left it to Citrone. The old man had gone about it all wrong. Got her license taken away. Leaked the twin story to the press. Like publicity would scare off a lawyer.
Surf slipped his shirt on and buttoned it up hastily. He couldn’t let Citrone and the others fuck this up. He couldn’t wait around for them to get it straight. He grabbed his gun holster off the doorknob, looped it around his shoulder, and buckled it on as he headed for the apartment door.
34
Lou Jacobs had done his share of scuba diving, so he figured he knew something about being dropped in the middle of a completely different world. He’d swum with stingrays off the Keys, hung with barracuda during a wreck-dive, and once eyeballed a green-and-black octopus fluttering on the sea floor. But he had never entered a world as foreign as this one; it was all women. There wasn’t another man in the joint, not even a messenger.
Lou gave his name to a receptionist with her hair in a tight braid, wondering if women could be as good lawyers as men. Sol Lubar, from the Thirty-seventh, had a woman lawyer for his divorce and she was a bitch on wheels. Lou should have had a lawyer that good when it came his turn. He’d lost the house, half his pension, and the friggin’ cat. And it was Laurie who cheated on him. Lou shook his head, still pissed off sixteen years later.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Jacobs?” the receptionist asked, unsmiling.
Lou thought she needed to loosen up. A joke, maybe. “Hey,” he said, “you know why divorce is so expensive?”
“Why?”
“Because it’s worth it.”
The receptionist didn’t smile, but Lou didn’t give up easy.
“Okay, you don’t like that one? Here’s another. What’s the difference between a lawyer and a prostitute?”
The receptionist blinked at him.
“A prostitute stops screwing you when you’re dead.”
The receptionist blanched. “That’s disgusting.”
It was his best joke. Lou thought it was funny as hell, but he decided to clam up and let the fish have the whole goddamn ocean. Later, when the receptionist told him Rosato was ready for him, he followed his nose to Rosato’s office, leaned in the doorway, and tried again. “Rosato. Stop me if you heard this one. What’s the difference between a lawyer and a prostitute?”
“A tax bracket?” Bennie said, looking up.
“No, but that’s good.”
“How about ‘nothing?’ ”
“Better.” Lou laughed gruffly. “That was a test. I guess I’m reporting for duty.”
“Wonderful!” Bennie eyed him, in his crisp navy-blue blazer, dark pants, and a white business shirt. The only dissonant note was a brown tie of shiny artificial fibers. “What is it with cops and ties?”
“What is it with women and hair?”
“What?”
Lou made a circle with his finger. “You changed your hair. Why do women do that?”
“To confuse cops.”
Lou’s eyes went flinty. “I’m here to take the job, Rosato, so don’t start with me. Bad enough you got a buncha hens up here.”
“They didn’t bite, did they?”
“No, but they didn’t laugh either. It’s a great joke, admit it.”
“I admit it.” Bennie smiled. “Now, let’s get started. Why don’t you sit down?”
“I like to stand up.” Lou folded his arms.
“Suit yourself. I’ll begin at the beginning.” Bennie gulped some coffee and briefed Lou on the case, holding back her suspicion that Della Porta may have been crooked. She wanted to follow up on that lead herself and didn’t know Lou well enough to trust him. In her experience, a cop’s sense of loyalty was even worse than an Italian’s. “You were a uniformed cop, right, Lou?”
“For forty years, until last year.”
“That’s quite a career. You just retired?”
“Yep, and hating every minute of it. That’s why I got the security job.”
“What was your district?”
“The Fourth.”
“That’s South Philly. So you’ve canvassed neighbors before.”
Lou smiled. “In my sleep.”
“Good.” Bennie sipped her coffee, which never seemed hot enough. “That’s your first assignment. I want you to meet Della Porta’s neighbors. Find out what they saw Connolly do that night. Get the details, too, like what Connolly was wearing. I want to know what they’ll say on the stand.”
“I know the drill.”
“Also, find out if any of them saw Connolly throw something in the Dumpster in the alley. That’s the D.A.’s story and not all of it jibes. For one thing, no gun turned up. If she was getting rid of evidence, why not dump the gun?”
“Nobody said bad guys were smart. They make stupid mistakes all the time.”
“Well, see what you can find out. I’ll give you a copy of the file. Read it before you go.”
“When you want this neighborhood survey done?”
“Right now. You got a bus to catch?”
Lou shrugged. “No.”
“Good.” Bennie stood up. “I have to get going, but I want to introduce you to the lawyer you’ll be working with. She’s only done one survey, but she’s one of my best young lawyers.” Bennie pressed the intercom button on her telephone. “DiNunzio?” she said into the receiver. “You busy?”
35
“Jesus!” Connolly said. She rose in astonishment on the other side of the Formica counter when Rosato banged into the interview room. “Look at you!”
“Tell me about it.”
“You look exactly like me! You haircut is the same, and that eye makeup!”
“I did it myself.”
“No shit.” Connolly burst into laughter.
“I’ll get better.” Bennie did a model’s spin-turn and came up smiling. With her new makeover, she felt giddily like an actress playing a role. That the role may actually have been the truth added a thrill Bennie couldn’t quite ignore. She shut the door behind her, locking the impostor in with the original and not being absolutely sure which was which.
“How’d you do that, overnight?”
“I got a new haircut and a bad attitude.” Bennie swung her briefcase onto the counter. She didn’t need Connolly’s verification to tell her the transformation had been successful. The prison guards had stared when they patted her down, undoubtedly primed by the newspaper coverage. “It’s all part of the master plan.”
“Which is?”
“We play twins, at trial,” she began, and briefed Connolly on the rationale. Connolly sat down, leaning forward over the counter as Bennie spoke, the story sounding better and better.
“It’s amazing,” Connolly said when Bennie had finished.
“It’s risky, though. You have to follow my rules or it’ll blow up in our faces. I control all communication about
