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“Really?”
“Really,” he says. “Guess what. You know who doesn’t get to cop an attitude today?You,counselor.”
“Fair enough.”
He leans forward. Familiar snarky grin on his face. The longer I’m with him the easier it becomes for me to understand why so many people on the East End aren’t sure which way to root. Or perhaps are.
“Listen, I need to ask you a question before we go inside.”
“You want my help remembering how to be a good lawyer?”
“You done now?” I say.
“Pretty much.”
“Who’s Joe Champi?”
Stops him. But not for long. He’s never at a loss for words. Just gathering himself before he starts up again.
“JoeChampi? Where did that come from? And what does he have to do with my case?”
“Not a thing.”
“Then why are we talking about him?” Jacobson says.
“His name came up on something else Jimmy and I are working on.”
“And I’m supposed to care about that?”
“How do you know him?”
“Knewhim. Isn’t he dead?”
“That seems to be the prevailing wisdom,” I say. “But Jimmy’s not so sure.”
“I thought only good guys rose from the dead.”
“Stop screwing around and tell me: how do you know him?”
“He got me out of a couple of jams when I was a kid,” he says. “A friend of mine told me about this cop who was kind of a fixer and could make things go away, if you had the cash, and you didn’t want your parents to find out. He made a DUI disappear for my friend. Did the same for me, even though it cost a shitload of money.”
“And that was it?”
“Pretty much, other than a few odd jobs here and there,” Jacobson says. “Until you brought him up just now, I haven’t thought about him in years.”
“Why do I think you’re lying?”
“Your problem, counselor. Not mine.”
“Aren’t you interested in how his name came up?”
There’s a knock on the door. The clerk pokes his head in, points at his watch.
“Does it help get me acquitted?”
“Unlikely.”
“Then stop wasting my time with things that have nothing to do with me, or this case,” he says. “And be the kind of goddamn fixer I’m payingyoua lot of money to be.”
