The guard nodded and went back to his desk.
“Do you know a man named Augustus Flector?” J.T. asked Dana on the phone.
“Oh, ‘Mr. Reflector’ I used to call him,” Dana smiled. “Of course. I knew him when I was a little girl. He was a good friend of Daddy’s. Don’t tell me he’s in trouble again.”
“Yes, he’s here,” said J.T. “He sent his regards.”
“That poor man. He’s been involved with litigation for the longest time—ten or twelve years now.”
“He’s here again, indicted for falsely swearing he didn’t have any money to pay a lawyer. They say he was getting two hundred dollars a week stipend.”
“Oh, dear God! What a sweet man, too. I knew him when he owned the world,” Dana recalled with a smile. “I went to one of his daughter’s birthday parties when I was just a girl. At his place in Old Westbury. That was my first plane ride. He had his own plane and pilot, and flew a bunch of children out from the city. His lands were immense. The horses—oh, my God, the horses—they were magnificent. He must have hired Ringling Brothers for his daughter’s tenth birthday—elephants, clowns, the works. He was truly on top of the world then. How is he?”
“Old, shaking.”
“That’s too bad. He always did drink. I remember Daddy telling me stories about when he would see him sitting at the bar in Orsini’s with a beautiful girl who had a little dog in her purse. You know how chi-chi Orsini’s is. Well, Mister Reflector was so important at the time that they let him bring in his girlfriend’s dog. How’s that for important?”
J.T. smiled. “It’s good to see someone from the old days, when we were all young.”
Dana’s smile became wistful. “You’ve got another visitor, and I really do have to run.” She looked at her watch again. “I’ll come in again, if you’d like.”
“If you have nothing better to do,” J.T. tried to say casually.
“Is there anything I can do for Mr. Flector?”
“Surely more than that.”
“No, it wouldn’t do him any good. He can’t use it or spend it. I’ll tell him you were asking for him.”
“Yes, please. Tell him if there’s anything I can do. You call me if there is. Even if there isn’t,” she said as a second thought. “Let me give you my private number. Eldorado five, six three four two.
J.T. memorized the number.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked. Her face was so compassionate, J.T. thought. He was being drawn toward the warmth of it.
“No. Heck, I’m great,” he said. “I’ll be out of here in no time, on top of the world, making millions. That’s a lead-pipe cinch.” He stunned himself with that remark.
“Dear boy,” Dana said, leaning close to the window as if that would make their conversation on the phone more private. She whispered softly, “I already have millions. And I still have a broken heart.”
J.T. drew back and looked at her. Her forehead wrinkled, her eyes quivered as if she were about to cry. Then Dana took a deep breath, pulled herself tall and regal. She smiled. “Goodbye, J.T. Good luck.” She put down the phone and stood.
The guard let Dana out through the steel door. J.T. watched her go out through another steel door to the elevator that would take her downstairs. He remained at the window panel, staring at blank whitewashed cinderblock walls on the other side. He felt like a kid with his nose pressed against a store window.
“Hell,” he repeated to himself. “I’ll be out of here in no time, on top of the world, making millions. A lead-pipe cinch …”
He heard Dana’s voice reverberate contrapuntally. I already have millions. And I still have a broken heart. He realized at that instant that there wasn’t anything on the other side of the glass.
Books by John Nicholas Iannuzzi
Condemned
J.T.
Courthouse
Sicilian Defense
Part 35
What’s Happening?
Non-Fiction
Handbook of Trial Strategies
Handbook of Cross Examination
Trial: Strategy and Psychology
Cross Examination: The Mosaic Art
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
Copyright © 1982 by John Nicholas Iannuzzi
Cover image, New York Cityscape, by Kurt Schumann
Cover design by Neil Heacox
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