He thinks for a moment, as if deciding what to do. My hunch is that no matter what decision he is about to announce, he had made it before I even walked into his office. "I would strongly suggest you hold up your end of the bargain," he says.

"So we have a deal?" I decide to be explicit. "You call off Quintana, and I keep your name out of it."

He nods. "We have a deal."

I look toward the bar hopefully. "Let's drink to it."

He shakes his head. "I don't think so. Goodbye, Mr. Carpenter."

My next stop is the courthouse, where there is a hearing before the judge recently a.s.signed to the case, Henry Harrison. Judge Harrison is a sixty-two-year-old with an impressive resume. He was a full marine colonel, a Vietnam hero with a Silver Star. He retired from the service at the age of forty-five, went to Seton Hall Law School, spent five years as a prosecutor, and eventually became a superior-court judge. Our backgrounds are quite similar, except for the fact that he's spent his entire life serving society, whereas I've spent my entire life living in it.

While a.s.signment of judges is said to be random, my guess is that Judge Harrison was specifically chosen. His background is well known, and he has a large reservoir of respect from the public, which will help when his rulings are inevitably scrutinized. He is also firm and decisive on the bench, well equipped to deal with whatever bulls.h.i.t Dylan and I try to throw at him. Lastly, he is nearing retirement age and not likely to be swayed by public pressure.

I'm a few minutes from the courthouse when my cell phone rings and Vince Sanders's voice cheerfully greets me with, "Where are you now, you traitor s.h.i.thead?"

"How long are you going to hold a grudge, Vince?"

"Are you kidding? I still hate Jimmy Collins, a kid who p.i.s.sed me off in kindergarten."

"Where is he now?" I ask, pretending I'm interested.

"He's a priest. Runs a soup kitchen and shelter on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Dedicates his life to helping the sick and the poor... the son of a b.i.t.c.h."

I can't help laughing, though I know that will only encourage him. "What can I do for you, Vince?"

"Get your a.s.s over here. We've got a deal to make."

"What kind of deal?" I ask.

"I give you some bad news about your client before it breaks, and you promise me future scoops."

Uh-oh. "What kind of bad news?"

"Not over a cell phone, bozo. Anybody could be listening in."

I explain to Vince that I'm on my way to court, and we agree to meet at Charlie's tonight. I've got a bad feeling about this one.

Dylan is already in court when I arrive, but he glances quickly and then looks away as I enter. We are not going to be friendly adversaries during this trial, which is fine with me. I like to antagonize and annoy the opposing attorney in hopes of goading him or her into a mistake or misjudgment. It's part of my style, and its effectiveness varies according to the opponent. Dylan has shown himself susceptible to this strategy in the past, so I'm not about to blow that potential advantage by getting chummy with him.

I work my way through the press and packed gallery to join Kevin, seated at the defense table. Seconds later Kenny Schilling is brought in. I usually like to talk to my clients before each appearance so as to let them know what to expect. I arrived too late to do so today, which is no tragedy, since this will be little more than a formality. Kenny's role will be merely to sit and watch.

Judge Harrison comes in and immediately gets the hearing started. He's basically an impatient man, and he usually presides as if he's got a train to catch. Once Dylan and I are introduced as the respective counsel, Harrison says, "Talk to me, gentlemen."

Dylan surprises me by requesting a gag order on all interested parties. It is clear that he considers Karen Spivey's story, and the furor that followed, to be a negative for the prosecution. He wants the focus kept on Kenny as the only possible killer.

"Your Honor, the defense has been advancing wild theories in the press, which can only serve to pollute the jury pool," Dylan says.

I'm torn here. Basically, I'd be fine with a gag order, since I've already put out Quintana's name, and I have nothing to add to that. I'm questioning myself, though, trying to make sure that I am not subconsciously in favor of it so that I can more easily keep my deal with Moreno. Keeping that deal has the additional benefit of keeping me alive.

I stand. "Your Honor, the prosecution has been publicly proclaiming that my client is guilty since the moment of the arrest. The press coverage has been overwhelmingly in the prosecution's favor. We would be in favor of the gag order as well; it's too bad it couldn't have been in place earlier."

