CHAPTER 7

Who’s doing whom?

REILLY was on. The whites of his green eyes weren’t too red today, his clothes were neatly pressed, shoes shined, tie knotted perfectly. He wore cologne that hinted of scarf-draped women in exotic lands. In the secretarial bullpen, six young ladies leaned over the cubicle walls, all breasts and teeth. Five others stalled en route to urgent meetings.

Reilly said, “A guy phones a law office, says, ‘I wanna speak to my lawyer.’ The receptionist tells him, ‘I'm sorry but he died last week.’ Next day he phones again, asks the same question. The receptionist says, ‘I told you yesterday, he died last week.’ Next day, the guy calls again and asks to speak to his lawyer. By this time the receptionist is getting annoyed and says, ‘I keep telling you that your lawyer died last week. Why do you keep calling?’ The guy says, ‘Because I just love hearing it.’”

As the ladies laughed and repeated the punch line, Reilly searched the room.

Behind him, she said, “Looking for someone?” 

Reilly smiled, turning around. “Good morning.” 

Victoria wore glasses today, giving the impression of a studious Playboy centerfold. “Good morning to you, funny man. Don’t forget, you’ve got to run down that depo before the meeting with Harry.” 

“Don’t worry Sweden. I’ll be right behind you and let me say, it’s not a bad place to be.”

“Hey, Reilly.” Missy broke in, touching Reilly’s arm. “Do you have it?”

Reilly reached in his pocket and pulled out a small square of paper. He passed it to Missy, his eyes still on Sweden.

Missy snatched it. “You’re the best!” She took off to the break room, waving the paper. “I’ve got Reilly’s top ten!”

Sweden raised her brow. “They all love you, don’t they?”

Reilly said, “I don’t know. Do they?”

Sweden shrugged, then pushed up her glasses and walked away, feeling Reilly’s eyes on her back.

Across town in Paris Kendrick’s penthouse, Ted Montgomery felt obligated to ask, “How long will Arnold be gone this time?’ 

Paris rolled onto her side, propping her newly tightened face on her chemically treated hand. “The usual. Three weeks. He’ll be back just in time for the Van Gogh opening. Are you taking Alice?”

“Oh hell, probably. She hired a house manager last month, and already this broad has us committing to every damn invitation that comes along. Alice says we need to be seen at more charity and social events. Some crap about the firm’s importance to the community, and our commitment to mankind.” Ted tugged gently on the silk sheet covering Paris, drawing it down across her surgically enhanced forty-something breasts, past her lipo-suctioned abdomen, all the way down to her carotene-lotioned pseudo-tanned thighs of steel.

“Umm-hmm. Now that’s what I call mankind.” 

Paris giggled as Ted buried his face in her breasts.

Deluca primped at the mirror, speaking into his headset. “Mariel, I swear, I’ll be there. You know how it is with these high profile cases, if they call at the last minute, I have to go. Why don’t you meet me at Le Bec Fin? The press will be there and you can show off your new stones.” He walked to the couch and lay back on the cushions. “So, baby? What are you wearing, now?”

“Chuck! I’m out of here!” Gina slipped into her sandals, while pulling bobby pins out of her loose bun.

“Okay, Boss.” Chuck poked his head through the order window. “Anything else you need done before the lunch rush?”

“No, I think we’re good. Susie should be here in ten minutes. Table eight’s already paid. He can sit there as long as he wants.” Gina shook out her hair and smoothed the front of her dress. “How do I look?”

“You look great. You got a date or something?”

“Hi’s coming around. He’s taking me to the zoo.”

“Tell that guy, Chuck said to watch his manners. He’s in the company of a lady. And besides, if he pulls any crap on you, I’ll be happy to bust his fuckin’ nose again.”

“Aw, Chuck. What would I do without you?’ Gina blew him a kiss from the door, bells jingling behind her as it slapped shut.

The air was heavy and warm. A slight breeze from the south served only to stir up the downtown smells—Chinese food from Huy Fong’s, pitch tar from the roofing job at Starbucks, bus exhaust, bad cigars. Gina kicked a few cigarette butts over the curb, checked the street traffic and began to pace. She had always been a pacer. It helped her think. That and a long hot shower. 

Her Grandmother used to say, “Gina Lee, if we had an eight-foot shower and a ninety-gallon water heater, you could solve all the world’s problems.” God, she missed her Nana. 

“Excuse me, Miss?”

Reilly held an old street atlas and a piece of paper with an address. “Could you tell me where the One Hour Dry Cleaner is? It’s supposed to be Fifth and—”

“Yeah, they moved last month. Ernie lost his lease; he’s over by the bookstore now.” Gina pointed, “Go two blocks down and turn right at McNally’s.”

