Rough Justice

her shoulder and stepped cautiously out of the booth. She had some power shopping to do.

There was one good thing about selling your soul.

You got money for it.

* * *

The two associates skied south on Broad Street. Judy Carrier was in the lead and Mary DiNunzio followed in her tracks, two skinny ruts that refilled quickly with new-fallen snow. The blizzard had shifted into high gear and there was no traffic even though Broad usually served as the city's major traffic artery.

Mary could barely move in Judy's blue down parka and puffy bib overalls. Freezing snow blew into her mouth and stung her cheeks. She pulled Judy's scarf up to her nose, which was wet and drippy. So attractive. 'I can't ski, I'm Italian,' Mary shouted, shaky on the skis. Her toes were pinned to wood and her arms were stretched out at her sides. She felt like the Pillsbury Doughboy, crucified. In a freezer.

'What does being Italian have to do with it?' Judy called over her shoulder as she skied forward smoothly.

'Italians aren't made to do certain things.' Mary pushed her skis forward in an imitation of Judy's lunging slip- slide, but the most she could manage was a penguin's waddle.

'What things?' Judy shouted, and the wind carried her words backward.

'Things nobody should do in the first place. Climb mountains. Ride horses. Everything you do.'

'That's ridiculous!'

'Not everybody can do everything, Jude.'

'The exact opposite is true. Everybody can do everything!'

Mary gave up. Empowerment wasn't for everybody. Not Catholics, anyway. Mary struggled to slide her left ski forward, but there was an icy patch on the track and she fell over. 'Yiiiiii!'

'Use your poles!' Judy twisted around in time to see her friend flop sideways in slow motion. Mary had fallen three times in as many blocks. At this rate it would take them a week to get to the Twenty-fifth Street Bridge. It was hard going, harder than it had been when Judy was out before. The snow had gotten so deep it swallowed her thighs at points. If it weren't such a light, dry powder, it would have been like skiing in pea soup. 'You okay?'

'Fine. Great. Never better!' Mary was struggling to get up, but couldn't get her bearings. She was a bright cobalt lump, like one of the new blue M&M's, in the middle of the wide white boulevard. Snow drifted in mounds where the wind had whisked it and glistened in the streetlights like vanilla frosting on a birthday cake. Presiding over Broad Street was the lighted yellow clock tower on City Hall, a birthday candle burning gold. It read 9:30.

'Climb back up using your poles,' Judy called out. 'One-potato, two-potato.'

Mary got a death grip on her ski pole and hoisted herself upright, only tentatively vertical. She brushed off her ski pants and shoved her gloves into the loops on her poles. She felt cold and cranky. Snow flew in her teeth like gnats. She was miserable every minute and it was still better than being a lawyer.

'Westward ho!' Judy faced forward, planted the tips of her poles until they hit asphalt, and pushed off, covering several feet in the next few minutes. Mary bridged the gap between them halfway up the block, as they approached Washington Avenue and the bright neon lights of the University of the Arts.

'You think Marta's okay?' Mary called out.

'Hope so!' Judy had telephoned the office but there'd been no answer, so she'd left a message at the hotel. Maybe Marta had been in the bathroom or not answering the phone. Maybe the jury had come back with a question and Marta had been called to court. Or maybe something had happened with The Hulk. Judy worried that whatever Marta was involved in might be dangerous, but Judy wanted to get to the bottom of it, too. She hadn't represented a criminal defendant before and she hoped she hadn't started with one who was guilty. Judy had to know, for herself, whether Steere was a murderer. She speared the snow with her poles and pushed ahead into the storm.

* * *

'Hey,' said a voice Penny Jones recognized right off as Bobby Bogosian. Penny was so excited he popped forward in his recliner with a thump that felt like whiplash. Penny used to hang with Bogosian before Bogosian moved on to the big time. He was happy Bogosian was calling him after so many years, but he knew enough not to act it.

'Bobby,' Penny said, like they just hung up yesterday. He pinched out his joint and dropped it in the ashtray. An old TV flickered in the background, showing scene after scene of the blizzard. Penny had the volume on mute.

'Still boostin' cars?' Bobby asked.

'Yeh, sure. You know me.' Penny picked up nine cars a day and specialized in Jeeps. The money was okay except this winter. Hard to pop a Jeep under three feet of snow. On TV, the weatherman was sticking a yardstick in the shit and grinning like a moron. Friggin' snow. Every day, Penny was losing money. 'I got a new business, too.'

'Yeah, right.'

'A new business, for real.'

'You had a new business last time we talked. Those fuckin' machines, with the crane picks out the stuffed animals for a quarter.'

'That's over. This is a new new business. An expansion, like.'

Bogosian, at the other end of the line, shook his head. Couldn't believe he had had to call a little turd like Penny. Bobby couldn't raise Gyro, and Eddie was snowed in in the friggin' suburbs. He ended up with Penny only because he lived in the city and would have the right wheels. If he could see over the console. Fuckin' midget.

'Bobby, you there?'

'I'm here.'