Free Twisted River by Siobhan MacDonald Page A

breathing was already raspy, his short legs thudding loudly on the pathway.
    â€œIncoming, incoming . . .”
    â€œEasy, Harry, heel, boy,” Oscar said.
    Although, if he were honest and he were the one married to Nancy, he might well get excited about shapely women. It wasn’t that Nancy wasn’t a pleasant woman but she was a bit on the plain side for Oscar.
    â€œYou’re a bit wound up this evening, my friend. Bad day at work? Or just the same-shit-different-day kinda stuff?”
    Harry had stopped on the pretext of relacing his trainer. He was finding it hard to keep up with Oscar, who was in better shape.
    â€œI’ve no reason to complain in particular. Just feeling a bit beige . . .” Oscar shook the droplets of sweat from his brow.
    â€œHow are the financials going?” Harry pulsed forward and backward, resting one leg on the railing and stretching out the hamstring of his stubby leg. “I know the business took a big hit.”
    â€œMaking progress, I guess. It’s slow. She took me to the cleaners, you know. It’s coming up on two years now. We’re not back in the black yet. It’s gonna take time.”
    â€œMan, that bitch really stitched you up.”
    â€œYou can say that again.”
    â€œMan, that bitch really stitched you up!”
    â€œGet lost, Harry.” Oscar laughed and continued to jog on the spot.
    â€œYou’re right, though,” said Oscar as they took off again. “When I think about that crap she pulled, my reputation, I’d never have worked again. Could have been a whole different ball game, for sure. Except for you, my man.” He clapped Harry on his sweaty back.
    â€œHey, what are buddies for? Told you Donovan was one kick-ass attorney. That guy could make Silvio Berlusconi look like a saint. Easy.”
    Harry wiped his brow with the sweatband on his wrist.
    â€œAnd if I say it once, I’ll say it again—with a case like yours, it’s always better to settle out of court. Too much collateral damage otherwise.”
    It took another twenty minutes to complete their loop, during which time Harry gave him the outline of some young gun he was defending who had worked on Wall Street. Harry loved the cut and thrust of white-collar crime. It was safer than the criminal stuff. And the rewards were infinitely greater.
    â€œSquash on Thursday?” Harry looked like a round red rosy apple now.
    â€œYeah, should be able to make that. I’ve missed the last two weeks.”
    They were nearing the entrance to the Seventy-second Street dog run.
    â€œYou’re sliding down the ladder, my friend. Pelmann’s taken your place.”
    â€œYou’re kidding me . . .”
    But Oscar wasn’t really listening. He was staring at a bench in the dog park. Was that Hazel? Was it really her? What was she doing sitting in the dog park? They didn’t even have a dog. The woman’s head was bowed, reading a book. She wore a blue shift dress and had the same slender, petite frame as his wife.
    â€œPelmann will be delighted to have passed you out.”
    â€œWhat? Oh, yeah, I’m sure he is.”
    They jogged past the park, with Oscar looking over his shoulder every now and then, trying to catch another glimpse. No, he decided. The woman in the blue dress couldn’t have been Hazel. Today was her day for staying late at school.
    â€œSo, Pelmann’s leapfrogged me, has he?” Oscar eventually responded. “We’ll have to see about that!”
    â€œYeah. Didn’t think that would wash well with you.”
    Pelmann was an anesthetist over at Weill Cornell, and even though they were all friends, all Columbia alumni, there was nothingHarry liked more than to stir up a little competition between them all. That was fine with Oscar. He’d knock the spots off Pelmann.
    â€œAnd Hazel?” asked Harry.
    â€œWhat about Hazel?”
    â€œJust