"One day it got to me, this broad's attitude, and I asked to talk to Sammy's boss. Guy named Anglin, think his name was, seemed like a nice-enough guy. I told him how this typist of theirs acts when I call, and said if she treats me that way she's most likely rude to everybody else. How when I ask for Sam she refers to him as "Sammy Paradise," not "Mister Paradisio," which, I said, can't cause his clients to respect him a lot, much less the general public. And I asked Anglin did he think that was right. He told me Sam'd never objected which kind of surprised me; it seemed so completely out of keeping with everything else about him. Disrespectful of his dignity or something. And unless he complained about it, Anglin said he didn't see any need to do anything about it. I got the impression I'm the only one who ever griped about that lazy broad, who wont even look around for a guy she works for when someone calls and asks for him. In fact, from the reaction I got to the question over there, it was pretty obvious his boss thought maybe I was some kind of a nut. Either that or out of line."
"Well," Paradisio said, getting to know Cavanaugh by allowing Cavanaugh to learn what he was like, enabling the judge to evaluate him as though tacitly conceding that the judge outranked him and had a right to size him up, at the same time ate his Italian sub, talking while he chewed.
"Bad enough, when my clients try to do that, get on my good side, as though some day that might get them a break when they really don't deserve one. Wishful thinking but that I can understand.
"But every so often, just now and then, I get one that goes beyond that, acting like we're pals. I'm now his big brother, or sometimes maybe even his father. Finds out when my birthday is, sends me cards and shit.
"None of them've got any imagination. It's like they're followin' a cookbook. You can almost see 'em, movin' their lips. Here's this repeat-offender, career criminal, moanin' and groanin': he's all alone in the world. He was inside so long he hasn't got nobody left and no place to go. Nobody cares about him. The boo and the hoo and "poor me." So maybe this year you could ask your wife if she would make a little extra stuffing and set one more platen usual for Thanksgiving?
He'd like to spend the day with you, you're the closest thing to family he's got left, and he's not supposed to see his old friends any more, he used to hang around with, who got him in trouble. As you know; you're the boss now and you're the one who told him that. And you know he wants to do everything exactly how you say, 'cause he's reformed now and he's going to be good.
"He's working on you. Gradually it's all becoming your fault, you're to blame, that the holidays're comin' and he's all alone. He didn't have nothin' to do with it, or pretty soon he wont've, by the time that he gets through rewriting history around you. This's the pattern with almost all of them. All the bad things you thought he did were somebody else's doing. He'll get so he believes the shit while he's slingin' it; just give him some time and he will. It wont be anything he did that explains why his family disowned him, and he was inside for so long no one remembers his name or that he lost track of all of his respectable friends. Always what someone else did. That's his way of dealing with the emptiness: fill it up with lies.
"That's what all of that rigamarole is all about. When I wasn't looking, didn't know anything was going on, I adopted the guy. God or Fate brought us together. Instead of just having him assigned to me, because I was first in line to get the next bad actor, the day they let him out.
"Well, I can deal with that stuff. I know how to do it. You learn all that early; older guys teach you. What to do when the cons start working on you, trying to muscle in on your life. Let 'em go far enough and pretty soon they'll be in your spare bedroom. He'll take over your personal life on you, be everywhere you look and underfoot.
Hoggin' the bathroom, the morning, you're tryin' to shave and get dressed. Askin' you if you'd mind already asked her and she said it sounds fine to her if he slept with your wife now and then.
'"Just one night a week now, not asking' too much. Maybe, say, Tuesday, or Thursday night, when you're out bowlin' with the boys, give the old lady something to look forward to. Not like I wanna spoil any your weekend plans." Pretty soon he's fucking your wife and you're inna guest room. And these're bad guys that're pullin' this mealy-mouth shit, or you never would've even got to know them.
