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THOMAS MCGOEY ARRIVES A few minutes later, acting as if he’s out of breath but clearly wanting to make an entrance, dressed as if he’s on his way to the Wise Guys Prom after he leaves court:

Black pinstriped suit with extremely wide stripes, blood-red tie whose brand I can never remember with a knot as big as his fist, and a pocket handkerchief to match.

He’s splashed on a bit too much cologne this morning for my taste, but then I’ve always considered any cologne at all on a man pretty much a deal-breaker.

McGoey nods at Katherine Welsh. She nods back, almost imperceptibly, without changing expression before turning her back on him and saying something to Reid Burke, her assistant DA and second chair.

I introduce McGoey to Norma.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” McGoey tells her.

“Sadly,” she says, “I’m forced to say the same about you.”

McGoey grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll grow on you.”

“Yeah,” Norma says as we watch the first group of jurors filing into the box. “Somewhat like mold.”

McGoey focuses on me now, real excitement on his face, rubbing his palms together like a kid about to have an ice cream sundae set down in front of him.

“Okay,” he says, “let’s do this, counselor.”

I angle my chair just slightly, so I’m facing him directly.

“Thomas,” I say. “Look at me.”

He does.

“Don’t talk,” I say.

“Listen,” he says, “you’ve made it abundantly clear that you don’t want me here.”

“And I’ve tried to hide it so well,” I say.

“But I am a pretty damn good lawyer,” he says, “and I can help if you’ll just let me.”

“And when I do need your help,” I say, “you’ll practically be the first to know.”

We all hear “All rise” then as Judge Horton has just walked in.

“I used to date lawyers,” Norma says to Thomas McGoey. “But I’ve been clean for a long time.”