Mistress of Justice

Clayton said, "Ralph, you're part of, I guess I'd call it, the old guard, the old-boy network at the firm."

"I go back a ways, that's true."

"You and Donald started at about the same time, didn't you?"

"Bill Stanley, too And Lamar Fredericks."

"I see you at the DAC with Joe Wilkins and Porter quite a bit, don't I?"

"Yes, we go there often. What do you -"

"Enjoying yourself tonight, are you?"

"Quite, Wendall." The old partner's voice was filled with anxiety as Clayton asked these pleasant questions with a slightly sadistic edge.

Silence. Feet shifting.

Clayton continued. "Young people here tonight. Lots of young people. It's fu

"Wendall, is there something you want?"

"Ralph, I want you to vote in favor of the merger on Tuesday. That's what I want."

A long pause The old man's voice was trembling when he said, "I can't, Wendall. You know that. If the merger goes through I lose my job. Donald loses his, a lot of people do."

"You'll be well provided for, Ralph. A good severance."

"I can't. I can't afford to retire."

"No, of course not. You've got expenses."

Dudley sounded very cautious now. "That's right. It costs a lot to live here."

"Manhattan most expensive city on earth."

"I'm sorry, Wendall. I'll have to say no to the merger."

Silence again. Taylor imagined Dudley's thoughts racing to catch up with Clayton's. Taylor's, however, had already arrived at their sad destination.

"You don't mind blunt talk?" Clayton asked.

"Of course not.I appreciate candor and -"

"If you don't vote in favor of the merger I'll go public with your affair with a sixteen-year-old girl."

The choked laugh didn't mask the despair. "What are you talking about?"

"Ralph, I respect your intelligence, I hope you'll respect mine. The little whore, the one you dress up and parade around as your granddaughter, which makes it all the more disgusting. You -"

Taylor heard the slap of a blow, a laugh of surprise from Clayton, feet dancing in the awkward shuffle of wrestling. Finally a sad, desperate groan from Dudley – a sound filled with pain and hate and hopelessness.

Clayton laughed again. "Really, Ralph Are you all right? There, sit down now. Are you hurt?"

"Don't touch me," Dudley said, his voice cracking. The sounds of the older man's sobbing echoed softly in the room.

Clayton said patiently, "Let's not be emotional. There's no reason for me to tell anyone. Let's negotiate a little bit. You're the firm's charmer, aren't you? You're suave, debonair. You're a holdout from the days when a lawyer's ma

"Three others!"

"Say, Joe, Porter, pick somebody else. But – here's the good part – you bring me any more and I'll kick in fifty thousand each to your severance package. That should keep you in teenage pussy for another year or so."

"You're vile," Dudley spat out.

"More vile than you?" Clayton asked. "I wonder. The vote's day after tomorrow, Ralph. Why don't you think about it?" Clayton's was the voice of luxurious moderation. "Just think about it. It's your decision. Come on, go downstairs, have a drink Relax. "

"If you only understood -"

Clayton's voice cut through the room like a knife. "Oh, but that's the point, Ralph. I can't understand. And no one else will either."

The door opened. Two pairs of feet receded. Both slowly. One pair in triumph, one in despair, but the sound they made was the same.

Still in the quiet den. Taylor was concentrating on a single noise.

Rhythmic and soft.

She had stayed here, hiding behind the armoire, after the partners had left because Clayton had remained upstairs, she'd heard his voice from nearby.

Then after five minutes or so the sound began. What is that?

A voice chanting? Primitive music?

She couldn't place it at first. It seemed very familiar but she associated it with an entirely different place.

Rhythmic and soft.

No, couldn't be.

She walked to the far wall and pressed her head against the plaster again. The sound was coming from the other side – Clayton's bedroom.

Oh, Taylor realized. That's the sound. Of course. Not one voice, but two.

The nature of the activity didn't surprise Taylor much, considering what she now knew about Wendall Clayton. What did surprise her, however, was that the other participant was Carrie Mason, who was contributing half of the sound effects.

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me I'm almost there. Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Carrie may have finished quickly but it took Clayton considerably longer. Long enough, in fact, for Taylor to go through the partner's desk carefully. The sound track conveniently helped her gauge how much time she had.

She found only one thing that interested her an invoice for a security firm. The bill was for ongoing services, which had begun last month. The job description was. "As directed by client".

She debated stealing it. What would her detective friend John Silbert Hemming do? He'd use a spy camera, she guessed. But ill-equipped Taylor Lockwood did the next best thing. She carefully copied all the information and put the invoice back.

Downstairs she noticed the crowd had dwindled considerably, as you'd expect for a Sunday night party. Only the hard-core partyers remained. Thom Sebastian, for instance, who swooped in for another sloppy bear hug. She ducked away from it. He said good-bye and reiterated his di

He's going to do it. For sure. Next month, we're going to be Hubbard, White, Willis, Sullivan & Perelli

You're out to lunch, dude. No way Burdick let it happen.

Do you realize the vote is Tuesday? Day after tomorrow.

You hear about the detective that was going through Burdick's Swiss accounts?

You hear Burdick had somebody check Clayton's law review article to see if he plagiarized?

That's bullshit.

You want to talk bullshit, this merger is bullshit. Nobody's getting any work done.

Where's Donald?

He doesn't need to be here He sent Himmler instead.

Who?

His wife. See, Burdick would charm a man out of his balls, Vera'd just cut ' em off. You know the stories about her, don't you? Lady Macbeth.

Taylor noticed that Burdick's wife was no longer here.

She then surveyed the long table where there'd once sat mounds of caviar, roast beef, steak tartare and sesame chicken. All that now remained was broccoli.

Taylor Lockwood hated broccoli.

On the patio deck of the Fleetwood Hotel's penthouse on the Miami Beach strip Ed Gliddick sent a golf ball near the putting cup embedded in the roof's AstroTurf.

"Hell," he said of the miss and looked at the trim young man near him, who watched the shot without emotion. Standing ramrod-straight, he offered Gliddick no false compliments and said only, "I play te

The man was Randall Simms III, Wendall Clayton's protégé. It was he who'd pirated the Hubbard, White & Willis chartered jet to beat Donald Burdick down to Florida to meet with the executives of McMillan Holdings.

While Burdick himself was cooling his heels with the second-in-command of the company, Steve Nordstrom, Simms had been meeting with Gliddick, the chairman of the board and CEO of McMillan.