By the close of the fourth day, selection of the jury had been completed and the trial was ready to begin. That evening, Jake worked on his notes until ten o'clock, and then went out for his customary walk through the memories and quiet of Central Park. As he paused at a crosswalk to watch a satellite platform sweep like a new planet across the sky, a long, black car drifted silently to a stop beside him.
The door swung open, and the District Attorney's tired voice said,
"Get in, Jake."
Jake got in, and neither of them spoke for awhile.
"Couldn't sleep," the D.A. said finally. "Can't even sleep with them damn pills anymore."
Jake didn't say anything. He stared at the back of the chauffeur in front of them. What could you say when an old friend was wearing out?
"Look, Jake," the D.A. continued, "do you really mean this is your last case?"
"You know I do."
"Then, how about a deal—You cop a plea, and Tony gets off with life...."
"Why, Emmett?"