Free Blood Flag: A Paul Madriani Novel by Steve Martini Page B

be on top of the desk with both feet by now, snarling in the cop’s face. A lawyer who suddenly goes quiet when confronted with this kind of an accusation has a reason for biting his tongue, especially if it’s Harry. Like the cops, I’m left to wonder what he’s hiding. I shudder to think.
    Noland looks Harry up and down, the wrinkled shirt, a spotted trail of grease across his tie like a map of the Sandwich Islands, the shadowed beard under Harry’s repentant gaze, lawyer looking for a rock to crawl under. Suddenly it dawns on him. You can see it like a lightbulb as it flashes on over his head.
    Who the hell would ever go out with this guy? What woman in her right mind? To the blond cop, the blue-eyed trendsetter, it is obvious. If Harry had a date, especially if he is trying to keep it quiet, it could only mean one thing: Harry had paid for it. “Did you find her on one of the services or did you pick her up in a bar? How much did she cost you, counselor?” Noland smiles and waits for an answer.
    There is none. Harry looks down at the surface of his desk as he nibbles a little on his upper lip. It is a nervous tic Harry falls into whenever he is in trouble. I am beginning to worry.
    “Seems we caught him in the act.” Noland turns and glances toward his partner. “How’s that for bad timing? Man needs an alibi and all he has is Shady Sadie who, for a few dollars more, will spin any lie you want.” Back to Harry. “If that’s your alibi, it ain’t worth spit. That’s not an alibi a jury is likely to believe.”
    “You’re not gonna tell us the lady’s a hooker?” says Owen.
    “That or a high-priced call girl,” says Noland.
    I’m thinking, No! Not Harry! He would never . . . But Harry is saying nothing. Instead he just sits there chewing on his lip. I start to think. For the first time in his life, Harry has more money than he knows what to do with. I slap myself for the thought. But it’s true. People with too much money do stupid things. All too often it doesn’t buy happiness. But Harry with a call girl?
    Noland bears down: “How much did you pay her? You know it’s gonna come out sooner or later.”
    Harry gives me a soulful look, and then before I can think he says, “What do I do? Should I tell them?”
    The moment he says it, my heart drops into my stomach. “I don’t know. Up to you.” Finally I recover and say, “Maybe you shouldn’t say anything. Just keep quiet.”
    “I knew it,” said Noland. “Don’t you love it? The mouthpiece needs a mouthpiece. Come on, cough it up. Gimme her name, otherwise you’ve got nothing,” he tells Harry. “You go right to the top of the list, number one on the hit parade, person of interest. Like a thirsty dog I’m sure it’s not the first one you hired. We’ll find ’em. We’ll dig ’em up. Get their names. Do you have their numbers in a little black book? Or maybe they’re in your computer? Try this on. Let’s say you get tired of paying for it. You see this young new stuff in the office. You make a move to dip your quill. And she says no. You don’t like it. Maybe it’s the way she says it. You left the office early Friday, didn’t you?” They already know he did. It’s on the calendar. Harry left the office at about three. “Let’s say you followed her. Caught her somewhere off the road. She fought back. You panicked. Is that what happened?”
    “Go screw yourself,” says Harry.
    “In a situation like that, a guy’s gonna panic. I can understand that,” says Noland.
    “Don’t say another word,” I tell Harry.
    “An alibi, even a bad one, is better than nothing,” says Noland. “Who knows, maybe we’ll even believe her. And even if you lose your ticket for pandering, there are worse things.”
    “Don’t say anything,” I tell him. “Keep quiet.”
    But Harry’s not listening. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t I call her, and you can talk to her over the phone, but no names. How’s that?”
    “What, do