Page 8 of The Children of Eve (Charlie Parker #22)
CHAPTER VIII
We had reserved a table at Batson River, so we didn’t have far to walk. What used to be a somnolent zone between Congress and I-295, mainstays like the Bayside Bowl excepted, was now much livelier, with Batson River as one of the anchors. At the start, I feared the bar might be too flashy for Portland. With its deer antlers and moose head on the wall, and its stone fireplace, it might have been designed for Telluride or Park City and somehow been misdelivered. But what did I know? Rooms at the more upscale hotels in town cost $800 a night on summer weekends, with breakfast extra, so an $18 pizza at Batson River counted as a bargain.
While we waited for our food to arrive, I spotted Moxie Castin at a private reception in the back room. I did some work for Moxie, who was also my lawyer. He liked to assure me that when he could no longer keep me out of jail, he’d come visit once a month and do his best to ensure I had a cell with a view. I caught his eye, and he stepped away to join us. He kissed Macy and scowled at Angel and Louis, already anticipating a hard time from one or both of them.
“Nice suit,” said Louis, fingering Moxie’s lapel. “I like the shine. It’s hard to get the blend right so the natural fibers don’t overwhelm the nylon.”
“It’s silk, you barbarian.” Moxie batted Louis’s hand away. “I got it made special. The stitching’s invisible.”
“If it rains, you’ll be in trouble. The soap holding it together will turn to bubbles.”
Moxie decided to ignore him. I admired Moxie’s optimism.
“It doesn’t look like a gathering of lawyers in there,” I said. “No accident victim is being circled.”
“My secretary’s daughter got married,” said Moxie. “I wanted to wish her better luck than I’ve had.” Moxie had been married so often that inviting him to a wedding was like bringing a burn victim to a bonfire. “What’s your excuse?”
“The opening of Zetta Nadeau’s new show.”
“She’s a good kid, but flighty. I took care of some contract stuff for her, back before that last show in New York, the one nobody liked. You suppose they’re going to appreciate this one more?”
“Zetta doesn’t think so.”
“She ought to have gone into law. She still wouldn’t have been liked, but the money’s better.”
“She has a new boyfriend.”
“So? Zetta always has a new boyfriend. It must be a creative thing. From your tone, I gather you don’t approve of this one.”
Now that Wyatt Riggins had come to my attention, I found him difficult to dislodge.
“He gives the impression of trailing aggravation.”
“Well, if it’s any help, Zetta will have another guy soon enough. Remember, it’s not your issue unless someone pays you to make it yours. Call it the Cynic’s Maxim. The corollary is that the issue stops being yours once the money runs out. You’d avoid a lot of heartache if you kept that in mind.”
It was an interesting philosophy. In his bleaker moments, Moxie might even have been convinced of its veracity, if only briefly. He glanced at his watch and pulled a piece of paper from his inside pocket.
“I have to get back inside. I promised to say a few words before dessert.”
“Be sure to bill for the full hour,” said Angel.
“Fuck you, the full hour. I’ve known the kid since she came out of the womb.” Moxie adjusted his tie. “She gets a discount.”