Read Bad Business for Free Online Page B

defection. Mr. Giordano is going to testify as to alleged activities that have been connected with my client, and yet Mr. Giordano has admitted that he has never actually met my client, that his knowledge of my client is hearsay at best. . . .”
    Yadda-yadda-yadda.
    Tozzi stifled a yawn as he stared at the short, bearded lawyer who’d been rattling on for the past twenty minutes. This was the one who looked like Sigmund Freud. He leaned over and whispered to Gibbons, “Which one is this? I forget.”
    â€œI think that’s Kostmeyer.” Gibbons actually looked like he was paying attention.
    â€œWho’s he representing?”
    â€œOne of the beauty parlor owners. It’s either the guy from Buffalo or the one from Cleveland. I can’t remember.”
    â€œI bet the judge can’t either.”
    The judge was slumped over the bench, his face propped on his fist. This had been going on all day, the defense lawyers getting up and making their pitches for a mistrial for their individual clients, all eighteen of them. They knew it wasn’t going to do any good, because the judge had made it pretty clear from the very beginning that he wasn’t going to grant a mistrial, not just because Giordano had flipped, but the lawyers had the right to be heard and they were all going to exercise that right and have their say, all eighteen of them.
    â€œMr. Kostmeyer”—the judge’s stentorian whine suddenly filled the room like an air-raid siren—”you’re not telling me anything I haven’t already heard before ad nauseam. At the risk of appearing as boring and repetitious as you and your colleagues, I am going to repeat the advice I gave you all in chambers yesterday. If you feel that your client’s case will be damaged by the recent turn of events, then plea-bargain . It’s a time-honored American tradition, Mr. Kostmeyer. If you truly believe that the jury will hang your client, cut your losses and make a deal with the prosecution. You have my blessing. All of you.”
    The lawyer turned around and looked to his client seated at one of the defense tables, a painfully thin man with a razor-trimmed moustache. The client’s eyes rolled to Salamandra sitting at another table. Salamandra was frowning, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. The thin man looked back at Kostmeyer and shook his head. The lawyer looked at the judge and shrugged. “My client does not wish to pleabargain, Your Honor.”
    Tozzi stared at Salamandra. He was the one who was running things here. These guys didn’t breathe without his okay. Maybe the fat bastard’ll do everybody a favor and have a heart attack.
    Tozzi’s gaze drifted over to Lesley Halloran, Salamandra’s lawyer. He wondered what her part was in all this—stooge, gofer, accomplice? He also wondered why the hell she botheredhim so much. She was a bitch in high school, but that was ancient history. He should just forget about it, ignore her. Anyway, she didn’t remember him. She didn’t even know who he was.
    The sudden bang of the gavel startled Tozzi and embarrassed him. He didn’t realize he’d been staring at her.
    â€œTwenty-minute recess. Court will reconvene at eleven o’clock.” The judge stood up and stretched his back.
    â€œBut, Your Honor,” Kostmeyer objected, “I’m in the middle of my argument. I’d like to be able to finish in order to keep my presentation intact, if it pleases the court.”
    Judge Morgenroth screwed up his face and glowered down at little Freud. “The court has to go take a crap, Mr. Kostmeyer. That’s what would please the court.” The judge gathered up his papers and hopped down from the bench, disappearing into his chambers.
    â€œWell,” Gibbons said, crossing his arms, “some things you just can’t control. When you gotta go, you gotta go.”
    â€œHmmm?” Tozzi was watching