“Good afternoon, Alston.” Fletch slid into a chair at the cafe table.
“Good afternoon,” Alston said. “I’m having a beer.”
“Enjoy.”
“Want a beer?” Fletch nodded. Alston signaled the waiter. “Two beers, please.” With the back of his hand, Alston then brushed a speck of lint off the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Fletch, I couldn’t help notice, as you scuffed along the sidewalk…”
“What?”
“Your suit.”
“I’ve been assigned to the society pages.”
Alston grinned. “Well, that’s a real to-hell-with-society suit.”
“It makes a statement, I think,” Fletch said. “Like dead ferns. Despair springs eternal.”
“I see you had a super morning, too. Did they finally get you for that headline you wrote?”
“Headline?”
“DOCTOR SAVES LIFE IN ACCIDENT?”
“They never noticed that one.” The waiter brought the beers. “Sometimes I think I’m the only one at the
“I have that headline hanging on my wall.”
“We must look at the bright side, Alston.”
“Yeah,” Alston said. “Barbara.”
“Barbara just chewed me out.”
“Oh.”
“This morning I was chewed out by the managing editor, Frank Jaffe, the
“In a suit like that—as much as you can be said to be
“Oh, yeah.” Fletch removed his coat and put it on the back of his chair. “I was also held up by a liquor store. Shot at.”
“Lots of people have been held up in a liquor store. Once, my uncle was in a hurry; you know, before the rabbits started nibbling his toes? And—”
“And I interviewed a nice, kooky lady who said she was someone apparently she isn’t.”
“You interviewed an impostor?”
“I guess.”
“Did you get anything interesting out of her?”
“I did have the feeling I was leading her, Alston.”
“I would think you would have to feed answers to an impostor,” Alston said. “To get any kind of a story.”
“What’s more, she got my clothes off me. Ran away with them.”
“All this happened just this morning?”
“And those sneakers were just getting comfortable.”
“Fletcher, are you sure you can make it outside the U.S. Marine Corps?”
“It’s hard, Alston, getting a start in life.”
Alston held up his beer. “To youth.”
“No one takes us young people seriously.”
“And we are serious.”
“We are indeed. Seriously serious.”
The waiter said, “Are you gentlemen ready to order now?”
“Yes,” Fletch said. “The usual.”
“Sir,” the waiter said with poised pen, “it may be usual to you, but whatever it is, is not usual to me.”
“You mean I have to tell you my order?”
“You could keep it to yourself, sir. That would cut down on my work.”
“I had it here just last week.”
“I’m pleased to see it was you who returned, sir, and not whatever it was you had for lunch.”
“This is Manolo’s, isn’t it?”
The waiter glanced at the name on the awning. “That much we’ve established.”
“A peanut-butter-and-sliced-banana sandwich with mayonnaise on pumpernickel,” Fletch said.
“Ah,” said the waiter. “That is memorable. How could we have forgotten?”
“You make it special for me.”
“I would hope so. And you, sir?”
“Liederkranz-and-celery sandwich on light rye,” Alston answered. “Just a soupgon of ketchup.”
“I beseech Thee, O God, that’s another special.”
The waiter went away, hurriedly.
“Even the damned waiter doesn’t take us seriously,” Fletch said.
“No one takes youth seriously. Maturity is too precious to be wasted on the old.”
“Aren’t we mature? Veterans. You’re a lawyer. I’m a journalist.”
“People still plunk us in the to-be-seen-and-not-heard category, though.”
“Could it be that we’re pretty?”
“In that suit, Fletcher, you dim daffodils.”
“I should think so.”
“This morning I got called into Haller’s office. Senior partner. Summoned. You see, I’m supposed to sit in on meetings, keeping my mouth shut, of course, and never, never laugh, let my jaw drop in shock, or stare too much.”
“Those the conditions of your employment?”
“You got it. I’m supposed to just listen. Pretend I’m not there. That way, I get to learn how grown-up lawyers work up their fees to the exorbitant, pay the rent for us lesser souls, and maintain their Mercedes.”
“Sounds edifyin’.”
“Educational. Also, of course, peons such as I are to be present at meetings so we can understand what research, leg work, is to be done on the case underfoot.”
“Don’t you mean, under consideration, or under advisement, or something?”
“Underfoot. So here’s a client, new to Habeck, Harrison and Haller—”
“Ha ha ha.”
“Excuse me? I haven’t finished yet.”
“I should have said,
“Probably. Whatever it is you’re saying.”
The waiter put their sandwiches in front of them. He said, “Here’s your fodder.”
“Yeah,” said Fletch. “Thanks, mudder.”
“Anyway,” continued Alston, while checking his ketchup and apparently finding it satisfactory. “This new client was interrupted Saturday night by the police while removing silver, stereo, and other glittery things from a home up at The Heights. The scandal, and the reason for this gentleman coming to Habeck, Harrison and Haller, is, you see, that the home, silver, stereo, and other glittery objects did not belong to him.”
“A burglar.”
“Well, someone in the front lines in the theft business.”
“Why wasn’t he in court this morning?”
“Came directly to us from court, having had the wisdom to ask for and get what will be, I’m sure, the first of many postponements.”
“He was out on bail.”
“Which modest amount he posted himself. His reason for doing so and rushing off, he told the court, was that he was obliged to take his fifteen-year-old dog to the dentist.”
