meetings, always at odd hours at dark and inconspicuous places. Sarge wore his sunglasses. Grantham wore the same with a hat or cap of some sort. Cleve usually sat with them and watched the crowd.
Grantham arrived at Glenda’s a few minutes after six, and walked to a booth in the rear. There were three other customers. Glenda herself was frying eggs on a grill near the register. Cleve sat on a stool watching her.
They shook hands. A cup of coffee had been poured for Grantham.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said.
“No problem, my friend. Good to see you.” Sarge had a raspy voice that was difficult to suppress with a whisper. No one was listening.
Grantham gulped coffee. “Busy week at the White House.”
“You could say that. Lot of excitement. Lot of happiness.”
“You don’t say.” Grantham could not take notes at these meetings. It would be too obvious, Sarge said when he laid the ground rules.
“Yes. The President and his boys were elated with the news of Justice Rosenberg. This made them very happy.”
“What about Justice Jensen?”
“Well, as you noticed, the President attended the memorial service, but did not speak. He had planned to give a eulogy, but backed out because he would have been saying nice things about a gay fella.”
“Who wrote the eulogy?”
“The speechwriters. Mainly Mabry. Worked on it all day Thursday, then he backed out.”
“He also went to Rosenberg’s service.”
“Yes, he did. But he didn’t want to. Said he’d rather go to hell for a day. But in the end, he chickened out and went anyway. He’s quite happy Rosenberg was murdered. There was almost a festive mood around the place Wednesday. Fate has dealt him a wonderful hand. He now gets to restructure the Court, and he’s very excited about this.”
Grantham listened hard. Sarge continued.
“There’s a short list of nominees. The original had twenty or so names, then it was cut to eight.”
“Who did the cutting?”
“Who do you think? The President and Fletcher Coal. They’re terrified of leaks at this point. Evidently the list is nothing but young conservative judges, most of whom are obscure.”
“Any names?”
“Just two. A certain man named Pryce from Idaho, and one named MacLawrence from Vermont. That’s all I know about names. I think they are both federal judges. Nothing more on this.”
“What about the investigation?”
“I haven’t heard much, but as usual I’ll keep my ears open. There doesn’t appear to be much going on.”
“Anything else?”
“No. When will you run it?”
“In the morning.”
“It’ll be fun.”
“Thanks, Sarge.”
The sun was up now and the cafe was noisier. Cleve strolled over and sat next to his father. “You guys about finished?”
“We are,” Sarge said.
Cleve glanced around. “I think we need to leave. Grantham goes first, I’ll follow, then Pop here can stay as long as he wants.”
“Mighty nice of you,” Sarge said.
“Thanks, fellas,” Grantham said as he headed for the door.
Verheek was late as usual. In the twenty-three-year history of their friendship, he had never been on time, and it was never a matter of being only a few minutes late. He had no concept of time and wasn’t bothered with it. He wore a watch but never looked at it. Late for Verheek meant at least an hour, sometimes two, especially when the person kept waiting was a friend who expected him to be late and would forgive him.
So Callahan sat for an hour in the bar, which suited him just fine. After eight hours of scholarly debate, he despised the Constitution and those who taught it. He needed Chivas in his veins, and after two doubles on the rocks he was feeling better. He watched himself in the mirror behind the rows of liquor, and in the distance over his shoulder he watched and waited for Gavin Verheek. Small wonder his friend couldn’t cut it in private practice, where life depended upon the clock.
When the third double was served, an hour and eleven minutes after 7 P.M., Verheek strolled to the bar and ordered a Moosehead.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said as they shook hands. “I knew you’d appreciate the extra time alone with your Chivas.”
“You look tired,” Callahan said as he inspected him. Old and tired. Verheek was aging badly and gaining weight. His forehead had grown an inch since their last visit, and his pale skin highlighted the heavy circles under his eyes. “How much do you weigh?”
“None of your business,” he said, gulping the beer. “Where’s our table?”
“It’s reserved for eight-thirty. I figured you would be at least ninety minutes late.”
“Then I’m early.”
“You could say that. Did you come from work?”
“I live at work now. The Director wants no less than a hundred hours a week until something breaks. I told my wife I’d be home for Christmas.”
“How is she?”
“Fine. A very patient lady. We get along much better when I live at the office.” She was wife number three in seventeen years.
“I’d like to meet her.”
“No, you wouldn’t. I married the first two for sex and they enjoyed it so much they shared it with others. I married this one for money and she’s not much to look at. You wouldn’t be impressed.” He emptied the bottle. “I doubt if I can hang on until she dies.”
“How old is she?”
“Don’t ask. I really love her, you know. Honest. But after two years I now realize we have nothing in common but an acute awareness of the stock market.” He looked at the bartender. “Another beer, please.”
Callahan chuckled and sipped his drink. “How much is she worth?”
“Not nearly as much as I thought. I’m not sure really. Somewhere around five million, I think. She cleaned out husbands one and two, and I think she was attracted to me for the challenge of marrying just an average joe. That, and the sex is great, she said. They all say that, you know.”
“You always picked losers, Gavin, even in law school. You’re attracted to neurotic and depressed women.”
“And they’re attracted to me.” He turned the bottle up and drained half of it. “Why do we always eat in this place?”
“I don’t know. It’s sort of traditional. It brings back fond memories of law school.”
“We hated law school, Thomas. Everyone hates law school. Everyone hates lawyers.”
“You’re in a fine mood.”
“Sorry. I’ve slept six hours since they found the bodies. The Director screams at me at least five times a day. I scream at everybody under me. It’s one big brawl over there.”
“Drink up, big boy. Our table’s ready. Let’s drink and eat and talk, and try to enjoy these few hours together.”
“I love you more than my wife, Thomas. Do you know that?”
“That’s not saying much.”
“You’re right.”
