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I can adequately represent you without more cooperation on your part, Mr. Moroconi. The judge won’t like it, but perhaps I should withdraw. He’ll deny the motion, but if I just don’t show up—”
    Moroconi sprang out of his chair and lunged at Travis. Travis jumped, falling backward in his chair. Moroconi tried to dive after him, but the handcuffs restrained him.
    Guards ran down the corridor and shoved the key into the cell door. Moroconi twisted and strained on the tabletop, spitting and cursing, looking as if he might burst free at any moment. Thank God for those handcuffs, Travis thought. The handcuffs I wanted removed.
    Moroconi fought the guards as they hauled him to his feet. “Just make goddamn sure you’re there today, shyster. I don’t care what you do, I don’t care what you say. Just keep the trial going. Understand?”
    Travis nodded slowly.
    “Good.” Moroconi smiled, baring his yellow teeth, as the guards dragged him out of the cell. “See you in court.”

9
8:45 A.M.
    T RAVIS BUMPED INTO CAVANAUGH as he hurried through the courthouse. He surveyed her stuffed attaché case and determined expression and drew the obvious conclusion.
    “Not you again?”
    “I’m afraid so, counsel. Double jeopardy doesn’t apply to prosecutors.” She placed her briefcase on the conveyor belt of the X-ray machine. “Blaisdell asked me to handle the Moroconi case weeks ago. You have a problem with that?”
    “No. It just seems a little unfair. You can’t be in full fettle so soon after yesterday’s crushing defeat at my hands.”
    They passed through the metal detector and started down the corridor to Courtroom Three. “Spare me the egomania, Byrne. Today’s case is a whole new ball game.”
    “In what way?”
    “Have you met your client yet?”
    “Uh, yeah.”
    She smirked. “Then you know. Face it, you’re going down in flames this time. Even if the evidence wasn’t all against you, which it is, your client is such a disgusting little creep the jury will send him to the slammer anyway. It’s hopeless.”
    Travis tended to agree, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. “We may have a few surprises for you.”
    “Don’t try to buffalo me, Byrne. You haven’t had sufficient prep time. It’s going to be a case of the blind leading the repugnant.”
    “We’ll see.”
    “And if you’re hoping to make a deal, forget it. We already tried. Your client refused all plea bargains. You’re stuck with him till the bitter end.”
    Travis veered off toward the men’s room. “I’ll just have to make the best of it. See you in five minutes.”
    “I’ll be waiting. With bated breath.”
    Travis pushed open the door and entered the bathroom. It was a tiny room—one sink, one urinal, one stall. The walls were composed of a grungy green tile streaked with mildew. Given the seemingly permanent odor, Travis preferred short visits during which he could conceivably hold his breath for the duration.
    The urinal bore an out-of-order sign, so he used the stall. After he finished, he pushed open the door and stepped out.
    There were two men in dark suits standing outside the stall. Staring at him.
    “Excuse me,” Travis said. He tried to push past them to get to the sink. The man on his left, an older man who was chewing a cigarette, leaned away from his much younger companion, blocking Travis’s way.
    “Hey, what do you think—”
    Before Travis could finish his complaint, the cigarette man slammed him back against the wall. Travis’s head thudded against the tile; bursts of light flashed before his eyes.
    “Look,” Travis said weakly. His brain felt scrambled. He realized he was slurring his words. “There are … s-security guards outside and—”
    The cigarette man drew back his fist and punched Travis in the soft part of his stomach. Travis cried out in pain and fell forward onto his knees. The man blasted his face with the back of his fist. Travis’s head smashed against the stall door.