Show of Evil

Seven

Vail braced himself and pushed open the doors to the main salon, knowing exactly what to expect. A tidal surge of noise and heat assaulted him. He faced a thousand lawyers and their wives, all babbling at once with a calypso band somewhere on the other side of the room trying to compete with them, all enveloped in an enormous ballroom with eight food tables, each with its own towering ice sculpture, a dozen or more bars, nobody to talk to but lawyers, lobbyists, and politicians - and no place to sit. The world's biggest cocktail party. Vail, a man who despised cocktail parties, was about to take a stroll through Hades.

Vail was the most feared man in the room, for he represented a potential danger to every lawyer at the party: a loose-cannon prosecutor, unpredictable, unbuyable, unbeatable, who had spent nine years on their side of the fence before switching sides and becoming their worst nightmare, a prosecutor who knew all the tricks and was better at the game than they were. In ten years he had successfully prosecuted two city councilmen, a vice mayor and a senator for everything from bribery to malfeasance in office and had wasted a local bank for money washing. They would treat him cordially but at a distance as he worked his way through the room, subtly letting him know that he was not one of them. It was the only part of the ordeal Vail enjoyed, for he revelled in the role of the untouchable outsider.

Otherwise, he despised the annual ritual dance of the state's legal power players and their fawning associates. The corporate partners used these occasions to study the young sycophants and their wives and to reaffirm their choices. How did they handle themselves in this social bullring? Did they have the proper social graces? Did the women dress properly? Did the young lawyers drink too much? Express unacceptable political views? Hold their own in social debate with their peers? And perhaps most important of all, did they discuss the business of the company? Like pledges at a fraternity party, the young bootlickers performed for their bosses, fully aware that their performances would be discussed later and in harsh detail in the halls of the kings. Divorce had even been suggested after these forays.

They drank too much and they bragged too much and it was business. Big business. They talked about lobbying for this bill or that; which PACS they contributed to because they 'got the job done'; which congressmen and state legislators were 'spinners', those whose opinions could be influenced with a free dinner at a four-star restaurant or a hunting trip to some exclusive lodge in Wisconsin or Minnesota; which were 'bottom feeders', cheap sellouts who could be bought for a bottle of good, hearty Scotch and a box of cigars; and which were 'chicken hawk' neophytes who could be lured into the fold with flattery and attention. They scorned the 'UCs', uncooperatives whose votes were not available at any price and subtly shunned them until they were 'seasoned' and learned the first rule of the game: compromise. These conversations were not about the law, they were about business and politics, enterprises that had little use for the law or ethics or integrity.

As Vail entered the room, he passed a group of five lawyers, all performing for a tall, white-haired potentate with smooth pink skin who was obviously enjoying the playlet.

'It'll be tacked on House Bill 2641,' said one. 'Furley will take care of it, he's already spun. It'll glide right through.'

'How about Perdue and that new joker, what's his name, Eagle?' suggested another.

'Harold Eggle,' another intoned. 'A chicken hawk, nobody pays any attention to him.'

'And Perdue's a bottom feeder,' said still another. 'Send him a bottle of Chivas and forget him.'

'It's a done deal. Nobody will buck Tim Furley except the usual UCs and they'll be laughed out of the chamber,' the imperious senior partner sneered, ending the conversation.

Vail sighed as he passed them, knowing he would drift aimlessly from one group to the next, nodding hello, smiling, and moving around the room until he was close enough to a side exit to slip out and flee the event.

But tonight was different. As he walked into the room, he was deluged with handshakes, smiles, pats on the back. He was overwhelmed with goodwill. It took a few moments for it to sink in, for him to realize what was happening.

Across the room, he was being observed as he made his way through the swarms of people. Jane Venable watched with a smile. Tall, distant, untouchable, classy, arrogant, self-confident, Venable had it all. From the tip of her long, equine nose to her long, slender neck, she created a mystique that was part of her haughty allure. She was almost six feet tall and, on normal business days, disguised a stunning figure in bulky sweaters and loose-fitting jackets. But in court, the perfect showcase for her brains, beauty, and elan, she was truly in her element. There she put it all to work at once, performing in outrageously expensive tailormade suits designed to show off the perfection of her body. From her broad shoulders to her tight buttocks, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, her tinted contact lenses accentuating her flashing green eyes, she was a tiger shark. Immaculately prepared, she was a predator waiting to slam in for the kill: the ultimate jugular artist. There was no margin for error when doing battle with her. Like Vail, she had one rule: Take no prisoners. On this night Venable had thrown out the rule book. She flaunted it all. Devastatingly packaged, she was encased in a dark green strapless sheath accented with spangles that embellished both her perfect figure and the flaming-red hair that cascaded down around her shoulders. She was wearing green high heels that pushed her to over six feet. In the otherwise stifling milieu of the room, she was a beacon of sex, standing half a head taller than most of the men in the room. There was no denying her; no way to ignore this brilliant amazon. Jane Venable knew exactly what buttons to push to claim the night and she was pushing them all.

