PrivateSector

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

The first thing I did when I arrived at the firm was ask Elizabeth for the key to the ninth floor to make another visit to my pal Hal. His two assistants again had their asses parked at their desks, and were staring intently into their computer screens. Maybe they had X-rated videos in their hard drives, or something.

The same one who had spoken to me the day before looked up and said, “Yes?”

“I’m here to see Hal.”

“He’s not in yet.”

It was ten o’clock. I said, “When do you expect him?”

“He’s usually here at seven. Maybe he had a dentist appointment or something. But I’ll tell Hal you came by.”

His face was stuffed back in his terminal when I said, “Do that.”

I next went to visit Cy in his office. The partners’ suites were set up like Hal’s office, but with a paralegal or secretary parked out front, and considerably more elegant furnishings inside. Cy’s paralegal appeared to be about twenty-five, a great body and nice face, though a bit slutty-looking, if you want my personal opinion. I wondered if Cy was doing her, too, as she buzzed him and told me to go in.

Cy was seated in a leather lounge chair, leisurely sipping coffee and reading the Wall Street Journal. He carefully folded the paper in his lap and said, “Good morning, Sean.”

I explained that everything was going well, that I was back in everybody’s good graces, which brought a twisted smile to his lips, because I’d never been in anybody’s good graces. But Cy was too much the politician to point that out.

I said, “So what’s my next assignment?”

“It’s under discussion. I’m afraid Harold still has hard feelings. Actually, I’m afraid he’s thinking of notifying Tommy that the firm no longer wishes to participate in this program. That would mean you go back to the Army. I’m sorry. I might not be able to block it.”

“Boy, that would be a shame. I’m learning a lot.” I then said, “Tell me about Hal.”

“You already know he’s a bit of a jerk. But, Sean, he’s good at what he does.”

“Well, who does he work for?”

“Why?”

“In the event I stay, I think he’s still got a grudge, and I’m wondering what I’m in for here.”

“He works for Harold.”

“And did Bronson hire him?”

“He did.”

“Do you recall the circumstances?”

“The man before Hal was killed in an accident. It was very inconvenient for the firm and we were in desperate need of a replacement. Somebody recommended Hal.”

“Do you recall who?”

“Somebody at Morris Networks, I think.” He added, “Sean, I know you don’t like him, but he’s a hardworking son of a bitch. He rarely leaves before midnight. Same with his people. The associates appreciate that they’re always here to help when a hard drive crashes or they need instant administrative help.”

I said, “What about Sally?”

That question for some reason drew a funny look and he replied, “What about her?”

“Do any of the older partners remember her father?”

“A few. Melvin Sperling worked with him. Jimmy Martino, Jack Clatterman… maybe others. Why?”

“Do they remember her?”

“No. She wasn’t born till after her father moved on.”

I thought that over and asked, “Where’s her mother?”

“Is there a reason you’re asking?”

“We’re working together. I’d like to know more about her.”

He replied, “I don’t know where you’re going with this, but I’m certain I don’t like it.”

We stared at each other a moment, and then it hit me. I mean, wow. I said, “Jesus, Cy, you’re screwing her, too?”

“That’s none of your damned business.” Which is how veteran politicians say yes.

Well, it was suddenly an awkward conversation. And neither of us spoke for half a minute or so.

Until I said, “She’s less than half your age.”

“Who seduces women who are my age?”

Good point. And in any regard, lecturing Cy on sexual morality and discrimination was beyond a waste of time, so instead I asked, “Did Lisa catch you with her?”

He smiled, though it was a strained, uneasy one. “More or less.”

“Uh-huh.” The lecture he really needed to hear had to do with his tastes in women. I repeated, “Tell me about her mother.”

“Her mother?” He looked at the far wall and asked, “I told you her father committed suicide?”

“Yeah.”

“The police found him in the garage, hanging from a rafter. Her mother was in the bedroom. He shot her in the head before he killed himself.”

“That’s bad.”

“Yes…” He cracked a knuckle and added, “He left a will stipulating that his daughter would become a ward of the state. Under no conditions would she be given to his detested father to raise. Sally was two at the time. She grew up in orphanages and foster homes.”

Cy then asked, “Sean, what’s going on here? Why are you interested in Sally?”

“I just like to know who I’m working with.”

He toyed with his cufflink and stared at the wall. I let him draw his own conclusions. There’s an old saying that a wise man never gets between a man and his girlies. It can be hard to comply with when it’s a man like Cy who screws half the city. Yet it’s still sage advice.

I left him there and returned to my office. A secretary brought me a cup of espresso, I turned on the TV, and I waited.