The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [79]
David’s lips tightened. “I guess that after being accused of murder and spending the night in a cell, there’s really not much place for false pride. I’m sure I could borrow the money if I can just sit on my vanity long enough to ask. My brothers would probably be willing to help. And I have this friend who owns the Northside Tavern—”
“Rosetti?”
“You know Joey?”
“Not well, but enough to know that he’s a good kind of friend to have. Somehow Rosetti’s always been able to straddle the fence between the North End boys and the establishment without falling off on either side. If he’s your friend, I say give him a call.”
“If it comes to that, I will.”
“Well, like I said, I expect to get paid.” David nodded. “We’re in business, then,” Ben said, reaching over to shake his hand. “Now I can tell you what you get for your money—and what you have to do to keep me. You get everything I can give you, David. Time, friends, influence, sweat—whatever you need. In exchange I want only one thing from you—besides the fee, that is.” He paused for emphasis. “Honesty. I mean total, no-crap, no-bullshit honesty. There are no second chances. If I catch you in even a tiny fib, you find yourself another lawyer. There are enough unpleasant surprises in this job as is without constantly worrying about whether I’m going to get one from my client.”
“We’re still in business,” David said.
“Fine. Why don’t you start by giving me some background on yourself. Assume I don’t know anything.”
At that moment a sprightly little man with freckles and graying red hair bounced over and leaned on the table. He wore a grease-stained apron with a large green Star-of-David on the front. His high-pitched brogue made every word a song. “Benjy, me boy. Openin’ the annex to your office again, I see.”
“Hi, Paddy. It’s been a while.” Ben shook his hand. “Place looks good. Listen, this is my friend, David. He’s a surgeon, so you’d best keep this rowdy crowd quiet while we’re working or I’ll have him graft your precious parts to your dart board.”
Paddy O’Brien laughed and patted David on the shoulder. “Go ahead, if it’ll make ’em work any better. Benjy here’s the best there is at lawyerin’ and at bummin’ the check, so watch out. You boys go on about your business. I’ll have two pints sent over—courtesy of the house.”
“Make that one, Paddy,” Ben said. His eyes met David’s for an instant. “For me.”
“One pint and one Coke comin’ up,” the little man said without batting an eye.
“So, assume you don’t know anything, huh?” David was smiling.
“I was late this morning because I was talking to John Dockerty,” Ben explained. “I didn’t stay long enough to learn too much, but I will tell you he hasn’t put this thing in a drawer. Please, humor me and just assume I know nothing, okay?”
“Okay.” David shrugged. “How far back?”
“It’s your story,” Ben said.
“My story …” For a moment David’s voice drifted away as pieces of events, bits of people flashed through his thoughts. “Began innocently enough, I guess.” He shrugged. “Two older brothers. Decent, loving parents. White picket fence. The works. When I was about fourteen, the whole thing unraveled. Mother got cancer. It was in her brain, before anyone even knew she had it. Even so, she lived for almost eight pitiful months. My dad owned a small store. Appliances. He ended up selling it so he could nurse mother—in between her hospitalizations, that is. A few weeks before she died, he had a coronary. Dead before he hit the floor, they told me.
“I’m still not sure why, but from that time on all I wanted to be was a doctor. A surgeon, too. Even back then.”
It had been years since David had sat and gone through the whole thing. He felt surprise at how easily the words came. “Is this the kind of stuff you want to know?” he asked. Ben nodded.
“My aunt and uncle took care of me until college, then I was essentially on my own. I was never any great genius, but I knew what I wanted and I clawed and scraped to get it. Scholarships and jobs all the way through medical school. I’d find what I thought was my limit,