The day before Venable had wrapped up one of the biggest corporate buyouts in years. It was no longer a secret that Venable had spent six months studying Japanese culture and learning the language before going to Tokyo and masterminding Mitsushi's buyout of Midland Dynamics. Her strategy had pulled the rug from under four other law firms, one of them a Washington group that everyone had assumed had the inside track. It had earned her a $250,000 bonus and moved her name to number three on the corporate letterhead.

She had been watching Vail since he entered the big room, watching the minglers part like water before him, congratulate him, pat him on the back, then swirl back to continue their conversations in his wake. And at the moment she was thinking, not about her latest legal coup, she was remembering a day ten years earlier when she had suffered one of the worst defeats in her career.

Although they occasionally traded glances from across a theatre lobby or a restaurant, it had been ten years since Venable and Vail had exchanged even a hello. It had been her last case as a prosecutor before moving to a full partnership in one of the city's platinum law firms - and it was one of the most sensational cases in the city's history. A young Appalachian kid named Aaron Stampler had been accused of viciously stabbing to death one of Chicago's most revered citizens, Archbishop Richard Rushman. An open-and-shut case - except that Vail had been the defence attorney.

In a bruising trial presided over by the city's most conservative and bigoted judge, Harry Shoat - Hangin' Harry, as he was known in the profession - Vail and Venable had provided plenty of fireworks for the media. Then Vail had ambushed her. Stampler suffered from a split personality, a fact Vail had not introduced into evidence and had kept from the public. He had tricked Venable into bringing out Stampler's alter ego on the stand, and instead of the chair, Venable had had to settle for far less. Stampler was sent to the state mental institution 'until deemed cured' and she had left office a loser, at least in her own eyes.

But the case had preyed heavily on Vail's mind. After winning his points in court, Vail had had second thoughts. The outcome had troubled him, and in an ironic twist, Vail, the state's deadliest defence lawyer, had replaced Venable as chief prosecutor. Even as a prosecutor he did not get along any better with Judge Shoat. They had continued to clash in the courtroom until Hangin' Harry had been appointed to the state supreme court.

Forgiveness came hard for Venable, but she had held a grudge long enough. Vail had always attracted her, although it was years before she had admitted it to herself. Like her, he was a predator with an instinct for the jugular. In court, he was mercurial, changing moods and tactics on the whim of the moment, dazzling juries and confounding his opponents. And she was also drawn to his dark Irish good looks and those grey eyes that seemed to look right through her. Now he was not only the most dangerous prosecutor in the state, he was also the district attorney, and proper respect was being paid. Impetuously, she decided to end the feud.

She moved resolutely through the crowd, charting a collision course with him but staying slightly behind him so that he would not see her. Then an arm protruded through the mass of people. Massive fingers locked on Vail's elbow, steering him towards the perimeter of the ballroom and a small anteroom.

Shaughnessey, the old-timer who had carved a career from city councilman to DA to attorney general to state senator, losing only one political race in thirty years, was claiming Vail for the moment. Two years ago he had made his bid for the governor's seat only to be turned away in the primary. But it had not damaged his power.

Shaughnessey was the state's high priest who with a nod could bring disaster down on the shoulders of anyone who challenged the political powers of the state house.

Compared to him, most of the other state politicos were gandy dancers. The burly man, his bulk wrapped in a fifteen-hundred-dollar silk tuxedo with a trademark splash of coloured silk in its breast pocket, his fleshy face deeply tanned under a thick white mane, his thick lips curled almost contemptuously in what the unsuspecting might have mistaken for a smile, was obviously wooing the new DA.

Her curiosity piqued, she decided to wait. Inside a small, barren room, Shaughnessey fixed his keen and deadly hooded eyes on Vail and smacked him on the arm.

'How do you like being DA?' he asked.

'I told you ten years ago, Roy, I don't want to be DA. I wanted to be chief prosecutor then and that's what I am now.'

'Not any more, my friend. You are the acting DA, you need to start acting like one.'

Vail had a sudden surge of deja vu. Ten years ago. A snowy afternoon in the backseat of Shaughnessey's limo, sipping thirty-year-old brandy. The moment it had all started.

'You're the best lawyer in the state. Nobody wants to go up against you.'

'Is this some kind of an offer?'

