The two men arrived twenty minutes later. It was clear which one was the lawyer. The younger one was thin and tall, and dressed in an expensive suit. He carried a leather case with him, and he had a serious look on his narrow face. The man with him looked nothing like a lawyer. He was solid and older, and his thin overcoat flapped around the calves of his cheap slacks. He moved deliberately, and his head swung from side to side, taking in everything around him. He reminded Liam of many survivors of the troubles on both sides. They were quiet, serious men. They were the men he worried about coming up against.
He’d done enough background to identify the adults. Finn, Kozlowski, Krantz. He knew their names and ages and roles in the tiny little firm that was representing Devon Malley. They all had solid reputations, but they were in over their heads.
The girl was a surprise. Liam didn’t like surprises. Her presence at the office might mean nothing. She might be a niece or the daughter of a friend who had errands to run. And yet he had this feeling-an intuition-that there was more to it than that. A lifetime had taught him never to ignore his intuitions. Very often they came from that deep spot in the brain that noticed something the conscious mind had missed. He’d learned that paying attention to his intuition could save his life.
He leaned back into the car seat to mull things over. Information was the most valuable commodity in any profession; more so in Liam’s than others. It was clear that he needed more of it now.
The restaurant was a huge family-style place in Charlestown. Only a glass partition separated the diners from an open kitchen with wood-burning stoves. The patrons could watch their meals being prepared, and it gave the place a sense of intimacy. It was the kind of restaurant that required connections or a three-month wait for a reservation on a weekend night. Midweek, though, it was merely bustling, and determination was all that was required to get a table on a walk-in basis.
The four of them were sitting at a table near the middle of the restaurant. It was a big, round, heavy oak slab, finished unevenly to maintain the rustic feel of the place. It could have seated eight, and with just the four of them, they had to keep their voices up to hear each other over the din.
Not that it mattered through much of the evening; the conversation was spotty. Finn, Kozlowski, and Lissa usually talked about their work when they ate; it was a time when they could fret over their most pressing cases. That night, however, their most pressing case concerned the father of the girl who was sitting directly across from Finn. He couldn’t discuss the case openly, but he couldn’t get it out of his head, either.
“How was school?” he asked at one point, trying to break the awkward silence that had settled over the table.
Sally looked up, surprised. “It sucked,” she said after a moment.
“Why?” Finn asked.
“It’s school. School sucks.”
“What sucks about it?” Finn continued.
She twirled some pasta onto her fork and stuffed the mess into her mouth. “You really wanna know?” she asked as she chewed.
“Yeah,” Finn said. “What grade are you in?”
“Eighth,” she said.
“Okay, eighth grade,” Finn said. “What sucks about eighth grade? Do you have any friends?”
“Not really,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because the kids are assholes. Why would I want more assholes in my life? I got all I can handle.”
Finn winced. He’d grown up on the street, but the disparity between the girl’s age and her demeanor was still unsettling. Most people didn’t master cynicism until at least their late teens. “How about the schoolwork?” Finn asked. “Do you like that at all?”
Sally laughed. “It’s an inner-city school; there is no real schoolwork. If you’re not stabbing someone, you’re an honor student as far as the teachers are concerned.”
“Do you learn anything?”
She shrugged. “I learn what I want to learn.”
“What’s that?”
She pushed the food around on her plate. “I like reading,” she said at last. “English class is okay. The teacher is a joke, but I like the books.”
“What are you reading?”
“Right now? The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” she said grudgingly.
“Good book. You like that one?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
She looked him in the eye. “Because he’s a kid and he takes care of himself. He doesn’t need other people to survive and he doesn’t take any shit.”
The table went silent for a moment. She put her fork down on her plate, and it made a sharp, definitive noise-like an exclamation point. Finn reached out and plucked a roll from the basket on the table, tore off a piece, and dipped it in the olive oil on the table. After a moment, he said again, “Good book.”
Lissa cleared her throat. “You could make friends,” she said. “It wouldn’t be hard for someone as smart as you.”
“What the fuck is this?” Sally said loudly. A few people at other tables turned to look, then glanced away quickly. “I’m fine. I don’t need your pity, y’know. I need a place to sleep, that’s all. I’ll be gone soon enough.”
Lissa looked embarrassed. It wasn’t a look that came naturally to her. “We’re just trying to help a little, that’s all. It might be nice to get to know you a little better.”
“How about if I get to know you a little better, then?” Sally said.
“We’d be fine with that,” Lissa replied.
Sally looked at each of them in turn, a prizefighter sizing up opponents. “How old are you?” she asked Finn.
“Forty-four,” Finn replied.
“And you’re a lawyer who lives alone in a nice apartment in Charlestown?”
“Yeah.” Finn took a sip of his wine. He was more of a beer drinker, but as long as Lissa was paying, he didn’t mind having a glass of a nice cabernet. It relaxed him.
“So you’re gay.”
Finn almost spat out a ten-dollar sip of the wine. Whatever relaxation he’d achieved vanished. “What?” he choked out.
“I’ve seen your apartment,” she said. “No curtains, no pictures, no pillows on the couch. The refrigerator’s empty and there’s one toothbrush in the bathroom. There’s nothing that looks like a girl’s ever been there ever. You’re not ugly, so I assume you’re a fag.”
“I’m not gay,” Finn replied. He tried to keep the defensiveness out of his voice.
“Gay,” Sally said, nodding her head.
“I am not gay!”
“Hey,” she said, “I got no problem with it. Probably make me sleep better at night.”
“I don’t have a problem with it either,” Finn said. “I’m just not gay.”
“Are you dating anyone?”
“No,” Finn admitted.
“Gay.”
Finn looked over at Lissa. She looked amused. “What’s so funny?”
“This is,” Lissa said. “In fact, it pretty much defines funny.”
Finn turned to Sally. “I was dating someone. We lived together and it didn’t work out. That was a while ago, and I just haven’t found anyone else since then, okay?”
“Who was she? Did she have a penis, or was she like, an imaginary girlfriend?”
“No,” Finn said. “She was Koz’s partner when he was on the police force.”
Sally looked over at Kozlowski, who nodded. “Huh,” she said, clearly shocked that she was wrong. “So if you’re not gay, then why don’t you have a new girlfriend?”
Lissa laughed. “She’s got you nailed, Finn. That’s a question I’ve asked over and over,” Lissa said. “I’d kinda like to hear the answer.”
She wasn’t going to hear the answer, though, because before Finn could even begin to formulate a response, Sally turned on Lissa. “You two are dating, right?” she asked, nodding at Kozlowski. He’d been silent for most of the dinner, and now he squirmed at the notion of being drawn into the conversation. Lissa took the bait, though.