"That's right. Happens in all the best movies," Mike Takahara confirmed.
"Hero, mah ass," Paxton grumbled. "Since when does a hero have to call nine-one-one to get his butt out of trouble?"
"That's a good point, Henry," Carl Scoby nodded. "Here we hire you as our ace crazy man, wild-card agent extraordinaire, and the first chance you get to show your stuff, you take the easy way out."
"Yeah, and then when he's conscious again, all he wants to know is who won some fucking ball game," Larry Paxton added.
"Hell of a disappointment, Henry," Scoby commented solemnly.
"Yeah, especially since Ah had to go out and save my partner's ass," Paxton complained. "And nobody never told me Ah could call nine-one-one to do it, either."
"Paxton, you couldn't save shit in a bucket," Dwight Stoner growled through his swollen and split lips as he made a threatening motion to smack Paxton with a handful of beer bottles. "All you did was walk in, start a bar fight, and then haul ass out the door. Left me there to fight three hundred goddamn drunken redneck cowboys and a flipped-out coon-ass all by myself."
"There were only two hundred drunk cowboys, a couple of Indians, and the coon-ass," Paxton corrected, then drained about half the bottle in one long gulp. "I counted to make sure before I went out to get the cavalry."
"Who immediately proceeded to run you over and throw your ass in jail," Scoby reminded.
"Yeah, well, they don't 'xactly make cavalry rescues like they used to," Paxton conceded.
"Did I come in at a bad time?" Marie looked over at Paul MeNulty, who seemed to be the only halfway sober member of the group.
"No such thing with these fellows, my dear," MeNulty said, shaking his head and smiling. "You are always a breath of fresh air, and we're certainly grateful for your help. I just hope we're not making too much noise."
"As long as they keep on hitting the walls and not the windows, I think the neighborhood will survive," she said as she walked over to Henry Lightstone's partially raised hospital bed and began to appraise her patient's condition.
"So how you doing, sport?" she asked as she reached down and peeled up Lightstone's eyelids, one by one, to check the dilation of his pupils.
"I think I need more medical attention," Lightstone replied with a cheerful leer.
"Yeah, I bet you do," Marie nodded skeptically.
"Shit, he's fine," Larry Paxton complained from the adjoining bed. "Ah'm the one who needs medical attention. And besides, how come he gets the girl?"
"'Cause he's the hero," Carl Scoby explained. "It always happens that way."
"Personally, I think this is starting to sound like an ethnic solution," Mike Takahara said.
"See! There, what'd I tell you?" Larry Paxton nodded. "And that's exactly what it is, too. Ah'm being prejudiced against."
"So I think I should get the girl," Takahara finished.
"Mah ass!"
"I don't suppose there's any point in asking anybody how many beers these two have had so far," Marie said, looking around the room.
"Uh, three?" Lightstone guessed, mistakenly holding up five fingers.
"Yeah, that's right, 'cause Ah think he drank one of mine," Paxton agreed.
"Uh-huh," Marie nodded, having confirmed her suspicions. "As I recall, gentlemen, the deal we agreed upon was very simple. No painkillers in the morning and the afternoon, and you could have three beers apiece. So what we've got here is a choice. You can either skip on that last six-pack, or you can wait until about six o'clock this evening for your next pain pills. Take your pick."
"Hell, Ah don't need no pain pills." Paxton shook his head bravely. "Ah'm tough."
"And if he's tough, then I'm tough," Lightstone nodded in agreement.
"You're both a couple of wimps," Dwight Stoner smiled as he drained his beer bottle in one gulp and reached for another.
"Okay, guys, you asked for it," Marie Pascalaura said agreeably as she checked her watch. "You are hereby advised that serious drugs will not be available until six o'clock this evening. Any complaints, bitches, moaning, groaning, or whining will be referred to Special Agent Dwight Stoner for arbitration."
"Shit, if it's up to me, they ain't gonna get nothin', period," Stoner growled. "Couple of candy asses, that's all they are. Wanna work in this outfit, they gotta learn to play with pain."
"And on that cheerful note, I think I'm going to go to work," Marie Pascalaura smiled, walking back out the door with a deliberate roll of her muscular hips that left the agent team whistling and cheering in her wake.
"God, I love the medical profession," Henry Lightstone sighed.
"Yeah, well as long as you and me are roommates, and you ain't gonna share," Paxton muttered, "you can just forget about-"
There was a knock at the door, and a familiar face looked in.
"Hey, Counselor!" Henry Lightstone exclaimed, raising his beer bottle in salute. "Come on in."
"Am I interrupting anything?" Deputy U.S. Attorney Jameson Wheeler asked cautiously.
"Nah, just some general bullshit." Lightstone grinned. "Come on in and have a beer."
"Don't mind if I do," the tall and lanky government lawyer said as he entered, shut the door, and then walked over and handed McNulty a note. "But first, the mail run. Office wants you to call in right away. Sounds like they think it's important," he advised.
McNulty looked at the number, nodded, and then quickly disappeared out the door as Wheeler accepted a beer from Stoner and took McNulty's chair.
"So how's Mr. Henry Allen Lightner's highly reputable 'family attorney' doing these days?" Carl Scoby inquired after Wheeler had taken his first grateful sip of the cold brew.
"Well, to tell you the truth, pretty damned good," the Deputy U.S. Attorney nodded. "Fact is, I think I've just received the first official bribe of my entire legal career."
"No kidding?" Carl Scoby laughed. "They make it worthwhile?"
Jameson Wheeler pulled a folded check out of his breast pocket and handed it over to Scoby. "I don't know, maybe I'm not reading it right. What do you think?"
"Holy shit!" Scoby whispered and then passed the check around until it got to Lightstone, who glanced at it briefly, blinked, looked again, and then stared up at Wheeler.
"Somebody's offering you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?" he said, blinking in astonishment. "What the hell for?"
"Basically, to be your attorney, more or less."
"Oh, yeah?" Lightstone laughed. "Well, if you don't mind my asking, Counselor, just what in hell are you planning on doing for me that's going to be worth a quarter-of-a- million-dollar fee?"
"Looks like you ain't gonna need Marie no more," Larry Paxton guessed. "Can I have her?"
"Of course you have to understand," Jameson Wheeler said, "that this is what we in the legal profession would call a 'retainer.' Just a little pocket change to keep a legal-beagle like myself hanging around on stand-by and twiddling his thumbs for the next few weeks."
"That mean you wouldn't get to keep the money unless you actually did the work?" Mike Takahara asked.
"Oh, good Lord, no," Wheeler laughed, shaking his head in mock dismay. "I'm always amazed that you law- enforcement types have so little understanding of our legal system. What kind of professionals do you think we are?"
"Gimme another beer before I say something I might regret later on," Paxton mumbled to Stoner.
"As a member in good standing of the District of Columbia and the Idaho State bars," Jameson Wheeler went on, still smiling, because he and Paxton had known and worked with each other for the past sixteen years, "I would certainly be allowed to keep my retainer whether I worked my butt off on behalf of my client or did nothing much at all. In fact, as I understand the situation, in the unlikely event that I might actually do something halfway significant in this particular case-say, for example, pass gas at an appropriate moment when the opening counsel is trying to make a point to the jury-I can expect to receive another check of similar if not greater value."