Conduct in Question

Chapter 15

Harry ordered a beer; Stephen ordered another scotch. They sat in silence for some moments, waiting for the drinks. Harry studied his friend, who had begun tearing his napkin into tiny strips.

“Something wrong?” Harry asked.

Drinks were delivered. Stephen stared at him and then shook his head. “You know, some days I think seriously about dumping this and sailing around the world.”

Harry knew that Stephen could actually afford such an escapade. His tone suggested much more than wistful fantasy.

“Nobody plays by any kind of rules anymore—certainly not the lawyers. There aren’t enough jails to hold all the criminals.” Stephen shook his head sadly and gulped the drink in front of him. “Besides, the small-time operators aren’t the real problem. It’s the criminals up the line with all the money and power. Nobody ever touches them. For them, money-laundering is normal business.”

Harry was attentive. Rarely did Stephen depart from his glib, acerbic attitude. Depression was unheard of for his friend.

“Sounds like you’re getting a bit jaded.” Harry offered, testing the mood. “Maybe you should take some time off.”

Stephen did not immediately reply. After a long drink, he said, “It’s just a revolving door. I’ve been defending the same dumb beasts for years. I started with real lowlifes, the ones who knock over convenience stores and shoot the cashier just for fun. Now I do all sorts of complicated frauds and murder conspiracies. Believe me, it’s the same moronic thinking at work. Money may buy a veneer of civility, but it’s the same vicious, dumb-fuck beast underneath.”

“What do you think about these petal murders?” Harry asked.

“Now that’s interesting, Harry. A brilliant murderer, or at least one with artistic sensibility. Rather shoots my theory down,” Stephen concluded glumly.

“Why brilliant?” Harry asked.

“From what I’ve heard, this guy seems to agonize over his victims. ‘Could that life develop into greatness, if spared?’ Interesting sense of morality.” Stephen grimaced. “At least that’s what some psychologist on the news theorized.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard that. What I can’t understand is how he can thinks he’s creating when he’s killing.”

Stephen winked at him. “Don’t forget, Harry: he’s completely and utterly mad.”

Harry shrugged. “Most of my clients are sane, I guess. They worry about whether they’ve paid enough tax.”

“Sounding just a little bitter yourself?”

“Not really. Life’s just getting a bit too predictable, although the money is better.”

“Estate work’s not exciting enough?”

“Maybe.” Harry was suddenly weary. He thought of leaving, but then he said, “I think Laura’s having an affair.”

“No!”

“She’s seeing someone at work. Not coming home that much.” Harry never felt so tired.

Stephen was quiet for a moment. “That’s tough, Harry. What are you going to do?”

“Probably try to keep going as is, at least for now. If I confront her, I have to deal with the consequences. I’m not ready for that.”

“Time for one more?” Stephen was signaling to the bartender. Harry nodded. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like talking anymore. It was a lousy mess—so bad he hadn’t gotten around to calling Natasha yet, whose soft smile had caught him at the funeral, and whose intimacy drew him in.. With Laura likely in the arms of Dr. Stover, why not?