of ascertaining the legal validity of the authorization, no matter how much his heart wasn't really in it.
"I'm fishing. If he's got anything intriguing, I'll see if I can drag him back for the trial. He did work with Morrison, though."
He picked at something on the tip of his nose. "Don't know if anything you do's gonna help your client, Drummond. According to the papers, he's guilty as hell."
"Well, you know how the papers lie."
He cackled and signed, and then took another sip of his "bottled water." He said, "And you got Fast Eddie on the other side, right? You know some asshole started a betting pool on the Internet?"
"Uh, no, I hadn't heard that," I replied, quickly taking the papers and stuffing them in my briefcase.
"Well, if it's any consolation, I bet on you."
"Sir, that's very kind." I was actually touched that this old guy had thought enough of my legal abilities to wager on my behalf. I promised, "I'll try to live up to your confidence."
He cackled again. "Shit, Drummond, I was drunk. I wouldn't ever have wagered on you if I was sober." He kept cackling as he reached down to his water bottle and prepared a refill.
I walked away pondering the fact that the only folks who thought I could win this case were drunks who regretted it in the morning.
Anyway, armed with my freshly signed subpoena, I retrieved Katrina and we went straight to the 14th Street precinct, where my co-counsel used to hang out and fish for customers. She got us ushered into the back, where I shoved my papers at the precinct commander and asked him to provide a police escort to help us serve them. He walked us out to the desk sergeant, who went and located a pair of beat cops.
One was named Officer Murtry and the other was Officer Blackstone. Murtry looked like an ex-jock who knew exactly where all the donut shops were located, and Blackstone looked like a skinny, pimply-faced rookie who was still learning how to put on his uniform.
Murtry looked at Katrina and said, "Hey, Miss Mazorski, nice to see ya again. Haven't seen ya around the precinct lately."
Katrina smiled back. "I took some time off."
"Good for you. Anyway, where's this Ames guy located?"
I said, "He's staying at the Hay-Adams."
"The Hay-Adams?" he asked, looking surprised. "Funny place to serve papers."
By which he meant that the Hay-Adams is one of the swankest inns in Washington and therefore doesn't attract the kinds of customers the D.C. police would ordinarily be interested in.
"This guy's special," I said. "He's more of a character witness than a crook. But it isn't going to be easy. He's likely to have some people guarding him. He considers himself a very important man and doesn't like to be bothered by us everyday working slobs. You know the type, right?"
Murtry flexed his still-broad shoulders for Katrina's sake. "Hell yeah, I know the type. That's the curse of being a D.C. cop. Everybody in this town thinks they're important. Leave 'em to me. I'm not the kind of guy who takes no for an answer."
Officer Blackstone was energetically nodding his head, like, Yeah, me too. Let's get right over there and kick some butt. Just let me at 'em.
We went out and climbed into our cars. Katrina and I followed their patrol car, which actually worked out pretty well, because they parked in a no-parking zone directly in front of the hotel and we slid in right behind them. Then we trooped inside and Officer Murtry asked the lady at the desk where A. Ames was staying. She apparently surmised that he was part of the security arrangement for her very special guest, because she immediately provided him the room number, which happened to be at the end of the hall on the seventh floor.
We crowded into the elevator and went up. The doors opened and we walked down the hall to Yurichenko's room, which I was fairly certain was the one with the two muscle-bound goons standing beside the entrance.
Officer Murtry, with Officer Blackstone beside him, walked right up to the goon on the right and said, "Don't give us no trouble, buddy, but we're here to serve papers on the guest. Let's just keep this cordial."
The goon's expression didn't change in the least. He stared at Murtry as though he didn't understand a word.
Murtry said, "You hear what I'm tellin' ya? Open the friggin' door and let me get this over with."