The Extinction Event Read Free

for court,” the third clerk said, “and Frank had to bail him out of—”
    â€œWhich time?” the second clerk asked. “We talking the assault? Or the disturbing the peace? Or the—”
    â€œThe time that bartender said Jack was full of piss and vinegar,” the third clerk said. “And Jack tried to prove him wrong about the vinegar.”
    â€œI thought he’d be disbarred for sure,” the second clerk said.
    â€œWhat a knucklehead,” the third clerk said.
    They all smiled. They liked Jack.
    â€œIf the hooker dies,” the first clerk said, lowering his voice, “they hit Jack with manslaughter three, accessory.”
    â€œIs he leaving the firm?” the first clerk asked.
    â€œNo,” the second clerk said, “he’s cleaning out his desk because they’re giving him a free trip to the Virgin Islands.”
    Caroline Wonder, one of the firm’s new hires, rushed past the gossiping clerks into Jack’s office.
    â€œSpeaking of virgins…,” the second clerk said, following Caroline with his eyes.
    Caroline, twenty-eight years old, was a thoroughbred, a Dutch-Knickerbocker bluestocking with a character as straight and strong as the whalebone reinforcing the corset she would have worn a hundred years ago. Even without the corset, she had a waist you could span with two hands, a face like an ivory cameo, and hair as pale as heated tungsten.
    Ever since she started working at Milhet & Alverez, Jack called her Five Spot.
    When she asked him why, Jack shrugged.
    Caroline didn’t trust Jack. She slammed Jack’s door behind her.
    â€œWhen God handed out brains,” she said, “you thought he said rain and ran for cover.”
    â€œThe woman on the phone,” Jack explained, “said Frank was in trouble.…”
    â€œAnd Frank asked her to call you? Jack, you know that’s an old scam.”
    â€œThe boss was in trouble.”
    â€œAnd now he’s dead. And you’re up the creek. Given your reputation. I’m surprised they didn’t shoot first.…”
    From a bottom drawer, Jack took a few files, a penknife, an antique silver letter opener, and an old wooden desk nameplate, which Caroline picked up.
    â€œPut it down, Five Spot,” Jack said.
    Caroline examined it.
    â€œHand carved,” she said.
    â€œI said, put it down .”
    â€œWhat is it? Walnut?”
    Jack made an unsuccessful grab for it.
    â€œ Jack Slidell, Attorney at Law ,” Caroline read.
    Jack grabbed it.
    â€œWhat’s the big deal?” Caroline asked.
    â€œI made it when I was a kid,” Jack said. “Sixth grade. A gag.”
    Caroline studied Jack, who dropped the nameplate into the banker’s box.
    â€œFrom the first day I was here,” Caroline said, “you never did like me.”
    â€œI like people who earn what they get.”
    â€œSo do I. That’s why I’m working here, not in the city, at my uncle’s office.”
    â€œI heard when you passed the bar, your uncle dropped Frank a note.”
    â€œThat’s called a reference .”
    â€œThat’s called a free ride.”
    â€œYou always believe rumors, Jack? I heard a rumor, one going around the office. Something about your saying going to bed with me would be like making love to a bicycle.”
    â€œMaybe it was icicle ?”
    â€œNo, it was bicycle .”
    At the door, Caroline half-turned back to Jack and said, “I’m a twelve-speed.…”
    And slammed out.
    2
    With its red-flocked wallpaper, greasy in spots, couches lining the walls, and crystal lamps, Saul’s Grill evoked one of the brothels that populated Mycenae ever since the War of 1812, when all the other whaling ports in the Northeast were blockaded by the British. The walls were covered with pictures of notorious local madams, including a late-nineteenth-century engraving of Kate Church, an early-twentieth-century