Free Compelling Evidence by Steve Martini

says. "In what way?"

    "Can't talk here," he says. "Maybe my office in a few days. I'm in a good position to deal. Make it worth your while."

    This is Tony's idea of lawyering, a quick deal, no ethics asked. "What's it about?"

    He waves me off with the back of the hand holding his drink. "Harold Stone," he says. He nods back over my shoulder. "Do you know Justice Stone?"

    I shake my head. "A prince," he says. "Absolute prince. I'll introduce ya." Oh joy, I think. Skarpellos hoists himself out of the chair. "Tony Skar‐pell‐‐os@." The name emanates from a grating bellows of a voice.
    Like molten phlegm from Vesuvius, it erupts behind me. Skarpellos is motioning me to my feet. I rise and turn, "Harold, it's good to see you again." This is the stuff the Greek fives for, prattle on a first‐name basis with the judicial brass. Stone is an immense man of awkward proportions, a face 40minated by sagging, fleshy jowls. Threadlike veins seem to ftpt at the surface of loose flesh that wallows like waves on his rn@ as he speaks. expression suddenly turns moribund. It's an easy transition. 1@ "My sympathies, Tony. You have the condolences of our entire For a moment Skarpellos looks down at Stone's hand :koi wonder if he's about to kiss his ring finger. Then I realize ; the Greek's just buying time, the hard, again at a loss for vic', this time with a more influential audience. "He was a great man, Harold."

    Skarpellos sucks a little *ij and completes the thought. "It will be many years, if ever, this town sees his likes again." He delivers the lines as it have just peeled the words from some mystical idiot b Their voices drop deeper, to the diaphragm, as private ‐ ‐7f' is exchanged. I begin to feel like the proverbial potte standing here. Finally Skarpellos looks over at me. "Harold, I'd like you to meet someone. Paul Madriani. used to be with the firm."

    A limp hand comes out to meet mine and I get the by Stone. He's keyed on that all‐important phrase‐"I 7',' be." There's a quick, pained smile, and he returns his iwit, attention to Skarpellos. "Paul, I think we should talk again, when I have more
    "Excuse me?"

    "Not now, later at my office." Skarpellos has turned w@@ an unwitting stand‐in, an understudy for the usual cadre s) eunuchs that the Greek has somehow managed to i4i*@ little show for jurist. Stone waits for me to be dismissed. "Call my office for an appointment, next week. more time to discuss the thing then, the thing with your Standing here with nowhere to go, I have but a i)w_ on my mind‐‐‐@"What an asshole."

    "I'll have to check my calendar. It's pretty full next
    "Well, make
    time." It's the imperial Greek command. before I can say anything, putting distance between in tow. "I'll see what I can do." My words are delivered A‐M, nape of his neck as he walks away. 1 move away, abandoning a full drink on the'table M4tr the price of salvaging a little pride, of saying
    "I Vf'. anyway." For the first time I realize that perhaps 1A from Potter, Skarpellos was preordained, for even ha my affair with Talia, pride would surely never have to weather Ben's death and the compulsory primping of Tony Skarpellos, the price of all success in the firm passing. It is, after all, a considerable consolation. VE
    picked the Golden Delicious from the tree behind the house, a, whole bag, and brought them with me, a kind of peace offering for my regular visitation at Nikki's. Sarah, my three‐year‐old, is standing on a chair at the countertop by the sink, turning the crank on the little apple peeler. She is an endless litany of "whys?"‐‐"Why is the apple roundt'
    "Why is it yellowt' "Why does it have seeds?"

    I tell her the ultimate imponderable‐‐‐‐@"Because God made it that way."

    She says, "Why?" I catch Nikki looking at me from the sink. It's in moments like this, though increasingly when I'm alone in the big house, that the pain is greatest. The realization settles in that Sarah, this oblivious,