Kill All the Lawyers by Paul Levine Page B

Bobby continued. "Fifteen thousand Confederate soldiers. Some made it to the Union line, but they were cut to ribbons. A frontal assault moving uphill never works. When the enemy's holding the high ground, you gotta outflank him. Fake an attack on one flank." Bobby threw an imaginary left hook. "But really attack the other flank." With a whoosh, he tossed a roundhouse right. "When your enemy zigs, you zag."
    "You're so smart." Maria rewarded the boy with another twinkling smile, then turned toward Steve. "We heard you on the radio today, Mr. Solomon."
    "Yeah," Bobby added. "Never thought that shrink could school you like that."
    "Are you going to jail?" Maria asked Steve.
    "Uncle Steve's been to jail lots of times," Bobby declared, a touch of pride in his voice. "Judges make him stay overnight because he gets rowdy."
    "Everything's gonna be okay," Steve said. "What I did was only technically illegal."
    Bobby snorted. "Yeah, you technically beat the shit out of some guy."
    "Watch the lingo, kiddo."
    "Are you gonna let that shrink keep cracking on you?"
    "Nope. I've got a plan to shut him up."
    "Ph-a-a-t! How you gonna do it?"
    Steve shook his head. What could he say? " Your uncle and grandfather are trying to nail a killer, but don't worry about it." No. He wouldn't spook the boy.
    "Highly confidential," Steve said.
    "Just so you're not doing what that woman in the hot tub did. Because if Dr. Bill killed her . . ."
    Bobby let the words hang there, then turned back to his book.
     
     
    * * *
     
     
    Half an hour later, Bobby scooted deeper into the beanbag chair. Maria was still sprawled on his bed, leafing through the pages of the history book. Moments earlier, Bobby did a trick with his brain, purposely dividing his conscious thoughts in two. Going split screen, he called it, something that let him think two unrelated thoughts at once.
    I want to kiss Maria. And . . .
    Why does Uncle Steve treat me like a baby?
    It was really Bobby's only complaint.
    Most of the time Uncle Steve was really cool. Always spending time with him. Tossing the ball, teaching him to dig in at home plate and not bail out even when the pitch was inside. Taking him to court and even to a couple of autopsies, which was way cool, except for the smell.
    But he hides stuff from me, afraid I can't handle it.
    Uncle Steve was planning to go after Dr. Bill. Which was scary.
    But why can't he tell me?
    Above him, on the bed, Maria draped a leg over his shoulder. She wiggled her toes, the nails painted some color that looked like flames.
    The brain waves carrying thoughts of Dr. Bill suddenly flatlined. Bobby felt a pleasant buzz in his undershorts. But this was awkward. His butt was sunk into the beanbag chair, his back was toward the bed, and he couldn't even see her. To kiss her, he'd have to scoot around, get to his knees, and crawl onto the bed, and then what? It would take several seconds and would seem premeditated and dorky, instead of casual and cool.
    Another problem: to tongue or not to tongue?
    He heard more pages rustling. She couldn't be reading that fast. Could she be getting bored? Was she waiting for him to make a move? He wished he could ask Uncle Steve for advice right now.
    Or Mom. Yesterday, she told me she first had sex at twelve. My age!
    Now his brain opened another screen. There was Maria on the bed, her flame-toed foot dangling in his face. And there was Mom, talking about sex.
    Bobby could never tell Uncle Steve what Mom said. Or even that he'd seen her. Uncle Steve thought Mom was still in prison.
    She had shown up at the park, picked him up, just like a regular mother, not an ex-con. They'd gone to Whip 'N Dip for pistachio ice cream. She started talking about her life, the stuff just spilling out, and a lot was pretty icky. The guys—sometimes, she didn't even know their names. The drugs—they'd messed her up bad, and that's why she stole and got in trouble, but now she'd kicked the habit. She thanked Jesus for his help, the Son