'Let's just say it's part of your continuing education. You've got to slick up a little.'

Vail laughed. 'You mean go legit?'

'Exactly, go legit. Get a haircut, get your pants pressed, stop kickin' everybody's ass.'

'Why bother? I'm having a good time.'

'Because you want to move to the other side of town. You want what everybody wants, bow and scrape, tip their hat, call you mister and mean it. You don't want to cop pleas for gunsels the rest of your life. Yancey needs you, son. Venable's left him. He's lost all his gunslingers. His balls're hanging out. Hell, he never did have the stones for that job. He's a politician in a job that calls for an iceman. What he wants is to make judge - eight, nine years down the line - and live off the sleeve for the rest of his time. To do that, he needs to rebuild his reputation because you've been makin' him look like Little Orphan Annie. Twice in one year on headline cases - and you burned up his two best prosecutors to boot. Silverman's still in a coma from the Pinero case and Venable's on her way to Platinum City. He needs you, son.'

'Is that why you dumped this Rushman case on me?'

'Ah, you need a little humility, Martin. Besides, they want a monkey show out of that trial and you'll give it to them.'

'So that's what it's all about, getting a good show and teaching me a little humility?'

Shaughnessey just smiled.

Now, ten years later, nothing seemed to have changed.

'Now what the hell's that mean, I got to start acting like one?' Vail responded.

'This thing between you and Eric - '

'He's an incompetent ass-kisser.'

'He's chief of police. You two got to work together - '

'Listen, Roy, in my first nine months in office, I lost more cases than in the entire nine years I'd practised law. Know why? Eric Eckling.'

'Just work with him instead of going out of your way to make him look like a schmuck.'

'Eckling's cops reflect his own incompetence. They lose evidence, lie, fall apart on the witness stand, put together paper cases, violate civil rights…'

'Maybe that's because you stole his best cop.'

'I caught him on the way out the door. He couldn't stand Eckling, either. The only thing these guys are competent at is screwing up. We do our own investigating now. And we don't lose cases anymore.'

'Why not practice a little discretion, would that hurt anything?'

'What are you, Mr Fixit, the jolly negotiator?'

'It doesn't help anybody - this friction.'

'Hell, you're getting mellow in your old age. You used to tell, not ask.'

'Everybody else I tell. You I ask. Hell, I'm just trying to keep a little peace in the family, yuh mind?'

'Family! I'm not in any goddamn family. What is it, you been talking to Firestone?'

'He bellyaches to a mutual friend, it works its way back to me, I get a call or two. You really pissed him off, you know. What'd you do, tell him to kiss your ass?'

'No, I told him I wasn't there to kiss his.'

'He's vice chairman of the city council, for Christ sake. Do you have to not get along with him? It's like you and Yancey used to be.'

'Yancey and I get along fine. We have an understanding. The only time we have problems is when he forgets it.'

'Firestone is very friendly with the police and firemen. And he's not a big booster of that kindergarten of yours.'

'It's the senior high.'

'Okay, okay… yeah, I'm just saying - '

'You're just feeding me the same old line, Roy. Con Firestone into thinking I like him. Get along with Eckling. It's an open sore, the thing with Eckling. It's not gonna go away. Tell Firestone to butt out. It's none of his damn business. I don't work for the city, I represent the whole county.'

'Christ,' Shaughnessey said, shaking his head. 'You still hustling around trying to put all the town's big shots in jail?'

'Where'd you hear that?'

'Come ooon,' Shaughnessey answered, peeling the wrapper off a cigar the size of the Goodyear blimp.

'Maybe one of these days you'll be one of them. I warned you about that when you conned me into this job ten years ago.'

'Not a chance,' Shaughnessey said, and laughed. 'I'm out of your league now. It would take the attorney general' - he leaned forward and said softly - 'and I put him in office, too. And he's a helluva lot more grateful than you are.'

Venable was standing with her back to the anteroom door when Vail and Shaugnessey reappeared. She watched them shake hands, then Vail started back through the crowd, heading for the side entrance. She fell in behind him. When he stopped suddenly and turned to shake hands with someone, he saw her. Their eyes locked, green on grey, and this time neither of them broke the stare. Finally she thought, What the hell, and raised her champagne glass in a toast to him. He smiled and threaded his way through the crowd to her.

'How are you doing, Janie?' he asked.

'I think we're both doing just great,' she said, and offered him a sip of her champagne. He took it, signalled to one of the floating waiters, and got them two fresh glasses. They headed for a corner of the room, away from the crowd and the band.

'I just read about your international coup.' Vail said. 'Congratulations.'

'Thank you, Mr District Attorney.'

'Don't jump the gun,' Vail said.