Dylan half whirls in surprise, not knowing what to make of this. I believe he had been hoping I would be opposed to the gag order and that Judge Harrison would be reluctant to impose it. This would have allowed Dylan to play the aggrieved party while still playing to the press every chance he got.

Harrison lets him off the hook. "Despite the apparent agreement on this issue by both parties, I am not prepared to issue the order at this point. But I do expect both the prosecution and defense"-he looks at the gallery-"as well as the media, to behave responsibly, or I will revisit the issue."

Harrison announces his intention to set a trial date, and Dylan suggests the first week in November. That would be quick for a trial of this magnitude, which is why Dylan is again surprised when I propose the first week in September. Dylan is right to be surprised: It is straight out of Defense 101 to delay as much as possible. Unfortunately, Kenny did not take that course, and he's insisted on his right to a speedy trial.

Harrison is also surprised. He's six foot five, and from his position up on the bench it looks like he's peering down from Mount Olympus. "Are you sure about this, Mr. Carpenter? That's just six weeks from today."

I decide to try to turn this negative into a slight positive. "Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Schilling wants to miss as little of the season as possible." The football season starts around the same time as the trial will start, and I want any Giants fans on the jury to be keenly aware of their power to put Kenny back on the field.

Harrison handles a few minor "housekeeping" ch.o.r.es, then rejects my plea to set bail. I told Kenny that it was a formality, that there was no chance bail would be granted, yet I can still feel his disappointment when Harrison refuses.

I arrange to speak to Kenny in an anteroom for a few moments after the hearing. I tell him about the visit from Ugly and his comments that Kenny has something that belongs to Quintana.

"Man, Preston must have been in with some heavy guys," Kenny observes with some pleasure. Kenny's no dummy; he believes that the more dangerous Preston's a.s.sociates were, the more chance that the jury will believe they killed him.

"Do you have anything of his?"

He shakes his head. "No, man. I don't have any idea what they're talking about."

I've given up trying to read the truthfulness of Kenny's statements. I'm unable to do so, and it doesn't do me any good anyway, so I just take them at face value.

I head back to the office to do some paperwork before going to Charlie's to hear whatever disaster Vince has in store for me. Alone at the office is Adam, typing away on his laptop. I feel a flash of guilt that I forgot to invite him to the hearing today and that I generally have not been that accessible.

"How's it going?" I ask.

"Great," he says with characteristic enthusiasm. "I'm working on an outline. I read through most of the transcript of the Miller trial today."

"What did you think?"

"You're d.a.m.n good. I couldn't write you that good if I started from scratch. Lucky I don't have to."

"I could show you some other transcripts which wouldn't impress you quite so much."

"I doubt it," he says. I like this guy more and more every day.

I decide to invite him to Charlie's with Vince. He deserves some exposure to the inner workings of the case, and he's sworn to secrecy, so it doesn't seem as if it can hurt. He jumps at the opportunity. It's hard to imagine an opportunity he wouldn't jump at.

I check through my messages before we leave, just in case someone else has called to confess to the Preston murder. No such luck, and within a half hour Adam and I are in the car heading to Charlie's.

On the way Adam says, "I need to create an arc for you."

"An ark? Like a boat?"

He shakes his head. "No, a character arc. That's all movie executives care about. The character has to change, develop during the script. Have an arc."

"I pretty much haven't changed since I was eleven years old," I say. "Wait a minute... I just started eating mushrooms a few months ago. And I've got a couple of hairs growing on my left ear... that's new..."

He laughs. "I don't think that'll do it."

"So how can I help?"

"What about if you had a disease?" he asks.

"I don't think I want to help that bad."

"No," he says, "what about if I create a disease for you to have while you're handling the Miller trial? Life-threatening, but you don't let it stop you. You're fighting for your life and Willie's at the same time, staring your own mortality and his right in the face."

"How does that help you?" I ask.

