On its face it seems a near-certain loser, mainly because there is a very substantial chance Kenny is guilty. My financial and professional situation is such that I have little stomach for securing the release of people who shoot other people and stuff them in closets.
On the other hand, I don’t know that Kenny is guilty, and this case represents a chance to get back into the action. Ever since the Willie Miller trial, I have been very selective in picking my clients, with the result being a lot of downtime. It’s been three months since I’ve been in a courtroom, and I can feel the juices starting to flow. The fact that I could be taking on Dylan is an added, competitive benefit.
Once Kevin leaves, Tara and I take a ride over to the building that houses the Tara Foundation, the dog rescue operation that Willie and I run. More accurately, Willie and I finance it, and Willie and his wife, Sondra, run it. It’s a labor of love for them, and I’ve loved helping them rescue and place over six hundred dogs in our first year.
As we enter, Willie and Sondra are behind the desk while a young couple gets to know one of the dogs, a large yellow Lab mix named Ben. They are sitting on the floor and playing with him, unknowingly making a good impression on Willie, Sondra, and me in the process. As a general rule, people who get on the floor with dogs provide them with good homes.
I overhear Sondra talking to Willie before they see me. “Samuel Jackson?” she says. “Are you out of your mind?”
Apparently, Willie is nearing a final casting decision. Sondra sees me and tries to enlist me in her cause. “Andy, tell him that Samuel Jackson is old enough to be his father.”
“Samuel Jackson is old enough to be your father,” I say as instructed.
“Then what about Danny Glover?” Willie persists.
“Damn,” says Sondra. “Danny Glover is old enough to be Samuel Jackson’s father.”
Willie is getting frustrated, so he turns to me. “You got any ideas?”
I nod. “Sidney Poitier.”
“Who’s he?” asks Willie, and Sondra shares his baffled expression.
“A new guy,” I say. “But he has potential.”
I go off to pet the dogs that have not yet been adopted, and then Tara and I head home. Starting Monday, I’m going to be totally focused on the Schilling case, and until then I’m going to be totally focused on the NBA play-offs.
Between now and tomorrow there are six games, culminating in the Knicks-Pacers game tomorrow night. All the games have betting lines and are therefore totally watchable. I have gotten so used to betting on these games that sometimes I wonder if I’m actually a basketball fan anymore. Would I be watching if I couldn’t wager? I’m confident I’d watch the Knicks, but would I care if Detroit beats Orlando? I’m not sure why, but these are somewhat disconcerting issues to contemplate.
The flip side is even more worrisome. If I could gamble on other events, currently exempt, would I automatically become a fan of those events? If I could wager on ballet, would I be pulling for the team in green tutus? And what about opera? If I could bet that the fat lady would sing before the fat guy, would I become an opera buff?
I’ve got to get control of myself and erase these self-doubts. The last thing I ever want to do is ask my bookie if he has a wagering line on the Joffrey or an over/under on how many haircuts will be given by the barber of Seville.
Tara is a help to me at times like this. She gets me to focus on that which is important: the beer, the potato chips, the dog biscuits, and the couch. I’ve taught her to fetch the remote control, and her soft golden retriever mouth never damages it.
Laurie’s having dinner with some of her girlfriends tonight and then coming over tomorrow to spend the day. She doesn’t seem to be acting strangely anymore, and I would spend time reflecting on how pleased I am by that if I didn’t have to watch these games…
LAURIE COMES INTO the room carrying a blanket. That’s not what’s worrying me. What’s worrying me is that she also has two pillows. I have to assume that she intends for my head to be occupying one of them, which is a problem, because it’s Sunday evening and I have other plans for my head. At least