«Gosh, I guess they didn’t but that’s not what I mean. They all got so excited, shouting and cursing and everything.»
«The ill-born are prone to emotional outbursts, we both know that. They have no ingrained restraint. Do you remember when the headmaster’s wife got drunk and began singing ‘One-Ball Reilly’ at the back of the chapel? Only the scholarship boys turned around.»
«Not exactly,» said the President sheepishly. «I did, too.»
«No, I can’t believe it!»
«Well, I sort of peeked. I think I had the hots for her; it started in dancing class—the fox trot, actually.»
«She did that to all of us, the bitch. It’s how she got her kicks.»
«I suppose so, but back to this meeting. You don’t think anything could come of that Indian stuff, do you?»
«Of course not! Chief Justice Reebock is just up to his old tricks, trying to get you mad because he thinks you blackballed him for our Honorary Alumni Society.»
«Gee, I swear I didn’t!»
«I know you didn’t, I did. His politics are quite acceptable, but he’s a very unattractive man and wears terrible clothes. He looks positively ludicrous in a tuxedo. Also, I think he drools—not for us, old roomie. You heard what that Washboard said … he said Reebock told our mole that we ‘weren’t the only half-assed ball game in town.’ What more do you need?»
«Still, everybody got so angry, especially Vincent Manja … Manju … Mango whatever.»
«It’s the Italian in him. It goes with the bloodlines.»
«Maybe, Warren. Still, he bothers me. I’m sure Vincent was a fine naval officer, but he could also be a loose cannon … like you-know-who.»
«Please, Mr. President, don’t give either of us nightmares!»
«I’m just trying to prevent ’em, old roomie. Look, Warren, Vincent doesn’t get along too well with our Attorney General or the Joint Chiefs, and definitely not with the whole Defense Department, so I want you to sort of cultivate him, stay in close touch with him on this problem—be his confidential friend.»
«With a Mangecavallo?»
«Your office calls for it, Warty old boy. State’s got to be involved in something like this.»
«But nothing will come of it!»
«I’m sure it won’t, but think of the reactions worldwide when the Court’s arguments become public. We’re a nation of laws, not whims, and the Supreme Court doesn’t suffer nuisance suits. You have some international spin-control in front of you, roomie.»
«But why me?»
«Golly gosh and zing darn, I just told you, Warty!»
«Why not the Vice-President? He can relay all the news to me.»
«Who?»
«The Vice-President!»
«What is his name, anyway?»
3
It was a bright midsummer’s afternoon, and Aaron Pinkus, arguably the finest attorney in Boston, Massachusetts, and certainly one of the kindest and most gentle of powerful men, climbed out of his limousine in the fashionable suburb of Weston and smiled at the uniformed chauffeur who held the door. «I told Shirley this huge car was ostentatious enough, Paddy, but that silly cap with the shiny visor on your head comes perilously close to the sin of false pride.»
«Not in old Southie, Mr. Pinkus, and we got more sins than they got votive candles in a wax factory,» said the large middle-aged driver, whose partially graying hair bespoke a once full crown of bright red. «Besides, you’ve been saying that for years now and it doesn’t do much good. Mrs. Pinkus is a very insistent woman.»
«Mrs. Pinkus’s brain has been refried too often under a beauty shop hair dryer… I never said that, Paddy.»
«Of course not, sir.»
«I don’t know how long I’ll be, so drive down the block, perhaps around the corner, out of sight—»
«And stay in touch with you over the beeper,» completed the Irishman, grinning, obviously enjoying the subterfuge. «If I spot Mr. Devereaux’s car, I signal you, and you can get out through the back door.»
«You know, Paddy, if our words were part of a transcript, any transcript, we’d lose the case, whatever it was.»
«Not with your office defending us, sir.»
«False pride again, my old friend. Also, criminal law is but a small part of the firm and not really outstanding.»
«Hey, you ain’t doing nothin’ criminal!»
«Then let’s lose the transcript… Do I look presentable for the grande dame, Paddy?»
«Let me straighten your tie, sir, it slipped a touch down.»
«Thank you,» said Pinkus as the driver adjusted his tie. His eyes strayed to the imposing blue-gray Victorian house, fronted by a white picket fence and profuse with gleaming white trim around the windows and below the high gables. Inside was the matron of this landmark residence, the formidable Mrs. Lansing Devereaux III, mother of Samuel Devereaux, potential attorney-extraordinary and currently an enigma to his employer, one Aaron Pinkus.
«There you are, sir.» The chauffeur stepped back and nodded approvingly. «You’re a grand and splendid sight for one of the opposite sex.»
«Please, Paddy, this is not an assignation, it’s a mission of compassionate inquiry.»
«Yeah, I know, boss. Sam’s been kind of off the wall every now and again.»
«You’ve noticed then?»
«Hell, you’ve had me pick him up at Logan Airport a dozen times or more this year. As I say, every now and again he seemed a little squirrelly, and it wasn’t just the boyo booze. He’s troubled, Mr. Pinkus. The lad’s got a trouble in his head.»
«And that head contains a brilliant legal mind, Paddy. Let’s see if we can find out what the trouble is.»
«Good luck, sir. I’ll be out of sight but in sight, if you know what I mean. And when you hear my beep, get the hell out of there.»
«Why do I feel like a bony, overage Jewish Casanova who couldn’t scale a trellis if a horde of pit bulls was snapping at my rear end?» Pinkus understood that he asked the question of himself, as his driver had raced around the hood of the limousine so as to climb inside and vanish—in sight but out of sight.
Aaron had met Eleanor Devereaux only twice over the years since he had known her son. The first time was the day Samuel came to work for the firm several weeks after his graduation from Harvard Law School, and then, Aaron suspected, it was because his mother wanted to look over her son’s workaday environs as she might inspect the counselors and the facilities of a summer camp. The second and only other time was at the welcome-home party the Pinkuses gave for Sam upon his return from the army, said homecoming one of the strangest in the chronicles of military separation. It took place over five months past the day that Lieutenant Devereaux was to arrive in Boston as an honorably discharged civilian. Five months unaccounted for.
Five months, mused Aaron, as he started toward the gate in the white picket fence, nearly half a year that Sam would not talk about—would not discuss except to say he was not permitted to discuss it, implying some type of top-secret government operation. Well, Pinkus had thought at the time, he certainly could not ask Lieutenant Devereaux to violate a sworn oath, but he was curious, both personally as a friend and professionally in terms of international legal negotiations, and he did have a few connections in Washington.
So he telephoned the President on the private White House line that rang in the upstairs living quarters and explained his conundrum to the chief executive.
«You think he may have been involved in a covert operation, Aaron?» the President had asked.