office wondering how I was going to compartmentalize my feelings toward the lousy prick I was defending.
The address I'd been given turned out to be a big, modern office building on 14th Street, a few blocks from the White House. We took the elevator to the twelfth floor, the doors slid open, and there stood two fierce-looking badasses with Uzi submachine guns pointed at our chests. Eddie has a real sense for how to orchestrate a warm welcome.
I grinned somewhat awkwardly. "I'm Major Drummond, and this is Miss Mazorski. We have an appointment to see Major Golden."
The one on the right whispered something into his lapel, and another guard instantly appeared, only this guy wasn't carrying an Uzi, just a big black pistol in a shoulder holster even an unpracticed eye could detect, since he had his jacket off so you'd be sure not to miss it.
"Damn, guys, nobody told me this was a gun party. I would've brought mine and we could all whip them out and play who's-got-the-biggest-gat."
Nobody smiled. Katrina said, "Don't antagonize them. I'm not sure they've been fed yet." Which was much funnier than what I said, but then, in certain situations, I don't mind being upstaged by my underlings.
The new guy hooked a finger and led us through a series of corridors, past a number of offices droning with quiet activity. Whatever agency this was, it obviously owned the full top floor of this building. Eddie had to be in heaven. He was all ego anyway, but blow a little fairy dust into it, like his own armed guards and dozens of special assistants, and he'd become Dumbo the Flying Elephant. I was seriously not looking forward to this meeting.
We were eventually deposited in a big empty conference room and ordered to wait. So we waited. And more of the same.
Our appointment was for eleven, and at twenty after, the door blew open and he entered, followed by ten or eleven fawning assistants. They just kept coming and coming, and the only one I recognized was Karen Zbrovnia, who wore her Army uniform, unlike Eddie, who sported an exquisitely tailored blue wool suit.
So. A bit more about Eddie: Picture Robert Redford before he got old, wrinkled, and splotchy, toss in more persuasive bullshit than William Webster, and then add the generosity, grace, and selflessness of Jack the Ripper.
Eddie is all this, and so much more. He is to Army law what Babe Ruth is to baseball, the holder of more records and awards than there ever was. At least that's what someone once said about Eddie, and to show he believed every word of it, he made it a practice ever after to send autographed baseball bats to everybody he beat in court. Lots of us have those bats--I have two of them--and we all privately dream about someday bashing Eddie's beautiful head in with them.
He rounded the table and approached, squinting and offhandedly saying, "Drummond, isn't it? Haven't we met before?"
This was Eddie's trademark greeting to all opposing attorneys, his lousy way of saying, Hey, you're so insignificant I barely recall we ever met.
"Yeah. And who are you? I'm supposed to meet with some asshole named Eddie Golden. He here yet?"
It was a very stupid thing to say, and Eddie immediately chuckled like this was just so damned amateurish, so adolescent, but he's so magnanimous he'd just take it in stride instead of stuffing it down my throat with some snappy comeback. Which, really, was a snappy comeback.
Admiring chortles erupted from his fleet of admirers. I swiftly said, "Uh, this is my co-counsel, Katrina Mazorski."
"Jesus Christ, Drummond. Where'd you findthis one?" He laughed, igniting another broadside of yuck-yucks from the gallery.
Katrina calmly weathered this, folding her arms and waiting patiently for the laughter to subside to giggles. She grinned. "You're very funny, Eddie."
"I know."
" 'Where'd you findthis one?' That's what you said, right?"
"That's what I said."
Her grin disappeared. "The implication being what, Eddie?"
"Choose your own implication," he replied, ever the cocky prick.
"I can't. Help me out here. 'Where'd you findthis one?' What's the implication? Why did everybody laugh?"
The background chortling died. It suddenly struck Eddie what everybody else just realized. "There were no hidden implications."
"There had to be, Eddie. I hope it wasn't sex discrimination. What? Where'd you find this skank? What gutter did she crawl out of? What?"
"I just meant. . . like, where'd she come from? Virginia? New York?"
She put a hand to her chin. "And that's funny?"
"To some folks . .