~2.8~

At the very same time that his financial obligations were being discussed in a mobile office somewhere on the east side of Jericho, Nicholas Brown, attorney at law, was getting very, very drunk.

He was making a game out of it. Time is money, the saying goes, and few people are as perfectly aware just how much their time is worth as are lawyers. Nick was determined to drink away his hourly fee. He was cheating a little bit… after counting all the hours he actually worked, he usually managed to wring another hour or six out of his clients.

The profits of those hours should, if he were playing fair with the booze, have been averaged out to determine his actual, adjusted worth per minute… but that was a whole lot of math that he didn’t really feel like doing just that minute, thank you very much.

He had better things to do.

He was a lawyer, after all, and his time was money.

Anyway, if he set the bar a little bit low, he made up for it by not buying the really expensive stuff and reaching it too quickly.

“Bit early, Nick, isn’t it?” a voice said at his elbow.

He turned bleary, unfocused eyes in the direction of the intrusion.

“Time is money, Art,” he said. “Time is money.”

“It’s Larry,” Art said.

“Of course it’s Leary,” Nick replied. “Art O’Leary. You think I don’t know that?”

“It’s Larry,” Art said again, more insistently. “Look, Pembroke sent me to find you… he needs to know what you’re doing about the Sandersons’ case.”

“Not a damned thing, Art,” Nick said. “But you know what? I’m gonna bill ‘em for this entire hour anyway. Why not? Time is money.”

Art, who was apparently also named Larry, shook his head.

“Why didn’t you take the damned leave of absence?” he asked. “Look at you, Nick… you’re falling to pieces.”

“Art… Art Or Larry,” Nick said. “You ever heard of something called… tribe?”