Swan Dive

tell you whether he stayed or not, because personally I couldn’t give a shit. But he’s right as fucken rain about me not staying. Jeez, the only thing goes on longer than the speeches at that kinda thing is the Arctic winter, you know?”
    ”So where did you go?”
    ”Here. Home. I was worried about Eleni, remember?”
    ”Why?”
    Chris started to turn bright red and rose out of his chair. ”Why? Why, you stupid shit, because you were playing Charles fucken Bronson with Marsh in his shower, that’s why! Remember that? Remember why I fucken asked you as a favor, as a friend, to bodyguard at a simple little divorce conference that turns into fucken Armageddon? The guy scared me, John, you happy you got me to say that again? He scared me, and now this Braxley fucken terrifies me, and I’m getting . .He suddenly seemed to just run out of steam, dumping his body back into the seat. ”John, why don’t you get the fuck out of here, okay? Leave me alone, just leave me with my problems for a while.”
    I got up and walked past Fotis, who was grinning behind his paper just about enough to set me off.

    I headed the car back toward 128 South. I had some questions for Hanna that I couldn’t ask over the telephone, but I wanted to think things through first. I got onto Route 1 and sat for nearly an hour with four hundred other cars before the state police permitted us, one at a time, to crawl around a jackknifed double-trailered tank truck that was oozing God knows what into a ditch on the side of the road.
    I stopped at the office, paid some bills, and perfunctorily worked on two other matters I’d been pursuing.
    I reconsidered a call I’d been mulling in the traffic jam, then dialed it anyway.
    ”Nancy Meagher.”
    ”Nancy, it’s John. John Cuddy.”
    She laughed. ”You think I know so many Johns I can’t place your voice?”
    I thought back to how similarly Felicia Arnold responded in our telephone conversation. Maybe it’s the law school training.
    ”John, are you still there?”
    ”Yes, sorry. Nance, I need the answers to a few questions about attorney licensing.”
    ”John, if it’s about the Marsh case, you know I can’t talk.”
    ”I know. It’s more general than that. Say a lawyer was caught doing drugs, cocaine. What would happen?”
    ”Caught? You mean by the police?”
    ”Or an informer. Somebody who goes to the cops or the bar authorities with ironclad evidence that the lawyer was buying substantial amounts.”
    ”Well, putting aside the criminal proceedings, the Board of Bar Overseers would probably start an investigation through its lawyer staff, with a hearing and all before the board.”
    ”What then?”
    ”Then, if the evidence is persuasive, the board seeks sanctions, with a single justice of the Supreme Judicial Court eventually ruling on what was to happen as a penalty. Of course, sometimes I think the board just lets the criminal side run its course, and then nails the lawyer involved pretty quickly if a guilty verdict comes down. It saves double effort that way.”
    ”Would the substantial buying of cocaine be grounds for disbarment?”
    ”Oh, I would think so. Usually it’s more white-collar stuff, like tax evasion or real estate fraud, but I’ve never researched it. Why?”
    ”Last question. Would they also boot a lawyer who referred divorce clients to prostitutes for ‘sex therapy’?”
    ”John, have you been drinking?”
    ”On the level.”
    ”God, John, I don’t know. The prosecutor in me says yes, but the way things are today, maybe not. A neutral lawyer could probably think of at least a couple of reasons why that should be handled a little quieter.”
    ”Thanks. Look, I want to see you again, but with all of this ..
    ”I’ve waited this long, John. But pretty soon I’m going to need more from you.”
    We hung up. I called the number Niño had given me. A woman who might have been Salomé, the tougher, older one at lunch, answered and then put Niño on. He was pleased to hear my voice and was still very interested in receiving any ”mer-chan-dise” I might uncover.
    Next I called Braxley and asked him if the ”material” had hit the street yet. He said no. He also said he hoped I was making progress on the material, because he had heard that the real estate market was rising, making the near future a ”very excellent” time to sell.
    I put the receiver back in its cradle and rotated my chair to look out over the Common. Whoever kills Marsh and