Rough Weather

16

Neither Quirk nor Belson had had any contact with Heidi Bradshaw. In fact, Belson claimed not to know who she was.

“For crissake, Frank,” I said. “That’s like not knowing who Jackie Onassis was.”

“Who?” Belson said.

I think he was kidding.

I sat for a while with my feet up on my desk. Someone like Heidi would probably ask her lawyer. Her lawyers probably weren’t the kind who would know about the likes of me. So they’d call someone. Probably a criminal lawyer. The best one in this part of the country was Rita Fiore. I called her.

“You know who Heidi Bradshaw is?” I said.

“Of course.”

“She or anyone representing her get in touch with you and ask for a superhero?”

“As an attorney at law,” Rita said, “I am bound by the ethics of my profession to reveal nothing to you without at least extracting lunch.”

“I like a person with standards,” I said. “Grill 23 in an hour?”

“Upstairs,” she said. “It’s more intimate.”

“Intimate,” I said.

I got there first, climbed the curving staircase, and was at a table for four in a quiet corner, drinking iced tea, when Rita showed up. She might not have quite equaled Susan for gorgeous, but she was certainly as noticeable. A lot of thick auburn hair, some sort of close-fitting green outfit with a skirt that stopped above the knees, and boots that stopped below them.

Close-fitting is not always good news with lawyers, but Rita was quite precisely designed for it. She had large sunglasses pushed up onto her head, and was carrying a purse that would work as a hammock for Pygmies. She put the purse on an empty chair and sat down next to me. She leaned over and kissed me carefully, not messing up her lip gloss.

“My calendar is clear for the afternoon,” she said. “Shall we order champagne?”

“Between husbands?” I said.

“Even if I weren’t,” she said.

“Tea’s good for you,” I said.

“That’s what they said about spinach,” Rita said.

When the waiter arrived she ordered a champagne cocktail.

“So did you recommend my services to anyone?” I said.

“When I was a prosecutor,” she said, “in Norfolk County, I knew a guy in the same office named Jimmy Gabriel. He’s now the managing partner in the firm of Gabriel and Whitcomb in New Bedford.”

The waiter brought Rita her cocktail. She sampled it, looked pleased, and put it down.

“He called me and said that Heidi Bradshaw was looking for a smart, tough, presentable guy to be with her for a three-day wedding weekend. Tough and presentable, you were an easy choice,” Rita said. “I choked a little on smart but couldn’t think of anybody else.”

“He say why she wanted me?”

“No. I warned him that I had been trying for about twenty years to get you to spend a three-day weekend with me, but that you were the functional equivalent of married. He said that Heidi’s interests weren’t sexual.”

“Damn,” I said.

“Yeah,” Rita said, “I know. It’s disappointing to hear, isn’t it?”

“What kind of a firm is Gabriel and Whitcomb?” I said.

“One that specializes in clients who can afford them,” Rita said.

“In New Bedford?” I said.

“Not a wealthy city, but there’s money along the south coast.”

“I could see that,” I said. “And you didn’t want to give me a heads-up?”

Rita shook her head. She had picked up her glass again and was looking at me over it.

“I wanted you to say yea or nay on its own merits. I know you. You believe in favors. If you thought I wanted you to do it, or needed you to do it, you’d do it.”

I nodded. Rita sipped her champagne cocktail. Then she put it down and leaned her forearms on the table and looked at me for a long moment.

“You were there, I assume, when the ball went up,” she said.

“Yep.”

“What did you do?” Rita said.

“Mostly I wandered around in the hurricane like Lear on the heath,” I said.

“Change places and handy dandy,” Rita said.

“Which is the justice,” I said, “which is the thief?”

“Think we got the quotes right?”

“Close enough,” I said.

“Was Susan there?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ll bet your heath wandering was in her interest,” Rita said.

“You think?” I said.

“You are as predictable as sunrise.”

“Or sunset,” I said.

“I’m a glass-half-full girl,” Rita said. “Even though you have rejected me for twenty years.”

“It hasn’t been easy,” I said.

“That’s comforting,” Rita said.

She opened her menu.

“They have the best meatloaf in the known universe,” I said.

“For lunch?” Rita said.

“Sometimes.”

“A nice salad will do for me,” she said. “Criminal defense lawyers shouldn’t have a fat ass.”

“You seem in little danger,” I said.

“How would you know?” she said.

“I pay close attention to such matters,” I said.

“Not close enough,” she said.

“Well, I have a lot of eyewitness testimony to support my position,” I said.

Rita giggled, which was always fun to see.

“Oh, fuck you,” she said.

“Or not,” I said.

She giggled again.

“How long have we been dancing this dance?” Rita said.

“More than twenty years,” I said.

“And I’ve never gotten you into bed,” she said.

“Not many men can claim that,” I said.

She put her hand out and I put mine on top of it.

“I hope the music never stops,” she said.

I patted her hand for a moment.

“They don’t seem to have meatloaf on the lunch menu today,” I said.

“Life is not without disappointment,” Rita said.

“So far,” I said.

We were quiet.

Then Rita said, “You want me to call Jimmy? Tell him you’ll be stopping by?”

“If you would,” I said.