Angrily I got up and headed for the door. For the first time I noticed Harvey had removed from the wall his framed state bar certificate. His certificates for Federal Court and the one that said he was entitled to practice before the U.S. Supreme Court were also missing.

“To me, the woman’s name means nothing,” he said to my back. “Whitney, I’ve done so many cases, so many junkies, hookers, so many pimps, burglars, rapists and robbers. I can’t remember anyone’s name anymore. They’re all the same. All just trying to use you to run their scam.”

I reached for the doorknob. I wanted to leave but found myself hesitating. Harvey sounded like my father, who kept trying to reach me with his phone calls in which he said nothing.

“Whitney, wait. I don’t like to talk about this, but now I want to tell you so you don’t make the same mistake I did.”

I turned back. I had never given up hoping that one day my father would tell me he loved me.

“It was back in the mid-seventies. About ‘76. When I was doing criminal work. I was hot. Italian suits. Custom made monogrammed silk shirts. Five hundred bucks for me just to make an appearance. The world was my oyster. I had so many girls I couldn’t keep track of them. Starlets. Swingers. Beautiful girls. That’s the way this world is—it tricks you and sucks you in. Whatever you want, it makes you want more of it. Maybe one day a client gives you a line of coke or whatever it is that turns you on. Next time, two lines. Three. Half a gram. You like it. And want it. The rush, the lights, the feeling of power.” Harvey sighed, toked again and exhaled a long, sad stream of smoke. “But no matter how tough you are, there’s always somebody tougher.”

I waited for him to go on. I didn’t see the point.

“I did some cases for a guy, but the more I did for him, the more he wanted. The money was good. Made me feel important.” Harvey pushed his hair back tiredly. “Finally it came down to a payoff to a witness to buy some perjured testimony. My client told me all about the plan. Said if I didn’t go along with it or it went sour, he’d tell the cops it was my idea. I did it. Paid off the guy he told me to. The witness got busted and was on the way out when he dropped dead. Didn’t look like murder, but I knew my client had him killed. I got scared.”