work.”
“Oh, it sucks all right. Ninety percent of what we do sucks. We hustle the nickel-and-dime stuff to pay the overhead and dream of the big case. But last night, David, I didn’t dream, and I’ll tell you why. Ever hear of a drug called Krayoxx, a cholesterol drug?”
“No.”
“Well, you will. It’s killing people right and left, no doubt the next big mass tort wave of litigation, and we gotta get in fast. Where are you going?”
“I need to run a quick errand, and since we’re downtown, it won’t take a second.”
A minute later, David parked illegally outside of Abner’s. “Ever been here?” he asked.
“Oh, sure. There aren’t many bars with which I’m unacquainted, David. But it’s been a while.”
“This is where I spent yesterday, and I need to pay my bar bill.”
“Why didn’t you pay it yesterday?”
“Because I couldn’t find my pockets, remember?”
“I’ll wait in the car,” Wally said, then took a long, lustful look at the door into Abner’s.
Miss Spence was on her throne, eyes glazed, cheeks red, in another world. Abner was hustling around the bar, mixing drinks, pouring beer, sliding along platters of burgers. David caught him near the cash register and said, “Hey, I’m back.”
Abner smiled and said, “So you’re alive after all.”
“Oh, sure. Just left court. You got my tab somewhere close?”
Abner fished through a drawer and pulled out a ticket. “Let’s call it a hundred and thirty bucks.”
“Is that all?” David handed over two $100 bills and said, “Keep it.”
“Your chick is over there,” Abner said, nodding at Miss Spence, whose eyes were temporarily closed.
“She’s not as cute today,” David said.
“I gotta friend in finance, he was in last night, says she’s worth eight billion.”
“On second thought.”
“I think she likes you, but you’d better hurry.”
“I’d better leave her alone. Thanks for taking care of me.”
“No problem. Come back and see me sometime.”
Highly unlikely, David thought as they quickly shook hands.
CHAPTER 11
F or an unlicensed driver, Wally proved to be a skillful navigator. Somewhere near Midway Airport, he directed David through a series of quick turns onto short streets, delivered them from two impossible dead ends, insisted he drive two blocks the wrong way, and did it all with a nonstop monologue that included “I know this place like the back of my hand” several times. They parked at the curb in front of a sagging duplex with aluminum foil covering the windows, a barbecue grill on the front porch, and a huge orange cat guarding the front door.
“And who lives here?” David asked, taking in the run-down neighborhood. Two sketchy teenagers across the street seemed fascinated by his shiny Audi.
“Here liveth a lovely woman by the name of Iris Klopeck, widow of Percy Klopeck, who died about eighteen months ago at the age of forty-eight, died in his sleep. Very sad. They came to see me about a divorce one time but then changed their minds. As I recall, he was rather obese, but not nearly as large as she.”
The two lawyers were sitting in the car talking, as if they did not want to get out. Only a couple of FBI agents in black suits and a black sedan could have been more conspicuous.
“So, why are we here?” David asked.
“Krayoxx, my friend, Krayoxx. I want to talk to Iris and see if by chance Percy had been on the drug when he died. If so, then voilà! Wehave another Krayoxx case, worth somewhere between two and four mill. Any more questions?”
Oh, dozens of questions. David’s mind was spinning as he realized they were about to cold-call Ms. Klopeck to inquire about her dead husband. “Is she expecting us?” he asked.
“I haven’t called, have you?”
“No, actually.”
Wally yanked open the door and got out. David reluctantly did the same and managed to frown at the teenagers admiring his car. The orange cat refused to move from the doormat. The doorbell could
“Oh, it sucks all right. Ninety percent of what we do sucks. We hustle the nickel-and-dime stuff to pay the overhead and dream of the big case. But last night, David, I didn’t dream, and I’ll tell you why. Ever hear of a drug called Krayoxx, a cholesterol drug?”
“No.”
“Well, you will. It’s killing people right and left, no doubt the next big mass tort wave of litigation, and we gotta get in fast. Where are you going?”
“I need to run a quick errand, and since we’re downtown, it won’t take a second.”
A minute later, David parked illegally outside of Abner’s. “Ever been here?” he asked.
“Oh, sure. There aren’t many bars with which I’m unacquainted, David. But it’s been a while.”
“This is where I spent yesterday, and I need to pay my bar bill.”
“Why didn’t you pay it yesterday?”
“Because I couldn’t find my pockets, remember?”
“I’ll wait in the car,” Wally said, then took a long, lustful look at the door into Abner’s.
Miss Spence was on her throne, eyes glazed, cheeks red, in another world. Abner was hustling around the bar, mixing drinks, pouring beer, sliding along platters of burgers. David caught him near the cash register and said, “Hey, I’m back.”
Abner smiled and said, “So you’re alive after all.”
“Oh, sure. Just left court. You got my tab somewhere close?”
Abner fished through a drawer and pulled out a ticket. “Let’s call it a hundred and thirty bucks.”
“Is that all?” David handed over two $100 bills and said, “Keep it.”
“Your chick is over there,” Abner said, nodding at Miss Spence, whose eyes were temporarily closed.
“She’s not as cute today,” David said.
“I gotta friend in finance, he was in last night, says she’s worth eight billion.”
“On second thought.”
“I think she likes you, but you’d better hurry.”
“I’d better leave her alone. Thanks for taking care of me.”
“No problem. Come back and see me sometime.”
Highly unlikely, David thought as they quickly shook hands.
CHAPTER 11
F or an unlicensed driver, Wally proved to be a skillful navigator. Somewhere near Midway Airport, he directed David through a series of quick turns onto short streets, delivered them from two impossible dead ends, insisted he drive two blocks the wrong way, and did it all with a nonstop monologue that included “I know this place like the back of my hand” several times. They parked at the curb in front of a sagging duplex with aluminum foil covering the windows, a barbecue grill on the front porch, and a huge orange cat guarding the front door.
“And who lives here?” David asked, taking in the run-down neighborhood. Two sketchy teenagers across the street seemed fascinated by his shiny Audi.
“Here liveth a lovely woman by the name of Iris Klopeck, widow of Percy Klopeck, who died about eighteen months ago at the age of forty-eight, died in his sleep. Very sad. They came to see me about a divorce one time but then changed their minds. As I recall, he was rather obese, but not nearly as large as she.”
The two lawyers were sitting in the car talking, as if they did not want to get out. Only a couple of FBI agents in black suits and a black sedan could have been more conspicuous.
“So, why are we here?” David asked.
“Krayoxx, my friend, Krayoxx. I want to talk to Iris and see if by chance Percy had been on the drug when he died. If so, then voilà! Wehave another Krayoxx case, worth somewhere between two and four mill. Any more questions?”
Oh, dozens of questions. David’s mind was spinning as he realized they were about to cold-call Ms. Klopeck to inquire about her dead husband. “Is she expecting us?” he asked.
“I haven’t called, have you?”
“No, actually.”
Wally yanked open the door and got out. David reluctantly did the same and managed to frown at the teenagers admiring his car. The orange cat refused to move from the doormat. The doorbell could
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