"Yeah?"
"Who's paying for Tony Corfino?"
"Nobody you have to worry about, Johnno."
"No other Syndicate—or anything like that?"
Jake shook his head, and his caller stood up.
"Thanks, Jake."
"Now, will you get the hell out of here!"
"Sure, Jake—give my love to Marge."
Jake lowered his head to hide the mist in his eyes. Johnno had sent a simple corsage of blue violets to Marge's funeral. And he sent one every year, on the anniversary of her death.
Jake went back to Gould v. Gould, 243 App. Div. 589, and stayed with it until nearly six o'clock, when he turned wearily to People v. Gibbs. This looked like an interminable case, even on microfilm. His eyes were strained from staring at the viewer screen, and his big hand was stiff from spinning the reel crank. He opened his fingers, and the knuckles cracked. Jake stared disgustedly at them. You could take a boy out of the coal mines, but not the coal mines out of the boy. His hand was too big for such a small crank. Someday, he'd have to buy an automatic viewer, or even one of those electronic brains they demonstrated at the last Bar Association meeting. But then, he wouldn't need anything after this case. And besides, he didn't trust such impersonal help. Leibowitz had taught him a good lawyer should do his own preparation. Leibowitz! The Vera Stretz case.... That was forty years ago! Jake shook his head to chase away the memories, and started People v. Gibbs, patiently searching for points of law to help him prove that a punk named Tony Corfino....