Philadelphia Noir - Carlin Romano [63]
Janet delivers Victor’s sparkling water with lime, along with a refill on the Inquisition Fizz and a smirk Nicky can’t help interpreting as more baffled than impressed.
“I’m done with lawyers, by the way,” Stacy says.
“I didn’t mean anything by that,” Nicky huffs, trying to forget about Victor, who coughs and growls, his back to the world. Nicky imagines himself mid-flight, roundhouse kick about to split that pumpkin head in two.
“Divorce lawyers, I mean—though I don’t plan on needing a personal injury lawyer anytime soon either.”
“Let’s hope not.” Nicky takes a deep breath and tries to mirror Stacy’s smile. “What are you drinking?”
She shakes her head. “I almost didn’t recognize you with the spiky hair and makeup.”
Nicky nudges his full glass. “Try mine.”
Her eyes expand as she sips. “That’s good.”
There is silence for a moment, and he is spellbound—not just by her obvious beauty, but by her vitality; her luscious flesh, bound in black leather, seems imbued with optimism, her taut skin humming with intelligence. Beyond her, Victor Gold has transformed—Nicky sees him as not just monstrous, but miserable, doomed. A mere minute in the presence of Stacy Fredericks, and for the first time in his life Nicky believes that the world is nothing but what one makes of it, and that he is, or could be, a man of extraordinary potential.
“So tell me about a case,” she says, setting down the glass, “your most interesting one, or one you’re working on now.”
“Sure,” he says, with a confidence he doesn’t feel. But then, in a flash, he sees himself at a table with a dozen Amish men in Lancaster County, he in an Armani suit, they in straw hats and beards, all there to discuss a fair settlement on the case of the kid whose head was rammed by the hoof of a horse that smashed through the windshield of his father’s car on a certain rainy Wednesday night last March. He paints the picture for Stacy. “See, the Amish don’t buy insurance,” he explains. “They don’t believe in damages for pain and suffering. So I have to go in there and make them understand that this kid was in the hospital for a month with his skull literally sawed off so that his swollen brain could return to its normal size. I show them pictures, and I explain that any jury who saw these pictures would award a million, minimum. I’m asking half a mil. And this old Amish guy starts saying how pain and suffering is part of life, God’s plan for the human race.”
“This is amazing. They really sawed off his skull? It sounds like a million-dollar case to me.”
“Problem is,” Nicky says, “the kid’s practically retarded to begin with …”
On the bar, Nicky’s vibrating cell phone moves in place. He sees that it’s Chris calling, just as Stacy says, “Is that a problem?”
He should answer the phone, tell Chris he’s ready to be his own man—or that he’s not ready, that he’s a hopeless case after all.
“I mean, isn’t that good for your case?” she asks. “Doesn’t that add sympathy, if he’s, you know, mentally challenged?” She’s looking at him as if he has something to say worth listening to.
“See, you have to prove real loss,” he says.
Stacy sips, her eyes unflinching. “The whole thing is unbelievable. I could never do what you do.”
Again, Nicky’s cell phone vibrates. He turns it to silent mode.
“So I say to the father, ‘Go get your son,’ and at first he refuses, but then he comes back in twenty minutes with his kid, who’s smart enough to know he can’t fake being stupid. So we’re all standing there, and I ask the kid, ‘Who’s the president of the United States?’ and the kid just stares at me, clueless. Then I ask the kid, ‘Who’s the football team in Philadelphia?’ and the kid says, ‘Eagles!’ I say, ‘Who’s the quarterback of the Eagles?’ and the kid says, ‘Donovan McNabb!’ and I say, ‘That’s right.’ The old Amish guy interrupts and says, ‘We don’t know football. We wouldn’t know if these are the correct answers or not. What does any of this prove?’” Nicky stops. He can’t remember where his brother was heading with all of this.
“So?”
“So? Well, I say, ‘You’re right. They are the right answers,