Read Online The Last Good Kiss by James Crumley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Crumley
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notions,
it's time for a better world. Or at least a different bar. I found the local newspaper and the nearest bar.
57
Albert Griffith, though, had enough romantic notions to gag Doris Day. He kept an office in a restored Victorian house on a quiet side street just outside the
downtown area, sharing the house with another lawyer
and two shrinks. And he had dressed for the occasion.
A dark-blue, expensively tailored , vested, pinstriped
suit and a silk tie. As he ushered me into his office, he
offered me a wing-backed gold brocade chair and a
taste of unblended Scotch. I accepted them both. In my
business, you have to buy everybody's act. For a few
minutes. Usually lawyers are too devious to suit me.
They seem to have the idea that justice is an elaborate
game, that courtrooms are tiny stages, and clients
simply an excuse for the legal act. They also have a
disturbing habit of getting elected to political offices, or
appointed to government commissions, then writing
laws you have to hire a lawyer to understand. But
Albert Griffith acted as if he were my best friend. For a
moment.
As soon as I was settled, he leaned against the front
of his massive desk, his arms crossed as he , towered
over me, smiling in a friendly way beneath sardonic
eyes. After I had a taste of his great Scotch, he leaped
into his act.
"All right, Mr. Sughrue," he said, "let's get something straight from the very beginning. I don't know how you persuaded Mrs. Flowers to hire you for this
wild goose chase, and I don't know how much money
you have managed to weasel out of that poor woman,
but she's a personal friend of my mother's, and I intend
to put an end to this nasty little gambit of yours."
"You want me to cut you in, huh?" I said. "Okay.
There's enough for everybody."
"What?"
While he worked on his confusion, I stood up and
walked around behind his desk, took a cigar out of a
58
burled walnut box, lit it, sat down in his leather swivel
chair, and propped my boots on his desk.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.
"Making myself comfortable, partner," I said, then
blew smoke in his face.
"Get up from there," he sputtered. He couldn't have
been any angrier if I had sat down on his wife's face.
"Listen, Buster Brown," I said, taking a fistful of his
cigars for my pocket, "you've got a fancy setting here,
but you're just another second-class creep. Your daddy,
when he can stand up, holds a sign for the highway
department, and your momma put you through law
school with a beauty operator's tips. Your daddy-in-law
is springing for this antique whorehouse decor, this
whole lawyer scam, and you, Mr. Griffith, aren't only a
failure, you're a courthouse joke, so get out of my face
with this big-shot attorney crap. "
"If you don't get out of my office this instant, I'm
calling the police," he said in a voice on the verge of
sobs.
"After you apologize," I said, "maybe we can start
this whole thing over again."
At the moment, though, he didn't have anything
to say. I watched his face change hues about four times
and examined the shoddy dental work on his back
lower molars. At the newspaper bar, I had found an AP
stringer who, for the price of a 7&7, had given me
Albert Griffith's life history.
"If it will improve your attitude," I said, "give Rosie
a call. She's got eighty-seven bucks, two beers, and a
smile into this, and I might take another beer or two,
and I might only lose a hundred bucks on this, but -she's
paid all she's going to pay. So call her while I have
another taste of this overpriced whiskey."
While I stiffened my drink, he called Rosie and spoke
softly to her for a minute. Then he hung up, loosened
59
his tie, and made himself a really stiff drink. I didn't
have much of a picture of Betty Sue Flowers yet,. but
just the mention of her name seemed to drive grown
men to drink.
"Let's sit on the couch," Albert said, and we sat at
opposite ends of a long leather expanse.
it's time for a better world. Or at least a different bar. I found the local newspaper and the nearest bar.
57
Albert Griffith, though, had enough romantic notions to gag Doris Day. He kept an office in a restored Victorian house on a quiet side street just outside the
downtown area, sharing the house with another lawyer
and two shrinks. And he had dressed for the occasion.
A dark-blue, expensively tailored , vested, pinstriped
suit and a silk tie. As he ushered me into his office, he
offered me a wing-backed gold brocade chair and a
taste of unblended Scotch. I accepted them both. In my
business, you have to buy everybody's act. For a few
minutes. Usually lawyers are too devious to suit me.
They seem to have the idea that justice is an elaborate
game, that courtrooms are tiny stages, and clients
simply an excuse for the legal act. They also have a
disturbing habit of getting elected to political offices, or
appointed to government commissions, then writing
laws you have to hire a lawyer to understand. But
Albert Griffith acted as if he were my best friend. For a
moment.
As soon as I was settled, he leaned against the front
of his massive desk, his arms crossed as he , towered
over me, smiling in a friendly way beneath sardonic
eyes. After I had a taste of his great Scotch, he leaped
into his act.
"All right, Mr. Sughrue," he said, "let's get something straight from the very beginning. I don't know how you persuaded Mrs. Flowers to hire you for this
wild goose chase, and I don't know how much money
you have managed to weasel out of that poor woman,
but she's a personal friend of my mother's, and I intend
to put an end to this nasty little gambit of yours."
"You want me to cut you in, huh?" I said. "Okay.
There's enough for everybody."
"What?"
While he worked on his confusion, I stood up and
walked around behind his desk, took a cigar out of a
58
burled walnut box, lit it, sat down in his leather swivel
chair, and propped my boots on his desk.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.
"Making myself comfortable, partner," I said, then
blew smoke in his face.
"Get up from there," he sputtered. He couldn't have
been any angrier if I had sat down on his wife's face.
"Listen, Buster Brown," I said, taking a fistful of his
cigars for my pocket, "you've got a fancy setting here,
but you're just another second-class creep. Your daddy,
when he can stand up, holds a sign for the highway
department, and your momma put you through law
school with a beauty operator's tips. Your daddy-in-law
is springing for this antique whorehouse decor, this
whole lawyer scam, and you, Mr. Griffith, aren't only a
failure, you're a courthouse joke, so get out of my face
with this big-shot attorney crap. "
"If you don't get out of my office this instant, I'm
calling the police," he said in a voice on the verge of
sobs.
"After you apologize," I said, "maybe we can start
this whole thing over again."
At the moment, though, he didn't have anything
to say. I watched his face change hues about four times
and examined the shoddy dental work on his back
lower molars. At the newspaper bar, I had found an AP
stringer who, for the price of a 7&7, had given me
Albert Griffith's life history.
"If it will improve your attitude," I said, "give Rosie
a call. She's got eighty-seven bucks, two beers, and a
smile into this, and I might take another beer or two,
and I might only lose a hundred bucks on this, but -she's
paid all she's going to pay. So call her while I have
another taste of this overpriced whiskey."
While I stiffened my drink, he called Rosie and spoke
softly to her for a minute. Then he hung up, loosened
59
his tie, and made himself a really stiff drink. I didn't
have much of a picture of Betty Sue Flowers yet,. but
just the mention of her name seemed to drive grown
men to drink.
"Let's sit on the couch," Albert said, and we sat at
opposite ends of a long leather expanse.
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