orgasm? You're killing me, honey. What did I do to deserve some chickie holding a grudge against me for ten whole years?'
'You told Nola her tits were too small,' Sherry said. 'When she wouldn't get implants, you dumped her.'
Nick scowled, his darkly tanned face shriveling like a prune. He looked at Wily for help; when none was forthcoming, he stared at Sammy, then at Valentine, who'd been busy scribbling notes on a pad. Finally, in desperation, he looked to Sherry Solomon.
'So?' he said.
'I heard you were the best lawyer in Las Vegas.' Nola's knees banged Felix Underman's polished mahogany desk as she pulled up a chair. 'That's what everyone says-'Mr. Underman is the best.' Not that I ever needed an attorney before. But now that I have been arrested, well, you were the first person I thought of.'
The legendary defense attorney said nothing, his eyes fixed on the attractive woman who'd buffaloed her way past the lobby guard and barged into his office unannounced. Normally, Underman avoided working on Saturdays in observance of the Sabbath, but he'd been in court all week and needed to catch up. He had a mind to show her the door, but her appearance intrigued him. This young lady looked innocent, and that was something he rarely encountered. He nodded for her to continue.
'Anyway, Mr. Underman-'
'Please, call me Felix,' he said.
'Sure, Mr. Underman.'
Underman frowned. There it was again. For thirty years, he'd practiced criminal law in Las Vegas and everyone in town had called him Felix. Then during a tricky triple-murder trial, he'd grown a goatee and the local newspaper started calling him Mister. The fact that Underman hated it didn't matter. It was who he had become, and he could do nothing to change it.
He watched Nola Briggs take a brown paper bag off the floor and drop it on his desk. She slid the bag toward him, and Underman obliged by opening it and peeking inside.
His breath grew short. Underman was a rich man, with a garage filled with fancy sports cars and a yacht in San Diego and a beach house in Acapulco, yet money still intrigued him. His father had toiled at two jobs all his life, running a synagogue and teaching elementary school, and had died with less money than was in Nola Briggs's paper bag.
'I'll give you ten grand if you'll just consider my case,' Nola said. 'I need help, Mr. Underman.'
Underman closed the paper bag and slid it to a neutral corner of his desk. Over the years, he'd gotten good at visually counting bills, as most of his clients paid him in cash. Nola's bag contained close to fifty thousand dollars.
'I would be happy to discuss your situation,' he replied. 'If I think I can help, we can then discuss my fee.'
'Oh, thank you, Mr. Underman, thank you,' she gushed. 'I've always heard you were a gentleman.'
'My upbringing,' he confessed. 'My father beat it into us with a stick. Now, why don't you start at the beginning.'
For the next twenty minutes, Underman let Nola talk. He had heard of her arrest through one of the snitches he employed on the Strip, as he made it his business to know who in Las Vegas was getting arrested, a tactic that allowed him to decide if he wanted a case well before it ever walked through his door. And Underman certainly wanted Nola's case. The crime she was being prosecuted for, called flashing or signaling, was difficult to prove, and the fact that the Acropolis had allowed her alleged accomplice to walk was the kind of hole he could drive a Mack truck through. Underman liked beating the casinos in court, as it was the only place he had an advantage over them.
An excellent witness, he decided when she was finished. Good teeth, soft voice, an engaging smile. Dealer of the month ten times. Perhaps, if he got the charges thrown out, he could convince her to file a libel suit against Nick Nicocropolis and take that little Greek Neanderthal to the cleaners.
'I need to ask you a few questions,' Underman said.
'Shoot.'
'Any previous disciplinary problems with the casino?'
'None,' Nola said proudly.
'Not one?'
'No sir.'
'How about the law?'
'Never. I've never even gotten a parking ticket.'
'Let me guess,' he said. 'You don't drive.'
Nola's face lit up, and Underman imagined the effect she was going to have on a jury. No record, a squeaky- clean past, and that wonderful smile. She was almost too perfect.
'Any problems with current or past employees?'
'Problems, no. Relationships, yes.'
'You had a relationship with someone at the hotel?'
'I dated Nick Nicocropolis ten years ago.'
Underman sat up very straight in his chair. He'd been divorced three times and knew that there was no greater wrath than a woman scorned. He gave his prospective client a hard look.
'And?' he asked.
'And nothing,' she said, lighting a cigarette. 'It lasted ten glorious days and then Nick dumped me. Later he offered me a job dealing twenty-one. I took it, thanked him, and went on with my life.'
'So you don't have an axe to grind with Nick?'
'I wasn't happy then,' she admitted. 'But it wasn't the first time I'd been dumped. I've been around the carnival a few times, Mr. Underman.'
'Haven't we all, Miss Briggs?'
'Please, call me Nola.'
'Of course. Nola, I'd like to take your case, but only under one condition.'
'Which is?'
'I want you to take a polygraph test. If you pass it, I'll petition the judge who arraigned you. I'll argue that the Acropolis has made a grievous error. In their zeal to nab Frank Fontaine, their security people assumed you were his accomplice, something that often occurs in cases like this. I feel confident the judge will dismiss the case.'
'I'll do it,' Nola said.
Underman smiled. In his experience, only people with nothing to hide were willing to let themselves be strapped to a polygraph and grilled. This was going to be too easy. Consulting his desk calendar, he said, 'Let's see. I have a deposition on Monday, an all-day meeting Tuesday. How about Wednesday morning?'
'I want to do it right now,' Nola replied.
'Miss Briggs-'
'It's Nola, Mr. Underman.'
Underman made a conciliatory gesture with his hands. 'I have other clients, Nola, some of whom are sitting in jail, awaiting my services. I can't let them down.'
Nola pulled her chair up, her knees again banging the desk. With trembling lips, she said, 'Forgive me for sounding presumptuous, but your other clients are nothing but scumbags and two-time losers who've probably spent the better part of their lives behind bars. They're bad people who need a man of integrity like you to defend them. Well, I'm different. I'm not a bad person. I'm an innocent victim who's being wronged by a system that allows a powerful person like Nick Nicocropolis to trample whoever he pleases. Nick's already hurt me once, Mr. Underman. Please, don't let him do it again.'
She was fighting back tears, and Underman found himself at a loss for words. He pushed a box of Kleenex her way and glanced at the bag of money. His poor father was probably rolling in his grave. When he looked back at Nola, she had regained her composure and was staring directly at him.
'Half now, the other if you get me off,' she said.
His breath grew short. She was offering him a fortune for a day's work. He counted to five so as not to appear greedy.
