The Litigators Read Online Free PDF Page A

get the scoop on this latest phone call. He was rubbing the wooden counter again, for the third or fourth time since David had planted himself at the bar.
    “The office,” David said, and Abner frowned as if this were bad news for everyone. “The aforementioned Roy Barton is looking for me, throwing things. Wish I could be a fly on the wall. Hope he has a stroke.”
    Abner moved closer. “Say, I never caught your name.”
    “David Zinc.”
    “A pleasure. Look, David, the cook just got here. You want something to eat? Maybe something loaded with grease? French fries, onion rings, a big thick burger?”
    “I want a double order of onion rings and a large bottle of ketchup.”
    “Attaboy.” Abner disappeared. David drained his latest Bloody Mary and went to look for the restroom. When he returned, he assumed his seat, checked the time—9:28—and waited for the onion rings. He could smell them back there somewhere sizzling in hot oil. The drunk to his far right was gulping coffee and struggling to keep his eyes open. The teenager was still sweeping floors and arranging furniture.
    The phone vibrated on the counter. It was his wife. David made no move to answer it. When the vibrating was over, he waited, then checked the voice mail. Helen’s message was about what he expected: “David, your office has called twice. Where are you? What are youdoing? Everyone is very worried. Are you all right? Call me as soon as possible.”
    She was a doctoral student at Northwestern, and when he had kissed her good-bye that morning at 6:45, she was still under the covers. When he arrived home the night before at 10:05, they had dined on leftover lasagna in front of the television before he fell asleep on the sofa. Helen was two years older and wanted to get pregnant, something that was looking more and more unlikely given her husband’s perpetual exhaustion. In the meantime, she was pursuing a Ph.D. in art history, and doing so at a leisurely pace.
    A soft beep, then a text message from her: “Where are you? Are you okay? Please.”
    He preferred not to speak to her for several hours. He would be forced to admit he was cracking up, and she would insist he get professional help. Her father was a shrink and her mother was a marriage counselor, and the entire family believed that all of life’s problems and mysteries could be solved with a few hours in therapy. At the same time, though, he couldn’t stand the thought that she was frantically worrying about his safety.
    He sent a text: “I’m fine. I had to leave the office for a while. I’ll be okay. Please don’t worry.”
    She replied: “Where are you?”
    The onion rings arrived, a huge pile of golden-brown circles covered in thick batter and grease, hot from the fryer. Abner placed them in front of David and said, “These are the best. How about a glass of water?”
    “I was thinking about a pint of beer.”
    “You got it.” Abner found a mug and stepped to the tap.
    “My wife’s looking for me now,” David said. “You got a wife?”
    “Don’t ask.”
    “Sorry. She’s a great girl, wants a family and all, but we can’t seem to get things started. I worked four thousand hours last year, can you believe it? Four thousand hours. I usually punch in at seven in themorning and leave around ten at night. That’s a typical day, but it’s not unusual to work past midnight. So when I get home, I crash. I think we had sex once last month. Hard to believe. I’m thirty-one. She’s thirty-three. Both in our prime and wanting to get pregnant, and big boy here can’t stay awake.” He opened the bottle of ketchup and unloaded a third of it. Abner placed a frosty pint of lager in front of him.
    “At least you’re making plenty of dough,” Abner said.
    David peeled off an onion ring, dipped it in ketchup, and stuffed it in his mouth. “Oh, sure, they pay me. Why would I subject myself to such abuse if I weren’t getting paid?” David glanced around to make sure no one