From the Corner of His Eye

and self-pity roiled in him. His voice trembled with offense: "You do know, Mr. Magusson, what happened to my Naomi was an dent? You do believe that? Because I don't see… I don't know how could work with someone who thought I was capable of… "
        The runt was so out of proportion to his office furniture that he appeared to be a bug perched in the giant leather executive chair, which itself looked like the maw of a Venus's-flytrap about to swallow him for lunch. He allowed such a lengthy silence to follow Junior's question that by the time he answered, his reply was superfluous.
        Finally: "A trial lawyer, whether specializing in criminal or civil matters, is like an actor, Mr. Cain. He must believe deeply in his role, in the truth of his portrayal, if he's to be convincing. I always believe in the innocence of my clients in order to achieve the best possible settlement for them."
        Junior suspected Magusson never had any client but himself. Fat fees motivated him, not justice.
        As a matter of principle, Junior considered firing the slit-mouthed troll on the spot, but then Magusson said, "You shouldn't be bothered any further by Detective Vanadium."
        Junior was surprised. "You know about him?"
        "Everyone knows about Vanadium. He's a crusader, self-appointed champion of truth, justice, and the American way. A holy fool, if you will. With the case closed, he has no authority to harass you."
        "I'm not sure he needs authority," Junior said uneasily.
        "Well, if he bothers you again, just let me know."
        "Why do they let a man like that keep his badge?" Junior asked. "He's outrageous, wholly unprofessional."
        "He's successful. He solves most of the cases assigned to him."
        Junior had thought most other policemen must consider Vanadium to be a loose cannon, a rogue, an outcast. Perhaps the opposite was true-and if it was, if Vanadium was highly regarded among his peers, he was immeasurably more dangerous than Junior had realized.
        "Mr. Cain, if he bothers you, would you want me to have his choke chain yanked?"
        He couldn't remember on what principle he'd considered firing Magusson. In spite of his faults, the attorney was highly competent.
        "By the close of business tomorrow," said the lawyer, "I expect to have an offer for your consideration."
        Late Thursday, following a nine-hour session with Hisscus, Nork, and Knacker, Magusson-negotiating in conjunction with the Hackachak counsel-had indeed reached acceptable terms. Kaitlin Hackachak would receive $250,000 for the loss of her sister. Sheena and Rudy would receive $900,000 to compensate them for their severe emotional pain and suffering; this allowed them to undergo a lot of therapy in Las Vegas. Junior would receive $4,250,000. Magusson's fee was twenty percent prior to trial-forty percent if a settlement had been reached after the start of court proceedings-which left Junior with $3,400,000. All payments to plaintiffs were net of taxes.
        Friday morning, Junior resigned his position as a physical therapist at the rehabilitation hospital. He expected to be able to live well off interest and dividends for the rest of his life, because his tastes were modest.
        Glorying in the cloudless day and the warmer than usual weather, he drove seventy miles north, through phalanxes of evergreens that marched down the steep hills to the scenic coast. All the way, he monitored the traffic in his rearview mirror. No one followed him.
        He stopped for lunch at a restaurant with a spectacular view of the Pacific, framed by massive pines.
        His waitress was a cutie. She flirted with him, and he knew he could have her if he wanted.
        He wanted, all right, but -intuition warned him that he ought to continue to be discreet for a while longer.
        He hadn't seen Thomas Vanadium since Monday, at the cemetery, and Vanadium hadn't pulled any tricks since leaving twenty-five cents at his bedside that same night. Almost four days undisturbed by the hectoring detective. In matters Vanadium, however, Junior had learned to be wary, prudent.
        With no job to return to, he dawdled over lunch. He was actually tumescent with a growing sense of freedom that was as thrilling as sex.
        Life was too short to waste it working if you had the means to afford lifelong leisure.
        By the time he got back to Spruce Hills, the early night