Compelling Evidence Read Free

through these Wong can remember her. But then that is his special talent..1 "Oh she's fine‐fine." I say it with conviction, @s)ie‐#AWTU details‐that we are no longer living together, and that I M for several months, and despite my efforts to restore my viii,‐@ marriage, been anticipating the service of divorce papers. Then I see him moving from a table in the dining room roe the bar. Ben Potter. Tall, well over six feet, though I oremi‐3 " ever been accurately measured. He has one of those me1scm, shoulders rounded and hunched forward a little, the gait slightly lumbering. He wears his usual dark vested sweater li, his suit coat. Together with his bearing, this wrinkled bulk We the image of some mighty bear aimlessly foraging for meat I ‐t a tree. He has managed to exploit this awkward posture, ore, as his own, so that a generation of law students who have under him in the evenings at the'university now mimic this 4 when addressing juries. It's an attitude that on Ben is not M11 aging, but stately, deliberative. He stops at a table to chat with friends like some z M‐171.1my passing out dispensations. I hear hearty laughter from room.
    Then a quiet retort by Ben. They laugh again. Wong says something, but I've missed it. "Hmm?" I look back at him. He's.tracked on my line ot like radar.

    @ o : "How about that Ben Potter," he says. "Word is, he's on his w., to Washington, uh?"

    From Wong, such rumors take on, credence. I've been considering this subject for days, anticipating phone Ml@, from the press. Ben Potter now heads a dwindling list of to fill a vacancy on the nation's high court, a position ‐(t, which he has aspired his entire professional life. It's now within grasp, the result of careful political alliances he's cultivated for %Yio‐ decades, and the considerate if sudden death of one of the MM‐suqt." The FBI's already hit me for a background check, for dirt. For the first couple of minutes with two agents in my office, I thought they'd gotten scuttlebutt about and me. I was satisfied by the time they left that they had M@W, on that score. "Can I get you gentlemen a table?" Wong is back to us. "Just gonna have a drink at the bar for now." With Harry ivii@ decided it's best to take it slow. If we're careful, he can Mrs r, the social bends. He's a good lawyer, but when it comes o,entertainment his comfort zone is limited to wide spots on @ roads, where red neon buzzes
    "Miller" or
    "Bud." Like his T‐Mhgii
    Harry's learned to dodge challenges in the after hours. We negotiate the maze of small cocktail tables near the bar. his followed closely by Harry, like Bwana on safari. I scan the 1Y.I. for any vacant stools, an open space to park our bodies, to MT‐7v;@ from public view until I can find a quiet comer to talk Itew.‐ with Ben. The bartender, clad in starched white linen to the cuffs, cruises D111 and slips a cocktail napkin on the bar before me, all effii look to Harry. He orders a beer.
    "Scotch over with a twist."

    "Quite a place," he says. But I can tell he's uncomfortable. "Lotta deals cut here," I say. "I'll bet. Looks like they all have fleas." I look at him, a question mark. "Lotsa back‐scratchin' going' down." This is not the kind of iill uwi‐)tbri@ Harry's used to. I can tell from his tone that he prefers ,!‐ straightforward pitch of honest crime. The starched bartender returns with Harry's beer and my I leave an open tab.
    To pay by the drink isn't done; IT s the sign of a tourist out for a look at the high rollers. 10 The place is peopled with the usual crowd of political =1:rt mostly lobbyists plying their trade. Few lawyers except for 1@" upper‐crust corporate set venture here. The freight is too. ‐imqj I ? : "But you'll be happy to know it's not terminal.‐ "is that right?"

    just a
    "Oh yes. Eight out of ten doctors will tell you it,s A;*; il‐‐in your pencil," he says. I take a sip of scotch, turn my head‐and I see her. She is a tawny perpetual tan, lustrous in