would somehow get the message of
emergency:
He
had
to.
He did. In moments, Paddy could be heard crashing through the east wing entrance, ordering Cousin Cora in his most commanding sergeant’s roar to get out of his way or he’d throw her to a bunch of war-weary drunken infantrymen looking for a little feminine amusement.
“It’s no threat, Mick!”
Sam Devereaux was tied to the chair behind his desk, his arms and legs bound with sheets torn from his bed and ripped with abandon by the once and former Sergeant Patrick Lafferty of Omaha Beach, World War II. Ripped, that was, after he had cold-cocked Sam and found the bedroom. Devereaux shook his head while blinking and attempted a semblance of his voice. “Five drug addicts attacked me,” he offered.
“Not exactly, Sam boyo,” said Paddy, holding a glass of water to the lawyer’s lips. “Unless you consider a touch of Bushmills in that category, which I don’t advise you to do in old Southie, or even in O’Toole’s saloon.”
“
You
did this to me?”
“I had no choice, Sam. When a man goes over the edge of combat fatigue, you bring him back however you can. It’s no disgrace, boyo.”
“You were in the army? In
combat
…? You were with MacKenzie
Hawkins
?”
“You know that
name
, Sam?”
“
Were
you?”
“I never had the privilege of meetin’ the great general personally, but I seen him! For ten days in France he took over our division, and I tell you this, laddie, Mac the Hawk was the finest commanding officer the army ever had. He made Patton look like a ballet dancer, and frankly I kinda liked old George, but he just wasn’t in the Hawk’s league.”
“I’m
screwed
!” screamed Devereaux, straining at thebinding sheet strips. “Where’s my mother … where’s
Aaron
?” he asked suddenly, glancing around the empty room.
“With your mother, boyo. I carried her to her bedroom. Mr. Pinkus is administering a little brandy to help her sleep.”
“Aaron and my
mother
?”
“Be a touch flexible, lad. You’ve met Shirley with the concrete hairdo.… Here, now, drink a little water—I’d give you some whisky, but I don’t believe you could handle it. Your eyes don’t convey much human, more like a cat’s that’s heard a loud noise.”
“
Stop
it! My whole world is coming apart!”
“Don’t unravel, Sam, Mr. Pinkus’ll stitch it back together. A grander man in that department there never was.…
There
, he’s comin’ back now. I hear what’s left of the door.”
The exhausted, frail figure of Aaron Pinkus trudged into the off-limits office as if he had just returned from an assault on the Matterhorn. “We have to talk, Samuel,” he said, sinking breathlessly into a chair in front of the desk. “Would you please leave us, Paddy? Cousin Cora suggested that you might enjoy a char-grilled porterhouse in the kitchen.”
“A
porter
?”
“With Irish ale, Paddy.”
“Well … you understand that first impressions are not always written in stone, am I correct, Mr. Pinkus?”
“That, too, is written in stone, my old friend.”
“What about
me
?” yelled Devereaux. “Will somebody cut me
loose
?”
“You will remain exactly where you are and how you are until our conversation’s over, Samuel.”
“You always call me ‘Samuel’ when you’re mad at me.”
“Mad? Why should I be mad? You’ve only involved me and the firm in the most heinously insidious crime in the history of civilization since the Middle Empire of Egypt four thousand years ago.
Mad
? No, Sammy, I’m merely hysterical.”
“I think I’d better leave, boss.”
“I’ll beep you later, Paddy. And enjoy your porterhouse as if you were having my last meal in this life.”
“Oh, you carry on so, Mr. Pinkus.”
“Then carry me out to the temple if I do not signal you within the hour.” Lafferty made a rapid exit, signified by the screeching sound of the shattered outside door being pulled shut. Hands folded in front of him, Aaron
emergency:
He
had
to.
He did. In moments, Paddy could be heard crashing through the east wing entrance, ordering Cousin Cora in his most commanding sergeant’s roar to get out of his way or he’d throw her to a bunch of war-weary drunken infantrymen looking for a little feminine amusement.
“It’s no threat, Mick!”
Sam Devereaux was tied to the chair behind his desk, his arms and legs bound with sheets torn from his bed and ripped with abandon by the once and former Sergeant Patrick Lafferty of Omaha Beach, World War II. Ripped, that was, after he had cold-cocked Sam and found the bedroom. Devereaux shook his head while blinking and attempted a semblance of his voice. “Five drug addicts attacked me,” he offered.
“Not exactly, Sam boyo,” said Paddy, holding a glass of water to the lawyer’s lips. “Unless you consider a touch of Bushmills in that category, which I don’t advise you to do in old Southie, or even in O’Toole’s saloon.”
“
You
did this to me?”
“I had no choice, Sam. When a man goes over the edge of combat fatigue, you bring him back however you can. It’s no disgrace, boyo.”
“You were in the army? In
combat
…? You were with MacKenzie
Hawkins
?”
“You know that
name
, Sam?”
“
Were
you?”
“I never had the privilege of meetin’ the great general personally, but I seen him! For ten days in France he took over our division, and I tell you this, laddie, Mac the Hawk was the finest commanding officer the army ever had. He made Patton look like a ballet dancer, and frankly I kinda liked old George, but he just wasn’t in the Hawk’s league.”
“I’m
screwed
!” screamed Devereaux, straining at thebinding sheet strips. “Where’s my mother … where’s
Aaron
?” he asked suddenly, glancing around the empty room.
“With your mother, boyo. I carried her to her bedroom. Mr. Pinkus is administering a little brandy to help her sleep.”
“Aaron and my
mother
?”
“Be a touch flexible, lad. You’ve met Shirley with the concrete hairdo.… Here, now, drink a little water—I’d give you some whisky, but I don’t believe you could handle it. Your eyes don’t convey much human, more like a cat’s that’s heard a loud noise.”
“
Stop
it! My whole world is coming apart!”
“Don’t unravel, Sam, Mr. Pinkus’ll stitch it back together. A grander man in that department there never was.…
There
, he’s comin’ back now. I hear what’s left of the door.”
The exhausted, frail figure of Aaron Pinkus trudged into the off-limits office as if he had just returned from an assault on the Matterhorn. “We have to talk, Samuel,” he said, sinking breathlessly into a chair in front of the desk. “Would you please leave us, Paddy? Cousin Cora suggested that you might enjoy a char-grilled porterhouse in the kitchen.”
“A
porter
?”
“With Irish ale, Paddy.”
“Well … you understand that first impressions are not always written in stone, am I correct, Mr. Pinkus?”
“That, too, is written in stone, my old friend.”
“What about
me
?” yelled Devereaux. “Will somebody cut me
loose
?”
“You will remain exactly where you are and how you are until our conversation’s over, Samuel.”
“You always call me ‘Samuel’ when you’re mad at me.”
“Mad? Why should I be mad? You’ve only involved me and the firm in the most heinously insidious crime in the history of civilization since the Middle Empire of Egypt four thousand years ago.
Mad
? No, Sammy, I’m merely hysterical.”
“I think I’d better leave, boss.”
“I’ll beep you later, Paddy. And enjoy your porterhouse as if you were having my last meal in this life.”
“Oh, you carry on so, Mr. Pinkus.”
“Then carry me out to the temple if I do not signal you within the hour.” Lafferty made a rapid exit, signified by the screeching sound of the shattered outside door being pulled shut. Hands folded in front of him, Aaron
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