Hardy kept his grin on, inclined his head in the direction of the hallway where the associates toiled. 'That's just to keep the kids from bothering him. He'll welcome some adult companionship. Watch.' Striking like a snake, Hardy reached around the receptionist and rapped quickly twice on the door.

'It's open!' Freeman bellowed from within. 'Come on in.'

Hardy stepped back, spread his palms in a gesture that said, 'See? What did I tell you?'

'If he'd have said "Go away", I'd be gone. Promise.' He turned the knob and pushed at the door. 'Excuse me,' he said politely, moving around her, closing the door behind him.

Pen in hand and a mangled cigar between his lips, Freeman squinted up over his yellow legal pad. A thick bluish haze hung in the air. Hardy recognized the wine bottle by the telephone as a Silver Oak Cabernet – at least fifty bucks retail if you could find it. The old man straightened up in his chair, put the pen down and drained the last inch from his wine glass, making appreciative smacking noises. 'God drinks this stuff,' he said.

'How does He afford it?' Hardy crossed the room to the window and threw it open. He enjoyed the occasional cigar himself, but the smoke in the room was nearly suffocating. 'And while we're asking "how" questions, how do you breathe in here?'

Freeman waved that off. 'If you interrupted me on billable time to criticize my lifestyle, you can use the same door you came in at. Otherwise, get yourself a glass – you've got to have a sip of this.'

Hanging by the window – the afternoon breeze had picked up, whipping down Sutler, pulling the smoke out – Hardy leaned against the sill. 'As soon as enough of this clears to be able to taste it. Meanwhile, I've got a great idea for a good time.'

'What's that?'

'We can fire Phyllis right now. It'll be fun. You realize that anybody wants to see you, they've got to mount a campaign.'

'That's what I pay her for.' He was pouring another glass for himself. 'You got around her, I notice. Keeps you sharp.' A slurping sip, another sigh of appreciation. 'So? What else? You didn't come to talk about Phyllis.'

'No. I came to talk about Dash Logan.'

Freeman frowned deeply. 'What about him?'

'Using the normal channels – say, the telephone -I can't reach him. I thought you might have an idea.'

'Why do you want to?'

'One of my clients is getting sued by one of his clients. There are also some criminal charges. I thought I'd feel him out, see where he's coming from.'

Freeman leaned back in his chair, drew in a breath. 'You want my advice, forgo the conversation. He'll just lie to you. I'd file the response and prepare to fight dirty.'

Still at the window, Hardy crossed his arms. 'Not exactly a ringing character endorsement.'

'Read between the lines and it gets worse.' Freeman shook his head in disgust. 'The man's a disgrace, Diz. Personally and professionally. If the bar had any teeth, they'd have yanked his card years ago.'

'For what?'

'You name it. Malpractice, bribery, theft of client funds, extortion, perjury, drug and alcohol abuse. I can't believe you don't know him.'

Hardy shrugged. 'I've heard stories, sure. But people tell stories about you, too.'

'Those are legends,' Freeman corrected him. 'Logan. Well, you know all the lawyer jokes?'

'Most of 'em.'

'Well, they made them up about Dash Logan, especially the one about the difference between a catfish and a lawyer. One's a bottom-dwelling scum sucker and the other one's a fish. Here's a hint – Logan's not the fish.'

'You don't like him.'

Freeman chuckled, but he wasn't amused. 'I really believe there's good in a lot of people, Diz, almost everybody. Almost.' He came forward in his chair again, swirled his wine glass and took a mouthful. 'Talking about him almost sours this wine, and that takes some doing.'

Hardy had taken a glass from the sideboard and held it out. 'Let a professional tell you how bad the sour is getting.'

Freeman picked up the bottle and poured. 'What do you smell?'

'Tobacco.' He held up a hand – he was kidding – then took a sip and his eyes lit up. 'Although I must admit there's a bit of wine in the aftertaste.' He crossed the room, where he settled himself on the couch. 'So if Logan calls back?'

'I'll tell you a story.' Freeman pushed his chair away from his desk, faced Hardy, and crossed one leg over the other. He drank some wine. 'Fifteen years ago I got teamed with Logan on a two-defendant murder case. This was in the days before talking movies, remember, when we had a real DA – Chris Locke – who would put people in jail from time to time. Also, this is one of the few times in my illustrious career when I thought my client – Aaron Washburn, I still remember – was mostly innocent. Maybe he was driving the car, but that's all. He was too young and too chicken to agree to be the wheel man for a hit. In any case, his main flaw was loyalty to the shooter – Logan's client, a real loser named Latrone Molyneux.

'So anyway, Locke declares we're going to have joint disposition of our two defendants – either they both plead or they both go to trial. But he needs fifteen years from my guy. Well, I decide I'm going to trial, one because my boy, Aaron, didn't do it – he wasn't the shooter and didn't know it was going to go down and even if he did, they couldn't prove it. And two, because that's who I am. I'm not taking my client's money and lots of it to plead 'em to half a lifetime in the joint.

'And it's not as though I've got to sink Logan's client, remember. My guy just says he was in the car the whole time and has no idea what happened.' Somewhere in this recitation, Freeman had gotten to his feet, reliving it again. He paced the office, door to window, a caged bear. 'All right. Now I'm working on my kid's defense, keeping my no-good colleague Mr Logan in the loop because, you know, that's what we do. But I notice he's not making too many of our joint motion hearings, he's got my witnesses spooked – I hear rumors that he's actually scoring dope off some of these people – the judge is getting pretty pissed off with delays and no-shows and really awful paperwork.

'But mostly old Dash is walking the walk, I'm giving him the benefit, you know, professional courtesy. We're taking this thing to trial and he's got to know what I know, right?

'Then, two weeks before we're scheduled for jury selection, guess what? No, don't. I'll tell you. Logan comes by here, says he's decided he's going to plead Latrone. He's got his fee. He doesn't have the time for a trial.

'So as you might imagine, things get a little hot between us. I remind him he can't plead if I'm going to trial, which I'm damn well going to do. So he threatens me – if I take it to trial, Latrone will rat out Aaron, say he was just standing around minding his own business when Aaron drove up and asked him to go for a ride. He – Latrone – didn't know there was going to be a shooting. It was Aaron's idea, Aaron was the shooter.

'Anyway, long story short, what could I do? They'd probably both get life. This way they both plead out -fifteen years. Now, you want to hear my favorite part?'

That wasn't it?'

'No. Listen to this. Early on, I decided it might be worth a try to get bail for these kids. It was a shaky case, first adult offense for both of them. They weren't leaving the jurisdiction anyway. But Dash Logan won't go there. Gives me a line of shit about it's too risky, we'll alienate the judge, it'd be better to save any judicial favors for the trial – the trial! Hah! So he persuades me -if I make the motion for my client, he has to for his, and that won't happen. The judge will deny both, so what's the point?'

'I give up,' Hardy said. 'What was the point?'

'The point!' Freeman was nearly screaming now. 'The point was he wanted to keep his boy Latrone in jail. You know why? 'Cause he was fucking Latrone's seventeen-year-old girlfriend, that's why.'