'Oh, you've got the power now, Martin. Can't you tell?' She swept her arm around the crowd.

'Tomorrow'll be just another day.'

'No, it'll never be the same. You're the man they have to deal with now. And everybody knows you don't give two hoots in hell about playing politics.'

'You're a very smart lady, Janie.' He took a step backward and stared at her for several moments. 'And more handsome now than you were ten years ago, if that's possible.'

She caught her breath for just an instant but covered herself well.

'Why, Martin,' she said, 'I didn't think you noticed.'

'I'm not dead. I just overlooked it in the courtroom.'

'You certainly did.'

'Does this mean we're declaring a truce? Putting all that business behind us? Are we going to be civil to each other again?'

'We were never civil to each other.' She laughed.

'Well' - he shrugged - 'we could try.'

Her green eyes narrowed slightly. Is he up to something? she wondered, not yet willing to trust this apparent truce.

She's wondering what the hell I'm up to, he thought. And quickly moved to put her mind at ease. 'We'll probably never face each other in the courtroom again,' he said.

'What a shame.'

He knew exactly what she meant. Going at it before a jury one more time would be exciting. They played the staring game for a few moments longer, then she abruptly changed the subject.

'What's the real prognosis?'

Vail shrugged. 'You know doctors. He's got half a dozen specialists hovering over him and none of them'll give us a straight answer. One thing's for sure, he's got a tough road ahead of him.'

'I always liked Jack,' she said, thinking back over a decade to the obsequious, smooth-talking grifter with wavy white hair and a perpetual smile. What wasn't there to like. Yancey was not a litigator and never had been. He was a talker not a fighter, the ultimate bureaucrat who surrounded himself with smart young lawyers to do the dirty work.

'Yancey's the ultimate ass-kisser, but he's never made any bones about it,' said Vail.

'Yes,' she agreed. 'He'd kiss anything to stay in grace.' Venable took a long sip of champagne. 'I only let him down twice, you know. You were the reason both times.'

'Hell, that was a long time ago. Water under the dam as a friend of mine used to say.'

'Shit, you were a monster, Martin. Hell, I guess you still are. You've been prosecutor what, ten years now?'

He nodded. Ten years next month.'

'Long time to wait. That was the promise, wasn't it? Jack would move up to judge and you'd step in.'

'I was never promised anything except a free hand to run the prosecutor's office my way. Besides, promises aren't worth a damn in politics. You know how to tell when a politician's lying? His lips are moving.'

She laughed a throaty laugh. 'Okay,' she said, 'you know what they'd call it if all the lawyers in this room were on the bottom of a lake?'

'No, tell me.'

'A good beginning,' she said, and laughed again. 'Well, if it did happen that way, it was brilliant of them. Taking you out of the game, putting you on their side. I'll bet Jack engineered that whole deal himself.'

'Nope. He was just along for the ride.'

'Who then? Not Shaughnessey!'

'Shaughnessey made the pitch.'

'You're kidding! Now there's a well-kept state secret.'

'It wasn't any secret. Shaughnessey made the pitch and Jack slobbered all over him agreeing. Hell, you were leaving and he didn't have a good prosecutor left.'

'Why'd you do it? You were making what? A million a year or more? You gave that up for a hundred and fifty thou?'

Her remark reminded him again about the Stampler case and the others through the years - dope pushers and mobsters, thieves and rogues he'd saved from-the gallows. 'Money was never the consideration,' he said simply.

'Then why? Just tired of dealing with the scum of society? You put a lot of bad boys back on the street in your day, Mr Vail. Bargain-basement justice.'

'Justice? One thing I've learned after twenty years in the business: If you want justice, go to a whorehouse; if you want to get fucked go to court. I'm paraphrasing Thomas Jefferson.'

'A very cynical attitude for an officer of the court.'

'We're all cynics. It's the only way to survive.'

'So what's next? Finish out Jack's term as DA, run for a term to see how good you look at the polls? Then governor?'

'You sound like a campaign manager.'

She looked at him and warmth crept into her green eyes. 'It's worth a thought,' she said quietly.

He decided to take a stab at it. 'Why don't we have dinner tonight? Exchange secrets.'

'You already know all my secrets, Marty,' she said rather dolefully, but quickly recovering. 'But not tonight. Give me a call. It's an interesting thought.'

'If you change your mind, I'll be up the street at Avanti! eating dinner.'

He started to leave, then walked back and stood close to her and said in her ear, 'All by myself.' He kissed her on the cheek and was gone.

She turned back to the crowded room and the heat and noise and lawyers and calypso rhythm and her shoulders sagged.

Ah, what the hell, she thought. Screw pride.