“Slow down, junior. He is and he says he’d be royally honored to meet you.”

“When?”

“Slow the fuck down, I said. First he wants to know if you’re in a position to help him in his current difficulties.”

“Mr. Mikolajczyk, I can’t even begin to have a conversation like that.”

“In that case, my client has authorized me to respond in the following manner.”

Mikolajczyk hung up the phone. Addis redialed the number.

“Don’t waste my time,” Mikolajczyk said.

“Don’t ask me to break the law.”

Addis tried to keep the anger out of his voice.

“Don’t ask my client to put out without getting a piece back.”

“I just would like to talk to him briefly about a financial matter he handled for the Hanovers. Shouldn’t take very long.”

“Yeah, I think I know what you want to talk about.”

Addis did not respond.

“So, say you get together,” Mikolajczyk continued. “You talk. You ask a few questions. He answers a few questions—if he can. Then would you listen to what he had to say? About a financial matter that he cares about, that’s ruining him, that may compel his residency in a fucking federal institution?”

Addis wondered if Mikolajczyk was taping their conversation.

“I’m a good listener. But so there is no misunderstanding, listening means just that—listening. I listen to lots of people.”

“Can the crap. Is this loyalty? Did they ask him to do their numbers when they went big time? Hell no. So take your fucking ethics and protect your ass all the way back to Washington. We got others interested.”

Others? What others?

“Maybe the three of us could talk? Tomorrow morning? Maybe on a conference call?” Addis suggested.

“Yale Law, right? And you don’t understand the principle of legal representation? An LSUer can teach you something, eh?”

Addis felt the dampness under his arms. He could not figure out a line to pitch him.

“Don’t say anything else,” Mikolajczyk barked into the phone. “‘Cause I’m done listening. I told Harris you were going to be a putz. We’ll call you, if we got anything else to say. See ya around, junior.”

The line went dead. Addis slammed the phone down.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself.

What a trip, he thought. His conversation with Rudd. The old geezers in the restaurant bearing grudges of yesteryear. Burton’s yellowing gossip about the car accident. This asshole on the phone. Damn few answers, he thought. He hadn’t even pressed Flip Whalen on the Donny Lee Mondreau business; whether there was a reason to wonder if a suicide in a jail cell wasn’t actually a suicide. He wanted to return to Washington. Not to the White House, but to his unkempt home, his cat, his … There was not much else. But that didn’t matter.

“No luck today?” asked a man behind him.