Before I hang up, he asks, “Is there a trial date?”

I explain that Class has to be formally arraigned first and tell him that despite the circumstances it was good to talk to him. We were friends once; maybe we can be again once this is all over. I place the phone on the table and lean back against the bed and watch Vanna swishing back and forth on the screen. How little it takes to entertain me. Before I can take a sip of bourbon, the phone rings, and I pick it up, hoping it’s not Betty telling me she’ll bring down some extra towels.

“Gideon,” Paul Taylor begins, “damn, I’m glad you’re in this case. Can you believe the shit I’m in?” Who told him I was here? I stare at Vanna’s backside while I try to absorb what he is saying.

Can he still be this arrogant after all these years?

Does he truly not know how I feel about him? Of course, he doesn’t.

Paul, I realize now, is the type who, regardless of what he does, can always rationalize his actions.

“You’re in some shit all right.

Does Dick know you’re calling me? I shouldn’t be visiting with you without his okay.” “Hell, sure he does,” he says casually.

“We’re on the same side of this, right?”

If Angela has talked to him, she didn’t say how I feel about him.

“Of course!” I say as if his charge is one huge mistake.

“But what on earth did you do to piss off the new order, Paul? Unless somebody is playing a huge practical joke, I’d say somebody doesn’t like you.”

He laughs, but the sound coming through the phone is not a merry one.