Kill All the Lawyers

And he doesn't even know it.

He can hurt my feelings and put distance between us without even realizing what he's done.

As they passed through the dingy burg of Surfside, she shot a look at him. 'Steve, are you sure you really want to move in together?'

'Sure. Haven't we discussed this already?'

Shutting off discussion again.

'What are you saying? The court has ruled?'

'Still with that? I'm not ruling on anything. We made a mutual decision, and-'

'Face it, Steve. You're not ready for a real relationship.' Then she was silent again.

Steve figured the best way to get out of the personal relationship funk was to talk business. With Victoria staring straight ahead, he summarized his session with Kreeger. Back at the townhouse, Victoria had gotten so hung up on Amanda, he hadn't fully debriefed her. Now he told her about the doc's hypothetical admission that if he'd murdered Nancy Lamm, he did it only to protect someone else. And then the news that Steve's larcenous and drug-addled sister Janice, a shoo-in for Worst Mother of the Century, was a free woman, thanks to Kreeger's intervention.

'Kreeger tried to bait me about Janice. Said I'd kill my own sister if she was a threat to Bobby. You think that's what he wants? To set me up to kill Janice?'

No response.

'Or maybe he kills Janice and pins it on me. That would appeal to the freak.'

They passed the Eden Roc and the Fontainebleau, both undergoing major renovations, neither Frank Sinatra nor Sammy Davis, Jr., anywhere in sight. Traffic was backed up at the bridge leading to Arthur Godfrey Road, and Steve eased to a stop.

'What I can't figure,' Steve rambled on, 'is who was Kreeger supposedly protecting when he killed Nancy Lamm? He doesn't have any kids. Who's this mythical person who's analogous to Bobby?'

'What did Kreeger say, exactly?' Victoria asked, breaking her silence.

Great. She can't resist a mental challenge.

'Best I remember, he said, 'Who could blame you if you resorted to deadly force to protect an innocent child? To protect the one you love?' '

'He's talking about you and him both. You see that, right?'

'Sure, he's saying I would kill to protect Bobby. But who's his kid? Kreeger doesn't have any children.'

'Technically, neither do you.'

'I have a nephew I love, and Kreeger knows that.'

The light turned green and Victoria said: 'You really don't see it?'

'No. That's why I'm asking for your help.'

'If you'd stop looking for serpentine paths, you'd see how simple and straightforward it is.'

'Okay, already. Tell me before the Everglades disappear.'

'You're Bobby's uncle.'

'Yeah?'

'So who calls Kreeger 'Uncle Bill'?'

'Amanda!'

'She'd have been what, about thirteen when Nancy Lamm was killed. A child.'

Questions flashed through his mind, and he spoke them aloud. 'But why'd Amanda need protecting? Who is she, anyway? And is Kreeger even telling the truth?'

'I'm sure you'll figure it out, Steve.' She motioned toward the curb. 'Drop me off on Lincoln Road.'

'What! We're finally cracking this case here.'

'I need new shoes.'

'C'mon. This isn't about shoes. What's going on?'

'I choose to go shopping. Just the way you choose to reject a beautiful condo on Brickell and a beautiful townhouse in Bal Harbour.'

'So you're pissed at me? That's why you're buying shoes?'

'Let's just say the Jimmy Choos are on the other foot now.'

Twenty-One

A WOMAN'S RIGHT TO SHOES

Victoria didn't really need new shoes. What woman really needs hot pink Jimmy Choo strappies or black patent leather Dolce amp; Gabbanas? Or even gunmetal Via Spiga slides and a pair of beige snakeskin Miu Mius?

But need is a relative term, Victoria knew. Maybe she didn't require shoes the way she required oxygen. But just now, she needed to get away from Steve for a few hours to think. And trying on purple velvet Manolo Blahniks was free, even if the shoes themselves were not. She had no intention of buying something she couldn't afford, but just why the hell couldn't she afford them?

Was Jackie right? Was Steve holding her back? Jackie didn't put it that way, exactly. But isn't that what she'd meant?

After Steve dropped her off, Victoria began walking west along Lincoln Road, passing the shops and cafes. Tall, willowy young women sat with suntanned men, sipping lattes and whiling away the afternoon.

Who are these people? Don't they ever work?

The more she thought about the current state of her relationship with Steve, the more upset she became. Moving in together now seemed like an idiotic idea. Where would it lead? Steve hadn't even mentioned marriage. And was that even what she wanted? Could they get along over the long haul? Was love enough to carry a relationship? Didn't there have to be some commonality in personalities?

So many questions.

Her thoughts returned to the house they couldn't afford and the shoes that were ridiculously expensive.

Why shouldn't I be able to splurge on some wafery Italian footwear that costs nine hundred bucks?

She thought about it a minute. Wasn't there a constitutional right involved here? A Woman's Right to Shoes. Ha!

Her thoughts kept returning to Steve. Right now, he was so embroiled with Kreeger, he'd let the practice slide. The key in any law firm is to keep the faucets flowing. It's not enough to just work on the cases already in- house. You have to prime the pump, constantly bringing in new clients. And what was Steve, the self-appointed rainmaker, hustling up these days?

City of Coral Gables v. Fiore. Defending a homeowner who, having been ordered to cut his lawn, mowed 'FUCK YOU' into the three-foot-tall grass. Then there was the DUI case for the Zamboni driver at the Florida Panthers hockey games. And let's not forget Sheila and Max Minkin, suing their rabbi for showing up late to their wedding. Steve tried one of his old tricks with those two whiners.

He brings in a lousy case with obnoxious clients, then tries to palm it off on me.

She was so angry at Steve right now, she wished she knew one of Herbert's Yiddish curses. The one about having an onion grow in your navel. Yes, that would do quite nicely. Lacking that, she silently cursed her lover and partner in English, conjuring up the most wicked voodoo she knew:

Dearest Steve. May you have to spend the afternoon with Max and Sheila Minkin.

Then she said the hell with it and whipped out her American Express card. She was going to buy some damn shoes.