The staked Goat

to fill out a bit, perhaps relieved that he was the only lawyer in the room. ”My father and I are in the process of reviewing Mr. Sachs’ file, and we intend to provide Mrs. Sachs with a detailed memo of—”
    ”Cut the shit, Buzz,” said Straun. ”You an MP too?”
    ”Yes.”
    ”I was Armor. With Patton. Didn’t have to go. They had deferments then for guys in steel. Defense plant priorities, that kind of stuff. But I went anyway.” He gestured toward the papers spread on the table. ”Sachs said in his interview that he was an MP. Weren’t many Jews in my outfit.”
    I made no comment.
    ”Aren’t a hell of a lot of Jews in the city. Some people think I hired Sachs because he was a Jew and could sell. That’s bullshit. I hired him because he was from New York, and we thought we could get some orders back there by usin’ a guy from there. But he wouldn’t play the game, you know.”
    I made no comment again.
    ”He had ideas about how to do things different. So I gave him a chance. But he sucked.” Buzz flinched, and Straun dug out a ledger sheet. ”He made his draw three months outta the last twelve. I shoulda sacked him in August.” Straun tossed the sheet in a spinning motion so it ended up on my side of the table. ”See for yourself.”
    I didn’t look down at the paper.
    Straun worked his mouth a little without speaking. Buzz was fidgeting. I broke the silence.
    ”He left a wife and a child. What do they have coming?”
    ”Nothing,” said Straun.
    ”You see, Mr. Cuddy,” said Buzz, ”Mr. Sachs exercised his option to convert what insurance was provided to cash as a credit against his draw. It’s all here in detail in a draft memo—”
    ”Buzz,” snapped Straun, pushing a mug toward him, ”get me some more coffee.”
    Buzz looked from me to him then back to me.
    ”Mr. Cuddy,” he said, crestfallen, ”would you like...”
    I shook my head. Buzz picked up the mug and stepped from the room.
    ”You ever read Dr. Spock, Straun?”
    ”What?” he said.
    ”Skip it. In plain English, where does Al’s family stand?”
    ”The kid’s right,” said Straun defensively. ”Law school, Harvard Law School, can you imagine. He goes through Harvard and he’s like a rabbit, you couldn’t trust him to run a pony ride and do it right. But he writes a hell of a memo, that boy. He’s dead right about Sachs. The guy gave up every kinda benefit we give to keep covering his draw. He was gettin’ the heave-ho this week. Then he got killed.” Straun’s face changed a little, almost human. ”Funny, you know the papers had how he was done in. I never figured him for a queer.”
    I tried to remind myself that guys like me aren’t supposed to hit people older and smaller without physical provocation. ”Did Al know he was going to be fired?”
    Straun blinked at me. ”Yeah, he knew. I told him two weeks ago. Two weeks ago today. The state says you gotta give ‘em two weeks’ notice, so that’s what he got.”
    Buzz came back in, clutching the coffee mug in both hands. His hands trembled and some spilled onto his top fingers. He winced, but kept silent and kept coming.
    ”Anything else?” said Straun, taking the mug in his left hand.
    ”Yes,” I said. ”The funeral’s at one. Today.”
    Straun slurped some coffee. ”Don’t wait for us,” he said, motioning Buz? to the paperwork.
    I leaned across the table and grabbed Straun’s left wrist. I thought about twisting it toward me, spilling the coffee onto the papers, but I figured that would only inconvenience Buzz. So I twisted away, toward Straun’s ample lap. He jumped up screaming.
    ”What the fuck was that?” he shrieked, grabbing his crotch and jumping from one leg to another.
    ”A small gesture,” I said.
    Buzz ran to get some towels and ice while I let myself out.
     
    When Beth died, Joe Mirelli, a priest and friend, said her funeral mass. I remember him delaying the beginning of the service so that the latecomers could be parked outside and seated inside. I’m sure Jake Cribbs often made the same suggestion. But not that day.
    Martha and Carol, Dale and Larry, and me. The kids were at Carol’s house with her sitter. The elder Cribbs and the younger Cribbs. All told, one man short on pall bearers.
    We stood in the same room as yesterday. Jake Cribbs checked his watch at the stroke of one and bade us be seated. After Martha sat down, Cribbs walked over to her, bent at the waist and held her right hand with both of his.