Something kicked Mundin in the stomach. He grunted. Suppose—just suppose, now—that maybe it isn't a joke, he thought detachedly. Ridiculous, of course, but just suppose——
G.M.L. Homes.
Such things didn't happen to Charles Mundin, LL.D. To squash it once and for all, he said, flat out, "I'm not licensed to practice corporate law, you know. Try William Choate the Fourth; he was——"
"We just did. He said no."
They make it sound real, Mundin thought admiringly. Of course, it couldn't be. Somewhere in the rules it was written down inexpungibly: Charles Mundin will never get a fat case. Therefore this thing would piffle out, of course.
"Well?" demanded the girl.
"I said I'm not licensed to practice corporate law."
"That's all right," the girl said contemptuously. "Did you think we didn't know that? We have an old banger we dug up who still has his license. He can't work, but we can use his name as attorney of record."
Well. He began hazily. "It's naturally interesting——"
She interrupted. "Naturally, Mundin, naturally. Will you get the hell off the dime? Yes or no. Tell us."
Dworcas stuck his head in again. "Mundin. I'm awfully sorry, but I've got to have the office for a while. Why don't you and your friends go over for a cup of coffee?"
Hussein's place across the street was pretty full, but they found a low table on the aisle.
The old-timers stared with dull, insulting curiosity at the strange face of Don Lavin. The kids in zoot hats with five-inch brims looked once and then looked away quickly. You didn't stare at a man who had obviously been conditioned: Not any more than in the old days you stared at the cropped ears of a convicted robber or asked a eunuch what it was like.
Norma Lavin got no stares at all. Young and old, the customers looked coldly right through her. The Ay-rabs blamed women like her for the disconcerting way their own women were changing under their very eyes.
Hussein himself came over. "Always a pleasure, Mr. Ur-munn," he beamed. "What will you have?"
"Coffee, please," Mundin said. Don Lavin shook his head absently. Norma said nothing.
"Majun for the lady?" Hussein asked blandly. "Fresh from Mexico this week. Very strong. Peppermint, raspberry, grape?"
Norma Lavin icily said, "No." Hussein went away beaming. He had delivered a complicated triple insult—by calling her a lady, offering her a narcotic and, at that, a narcotic traditionally beloved by Islamic ladies denied the consolation of love by ugliness or age.
Mundin masked his nervousness by studying his watch. "We have about ten minutes," he said. "If you can give me an idea of what you have in mind——"
Somebody coming down the aisle stumbled over Don Lavin's foot.
"I beg your pardon," Lavin said dreamily.
"What's the idea of tripping me?" asked a bored voice. It was a cop—a big man with an intelligent, humorous face.
"It was an accident, officer," Mundin said.
"Here we go again," Norma Lavin muttered.
"I was talking to this gentleman, I believe," the cop said. He asked Don Lavin again, "I said, what's the idea of tripping me? You a cop-hater or something?"
"I'm really very sorry," Lavin said. "Please accept my apology."
"He won't," Norma Lavin said to Mundin, aside.
"Officer," Mundin said sharply, "it was an accident. I'm Charles Mundin. Former candidate for the Council in the 27th, Regular Republican. I'll vouch for this gentleman."
"Yes, your Honor," the cop said, absently saluting. He turned to Lavin. "Suppose we show some identification, cop-hater."
Lavin took out a wallet and spilled cards on the table. The cop inspected them and muttered: "Dreadful. Dreadful. Social Security account card says you're Donald W. Lavin, but Selective Service registration says you're Don Lavin, no middle initial. And I see your draft registration is with an Omaha board but you have a resident's parking permit for Coshocton, Ohio. Tell me, did you ever notify Omaha that you're a resident of Coshocton?"
"Of course he did," Mundin said quickly.
Lavin said dreamily. "I'm extremely sorry, officer. I didn't. I registered in Omaha because I happened to be passing through on my eighteenth birthday. I simply never got around to changing."
The cop decisively scooped up the cards and said, "You'd better come along with me, Lavin. Your career of crime has gone far enough. It's a lucky thing I tripped over you."
Mundin noted that he had dropped the pretense of having been tripped. "Officer," he said, "I'm taking your shield number. I'm going to tell my very good friend Del Dworcas about this nonsense. Shortly after that, you'll find yourself on foot patrol in Belly Rave—the two-to-ten shift. Unless you care to apologize and get the hell out of here."
The officer grinned and shrugged. "What can I do?" he asked helplessly. "I'm a regular Javert. When I see the law broken, my blood boils. Come along, Dangerous Don."
Lavin smiled meagerly at his sister, who sat with a thundercloud scowl on her brow, and went along.
Mundin's voice was shaking with anger. "Don't worry," he told Norma Lavin. "I'll have him out of the station house right after the meeting. And that cop is going to wish he hadn't been born."
"Never mind. I'll get him out," she said. "Five times in three weeks. I'm used to it."
"What's the angle?" Mundin exploded.
Hussein came up with coffee in little cups. "Nice fella, that Jimmy Lyons," he said chattily. "For cop, that is."
"Who is he?" Mundin snapped.
"Precinct captain's man. Very good to know. The uniform is just patrolman, but when you talk to Jimmy Lyons you talk right into the precinct captain's ear. If you pay shakedown and two days later other cop comes around for more shakedown, you tell Jimmy Lyons. The cop gets transferred to Belly Rave. Maybe worse. You know," Hussein grinned confidentially, "before I come to America everybody tells me how different from Iraq. But once here—not so different."
Norma Lavin stood up and said, "I'm going to get my brother sprung before they start switching him around the precincts again." Her voice was leaden. "I suppose this is the end of the road, Mundin. But if you still want to consider taking our case, here's the address. Unfortunately there's no phone." She hesitated.
She began, "I hope you'll——" It was almost a cry for help. She bit off the words, dropped a coin and a card on the table and strode from the coffee shop. The Ay-rabs looked icily through her as she went.
Mundin managed to see Dworcas for a minute. "Del," he said, "what's with these Lavin people? What do you know about them?" Dworcas's face was open and friendly—Mundin knew how little that could be relied on.
"Not much, Charlie. They wanted a lawyer. We've worked together; I thought of you."
"Right after you thought of Willie Choate?" Dworcas was patient. "What the hell, Charlie? Choate wouldn't touch it, I knew that. But they wanted to talk to somebody big."
"Sure." Mundin hesitated, but already Dworcas was beginning to pick at papers on his desk. "Del, one thing. Some cop named Jimmy Lyons picked the boy up in Hussein's, no reason that I could see. The—the boy was conditioned, I think."
"Um. Jimmy Lyons? He's the captain's man. I'll call." Dworcas called, while Mundin thought about the complications of life on the firing-line of the law. There had not been, at John Marshall, a course in How to Get Along with Ward-feeders. But there should have been, thought Mundin, there should have been. Let us put you up to take a fall in the year when we aren't going to win the Council, and your name turns up on the slate of poll-watchers. Give us a hand at speeches, and when a case drops in our lap, we'll think of you. . . . Dworcas came up smiling.
"The sister bailed him out. They just wanted to cool him off—the kid gave Lyons some lip, evidently, and Lyons got sore. What the hell, cops are human."