“Once the question’s answered, Your Honor, it’s going to fall right into the excited utterance exception of Section Ninety-point-eight-oh-three, subsection two.” Patterson cocked his head toward me. “You’re familiar with the statute, aren’t you, Jake?”

“I’ve rubbed up against it once or twice,” I said, turning toward the judge. “Anytime a lawyer’s got some hearsay, he thinks he can put an exclamation point on the statement and get it in. Your Honor, the statute’s only used for the truly exceptional statement made under stress-’He’s got a gun!’-that sort of thing.”

“Mr. Lassiter’s right,” Patterson conceded, “but we fit into the rule.”

“Only one way to find out,” the judge told us. “Bailiff, take out the jury.”

When the jurors had filed into their little room, H.T. Patterson asked the question again. With the jury out of earshot, the judge, Marvin the Mayen, and I all listened expectantly. At the defense table, Nicky Florio scowled.

“What did your husband say to you on the phone?”

“Peter was so excited. I could hear it in his voice. He was hyper, talking a mile a minute, saying he was in Mr. Florio’s den, and he didn’t have much time. Everybody else was at the pool. He had come into the house looking for a bathroom. At first, he was just looking around. Mr. Florio had all these alligator hides, mounted bonefish, boar heads, and other pretty disgusting trophies. Then Peter looked on Mr. Florio’s desk. He said he knew he shouldn’t, but couldn’t help himself.” Melinda Tupton cleared her throat and looked at the judge. “There was a document, he didn’t say exactly what, but he’d read it quickly and then called me, more excited than I’d ever known him. ‘ The condos are a cover!’ That’s what he kept saying, shouting really. ‘The condos, the shops, the town, it’s all a cover!’ He said it was a nightmare, worse than anything he had imagined. Those were his last words to me. ‘It’s a nightmare, worse than anything I had imagined.’”

I couldn’t have picked up my jaw from the floor with both hands, so I made up for lack of poise with excessive volume. “Outrageous, Your Honor! It’s still hearsay. I can’t cross-examine Mr. Tupton, so we’re left with this supposed excited utterance allegedly heard over the telephone about an unseen document not in evidence, a document obviously not related to the issue of my client’s alleged negligence in serving alcohol to an intoxicated guest. So the statement is hearsay on hearsay, and further, the statement is not relevant or material. It’s prejudicial and inflammatory. It’s…”

“Overruled. Bring in the jury.”

Story of my life. Little victories followed by a major squashing. So I got to listen to the story again. This time Mrs. Tupton dispensed a tear or two just as she said, “Those were his last words to me.”

“Where’s Gina?” I asked Nicky Florio while I packed my trial bags at the lunch recess. I wasn’t taking them anywhere, but I didn’t want to leave my notes on the defense table. Like newspaper reporters, lawyers can read upside down, and I didn’t need H.T. Patterson scanning my papers.

“Why, you miss her?”

There was an edge to his voice, and I didn’t like it. “I just like a wife to stand by her man. The old Tammy Wynette routine. It looks better for the jury. Besides, Gina makes a good appearance.”

“Oh, you noticed.”

We headed toward the elevators, fighting the crowd of lunchtime lawyers, hungry as a school of bluefish, pushy as…well, as a crowd of lawyers. “Hey, Nicky. What gives? Why you giving me grief?”

“Forget it. You know I hired you because Gina asked me to. Old times’ sake. Some guys wouldn’t have done it. They’d be jealous, threatened, that sort of thing. But a real man, Jake, a real man controls his emotions. You lose control, you make mistakes. You make mistakes, you get hurt. You with me?”

Or against me, my mind was asking.

“I think so,” I said.

The elevator doors opened, and we elbowed our way in. “Good. I’ve gotta keep my mind on business. Gondo and I are trying to get Cypress Estates off the ground, and I’m stuck in court all day listening to that little jackrabbit bad-mouth me.”

In the lobby, Marvin the Mayen and his friends were standing under a mural of the Spanish explorers making nice with the Calusa Indians. It is only one of many lies to be found in the courthouse. “ Nu, Jacob, how you doing, boychik?”

“I don’t know, Marvin. I think Patterson scored some points this morning.”

Marvin fingered the part on his toupee and seemed to think about it. “Window dressing. Just window dressing, Jacob. Nobody cares about the boids.”

In the cool, dark confines of Paul Flanigan’s Quarterdeck Lounge across the street from the courthouse, I munched a burger and drank three iced teas. No beer during trial. Florio sipped at his coffee, black. I can never understand guys who skip lunch. By noon, I could eat the animals mounted in Nicky Florio’s den.

“What about her story?” I asked. “What’d Tupton see in your den?”

“The fuck should I know?” Nicky straightened the knot on his flowery silk tie. “It’s the first time I heard about it.”

“What’d he mean about the condos being a cover?”

“Who knows? The guy was three sheets to the wind. Besides, like you said, what’s the relevance?”

“I’m not sure, yet. I just don’t like surprises, so it would help if you’d tell me everything you’ve got planned for Cypress Estates.”

“Look, Jake, I got certain business matters that are private, and I don’t go around broadcasting them until the time is right. In business, timing is everything. Capisce? ”

“I’m your lawyer.”

He gave me a look. “Yeah, so what?”

“So I owe you certain duties, confidentiality for one.”

“And loyalty, too. Isn’t that right, Jake?”

“Sure. It’s in the rules. A lawyer can’t engage in conflicts of interest.”

“Rules.” Nicky Florio’s smile was nearly a smirk.

“You don’t believe in them.”

“Only losers play by the rules, and you’re not a loser, Jake.”

“What are you saying?”

“The gods make their own rules. One of the old Romans said that.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Oh, I think you are. I don’t play by anyone else’s rules, Jake, and neither do you. If you did, you wouldn’t have your dick on the chopping block with the Bar Association. And you wouldn’t have conflicts of interest, would you?”

I stayed quiet. I thought I knew where he was going, but I wasn’t going to help him get there.

“The fact is, Jake, you and I are a lot alike. Hope that doesn’t insult you, Counselor, but it’s the truth. You don’t believe me, just ask Gina. A woman like Gina has great instincts. She knows men, Jake. She knows us better than we do.”

Chapter 8

Swallowing Golf Balls

There are few surprises in trials anymore, thanks to the discovery rules, a lawyer learns the other side’s case before trial. Your opponent must provide you with a witness list and copies of all exhibits. You can ask written questions under oath and require production of documents. You cross-examine all your opponent’s witnesses before ever setting foot in a courtroom. So, it’s not like Perry Mason. I have yet to see a bombshell witness fly through the courtroom doors to save the day. Never have I even heard of a member of the gallery standing up and proclaiming, “All right, I admit it, I killed Norby Frebish, and I’d do it again!”

Still, you must be quick on your feet. You may think you are fully prepared-a sturdy ship maintaining a steady course-but it never works quite that way. At best, you’re a rickety boat sliding down treacherous waves in a sea peppered with unseen mines. As in a stage play, you rehearse and rehearse. Unlike a play, in court, after the first

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