The office where they sat was large, yellow-painted, filled with boxes and dusty legal books. A dead plant sat in the greasy window. Diplomas from schools she'd never heard of hung on one wall, next to a clock.
It was two in the afternoon--it had taken her this long to track down Attorney Stein. She had to be at work at four but there was still plenty of time. Don't panic, she told herself.
The lawyer looked at her with a cool gaze. Neutral was the word that came to mind. He seemed to be the sort of man who wanted to find some weakness about you and notice it and let you know he noticed it even though he'd never mention it.
He wore a suit that fit very closely, and monogrammed cuffs that protruded. The sausages of fingers pressed together.
"How do you know Victor?" His voice was soft and neutral and that surprised her because she expected lawyers would ask questions with gruff voices, sneery and mean.
Rune swallowed and realized suddenly she couldn't be Symington's granddaughter. Stein might have done the man's will; he'd know all the relatives by heart. Then she remembered who his daughter, Emily, thought she was at first. She smiled and said, "I'm a friend." Putting special emphasis on the word.
He nodded. Neutrally. "From where?"
"We used to live near each other. The East Village. I'd come and visit him sometimes."
"Ah. And how did you know about me?"
"He mentioned you. He said good things about you."
"So, you'd visit him." The lawyer looked her up and down with a whisper of lechery on his face.
"Once a week. Sometimes twice. For an old guy he was pretty ... well, energetic. So can you tell me where he is?" Rune asked.
"No."
She swallowed again and was mad that this man was making her swallow and be nervous. Sometimes it was so hard to be adult. She cleared her throat and sat forward. "Why not?"
The lawyer shrugged. "Client confidentiality. Why do you want to see him?"
"He left in such a hurry. I wanted to talk to him is all and I didn't get a chance to. One day he was on Tenth Street and the next he was gone."
"How old are you?"
"Isn't that some kind of crime to ask how old someone is?"
"I'm not discriminating against you on the basis of your age. I just want to know how old you are."
Rune said, "Twenty. How old are you?"
"I assume you don't really want to talk to him. Do you? I assume your relationship or whatever you want to call it wasn't based on talking. Now--"
"Five hundred," she blurted out. "He owed me five hundred."
"For one night?" Stein looked her up and down again.
"For one hour," Rune said.
"One hour," he responded.
"I'm very good."
"Not that good," the lawyer said. "One client of mine paid four thousand for two hours."
Four thousand? What'd that involve? She thought of several best-selling tapes at Washington Square Video: Mistress Q and House of Pain.
Sick world out there.
The lawyer's neutral voice asked, "And if I were to give you that five hundred dollars, would you forget about Mr. Symington? Would you forget that he left in a hurry? Would you forget everything about him?"