I use the free time to spear a crouton.
“If I were in a similar predicament,” Ceepak finally says, “I would want Harvey Nussbaum to defend me.”
Ceepak’s right. Nussbaum is a pit bull. I’ve seen his ads on a couple benches up and down Ocean Avenue. “I Turn Wrongs Into Rights!” is his slogan. His mascot is a snarling bulldog wearing one of those curly lawyer wigs the barristers wear over in England.
“Good,” says his mother. “Let’s hire this Harvey Nussbaum.”
“Wait a second,” I say. “You want to pay for Christine’s lawyer?”
“Heavens, yes. Somebody has to! I’m sure she’s earning little more than minimum wage working for Dr. Rosen. She can’t afford a lawyer. The girl doesn’t even have a home of her own. She’s living in Arnie’s house in a guest bedroom.”
“Mother,” says Ceepak, “an expert criminal defense attorney such as Harvey Nussbaum can cost upwards of three hundred dollars per billable hour.”
“So? I’m rich, remember?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Besides, this is what Aunt Jennifer would want me to do with all that money she left me. See that sampler on the wall?”
“Yes,” I say. “I was admiring it earlier.”
“Well, it originally belonged to Aunt Jennifer. Did you read what it says, Daniel?”
“No. I couldn’t really make out the words …”
Mrs. Ceepak pushes back her chair.
“I’ll get it, Mother,” says her son.
“Thank you, dear.”
Ceepak goes to the wall and carefully lifts the framed sampler off its hook.
“Read it,” says his mom.
Ceepak’s not much on making speeches (another reason he hated being Chief of Police so much). But he does what his mother tells him to.
He reads the needlepointed words:
“Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,