"It's a catalyst for your change... your arc. Gives you a new perspective... that kind of thing. Terms of Endearment Terms of Endearment meets meets Anatomy of a Murder. Anatomy of a Murder."

"I don't like it," I say, "but as long as the pipe is going to take the whole project into the sewer, I don't care either way."

He takes this as a yes. "You got any preference? I mean, for the disease."

I think about it for a moment; it isn't every day one gets to pick the ailment he will heroically fight. "Just something that doesn't hurt and can't be s.e.xually transmitted."

He nods. "That makes sense."

VINCE IS WAITING for us at our regular table when we get to Charlie's. He's watching a Mets-Yankees interleague game on the large-screen TV, and the first thing I do is look at the score, which will be a sure predictor of his mood. Vince is a die-hard Mets fan, but the Yankees are ahead 51. It could get ugly. for us at our regular table when we get to Charlie's. He's watching a Mets-Yankees interleague game on the large-screen TV, and the first thing I do is look at the score, which will be a sure predictor of his mood. Vince is a die-hard Mets fan, but the Yankees are ahead 51. It could get ugly.

At least for the moment Vince has nothing obnoxious to say, because he has a hamburger stuffed into his mouth. All of us, Laurie, Pete, Vince, myself... we all have different reasons why Charlie's is our favorite restaurant. Vince's reason is that when he orders a hamburger, they don't a.s.sume he wants it with cheese. Other restaurants start with the cheeseburger, and that's what you get unless you specifically direct them to remove the cheese. Vince says that the historic status quo in America is just a hamburger, no cheese, and he resents that the cheese-ites, as he calls them, have taken over. Vince needs some significant therapy.

I introduce Adam to Vince and explain Adam's presence. Vince, no doubt antic.i.p.ating his portrayal in the movie, flashes the charming side of his personality, which in his case means eliminating most grunting and spitting. Once we get the pleasantries and ordering of our food and beer out of the way, I try to get to the heart of the matter. Laurie is waiting for me at home, and that is a far more appealing prospect than this boys-night-out.

"So tell me about Schilling," I say.

As if on cue, Adam takes out his notepad and pen, causing Vince to give me a wary glance. "It's okay," I say, "he's sworn to secrecy."

Vince nods, though he doesn't seem convinced. "You screwed me by giving away that story on Quintana."

"We've been through that," I say. "I apologized. I begged for your forgiveness."

He sneers. "That was all bulls.h.i.t."

I have the advantage of knowing that Vince can never stay mad at me. I defended his son, Daniel, last year on another headline-making case. Daniel was accused of being a serial killer of women, when in fact the actual killer was contacting him and providing information that would eventually frame him. I won an acquittal, though Daniel was subsequently murdered by the real killer. In the process I learned some secrets about Daniel that would hurt Vince terribly if ever publicly revealed. All in all, the episode won me "friend points" with Vince that can never be erased.

Vince finally gets around to what he has to tell me. "I've got something on your boy. In return I want to be your media contact until this is over. You got a story to plant, I'm your gardener."

"What if what you have isn't good? What if I know it already?"

"Then the deal is off," he says, which both surprises and worries me, since he's confident his bad news is significant.

"Fine," I say as the waitress arrives with our beer.

"Six years ago Schilling was involved in another shooting death."

Adam reacts, almost coughing up his beer. "Tell me about it," I say to Vince, though I dread hearing it.

"He went out hunting with some buddies, in a town called Hemmings, about two hours outside of Milwaukee. One of the group got shot."

"By who?" I ask.

"They couldn't pin it on anybody... finally cla.s.sified it as an accident. But there are people that believed Schilling was involved. He had argued with the dead guy an hour before it happened."

If this piece of news is as Vince describes it, I instinctively know three things. One, this is not good. Two, it will come out whether Vince breaks the story or not. And three, when it comes out, it will create a media firestorm, further messing with prospective jurors' minds. "Can you give me the particulars? Names, places..."

Vince takes out a piece of paper from his coat pocket and hands it to me. "You've got three days to find out what you can before the s.h.i.t hits the fan."

