Rough Trade

it.”
    “Yes. We have the same one upstairs.”
    “Is that what you’ve come to see me about? Because if it is, I’m glad for a chance to sit down and settle this thing face-to-face—no bullshit.”
    “Actually, I’ve come to talk about something else.”
    “What?”
    “A business proposition.”
    “Oh, I hope you aren’t trying to get me to invest in a limited partnership or buy stock in some hot high-tech company. I have people who do that kind of thing for me—”
    “No,” I said. “I’ve come to ask you whether you’re a football fan.”
     
    I worked the phone the whole way back to Lake Forest. First I called the top criminal attorney on my list who showed absolutely no surprise at being asked to represent Jeffrey Rendell—indeed, he acted almost as if he’d been expecting the call. Of course, when I told him that Jeff was in L.A., I thought he was going to have a stroke. I figured I’d let Eiben tell him the rest.
    That done I put a call in to Jeff and ended up leaving another message. Let him enjoy his golf, I thought to myself. Who knows when he’ll get to play again? After that I checked my voice mail at home and back at the office. Someone from the mayor’s office had left word at Callahan Ross that he was willing to sit down and meet with me early Tuesday. Whatever ended up happening, we were going to be cutting it close.
    After I finished listening, I transferred over to Sherman Whitehead’s line and found him, as usual, at his desk. I told him to draw up a power of attorney transferring control of the Monarchs from Jeff to Chrissy and to hold on to it. I figured that if Eiben made good on his threat to put Jeff behind bars, we’d better have someone on the outside who was empowered to make decisions for the team, but I didn’t want Sherman faxing it out to California until I had a chance to explain to Jeff what was going on. The way I figured it, he was already in for enough nasty surprises.
    For the rest of the drive, I gave myself over to the not inconsiderable pleasures of driving the Jaguar. It wasn’t so much the big things as the luxury of the simple ones; the fact that it still had a radio that worked or that every encounter with a pothole didn’t cost me another piece of the undercarriage. I remember thinking that I could get used to this.
    When I got back to my parents’ house, I found Chrissy curled up on the couch in my father’s study, the room in the house that constituted his only sanctuary from my mother. It was the place where he came to drink, smoke cigars, and scratch himself where it itched.
    Chrissy was nursing a bottle of Evian water and watching the NFL pregame show on TV. She had the same look on her face that you see on onlookers at a four-car pileup.
    “Where’s the baby?” I asked, opening up the armoire that hid the bar and pulling out a cold can of Coors from the little refrigerator that was concealed there.
    “She’s sleeping,” she replied distractedly, her eyes glued to the tube. “Mrs. Mason’s up there with her in case she wakes up.”
    “Have you heard from Jeff?”
    “No, and I hope to god he’s still out on the golf course.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I don’t want him to see this.”
    “What is it?”
    “They’re showing the demonstrations outside the stadium in Milwaukee. Mayor Deutsch is there. He made a campaign appearance eating turkey legs with the King and his fucking court,” continued Chrissy, her voice trembling with anger. “The Jester was there.”
    “They let him out already?”
    “Apparently. But that’s not even the worst part. There are all these guys holding up homemade stop signs that say ‘Stop Jeff.’ Oh, and look,” she continued, pointing to the TV, “they’re showing the electric chair again.”
    I came over and sat down beside Chrissy. On the screen there was indeed a mock-up of an electric chair. In it was strapped a dummy with horn-rimmed glasses, meant to be Jeff.
    “Turn it off,” I said. “I have to talk to you.” Chrissy picked up the remote and pushed the button. “The police called me at the office this morning. They have a warrant to arrest Jeff.”
    “Oh my god!” she sobbed with a sharp intake of breath. Other than that, her body was immobile, like the split second after you’ve been hit in the face and you still can’t believe you’ve actually been struck.
    There was a discreet knock on the study door.
    “Come in,” I called out, reaching across to Chrissy and giving