Client Privilege by William G. Tapply Page A

have. I figure, hey, I hear my friend Brady’s name bandied about, I oughta see what I can do for the guy. Right?”
    “Right, Mickey.”
    “So I figure I’ll give him a call, remind him old Mickey’s here.”
    “I appreciate it.”
    “So,” she said, exhaling loudly. I pictured her puffing on one of her little cigars. “What would you like old Mickey to find out for you?”
    “I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. Somebody killed the man. It wasn’t me. But the cops seem to be focused on me, which means that whoever did it is getting no attention. If I could just come up with a motive, or an enemy, or some niche in his armor…”
    “He was a golden boy, for sure. But you’re right. There was something about the man.” She paused. “You know something about him, don’t you?”
    “No, not really,” I lied. Of all people, Mickey Gillis was the last one I could mention Judge Popowski and Wayne Churchill to in the same breath.
    “But you wouldn’t mind if Mickey did a little checking, just for old times’ sake.”
    “Mickey, listen. I don’t want to find my name in your column tomorrow morning.”
    “Aw, Brady…”
    “I don’t want to be quoted. You want to write about the Churchill murder, I can’t stop you. Go ahead. But leave me out of it.”
    “You’re in it, pal.”
    “Then let’s forget the whole thing.”
    “You misunderstand, Brady. Christ, I know you didn’t kill anybody. I figure it’d be good for both of us if we figured out who did, that’s all. I intend to pursue this story. I just figured I might share with you. Out of friendship. If you want to share with me, hey, great.” She paused. “If not, well, okay. Either way, I’m gonna pick a few scabs. Would you mind if I did that?”
    “I guess I wouldn’t mind, Mickey.”
    She paused. I heard the click of a lighter. Then she exhaled loudly. “Remember Granny Hill, Brady?”
    “You were a sexy one, all right.”
    “Were,” she repeated. “Fuck you, Coyne.”
    “You’ve still got great legs, Mickey.”
    “I wear the same size dress I did then.”
    “Terrific body. You always had a great body.”
    “It’s the face, ain’t it?”
    “You look wonderful, Mickey. Come on. Granny Hill was a very long time ago.”
    “Yeah,” she sighed. “You ain’t the same lean stud you once were, either, you know.”
    “Don’t I know it.”
    “Well, hell. This Churchill thing’s interesting. Maybe I’ll just roll over a few rocks, see what crawls out. I’ll keep you posted.”
    “Appreciate it.”
    “You take care of yourself, Brady,” she said softly. “You’re not used to being on the other side.”
    “Ain’t it the truth,” I said.
    Mickey called back the next morning. “I got some dirt,” she said.
    “On Churchill?”
    “Yup.”
    “Let’s have it.”
    “Rather not on the phone.”
    “Lunch, then.”
    “Can you deduct it?”
    “No. It won’t be business.”
    “We could do some business.”
    “Couldn’t justify it,” I said.
    “You are so goddam ethical sometimes, Counselor. Okay, then. I’ll pay. I can deduct it.”
    “No you can’t. Not unless you’re working on a story. And if you’re working on this story, then I better not be one of your sources. In which case, you can’t deduct my meal.”
    “Okay, okay,” she said. “I know a little place around the corner from the courthouse, right next to the bakery that makes dirty cakes. It’s cheap and quiet and they have great hot turkey sandwiches. We’ll go dutch.”
    “Dirty cakes?”
    “Oh, yes. They’re a riot. X-rated cakes. They have their regular assortment, or you can have them custom designed. Breasts, asses, phalluses, or any combination thereof.”
    “What’s this restaurant like?”
    “Not much if you’re looking for ambience. Hole in the wall, actually.”
    “Why don’t we meet at the Oyster House, instead,” I said.
    “You wanna go for ambience, then.”
    “I can’t get excited about a turkey sandwich, that’s