Lord sat by the fire that popped pleasantly in the grate, a loose
paisley robe covering his bulky frame, bare feet comforted in leather
slippers. A cold rain fell against the broad expanse of windows. Jack
drew closer to the fire, his mind appeared to crackle and jump like the
flames; a loose ember hit the marble surround, flamed and then quickly
disappeared. Jack cradled his drink and looked at his partner.
The phone call hadn’t been totally unexpected. “We need to talk, Jack,
the sooner the better for me. Not at the office.”
When he arrived, Lord’s aged valet had taken his coat and gloves and
then inconspicuously receded into the farther reaches of the home.
The two men were in Lord’s mahogany-paneled study, a luxuriously
masculine retreat that Jack felt guiltily envious of A glimmer of the
large stone house briefly came into focus. It had a library, much like
this. With an effort he focused on Lord’s back.
“I’m kinda fucked, Jack.” The first words out of Lord’s mouth had the
effect of making Jack want to smile. You had to appreciate the man’s
candor. But he caught himself. The tone in Lord’s voice demanded a
certain respect.
“The firni’ll be okay, Sandy. We’re not going to lose many more. So we
sublease some space, it’s no big deal.”
Lord finally stood up and went straight to the well-fed bar in the
corner. The shot glass was filled to the rim and downed in a
well-practiced motion.
“Excuse me, Jack, maybe I’m not making myself real clear here. The firm
took a blow, but not one that’ll send it down for the count. You’re
right, Patton, Shaw will weather this broadside. But what I’m talking
about is whether Patton, Shaw and Lord will live to fight another day.”
Lord lurched across the room and wearily plunged himself on the burgundy
leather couch. Jack traced the column of brass nails as they marched
across the outline of the heavy piece. He sipped his drink and studied
the wide face. The eyes were narrow, no more than penny-wide slits
really.
“You’re the firm’s leader, Sandy, I don’t see that changing, even if
your client base took a hit.”
Lord groaned from his horizontal perch.
“A hit? A hit? I took a goddamned A-bomb, Jack, right up my ass. The
heavyweight champion of the world couldn’t have hit me any harder. I’m
going down for the count. The buzzards they are a circling, and Lord he
is the main course; the stuffed hog with the apple in the mouth and a
bull’s-eye on the butt.”
“Kirksen?”
“Kirksen, Packard, Mullins, fucking Townsend. Keep counting, Jack, the
list goes on until you get to the end of the partnership roll. I have, I
must admit, a most unusual, hatehate relationship with my partners.”
“But not Graham, Sandy. Not with Graham.”
Lord slowly edged himself up, perching on one flabby arm as he looked at
Jack.
Jack wondered why he liked the man as much as he did.
The answer probably lay somewhere in the lunch at Fillmore’s way back
when. No bullshit. A real-world baptism where the sting of words made
your gut clench and your brain hammer out responses you’d never have the
nerve to actually deliver. Now the man was in trouble. Jack had the
means to protect him. Or maybe he did; his relationship with the
Baldwins, right now was far from solid.
“Sandy, if they want to get to you, they’ll have to go through me
first.” There, he had said it. And he meant it. It was also true that
Lord had given him his chance to shine with the big boys, thrown him
right into the fire. But what other way would you know if you could
actually pull it off or not? That experience was also worth something.
“The waters might get a little rocky for both of us, Jack.”
“I’m a good swimmer, Sandy. Besides, don’t look at this as purely
altruistic. You’re an investment of the firm in which I’m a partner.
You’re a top-grade rainmaker. You’re down now, but you won’t stay down.
Five hundred bucks says within twelve months you’re back in the