Reilly saw her do something with her arm, but he was really watching her face. She had the most amazing lips. “Uh, thanks. I appreciate it.” He stood there, staring. 

She smiled, so he asked, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? I mean, to thank you for your help.” 

Still smiling, she cocked her head.

“I’m Reilly.” He extended his hand. “Kenneth Reilly.”

“How do you do.” She grasped his hand firmly. “Mr. Reilly, I’m Gina. That’s my place.” Her eyes motioned to the diner. 

His followed to the neon sign flickering, “Nana’s.” 

She said, “I’m all coffee-ed out for the moment, but thank you for the offer. Could I have my hand back now?” 

“Oh, sorry.” Reilly released his grip. “Maybe some other time, then?”

“Some other time, then.”

A shiny Impala pulled up to the curb, rattling to a stop with Sinatra singing, “Luck be a Lady Tonight.” A well-groomed Hiram Berger leaned over the roof of the car. He held a long-stemmed rose in his teeth. Gina laughed. She waved to Reilly as they pulled away. 

He watched for a long time, until the Impala was lost in a sea of cars headed to the highway.

Banning signed the last page of a thick document then hit the intercom. “Helen, see if Deluca’s around. I need to borrow Jeremy.”

Helen picked up the phone wishing she could borrow Jeremy, too. 

DeLuca’s henchman, Jeremy Strom, was revered at MDB&S. He was the stuff tall tales were made of—six-four, two-ninety, with thighs like tree trunks, biceps like bowling balls, and an oak barrel chest—he was an anatomical masterpiece. And when God made Jeremy, he didn’t stop at his body. He gave him large cornflower blue eyes, high Nordic cheekbones, and a perfect smile. Like the hero on the cover of a romance novel, Jeremy Strom was beautiful.

“So, you’re really going to do it?’ Helen asked from the doorway. 

“I’m really going to do it. I should have done this years ago. Tell me again, Helen, how did I get here?’ Banning looked around his plush office.

She smiled. “You cared, Mr. Banning. You got here because you cared what happened to the guy without the means for proper representation. You got here because everyone knew you deserved it. You got here because you were good and you were honest, and everyone knows that what you give is what you get.”

“Yeah.” Banning stood. “That’s right. That’s it exactly, Helen. What you give is what you get. The universal truth of man’s existence. The ultimate karmic experience. So what happened? Here I am becoming the system, succumbing to all I had rallied against for so long, contaminating my mind with the pollutants of a material world.” 

He walked over to the window then looked back at Helen. “This isn’t just a mid-life crisis, is it?”

She shook her head. “Afraid not.”

He stared out the window then walked back to his desk and picked up the divorce papers.

Harry James Scott had been holding his own at the meeting for almost an hour. When Reilly burst through the door, all sweaty and apologetic, Harry was ready to kick him off the case. But in seconds, Reilly had the rap stars laughing. Harry sat down. 

Keeping the press away from this story was going to be very difficult. Philadelphia loved their bad boy rappers when they brought money and fame to the city but tended to slap them publicly when they brought shame and disgrace. Seems Mikey-Mike and his sidekick were more than just close friends—and someone had the video tape. This could seriously hamper CD sales. Reilly found a great deal of humor in the predicament, especially when he heard the part about the cleaning woman and the king snake. “Speaking of sex—”

“Yo mans! What you talking about? We was doing some rolfing, see? It wasn’t no sex, homes.” Mikey-Mike adjusted his formidable girth over his diamond-studded belt.

“Yeah, man. It’s like this European thing for your proper ‘linement of the physical body, see?’ Mini-Mike added.

“Oh yeah, right. Hey did you hear about those lawyers, Tom and Joe? They’re talking one day and Joe says, ‘Last night I took the new intern out. We had dinner then I took her home and we had sex. Man, I'm glad we did cause she is a lot better than my wife.’” 

The rappers laughed and punched each other in the arm. 

Reilly continued, “The next day Tom says to Joe, ‘You know what? Last night I took the new intern out. We had dinner then we went to my house and we had sex. I disagree with you, man. Your wife is a lot better.’”

Mini-Mike burst out laughing. 

Mikey-Mike joined him. “You are one funny motherfucker, white-boy. You got any good black jokes, some I can tell my friends? Hey, Money? What do you think?”

Maurice “Money” Jones turned around, phones on each ear. He said, “Let me call you right back,” into one of them, then clicked off both calls with his thumbs. “Good thinking, Mikey. Let the public see you as the funny guy you are. That might be just the thing... considering the circumstances.” 

He tipped his chin to Reilly. “Call my office, we’ll work out the details.” He looked at Harry. “Back to what you were saying, I agree. Get a dollar amount on that videotape and get it back. Whatever it takes.” 