It's very important to me that I get on this before the entire world is after the same information I am. "Three days? Come on, Vince, you can do better than that."

He shakes his head. "Nope. I go with it on Monday. Somebody could be beating me to it right now."

I inhale my hamburger and beer and head home, leaving Adam behind to hang out with Vince. It'll be a clash of the t.i.tans, Adam's irresistible upbeat enthusiasm versus Vince's immovable grouchiness. Adam may be in over his head. My guess is that within an hour Vince'll have him writing The Vince Sanders Story. The Vince Sanders Story.

Laurie is waiting for me when I get home, and I'm anxious to talk to her about the information Vince has given me. Laurie, it turns out, is anxious to have s.e.x. I weigh my options, debating with myself whether to talk or have s.e.x, while I'm ripping my clothes off. Then, since I'm not comfortable with naked talking, I decide to go with the s.e.x.

After we're finished, I decide to go with sleep rather than talk, but Laurie again has other ideas. "You said you wanted to talk to me about something," she says.

I nod and tell her about the shooting in Wisconsin.

"You want me to go out there to check it out?" she asks.

I'm jolted awake by the realization that Hemmings must be reasonably close to Findlay, her hometown and possible future place of employment. "No," I say, "I need you working here. I'm the one with the least to do right now, so I should go."

Laurie doesn't argue with me, acknowledging that she really is busy and adding that Wisconsin will likely be a temporary safe haven from the danger of Quintana, just in case Moreno hasn't successfully called him off.

She doesn't try to dissuade me, nor does she mention the proximity to Findlay. It pops into my head that maybe I should go to Findlay and check out the place, maybe personally catch this Sandy Walsh loser doing something slimy. I doubt I'll have time, but the thought is pleasant and intriguing enough to let me sleep with a smile on my face.

The next morning I get into the office before Edna, which is not exactly a news event. I decide to go online and make my own travel arrangements to Wisconsin, to leave late this afternoon.

I am a complete computer incompetent, and every time I try to do something some ad pops up in my face. It takes me forty-five minutes, but I finally get through it. Just before I'm finished, I have an amazing stroke of luck. A message comes on the screen, telling me that if the bar at the top is flashing, I'm a winner. And it's flashing! I haven't been online in weeks, and here I am the chosen one. It's simultaneously thrilling and humbling, so much so that I forget to click the bar to see what I've won.

Adam comes in with a request to go with me, and I say yes, mainly because I can't think of a valid reason to say no. The studio will pay for his ticket, and he calls their travel department and within thirty seconds is booked and ready to go. Of course, he missed out on the flashing bar and the incredible win.

I've scheduled a ten o'clock meeting with Kevin and Laurie to a.s.sess where we are in our trial preparation. Kevin has been meeting with various members of the Giants, ironic because Kevin knows so little about football, and sports in general, that I could tell him Kenny played shortstop and he'd believe me.

Kenny's teammates are thoroughly supportive, uniformly claiming to be positive that Kenny could not possibly be guilty of such a crime. Not realizing that I had already talked to Bobby Pollard, the paralyzed trainer who is one of Kenny's best friends, Kevin has done so as well, and he is especially taken with Bobby's expressions of loyalty. He is also, as I was, impressed by the fact that Kenny has seen to it that his friend has stayed employed.

Laurie and Marcus have made considerable progress b.u.t.tressing our contention that Preston was involved with drugs, as both seller and user. Their information is supplemented by things Sam Willis has found out about Preston's finances. It helps, especially since we have little else to hang our hat on. The evidence against Kenny, while circ.u.mstantial, is very compelling, and we have almost nothing to refute it.

On the plus side we haven't uncovered anything striking or unusual about the relationship between Kenny and Preston. Certainly, there is no obvious motive, at least none that we can see. This is not to say Kenny is innocent; the murder could have been the result of a sudden argument or a rash act clouded by the fog of drugs.

Our meeting ends early, since I have to get to the airport. I'm late and only have time to kiss one of them goodbye, so I choose Laurie over Kevin. It's a tough call, but I'm paid big bucks to make this kind of decision.