The lawyer snorted derisively. "Yeah, I'll get right on it," he mocked. "First, there's the matter of my fee."

"Yes, yes, yes," Princippi said, waving his hand dismissively. "Take it up with Doris."

"Doris quit last week. You hadn't paid her in three months."

"My wife, then."

"She's still in rehab, Governor. Remember the paint incident?"

Princippi looked up. His eyes betrayed his concern that the latest episode involving his substance abusing wife might become public. "Get it out of the slush fund," he said.

"The slush fund melted," the lawyer said. "And before you take the Doris route with me, I'm sure the Boston Messenger would be interested in some of the dirt I've seen around here. Especially concerning your lovely wife."

"Y-you're a lawyer," Princippi stammered. "You can't betray a confidence like that."

"You hired me as a campaign staffer after you hired me as a lawyer," the attorney pointed out. "Campaign staffers aren't bound by confidentiality."

"I'll sue."

"Great. Who's going to represent you?" The lawyer crossed his arms across his wet chest and waited smugly.

Princippi sat gasping for a few long moments, lost for an appropriate response.

Finally, he simply got up. He left the aluminum folding lawn chair with the clumps of frayed nylon that hung from beneath in cobweblike clumps and walked silently up to his bedroom. His feet were lead.

He found a few hundred dollars in an old envelope stashed between his ratty mattress and creaking box spring. He was downstairs with the cash a few moments later.

"Viper," the ex-governor spit morosely as he turned over the wad of crumpled bills.

"Pleasure doing business with you," the lawyer said. He stuffed the money in his soggy pocket. Quickly, he gathered up his briefcase and left.