Free First degree by David Rosenfelt Page B

your life."
    "I was doing business," he mutters.
    "Where? In the park?"
    "No."
    It's my turn to get annoyed. "Dammit, Oscar, where the hell were you?"
    He proceeds to tell me a rather uneventful tale of retail drug peddling in and around the park, with a little pimping thrown in. All of this took place until about one A.M ., and he claims that some of the people he mentions would testify if called upon, but even without meeting them I can safely assume that none would have any credibility before a jury.
    After one A.M . the rendition gets fuzzy. Only through repeated questioning am I able to piece together that he went to make a payment to the entity that grants him permission to function. In other words, he had to pay his mob bosses their standard piece of the action, and he was doing just that after one A.M .
    "I need names, Oscar. Of the people you saw while you were making this payment."
    Oscar actually laughs at the absurdity of the request. "Forget it. No fucking way. I give you those names, and you're defending a dead man."
    I could give him another lecture on attorney-client privilege, and how the information would be safe with me, but I know it won't help. So I try to get at it a different way. I ask him to tell me the neighborhood, the street, that he was on during this business transaction. Eventually, he does, though he doesn't want to take any chances, so he narrows it to within a two-block radius. The area is a neighborhood that even I am aware is considered by organized crime to be home base.
    "How long were you there?" I ask.
    "'Bout three hours."
    "To make a payment?" It seems like an inordinately long time.
    "They were busy," he explains. "They kept me waiting."
    "Is that unusual?"
    "Usually, it don't take as long," he says, then qualifies it with, "When I go to them ."
    "You mean there are times they come to you?"
    I can see him regain a measure of pride. "Sure. Most of the time."
    I take him through the three hours he spent in the neighborhood in question. Basically, he hung out in the cellar of the house he was visiting, except for about a half hour when he went out to get something to eat.
    "Did you eat at a restaurant?" I ask.
    "Nah, I went to one of those big supermarkets--Food Fair, I think it's called. They make these really good sandwiches."
    "Did you pay with a credit card?"
    "A credit card?" he asks, indicating how absurd the question is. I might as well have asked if he had paid with a walrus.
    He doesn't think anybody in the store would remember him, and the truth is, it's not as if Brad Pitt had come in that night for the sandwich. Oscar is a number of things, but memorable is not one of them. I let him off the hook with no more questions for now and tell him we'll be meeting again in a day or two.
    As I'm leaving, he asks, "Man, I got things to work on. Am I gonna be stuck in here long?"
    "I think it makes sense to go ahead and order furniture and drapes, if that's what you're asking."
    It turns out that wasn't what he was asking.

GEOFFREY STYNES IS NOWHERE TO BE FOUND .
    Not that I'm spending a lot of time looking for him. But I've more than half expected him to look me up, to complain about my taking on Garcia as a form of breaking privilege, or at least a conflict of interest. I don't think such claims would have merit, but I did expect him to make them.
    These kinds of thoughts are running through my mind as Laurie and I are having dinner at my house. She mentions that I'm being quiet, but doesn't push to find out what's on my mind.
    We are just finishing dinner when Vince Sanders calls. "I checked out Geoffrey Stynes," he says.
    "And?" I ask.
    "And I also checked out the tooth fairy, Rumpelstiltskin, and Tinker Bell. They don't really exist either."
    "You're losing me."
    "That must happen to you a lot," he says. "Maybe you should wear a bell around your neck."
    "What the hell are you talking about?" Vince can be somewhat difficult to chat with.
    "There are two registered Geoffrey Stynes