Dead Ringer

Mary looked away. “I don’t know.”

Be

Mary wet her lips. “Well, it’s just that there’s something I wish we could talk about.” Her soft brown eyes found Be

A

Judy chimed in, “You just won a jury verdict for Ray Finalil, and we should be flush. Celebrating. But you don’t even seem that happy about it. What’s going on? We have a right to know.”

“Wait just one minute.” Be

Judy’s cheeks turned as pink as her bangs, and Mary bit her lip. “Be

“Right,” Murphy agreed.

Be

The three associates looked thunderstruck, and Be

“So now you know. I think things will change when we settle this class action, but I’ve learned enough law this weekend to know that that may take a long time. I will understand if any one of you wants to leave. Feel free to put out your résumé. I wish you all the best and will give you nothing but the highest recommendations. And I will manage without you. So if you need to leave the firm, please go.”

“We don’t want to leave!” Judy blurted out, and A

“No way. I just got here.”

Mary looked stricken; her lips parted. “I didn’t mean it that way, Be

“No, you guys go to di

Outside the office, the night air was dark, humid, and cool. The streets were deserted even though it wasn’t that late. An empty SEPTA bus traveled down Chestnut Street, rocking from side to side with a hydraulic hissing. The bus didn’t bother to stop at the kiosk at the corner, since nobody was waiting there, but accelerated, belching gray exhaust into the street. Be

She headed down a backstreet too narrow for a streetlight. An almost complete darkness lay ahead of her, interrupted only by the pool of a mercury-vapor streetlight at the far end of the block. It must have rained hard while they were working, and the asphalt of the street glimmered slick and black. Her Sauconys squished on the wet sidewalk. Then she heard a fu

She turned, but there was no one there. Maybe she was just tired. Stressed. Still, she picked up the pace, hoisting her heavy briefcase a little higher. Something made her glance again over her shoulder. But there was nothing there. Be

Enough already. Loser.

She held her head up and inhaled deeply. The wet air had a heavy odor that was hard to explain. Maybe it was her imagination, or maybe it was something else, which she identified next. Cooking oil? She had walked northeast, far enough to find herself approaching Chinatown. The scent of saturated fats wafted down the block, spewed into the air by whirling fans atop a score of restaurants.

She walked on, and brightly lit signs with red lettering-PEKING DUCK, DIM SUM, SHANGHAI GARDEN-surrounded her, and she remembered she had only cereal to eat for di

The restaurant bustled with suburban families and couples, raising the noise level and steaming up the front window. It wouldn’t be the peaceful meal Be

“Is it ready now?”

“Right now,” the waiter replied, and Be

“Please, yes. A glass of zinfandel.” The waiter nodded and took off, and Be

Damn. She looked away, but thought better of it. The St. Amien complaint would be randomly assigned to one of these judges. She should start politicking if she wanted to be approved as class counsel. And her seat was close enough to the table that she couldn’t avoid being seen. In fact, Chief Judge Kathryn Kolbert was already motioning to her to come over.