Show of Evil

'Firestone is very friendly with the police and firemen. And he's not a big booster of that kindergarten of yours.'

'It's the senior high.'

'Okay, okay… yeah, I'm just saying - '

'You're just feeding me the same old line, Roy. Con Firestone into thinking I like him. Get along with Eckling. It's an open sore, the thing with Eckling. It's not gonna go away. Tell Firestone to butt out. It's none of his damn business. I don't work for the city, I represent the whole county.'

'Christ,' Shaughnessey said, shaking his head. 'You still hustling around trying to put all the town's big shots in jail?'

'Where'd you hear that?'

'Come ooon,' Shaughnessey answered, peeling the wrapper off a cigar the size of the Goodyear blimp.

'Maybe one of these days you'll be one of them. I warned you about that when you conned me into this job ten years ago.'

'Not a chance,' Shaughnessey said, and laughed. 'I'm out of your league now. It would take the attorney general' - he leaned forward and said softly - 'and I put him in office, too. And he's a helluva lot more grateful than you are.'

Venable was standing with her back to the anteroom door when Vail and Shaugnessey reappeared. She watched them shake hands, then Vail started back through the crowd, heading for the side entrance. She fell in behind him. When he stopped suddenly and turned to shake hands with someone, he saw her. Their eyes locked, green on grey, and this time neither of them broke the stare. Finally she thought, What the hell, and raised her champagne glass in a toast to him. He smiled and threaded his way through the crowd to her.

'How are you doing, Janie?' he asked.

'I think we're both doing just great,' she said, and offered him a sip of her champagne. He took it, signalled to one of the floating waiters, and got them two fresh glasses. They headed for a corner of the room, away from the crowd and the band.

'I just read about your international coup.' Vail said. 'Congratulations.'

'Thank you, Mr District Attorney.'

'Don't jump the gun,' Vail said.

'Oh, you've got the power now, Martin. Can't you tell?' She swept her arm around the crowd.

'Tomorrow'll be just another day.'

'No, it'll never be the same. You're the man they have to deal with now. And everybody knows you don't give two hoots in hell about playing politics.'

'You're a very smart lady, Janie.' He took a step backward and stared at her for several moments. 'And more handsome now than you were ten years ago, if that's possible.'

She caught her breath for just an instant but covered herself well.

'Why, Martin,' she said, 'I didn't think you noticed.'

'I'm not dead. I just overlooked it in the courtroom.'

'You certainly did.'

'Does this mean we're declaring a truce? Putting all that business behind us? Are we going to be civil to each other again?'

'We were never civil to each other.' She laughed.

 'Well' - he shrugged - 'we could try.'

 Her green eyes narrowed slightly. Is he up to something? she wondered, not yet willing to trust this apparent truce.

She's wondering what the hell I'm up to, he thought. And quickly moved to put her mind at ease. 'We'll probably never face each other in the courtroom again,' he said.

'What a shame.'

He knew exactly what she meant. Going at it before a jury one more time would be exciting. They played the staring game for a few moments longer, then she abruptly changed the subject.

'What's the real prognosis?'

Vail shrugged. 'You know doctors. He's got half a dozen specialists hovering over him and none of them'll give us a straight answer. One thing's for sure, he's got a tough road ahead of him.'

'I always liked Jack,' she said, thinking back over a decade to the obsequious, smooth-talking grifter with wavy white hair and a perpetual smile. What wasn't there to like. Yancey was not a litigator and never had been. He was a talker not a fighter, the ultimate bureaucrat who surrounded himself with smart young lawyers to do the dirty work.

'Yancey's the ultimate ass-kisser, but he's never made any bones about it,' said Vail.

'Yes,' she agreed. 'He'd kiss anything to stay in grace.' Venable took a long sip of champagne. 'I only let him down twice, you know. You were the reason both times.'

'Hell, that was a long time ago. Water under the dam as a friend of mine used to say.'

