Phones forgotten, her body came around, up and out of her chair in one fluid motion. She was moving not toward Hardy but directly to Freeman's door, to all appearances ready to throw her body in front of it if need be to defend its inviolability. 'He's trying to get a motion written. He was very specific.'

Hardy kept his grin on, inclined his head in the direction of the hallway where the associates toiled. 'That's just to keep the kids from bothering him. He'll welcome some adult companionship. Watch.' Striking like a snake, Hardy reached around the receptionist and rapped quickly twice on the door.

'It's open!' Freeman bellowed from within. 'Come on in.'

Hardy stepped back, spread his palms in a gesture that said, 'See? What did I tell you?'

'If he'd have said "Go away", I'd be gone. Promise.' He turned the knob and pushed at the door. 'Excuse me,' he said politely, moving around her, closing the door behind him.

Pen in hand and a mangled cigar between his lips, Freeman squinted up over his yellow legal pad. A thick bluish haze hung in the air. Hardy recognized the wine bottle by the telephone as a Silver Oak Cabernet – at least fifty bucks retail if you could find it. The old man straightened up in his chair, put the pen down and drained the last inch from his wine glass, making appreciative smacking noises. 'God drinks this stuff,' he said.

'How does He afford it?' Hardy crossed the room to the window and threw it open. He enjoyed the occasional cigar himself, but the smoke in the room was nearly suffocating. 'And while we're asking "how" questions, how do you breathe in here?'

Freeman waved that off. 'If you interrupted me on billable time to criticize my lifestyle, you can use the same door you came in at. Otherwise, get yourself a glass – you've got to have a sip of this.'