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squash at Princeton. He'd learned handball on the outdoor courts at Allenwood.
    He glanced over at the stereo just as the quick drum roll and opening bars of Little Walter's “My Babe” began. He was lifting the harmonica to his mouth when the phone rang.
    “The Eagle has landed.”
    It was Rosenbloom.
    “Oh?”
    “Yep, and a big prick stepped out.”
    “What's that mean?”
    “I got a call from Channel Five. They wanted a statement on the lawsuit.”
    “Which lawsuit?”
    “Which one do you think?”
    “The Shifrin case? You?”
    “Don't forget my name's first on the pleadings.”
    Under the reinstatement order, Rosenbloom had to jointly sign all court filings with Hirsch.
    “Apparently,” Rosenbloom said, “Ford Motor's lawyers filed their appearance today.”
    “So?”
    “So they held a press conference.”
    “A press conference. Who would care enough to cover it?”
    “Channel Five, for starters. They're running a story at ten tonight.”
    Hirsch frowned. “That makes no sense.”
    “Never underestimate the self-promotion skills of Jack Bellows.”
    “Bellows,” Hirsch repeated.
    “I hear he's a prick.”
    “He is—or at least he was.”
    “There's no such thing as a former prick.” In a gentler voice, he said, “I think he took a shot at you in the press conference.”
    Hirsch said nothing.
    “The guy from Channel Five said he called the lawsuit frivolous. He wanted a response from one of us. I told him you were the sole spokesman on the case. I also told him that you preferred to do your talking in court papers instead of pubic relations events. He wanted your phone number.”
    Hirsch's number was unlisted.
    “I told him I didn't know it.”
    “I wouldn't talk to him anyway.”
    “Yeah, but you may want to check out the news at ten.”
    “I will. Thanks.”
    “Well, Samson,” Rosenbloom said with a grim chuckle, “fasten that seat belt. I think we're in for a little turbulence.”
     
    Hirsch adjusted the antenna on the portable TV. He hadn't watched the ten o'clock news since he'd been a recurring lead item a decade ago.
    The show opened with a three-alarm fire at a warehouse in north St. Louis. Then came a series of stories apparently culled from the day's events based upon the quality of the visuals. Thus a rogue alligator caught in a mall parking lot in Fort Lauderdale and a Yorkshire terrier stranded atop a mailbox in an Arizona flash flood trumped a hostile takeover bid in the cable television industry and the congressional defeat of a major health-care reform bill. Hirsch was beginning to question Rosenbloom's heads-up when the male anchor, a balding, middle-aged black man with tortoiseshell eyeglasses, looked into the camera with furrowed brow and announced, “A new lawsuit over an old death.”
    Cut to a silent video of Jack Bellows talking at a lectern.
    The anchor, in voice-over. “But a lawyer for the defense claims it's all much ado about nothing.”
    Back to the news desk, this time on the female anchor, a woman in her fifties with short hair, pearls, and a black dress. She gave the camera a solemn look. “More on the lawsuit when we come back.”
    Cut to a commercial for Taco Bell.
    The quick shot of Jack Bellows had jolted Hirsch. Back when he'd been managing partner of Marder McFarlane, Hirsch had blocked the firm's efforts to recruit Bellows. Although Bellows had a good book of business and the backing of the chairman of the litigation department, Hirsch controlled the vote on the executive committee, and that's precisely where Bellows's candidacy died. The reason was simple: Hirsch couldn't stand him. Bellows was an arrogant blowhard who'd earned the nickname Jack the Ripper for his back-alley litigation techniques. There were lawyers in town who refused to discuss anything with him without a court reporter present. Eventually, Bellows discovered that Hirsch had been the one to block his bid to join the firm. According to someone who'd overheard him in the locker