'Shit, you were a monster, Martin. Hell, I guess you still are. You've been prosecutor what, ten years now?'

He nodded. Ten years next month.'

'Long time to wait. That was the promise, wasn't it? Jack would move up to judge and you'd step in.'

'I was never promised anything except a free hand to run the prosecutor's office my way. Besides, promises aren't worth a damn in politics. You know how to tell when a politician's lying? His lips are moving.'

She laughed a throaty laugh. 'Okay,' she said, 'you know what they'd call it if all the lawyers in this room were on the bottom of a lake?'

'No, tell me.'

'A good beginning,' she said, and laughed again. 'Well, if it did happen that way, it was brilliant of them. Taking you out of the game, putting you on their side. I'll bet Jack engineered that whole deal himself.'

 'Nope. He was just along for the ride.'

'Who then? Not Shaughnessey!'

'Shaughnessey made the pitch.'

'You're kidding! Now there's a well-kept state secret.'

'It wasn't any secret. Shaughnessey made the pitch and Jack slobbered all over him agreeing. Hell, you were leaving and he didn't have a good prosecutor left.'

'Why'd you do it? You were making what? A million a year or more? You gave that up for a hundred and fifty thou?'

Her remark reminded him again about the Stampler case and the others through the years - dope pushers and mobsters, thieves and rogues he'd saved from-the gallows. 'Money was never the consideration,' he said simply.

 'Then why? Just tired of dealing with the scum of society? You put a lot of bad boys back on the street in your day, Mr Vail. Bargain-basement justice.'

'Justice? One thing I've learned after twenty years in the business: If you want justice, go to a whorehouse; if you want to get fucked go to court. I'm paraphrasing Thomas Jefferson.'

'A very cynical attitude for an officer of the court.'

 'We're all cynics. It's the only way to survive.'

'So what's next? Finish out Jack's term as DA, run for a term to see how good you look at the polls? Then governor?'

'You sound like a campaign manager.'

She looked at him and warmth crept into her green eyes. 'It's worth a thought,' she said quietly.

He decided to take a stab at it. 'Why don't we have dinner tonight? Exchange secrets.'

'You already know all my secrets, Marty,' she said rather dolefully, but quickly recovering. 'But not tonight. Give me a call. It's an interesting thought.'

'If you change your mind, I'll be up the street at Avanti! eating dinner.'

He started to leave, then walked back and stood close to her and said in her ear, 'All by myself.' He kissed her on the cheek and was gone.

She turned back to the crowded room and the heat and noise and lawyers and calypso rhythm and her shoulders sagged.

Ah, what the hell, she thought. Screw pride.

Eight

Handsome, debonair, the perfect host, and master of Avanti!, the best Italian kitchen in the state, Guido Signatelli had but one flaw: outrageously tacky taste. Plastic grapes and dusty Chianti bottles dangled from phony grape arbours that crisscrossed the ceiling, and the booths that lined the walls were shaped like giant wine barrels. But Guido and Avanti! had survived on the strength of personality, discretion, and dazzling cuisine. Located three blocks from City Hall, Guide's - the regulars never referred to the place by its name - had become the lunch-time county seat and the legal profession dominated the fake landscape. Guide's personal pecking order was as precise as a genealogical chart. Starting at the bottom were the lobbyists, their mouths dry and their palms damp as they sucked up to everybody. They were followed by young lawyers eager to be seen as they cruised the room, hoping for a handshake; then the assistant prosecutors, huddled over out-of-the-way tables and whispering strategy; and finally the kingmakers, the politicos who greased the wheels of the city from behind closed doors in what was jokingly called 'executive session' — to avoid the state's sunshine laws. Many a shady executive decision had been made in the quiet of one of Guide's booths. On the top were the judges, the emperors of justice, each with his or her own preordained table, each patronized by his or her own mewling sycophants and each pandered to by the rest of the room.