No Lesser Plea by Robert K. Tanenbaum Page B

truth, Margo is more your speed than Ciampi,” said V.T.
    “Don’t remind me. God, that’s an ass I’d love to get a piece of. What a body! Hard, tight—knishy little tits. She can probably yank nails with her snatch. By the way, where is she? You invited her, didn’t you, V.T.?”
    “I did, and I believe she’s here now.”
    The door opened and Marlene Ciampi breezed in, in blazer, knee-length gray flannel skirt, and high boots, a Marlboro gripped between her teeth like a stogie. Her thick, kinky, coal-colored hair was parted in the middle and drawn into a bun, getting a little ragged this late in the day. She had a heart-shaped face and the conventionally regular features of a cosmetics model, which she downplayed by keeping her eyebrows thick and her expression tight and belligerent.
    “Sorry I’m late, guys,” she said, yanking the empty chair out with the toe of her boot and slamming her rear down on the leather. “I’ve had an un-fucking-believable whorehouse of a day.”
    “That’s OK, Champ, we waited. As a matter of fact, we were just talking about you. Ray here was saying …”
    Guma gave a strangled yelp. “Newbury, you’re dead!”
    “Yes,” V.T. continued blandly, “he was speculating that your vaginal musculature was capable of ripping a nail out of a board, weren’t you, Ray?”
    Ciampi didn’t blink. “Oh yeah? Did he elaborate? I mean sticking up, pounded flush, or countersunk?”
    “A corpse, Newbury.”
    “All flesh is grass, Goom,” said Newbury with a dazzling smile. “Ah, here’s our Margo. Let’s drink to Butch.” They poured the rich, pungent wine. “To homicide,” said Newbury, glass raised. They all drank and then Margo took their orders.
    Karp said, “You got any pizza, Margo?”
    Guma sputtered. “Pizza! Give me a break, Karp. Pizza in Villa Cella? Margo, don’t listen to him. Look, this is my party, I’m the head guinea, and I’ll order. First, bring a big plate of trigliette alio zaffrano, then the special canneloni, with veal piccata all around, OK?”
    “I’m not eating veal,” said Marlene.
    “Why not?” asked Guma.
    “Because they nail the poor animals’ feet to the floor so they can’t move around and their flesh will be white. Yuck!”
    “Marlene, they only do that to geese in Strasbourg,” said V.T.
    “Well, I read that they lock them up in dark rooms, or something. Anyway, they have a horrible life, the little veals.”
    “Shit, Marlene, so what! I have a horrible life,” said Guma.
    “Yeah, but I’m not eating you, schmuck.”
    “I only wish,” replied Guma, rolling his eyes to heaven.
    “Guma, will you get off my case for one fucking minute? Christ, give me another glass of that stuff.” Karp poured and she picked the glass up and drained it in a gulp. She gasped and color rose high on her cheeks. “OK, I’m not going to get pissed off and screw up Butch’s party. But you will not believe my day.”
    “What happened, Champ?” Karp asked.
    “OK, first of all, you know the Ruddy Child Center case? This scumbag who runs the place is diddling the kids, and one of them tells the parents. It turns out that living on the same floor is our own Rick Pearl. He’s got his own two daughters in the place. So the parents go to their friendly, neighborhood assistant DA and Rick goes apeshit, gets a detective, goes down to the center, and braces the scumbag. Who cracks in about four seconds and spills his guts.
    “OK, it’s tainted, right? Rick didn’t read him his rights. Granted, he should have turned it over immediately to somebody else. But we had solid testimony from a dozen kids, other workers in the center, other people who had quit working there because they didn’t like what was going on. What does the judge do, Albert “The Asshole” Albinoli? He dismisses all the charges, on the grounds that Rick’s mistake tainted all subsequent evidence. Can you fucking believe it?”
    “That’s a tough one. It happens, though,”