straightening up and kicking me with the side of his foot, “this one’s
not driving.”
“No problem,” said the intrepid third-year, and within seconds I was bundled, pushed,
and folded into the backseat of the Audi, my legs behind the driver’s seat, my hips
behind the passenger’s seat. The cop leaned in the car then and looked directly into
my face as if intent on remembering it. “I understand you got some powerful friends,
boy.” He waited a beat. “I just want you to know you got some powell-ful enemies,
too.”
Did he say “Powell-ful”? Did I really hear him say that? I could not be sure, but
before I could formulate the question he was gone and the other students were loading
Marion into the front seat like a large sack of cement, and then the third-year himself
got behind the wheel, strapped himself in, made sure Marion was strapped in, called
“Thank you” to the cops and “Bye” to his friends, and wheeled onto the street.
We went a block and a half to Washington and turned right, heading for the Parkway.
I was too stunned to say anything, and then Inoticed our driver trying to catch my eye in the rearview mirror. “How did I do?”
he asked.
“Fantastic,” I said. I was about to express admiration, gratitude, wonder at what
had just taken place, when he derailed me with a laugh and a quick glance into the
seat next to him.
I knew it was coming the instant before it happened. There was a movement, then a
tumble of dark hair, then one dancing eye peering around the curve of the seat back.
“And how did
I
do?” said Marion.
5
.
I
LEFT GEORGE WASHINGTON IN MAY AND NEVER RETURNED. I TRANSFERRED to a school in Boston. I had hoped to get into Boston College, but even with a strong
letter of recommendation from the Senator, I wasn’t able to overcome the D I had gotten
in civil procedure.
The school to which I went was fine, and while it may not have had the same prestige
as GW, it allowed me the freedom not to fret quite so much about who was watching
me, grading me, pulling me over in the middle of the night. Two years later, I graduated,
sat for the bar, hung around my mother’s house in New Jersey awaiting the results,
and when I was sworn in as an attorney I got a call from Chuck, Chuck Larson, telling
me to apply to the Cape & Islands district attorney for a job.
1
.
CAPE COD, April 2008
“
A
NYTHING NEW ?”
“You know, Mr. Telford,” I said as I watched him climb onto the long-legged chair
next to mine, “if you don’t stop coming here, I’m going to have to.”
I wanted him to know I was not joking. “I like this restaurant, I like sitting at
the bar, I like having John mix me a Manhattan. I like, most of all, that I’m not
working when I’m here.”
Bill Telford kept his eyes on the television as he completed his personal seating
arrangement. The Bruins were on, game seven of the first round of the playoffs, and
while Mr. Telford dutifully watched, he didn’t say anything pithy or knowledgeable,
the way a real hockey fan might.
John asked him what he wanted, and he said he would like a nice cup of coffee. This
got barely a grunt out of John.
I turned back to my meal, steak tips over rice.
“I didn’t hear anything from you,” he said.
“I didn’t have anything to report.”
“I heard you went to see the chief.”
I dropped my fork, let it clang against the crockery. The two of us sat there staring
at ten men slapping a disk up and down the ice, pausingin their pursuit only long enough to slam one another into the boards and occasionally
grab one another by the sweater.
“None of my stuff was there, was it?”
“Mr. Telford, you obviously don’t need me. You know everything already.”
He got his coffee, turned the mug so that the handle was to the right, and poured
in a fair amount of sugar. “Just wanted to confirm it.”
“So I was, what, an experiment? A mine canary? If
not driving.”
“No problem,” said the intrepid third-year, and within seconds I was bundled, pushed,
and folded into the backseat of the Audi, my legs behind the driver’s seat, my hips
behind the passenger’s seat. The cop leaned in the car then and looked directly into
my face as if intent on remembering it. “I understand you got some powerful friends,
boy.” He waited a beat. “I just want you to know you got some powell-ful enemies,
too.”
Did he say “Powell-ful”? Did I really hear him say that? I could not be sure, but
before I could formulate the question he was gone and the other students were loading
Marion into the front seat like a large sack of cement, and then the third-year himself
got behind the wheel, strapped himself in, made sure Marion was strapped in, called
“Thank you” to the cops and “Bye” to his friends, and wheeled onto the street.
We went a block and a half to Washington and turned right, heading for the Parkway.
I was too stunned to say anything, and then Inoticed our driver trying to catch my eye in the rearview mirror. “How did I do?”
he asked.
“Fantastic,” I said. I was about to express admiration, gratitude, wonder at what
had just taken place, when he derailed me with a laugh and a quick glance into the
seat next to him.
I knew it was coming the instant before it happened. There was a movement, then a
tumble of dark hair, then one dancing eye peering around the curve of the seat back.
“And how did
I
do?” said Marion.
5
.
I
LEFT GEORGE WASHINGTON IN MAY AND NEVER RETURNED. I TRANSFERRED to a school in Boston. I had hoped to get into Boston College, but even with a strong
letter of recommendation from the Senator, I wasn’t able to overcome the D I had gotten
in civil procedure.
The school to which I went was fine, and while it may not have had the same prestige
as GW, it allowed me the freedom not to fret quite so much about who was watching
me, grading me, pulling me over in the middle of the night. Two years later, I graduated,
sat for the bar, hung around my mother’s house in New Jersey awaiting the results,
and when I was sworn in as an attorney I got a call from Chuck, Chuck Larson, telling
me to apply to the Cape & Islands district attorney for a job.
1
.
CAPE COD, April 2008
“
A
NYTHING NEW ?”
“You know, Mr. Telford,” I said as I watched him climb onto the long-legged chair
next to mine, “if you don’t stop coming here, I’m going to have to.”
I wanted him to know I was not joking. “I like this restaurant, I like sitting at
the bar, I like having John mix me a Manhattan. I like, most of all, that I’m not
working when I’m here.”
Bill Telford kept his eyes on the television as he completed his personal seating
arrangement. The Bruins were on, game seven of the first round of the playoffs, and
while Mr. Telford dutifully watched, he didn’t say anything pithy or knowledgeable,
the way a real hockey fan might.
John asked him what he wanted, and he said he would like a nice cup of coffee. This
got barely a grunt out of John.
I turned back to my meal, steak tips over rice.
“I didn’t hear anything from you,” he said.
“I didn’t have anything to report.”
“I heard you went to see the chief.”
I dropped my fork, let it clang against the crockery. The two of us sat there staring
at ten men slapping a disk up and down the ice, pausingin their pursuit only long enough to slam one another into the boards and occasionally
grab one another by the sweater.
“None of my stuff was there, was it?”
“Mr. Telford, you obviously don’t need me. You know everything already.”
He got his coffee, turned the mug so that the handle was to the right, and poured
in a fair amount of sugar. “Just wanted to confirm it.”
“So I was, what, an experiment? A mine canary? If
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