened to be holding. The judge thought the first incident was similar enough to be admissible.'

'My quibble's not with the judge, Solomon.'