wire. That the Aussie lass wanted to meet me for a drink. They'd never see me again. I'd thought it all through. It was a lark, a chance, a lottery ticket.
But standing here, I knew I was done joshing. The scheming, the fantasies — I'd had my fun. Now it turned out, I had never been kidding at all. It no longer seemed that Martin or Wash or anyone else had driven me to this. Instead, I was back with Leotis: So much of life is will. I'd made my choice. And I had no idea where it was leading. It was like some scary sci-fi story about a skywalking astronaut who gets cut loose and can't be retrieved and just drifts off forever into endless space. At that instant, if Raimondo'd walked by, I'd have given him another of those funny-looking Luanite fifties just to touch his hand.
'We confirm a deposit, Tim's Boy. Five million, six hundred sixteen thousand, ninety-two dollars, US' Just like that. Boom. She didn't even say hello when she got back on the line. From where I stood in the phone booth, I looked out a mullioned window to a stout palm and a bed of flowering shrubs with fronds like spears. A gal in a bathing suit was scolding her child. The doorman lugged somebody's case, and a little native bird, maybe against every improbable chance the one I'd seen in George's office, hopped down the walk, skittering a few steps, as if it was hoping no one was catching up from behind. All of this — these things, these people, this little dumb creature — appeared to me as if they'd been etched on time, distinct as the facets of a diamond. My life, whatever it was, was different.
I started to speak, then started again.
'Can I give you a further transfer of funds, confirmed by
fax?'
That, she said, was fine. I read from my passbook. To Ziiricher Kreditbank, Filiale Pico Luan. I repeated the account number.
'How much?' she asked.
'Five million, US' I thought I was safer, leaving something in this account, enough that Fortune Trust would continue to feel I was a customer worth protecting from inevitable inquiries. Not that they would think twice about the whole thing. This happened all the time down here, money hopscotching across, the planet. Nobody asked why. They already knew. It was being hidden from someone. Tax collectors, creditors, a weaseling spouse. But I wanted a second transfer to cut off the trail. Jake would raise hell at the International Bank. They'd show him they'd sent the money to Fortune Trust at his instruction. But secret is secret and Fortune wouldn't be saying where the money went from there, or whose account it landed in in the first place.
I waited more than an hour to call Zuricher Kreditbank to confirm the second transfer. All was well. My money was safe in Swiss care. I was ready to go back to Brushy. I wished I could drink wine with her. I wanted to be in the grasp of her strong skillful hands. Checking my watch, I reassured myself there was time to make love again before our plane. She would ask where I'd been, what I'd done. She'd want to know every secret. But I wouldn't tell. She'd inquire about Pindling; her brain would be full of intrigue. She'd envision a character like Long John Silver, with a macaw on his shoulder and a hook for a hand. Let her imagine. Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies. I felt dangerous and elusive. Light-headed, light-fingered, amused. On the way out of the hotel I poked my head in the John again, just a quick little look-see, a peek in the mirror to find out who was there.
Tuesday, January 31
XXIII
A. Toots Plays for Us
At two on Tuesday, when Toots's disciplinary hearing was scheduled to resume, only Brushy and I were present for the defense. The members of the inquiry panel looked on dispassionately but I surmised from their weary disciplined air that they'd already heard more than enough. After they recommended disbarment, we had a right of appeal to the Courts Commission. Still, in less than a year, Toots's law license would be a relic, one more memento he could tack to his walls.
The old school housing BAD is the kind of structure whose starkness you don't notice until you remove the color and randomness of children. We were in a grim old classroom, with wood floors and walls of that shiny functional tile that resisted abrasion and ink pens. There was a distinct resonance when anyone scraped a chair or cleared his throat.
By ten after, I knew there was a serious problem. Across the long conference table where we were arrayed, Tom Woodhull questioned us about our absent client. The distinguished governmental functionary, enforcer of rules, man with cool white skin, no dark spots or bug bites, Tom had never cared much for me — my drinking, my moods, my occasional assertions that commingling client funds was not a crime on the level of treason. I had long suspected that he had held on to this file for the sheer personal pleasure of kicking my ass.
Brushy rooted in her purse and handed me a quarter.
'Better find him.'
Jesus Christ, I thought. Another one.
As I was on my way to the door, my client poked his head in. Toots was heaving for breath and he motioned me into the hallway.
'Got,' he said and repeated it many times. 'Got someone for you to meet.'
By the dusty stairway, hanging on to the square steel newel post was a rotund little fellow in the same condition as Toots, red as Christmas from exertion, breathing hard and spotted with sweat. Brushy had followed.
'You won't believe this,' Toots said. 'Tell them.' Toots motioned with the cane and again asked the man to tell us.
Taking a seat on a plain wooden bench in the hall, the man removed his topcoat. At that point I saw the Roman collar. He was a little guy, bald but for a white fringe and some fried-up strands growing straight out of his scalp.
He held out his hand. 'Father Michael Shea.'
Father Michael was Judge Dan Shea's younger brother, retired from a parish in Cleveland and attached to a friary there. He had come to town last week to visit relatives — Dan Shea's son, Brian, as a matter of fact, Father's nephew — and in conversation he had heard that Mr Nuccio here was still having trouble over that old business.
'I give Mr Nuccio a ring at once. I talked many a time to Daniel about this and he always told me he never knew a 'ting about any generosity from Mr Nuccio. The dues over there by the country club had just completely slipped his mind. I was skeptical, I am the first to say. Daniel was no angel and he confessed some terrible things to me, as a priest and as a brother. But he swore on Bridget's memory that there'd never been any kind of funny business between him and the Colonel. Never.' Father Shea absently touched the crucifix that he wore.
My partner and the love of my life, Ms Bruccia, absorbed this intently. Our fine tropical romance was now past. There was sand in our shoes and sweet feelings between us which we had nurtured at her apartment all night. But we were again in the cold Middle West, in the land where the subdued winter light, dull as pewter, makes some people crazy and where troubles abounded. She had a million concerns. Us. And all the stuff I wouldn't tell her. Groundhog Day approaching at the firm. But Brushy was now a trial lawyer ready for trial. In her own theater all the seats were sold to Toots, even the standing room. Her powers of concentration were phenomenal; great performers of all kinds, athletes, entertainers, share this single-mindedness. And when I assessed her now, I saw nothing subdued. Rather, there was glee, the flame of celebration. She was looking from Toots to Father Shea to me, about to win the case that everyone told her she'd lose, ready to prove to the world at large what every trial lawyer secretly yearns to establish, that she was not merely an advocate or a mouthpiece but a palpable magician.
Toots had finally recovered his breath and, if possible, looked happier than she did. His old stoved-in face danced around the fire.
