«Where are you going, son?»
«To where I can find solitude in isolation and collect my thoughts. I have a great deal to think about, Mr. Monster. I’m going home to my lair, shower in steam for an hour or so, and then sit in my favorite chair and ponder. Au revoir, mon ennemi du coeur, for so it must be.»
«What?»
«See you later, General Asshole.» Devereaux went out into the hotel corridor, closed the door, and walked to the nearby bank of elevators on the right. Having used his limited French on the Hawk, his thoughts briefly returned to Anouilh, and the conclusion the playwright reached when he wrote that there were times when there was nothing left but to scream. This was one of those times, but Sam refused to give in to the temptation. He pressed the descending button, his entire being on hold.
The elevator door opened and Devereaux walked inside, nodding briefly, unconsciously, at the only other passenger, a woman. And then he looked at her. Suddenly lightning flashed before his eyes and thunder crashed into his ears, as life and blood instantly returned to the walking corpse he had been only seconds before. She was glorious! A bronzed Aphrodite with glowing dark hair and incandescent eyes of a light, bewildering color, with a face and body sculpted by Bernini! She responded to his stare with a modest glance until her gaze obviously strayed to the large wet circle of cloth that saturated the crotch of his trousers. Oblivious to anything but her beauty, yet conscious of the weakness in his knees, Devereaux spoke.
«Will you marry me?» Sam said.
11
«You take one step toward me and you won’t see for a month!» With the speed of a vice-squad decoy, the striking, bronze-skinned woman ripped open her purse and whipped out a small metal cylinder. Arm outstretched, she held it in front of her, the can of Mace upright and aimed at Devereaux’s face barely three feet away.
«Hold it!» cried Sam, his hands above his head in abject surrender. «I’m sorry—please—I apologize! I don’t know what made me say that … it was an involuntary slip, a result of stress and exhaustion—a mental accident.»
«It seems you’ve had a physical one as well,» said the woman, her tone ice-cold as her eyes dropped briefly down to Devereaux’s trousers.
«What?» Sam saw exactly what she meant. «Oh, my God, the coffee—it was coffee … is coffee! You see, I’ve been working all night and there’s this crazy client—you probably won’t believe this, but I’m an attorney—and he drives me up the wall, and I was having coffee when I just couldn’t stand it any longer, him any longer, and I spilled the coffee. I just wanted to get out of there—see, I was in such a hurry I forgot my jacket!» Devereaux suddenly stopped, remembering that he didn’t have his jacket; some bearded Greek had it. «Actually … never mind, it’s all too grotesque.»
«That thought occurred to me,» said the woman, studying Sam, and, satisfied, putting the cylinder of Mace back in her purse. «If you’re really an attorney, I suggest you get some help before the court insists on it.»
«I’m considered a rather superior attorney,» offered Devereaux defensively, drawing himself up to his full height, the image somewhat vitiated by roaming hands trying to cover his soiled trousers. «I really am.»
«Where? In American Samoa?»
«I beg your pardon?»
«Forget it. You remind me of someone.»
«Well,» began Sam, a touch relaxed and genuinely embarrassed. «I’m sure he was never the idiot I look like.»
«I wouldn’t cover that bet with a great deal of money.» The descending elevator slowed to a stop. «I wouldn’t cover it with a dime,» the woman added quietly as the door opened.
«I am sorry,» repeated Devereaux as they walked out into the hotel lobby.
«It’s okay. To tell you the truth, it was a real mallet. I’ve never been hit with that one before.»
«Then the men of Boston have lost their eyesight,» said Sam brightly, but innocently, no leer in his statement.
«You do remind me of him.»
«I hope the resemblance isn’t too unpleasant.»
«At the moment, mezzo-metz… If you’re going into an early conference, change your trousers.»
«Oh, no. This stressed-out legal beagle is taking a taxi home to get unwound before the next dog race.»
«I’m getting a taxi, too.»
«At least let me tip the doorman, my apology thus backed up with a couple of bucks.»
«Very lawyerlike. Maybe you are good.»
«Not bad. I wish you needed legal advice.»
«Sorry, Clarence Darrow, it’s in oversupply.»
Out on the pavement and the doorman attended to, Devereaux held the door of the taxi as she climbed inside. «In light of my asinine behavior, I don’t suppose you’d care to meet me again.»
«It’s not your behavior, Counselor,» answered the siren of his morning dreams as she once again opened her purse, this time removing a piece of paper—to Sam’s relief, «but I’m only here for a day or two and my court calendar is jammed.»
«Sorry about that,» said Devereaux, perplexed. And then his lady of the morning sunlight turned to the driver and gave him the address of her destination. «Christ Almighty!» whispered Sam in shock as he involuntarily closed the door.
Conference … Clarence Darrow … Counselor—court calendar! The address the bitch gave was his own house!
Sitting anxiously forward in his chair in the Oval Office, the President of the United States was annoyed, really annoyed, as he gripped the telephone in his hand. «Now, come on, Reebock, give a little, you ca-ca-faced son of a doggie girl! The Court has to take some responsibility if there’s even an outside possibility that we all get our tailgates blown away by those aggressor islands in the Caribbean, to say nothing of the superpowers in Central America!»
«Mr. President,» intoned the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, his somber vocal presence marred by a nasal twang. «Our system of the rule of law in an open society requires expeditious adjudication of legal redress, the relief from injury swift and adequately compensatory. Therefore the Wopotami hearings must be made public. To coin a phrase, ‘Justice delayed is justice denied.’»
«I’ve heard that before, Reebock, you didn’t make it up.»
«Really? No doubt I was the inspiration. I’m known for that sort of thing, I’m told.»
«Yes, well, along those lines, Mr. Chief Justice—»
«Inspiring people, you mean?» interrupted the leader of the Supreme Court. «Do tell.»
«No, regarding things you’re known for,» corrected the President. «I’ve just had a call from Vincent Mangee … Mangaa—that fellow over at the CIA.»
«In my early days as a young prosecutor, Mr. President, he was known as Vinnie the Bam-Bam.»
«No kidding?»
«One does not kid about such sobriquets, sir.»
«I guess not. Gosh, it sounds like it could sort of deflate his degree from Oxford.»
«From where?»
«It’s not important, Reebock, but it’s a real coincidence that you should mention your early days as a prosecutor—»
«A very young prosecutor, Mr. President,» broke in the Chief Justice apprehensively.
«Yes, Vincent understands that. He even said there’s probably no relevance now—today, so many years later—but still we’ve all got to cover our backsides, because this Wopotami thing is going to set off a national debate, I mean a real zing doozer!»