Hanging with the likes of Barnaby and Ghoulardi all day long is fine for a few laughs and some cocktails, but it's gettin' me nowhere on this story. So I turned to the real deal.
Eliot sits me down, lights a Lucky Strike. I ask him what he's got. He tells me this thing is the most sordid tale of human depravity he's seen since the torso murders. Tells me if he got caught doing this when he ran for mayor he'd be hanging from the Soldiers & Sailor's monument by his testicles. I tell him cut the dramatics, I need dirt. He delivers.
Sharks in the water, he says. Lawyer sharks. Divorce filings. Things gettin' ugly, he says, real ugly. Tells me a certain law firm's partners are starting to circle around a certain fellow partner's clients like Jaws sniffing chum. I ask him for a Lucky Strike. He gives me one. I light it, take a hit, exhale nice and slow. Then I cut to the chase.
I tell him I want every man he's got on this story until he delivers the goods or I'm gonna find out just how untouchable he is. He nods. Says look lady, just doin' my job. I thank him quietly.