Scam

banner headline. Being only tennis and not a top tournament, it was relegated to two columns. And the headline wasn’t even set in caps. They were upper-and lower-case block italics. I don’t know what they call them in the printing trade, but that’s what they looked like to me. Anyway, they were block letters slanted slightly to the right.
    When I say upper and lower case, only the S in Sampras was capitalized. All the other words were entirely lower-case letters.
    What struck me was the word singles.
    Cranston Pritchert’s threatening letter was lying face up on the desk. I picked it up and compared.
    Sure enough, the word singles in “I saw you in the singles bar” was made of lower-case block italics of exactly the same size. If there was a difference, I couldn’t see it.
    I looked at the letter again.
    The words had been cut with scissors, yes, but not in neat little rectangles. There seemed to be an element of haste about the letter. The cuts were sloppy and not exact.
    Particularly the word bar . The three letters, b, a, r, were all lower-case block letters. But they were bigger than the letters in singles and they were not italics, they were straight up and down.
    But that wasn’t all. As I said, the word had not been neatly cut out. Particularly, the cut in front of the b was slanted, and along it you could see the rounded curve of what appeared to be another letter.
    I turned the paper back to the basketball page. “Knicks embarrassed by Nets, still team to beat in playoffs” was an upper-and lower-case banner headline spread out over two pages. I held the letter up next to it. Sure enough, the word embarrassed could have yielded the word bar. The sloppy cut would precede it with a small round piece of the m.
    I blinked, flipped another page.
    “You gotta believe!”
    I looked at the letter. Sure enough, capital Y, lower-case o, lower-case u.
    Son of a bitch.
    You gotta believe, indeed.

10.
    R ICHARD R OSENBERG LOOKED UP FROM the letter and frowned. “Why did you bring me this?”
    “You’re a lawyer.”
    The frown deepened into a wince, seemed to border on a scowl. “I know I’m a lawyer. What’s that got to do with it?”
    “I need your advice.”
    “Aha!” Richard said. He leaned back in his desk chair and smiled smugly, as if he had just scored a telling point.
    I recognized the tactic. It was one of the cross-examination techniques that had made Richard Rosenberg one of New York City’s top negligence lawyers. A little man, with a seemingly endless supply of nervous energy, Richard Rosenberg was a human dynamo with a reputation for wearing opposing counsel down. Insurance companies tended to settle with him rather than risk going to court. I couldn’t blame them. Talking to Richard always was a challenge. Even for a friend and employee.
    In this instance, I wasn’t sure of my best response to “Aha!” I decided to wait, and see if Richard intended to amplify it.
    He did.
    Richard raised one finger in the air, cocked his head, and squinted at me sideways. “You are asking me now for legal advice?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And you have no intention of paying me?”
    “I couldn’t possibly afford you.”
    “I’ll take that for a yes. So, you are here asking for free advice?”
    “If you want to look at it that way.”
    “What other way is there to look at it?”
    “I thought it might interest you.”
    “Interest me?”
    “Yes. How often do you get a letter like this in the mail?”
    “Someone sent you this?”
    “Actually, no.”
    “I didn’t think so. You’re not the type to hang out in singles bars. So, this is not your letter?”
    “No.”
    “Whose is it?”
    “A client.”
    “Aha!” Richard said, in a voice that left no doubt that he had scored another telling point. “So you have a client?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Is this one of my clients?”
    “No.”
    “This is your own client?”
    “Yes.”
    “This client is paying you money?”
    “What’s your point, Richard?”
    “You have a client who has hired you to do a job. Part of your job requires legal advice. Any other private detective would hire a lawyer and stick the client with the fee. But you, prince that you are, haven’t got the heart to do that. Instead, you decide to do the client a favor by presuming on our friendship to finagle free legal advice. Is that a fairly accurate assessment of the situation?”
    “Not at all.”
    “Oh, really? Where did I go wrong? Would you mind