Money turned to Mikey-Mike and Mini-Mike, who were holding hands underneath the table. “C’mon, boys. I’m going to find you some lady friends.”

In the break room, Deluca read Reilly’s list posted above the water dispenser. “Top Ten Things to Never Say in a Law Office.” Number ten: Can I see your briefs?

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Sailor said.

Deluca turned to the voice. How had he missed this babe? And she was coming on to him. Oh, yeah.

He took a step back. She stepped into the space, extending her hand. “Sailor Jane Beaumont. Although I believe we have already met, Mr. Deluca.” 

“Really?’ He racked his brain. Come on Eddie, you’re losing it. “So, where does the name ‘Sailor’ come from?” 

“My Dad. He loves the sea. It’s very symbolic, don’t you think?”

Symbolic? “Oh, absolutely. It’s also very wet.” 

Sailor was trying to decide whether to slap him or laugh in his face, when he snapped his fingers and said, “Oh, right—the elevator. You’re the intern.” He grinned. “So, do you want to have dinner sometime?”

Ray waited his turn for the phone. He played by their rules. He’d seen his advisor, slipped the CO a few bills, and even traded some real cigarettes to Mama “Frederico” Bell to buy ten minutes. As an added measure, Ray promised to write Plump Daddy’s parole board a letter in exchange for protection. He was straight-up. He was next.

Outgoing calls from the prison were always collect and charged an enormous rate. The surcharge would put a damper on a rich man’s income. No wonder their mamas told them, “Don’t you call me from prison, boy!” They had to pay the rent.

The cons watched whom they called and what they said. With a restricted list for each inmate, the guards listened in and could cut you off at anytime. Ray had only five numbers on his list. Two were for his attorney. He tried the first. After a series of rings, the tone was replaced by a computerized voice stating the number had been changed, and for a mere ninety cents he would be automatically connected to the new number. Ray stayed on the line. When the call went through, he had to wait for the collect call acceptance, and finally got a human voice. She sounded real pretty, too.

Reilly walked the Mikes and Money to the elevator and said good-bye with a complicated hand slap, snap-clap combination that impressed Missy. She watched from her seat behind the reception desk thinking, it’s going to quiet around here when he goes back to school. 

Reilly caught the look and smiled. He was about to say something clever, something like, Hey there beautiful, where have you been all my life? Or something poetic like, the sunbeam on the north shore whispers your name. Or something smart... when the phone rang and Missy answered it saying, “Montgomery, DeLuca, Banning and Scott. How may I direct your call?” 

“What did you say? Where’s Denise? I’m looking for Mr. Herring. He’s my attorney.”

“I am sorry, sir. Mr. Herring is indisposed. Would you like to speak with Mr. Banning?”

“Mr. Banning? Who the hell is that? No, I need to speak to Mr. Herring—about my case. He’s my attorney.”

“Sir, Mr. Herring is unavailable to speak to anyone.”

“What? Is he in a meeting? You tell him Ray Bentley’s on the phone. That son of bitch hasn’t come to see me in three months!” 

“Sir,” Missy lowered her voice, “Mr. Herring won’t be coming to see anyone. He is deceased. Montgomery, DeLuca, Banning and Scott took over the offices of Herring and Son. All the casework’s been transferred here. I can connect you to Mr. Banning’s office. He’s in charge of Herring’s cases.”

“Deceased?’ Ray said.

This might have been funny if Ray wasn’t calling from Graterford Prison. This might have been humorous if Ray Bentley wasn’t serving a life sentence for a crime he didn’t commit. Ray rolled his eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “He’s dead? My attorney died and no one said a goddamn thing? What about Denise? Is she there?”

“No, she’s gone, too.”

“What? She died, too?”

“No sir. I believe Miss Brody is alive and well.”

Ray pulled the phone from his ear. He was tempted to smash it back onto the hook and call it a day. Motherfuckers! 

Mama Bell looked at her watch, and folded her huge arms over her broad flat chest. Ray exhaled loudly, brought the phone back to his ear.

Missy said, “Sir? Sir? Shall I transfer you now?”

“Yeah, sure. Transfer me.”

Reilly heard the whole thing. He watched Missy send the call to Helen at Banning’s office and checked his watch. It was late. They might talk to the guy, but they wouldn’t request the files, not until Monday. If then… The law moved at a sloth’s pace.

Reilly said, “Poor guy. His attorney died and no one told him?”

“Worse than that, the guy’s calling from prison.”

Reilly’s curiosity peaked, “What did you say his name was?”

Missy smiled. “I didn’t.”

“Come on, Missy.” Reilly flashed her a grin and reached for her hand.

Missy looked at his hand on hers. She smiled back and leaned forward whispering, “Ray Bentley.” When the phone rang she tipped her head toward the elevator and told him, “The Herring files are in the basement. Good luck.”