I entered unafraid. I was forty-four years old and nobody was going to ask me to bisect an angle or test my ability to solve a quadratic equation. That’s one of the advantages of growing up. There aren’t many, so I savored it.
She motioned to two sturdy wooden chairs in front of her desk and said, “Please, sit down.” Feeling liberal, I took the one on the left.
As part of that I promised myself I’d spend time each day studying philosophy or eastern religions. Those subjects had captivated me in college, and my hope was that immersing myself in them once more might give me some insight into how to deal with my existential pain. So far it hasn’t, but at least I’m well read. The problem is that I am one of those unlucky souls condemned to forever ponder life’s unanswerable questions. I don’t know whether this is the cause of my depression or the result of it. Either way, traditional religion never worked for me. I’ve always had a bit of an authority problem, so I have trouble with the concept of God. I go through life with the nagging suspicion that it’s all
As part of that I promised myself I’d spend time each day studying philosophy or eastern religions. Those subjects had captivated me in college, and my hope was that immersing myself in them once more might give me some insight into how to deal with my existential pain. So far it hasn’t, but at least I’m well read.
We shook hands. He gave me his triathlete grip, so I gave him my I-can-dead-lift-535-pounds grip.
“He graduated from Harvard at twenty.” “Big deal,” I said, “I started kindergarten before I turned five.”
I don’t trust doctors. I knew plenty of morons who had made it through law school, and my years defending navy doctors against malpractice claims had convinced me a similar percentage survived medical school.
then a puddle jumper the rest of the way. One of those twin-engine jobs where only a flimsy curtain separates the cockpit from the passenger cabin. On the plus side, I had avoided flying United.
“Well,” he said in a raspy voice, “you get points for bein’ a jarhead,
Someone was killing mathematicians; I didn’t know who or why, but I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to my client. Wouldn’t be prudent. When I returned to the motel in the late afternoon, a man in a gray suit was waiting for me. My size, my age. The odds were two to one that he was the FBI’s resident agent in Walla Walla. “You must be J. P. Sartre,” he said with a smile. I approached my room and opened the door. He followed me, but stopped just outside the doorway. I removed my tie and began to unbutton my shirt. “I’m Wallace Gibbs,” he said. He removed his credentials from his suit pocket and held
Someone was killing mathematicians; I didn’t know who or why, but I didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to my client. Wouldn’t be prudent.
“I’m the FBI’s resident agent in Walla Walla.” “Sounds like a cush job,” I said. “I’ve been here two days and haven’t seen a single federal crime.”
“Death,” I said, “the ultimate alibi.”
blood, and perform a throat culture. After a brief lecture on the dangers of overusing antibiotics, he relented. I was glad he didn’t take my blood pressure then. I might’ve
SPEED LIMIT’S FIFTY-FIVE,” Scott warned. “I don’t believe bureaucrats in Washington should decide speed limits in Nebraska,” I said. “I’m kind of a Republican in that regard.”
A Hispanic busboy came by, saw the lemon in my diet cola, and poured iced tea in it before I could stop him. Probably improved it, but I ordered a new one just to be safe.
He reminded me of my seventh-grade math teacher, Mr. Folvin. I had spent the bulk of that year sitting in the back of the class perfecting a new paper airplane and shooting spitballs at Lisa Lawlor through a hollow Bic pen. Which probably helps explain why I ended up in law rather than one of the sciences.
“Are you with the police or the FBI?” he asked. Lying was a felony. More to the point, it was an easy-to-prove felony.
Both of Tiny’s pals looked at me. “You a karate man too?” one asked. “No,” I said, “but I have a lot of anger left over from childhood.”
Most lawyers don’t even listen to the damn things. They’re too busy. They just send in the affidavit certifying that they completed the course. You can’t blame them. It’s a stupid requirement. Good lawyers will always strive to expand their knowledge of the law, and bad lawyers will be bad lawyers no matter how many CLE classes they attend.
“Y’all be careful,” he said. “These drug dealers’ll kill ya for five dollahs.” That’s one of his favorite expressions. In Ray’s world, pretty much anyone would kill ya for five dollahs.
“Something smells good,” she said. “Macaroni and cheese,” I said. She put her hands on her hips and gave me a look. “It’s Kraft,” I assured her.
sleeves rolled up and a leather shoulder holster. A paisley