Trial Junkies

Matt didn't pay much attention to celebrity gossip, but the last he'd heard, the poor guy was coming out of his second stint at rehab and was trying to revitalize a sagging career-a humbling experience for anyone. So maybe he should cut Hutch some slack, even if the guy had abandoned his friends the moment his star caught fire.

When it came down to it, Matt himself hadn't been all that communicative with the group over the years. Except for Andy. While most of them had stayed in Chicago, they had all moved on to their own careers, their own lives, marriages, divorces, kids…

Maybe the only reason they resented Hutch was because he was the most visible of them all. There was a time when you couldn't turn on the TV without seeing his face, or hearing about some new movie he had signed to star in.

Their reaction was a classic case of crabs in the bucket syndrome. They'd all seen Hutch climbing out and wanted to pull him back in. And when he finally broke free, they resented him for it.

Matt had seen it time and again at the Post. Just recently, Jim Kelsey, one of their top political reporters, started doing guest spots on CNN, and the rest of the staff almost went nuts with envy. Considered him a traitor.

But not Matt. He knew the newspaper business was a rotting carcass that hadn't yet been buried and he didn't begrudge Kelsey his success. Or Hutch, for that matter.

Why should he?

But he'd never say any of this to Andy. The entire dynamic of their friendship centered around the cynical put-down, an act they'd been perfecting since the moment they were thrown together in a dorm room in college. Jenny had quickly labeled them the Curmudgeon Twins, and it was a role they both enjoyed playing. So Matt figured that admitting to Andy that underneath the crust was a soft, doughy center, would probably crush the poor bastard.

And with this in mind, he dismissed all the nonsense he'd been thinking for the last few seconds and nodded toward Hutch, saying, 'Look at the guy. He even sits like an arrogant douche.'

Andy grinned. 'Probably the stick up his ass.'

Matt gave his friend an appreciative chuckle, then caught himself and remembered where they were and why they were here.

It wouldn't do to disrespect Jenny. She was one of the sweetest people he'd ever known.

He looked around at all the somber faces and saw that most of the old gang was present, including Monica Clawson, who had lost some weight but still had those glorious tits. Tom Brandt, who was teaching history at Circle, their alma mater-or the University of Illinois to virgin ears.

And, of course, Nadine and Hutch.

The only one missing was Ronnie. Matt had no idea what she was up to these days, no idea if she was even alive, but he was pretty sure he would've heard if anything bad had happened to her.

She and Jenny had never really gotten along-mostly because they had both been madly in love with Hutch. (What else was new?) But when Matt had talked to Nadine, Nadine had been pretty certain that Ronnie would show.

So where the hell was she?

Late, as usual.

Further proof that most people don't change.

— 4 -

You'd miss your own damn funeral.

It was a phrase her mother had pretty much worn out over the years. Just another one of the many cliches Mom liked to pull out of her butt in her never-ending quest to harass and belittle her only daughter.

But as the cab turned onto State Street and found itself stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, that cheerless, put-upon voice popped uninvited into Ronnie Baldacci's head, and she couldn't help but laugh.

She was about to miss a funeral, all right.

Not hers, but that was a mere technicality.

The driver heard the laugh and glanced at her in his rearview mirror as he gestured to the crush of cars in front of them. 'You think this is funny?'

'I think I'll get out here,' she told him, then tossed a ten dollar bill onto the front seat. The meter had already ticked past nine-fifty, so there wasn't much of a tip, but Ronnie wasn't exactly Donald Trump, either. She figured the guy was lucky to get that much out of her.

Before he could make any snide remarks, she slung her backpack over her shoulder, threw her door open and bolted up the street, hoping to cover the three remaining blocks to the cathedral in record time.

Ronnie had come straight from work and wasn't really dressed for the occasion. That fat bastard Raymond had refused to let her leave more than half an hour early, so she'd had just enough time to finish blow drying Mimi, Mrs. Bowman's nasty little poodle, before taking a quick pee and jumping into the cab.

She didn't think too many people would care that she was wearing only jeans, a V-neck and a hoodie, but if they did, screw 'em. The ones who mattered would understand. It was either this or not show up at all-and not showing up wasn't an option.

Ronnie was sweating and winded by the time she reached the front steps of St. Angela's, which led to a huge, ornate old ragstone structure that made her feel puny and insignificant. An insect at the mercy of the world around her.

But then most things made her feel that way. Her life was overwhelming in its insignificance, and she'd be lying if she said she'd never considered taking the express route into the great unknown.

When she read about what had happened to Jenny, she was shocked and mortified and saddened, but just a tiny bit envious, too. Not about the way she had died-nobody wanted that, for chrissakes-but the fact that Jenny no longer had to deal with the multitude of disappointments life had to offer the average human animal.

Problem was, even in her most self-destructive frame of mind, Ronnie had too many reasons not to follow through on the impulse to do herself in-not the least of which was that she was too much of a coward to do the deed. The idea of physical pain terrified her, and she couldn't see how it was possible to off yourself without it. Something she'd just as soon avoid.

But there was another, more compelling reason to stay alive. One she had spent the last several months fighting for.

One she would never stop fighting for.

Struggling to breathe, she glanced down at her chest and noticed her Canine Cuttery name badge was still pinned above her left breast. She had half a mind to toss it to the sidewalk and stomp it to a fine dust (while imagining it was Raymond's head), but she simply unclipped it and stuck it in her back pocket.

It would be safe enough there. She'd lost one already and that cheap bastard Raymond had told her he'd charge her for another replacement.

Jerk.

Jeez, Ronnie, get a grip. You keep carrying on like this, people are gonna think you're unhappy.

She laughed again and some nitwit in a business suit looked at her as if she were crazy. She stuck her tongue out at him, then sucked in a deep breath and hurried up the steps of the cathedral and went inside.

To her dismay, the Mass was already in full swing. The doors creaked loudly as they closed behind her and several heads swiveled in her direction. She glanced around and spotted Matt Isaacs gesturing for her to join him.

Quickly moving up the aisle, she squeezed in next to him and nodded to Andy McKenna as she sat down. She couldn't remember ever seeing the two of them apart. Especially back in college. If she didn't know they were both