The first words Delaney Hammond, Sr. says to his prospective attorney are, "What in God's name took you so long?"

"Car trouble," Paul says shortly. "My sincerest apologies. And," wince, "the lost time isn't billable." Stupid law firm caring about its stupid reputation for stupid good-faith operations because it defends stupid criminals. Paul's developing a stomachache.

"You don't have to look so constipated about it," says Mr. Hammond. "You'll have enough of a chance to wring me dry while you're actually working for me."

"Ah. Ah, yes, our firm's associates in New York with whom you've previously contracted recommended me to you, I believe? I believe the trial's already been scheduled, so it might behoove you to select your lawyer quickly, and I am already here. Reportedly the prosecution already has all of the evidence it wants."

"Yeah," he says, grumblingly, and names an hourly rate that is indeed very nice. "How's that sound?"

"Perfect, Mr. Hammond. Now, employed as your attorney, everything you say to me falls under attorney-client privilege; I will defend you regardless of the situation at hand; and these trials are often decided on charisma and technicalities regardless, so it is never in your best interest to lie to me. That having been established, what did happen regarding the topic under discussion?"

"What do you think?" he growls.

"I know that the prosecution is making such extensive and specific allegations that their evidence packet couldn't be sent as a single e-mail attachment," Paul says. "That's very irregular for a child abuse charge. My computer broke this morning and so I won't be able to look over what the prosecution has to say until I get it repaired or replaced, but we don't want our jury to get their facts from the prosecution anyway. What's your version?"

"My version is, if that little demon could stay out of trouble for five straight minutes, maybe I could be a little gentler with him," says Mr. Hammond. "But I don't think you want to say that to a jury, or not in so many words."

"Not in so many words," Paul says, "no. But we may be able to sway them by painting your son as an incorrigible troublemaking delinquent, while also downplaying the severity of the disciplinary action. What do we have to work with for the troublemaking delinquency?"

"He starts fights at school like clockwork," is the first thing to come to mind. "Never goes to class, hasn't done any homework in years, his room is a sty, he can't keep his foul mouth shut at the dinner table..."

Paul privately decides he's going to need to do most of his work at jury selection time. "Anything he'd have a record for? Truancy, assault?"

"He nearly got arrested for prostitution in New York," Mr. Hammond admits grudgingly. "Didn't quite, though. I've spent a lot of effort over the years keeping him out of the hands of police, and this is how he repays me."

Not a flicker of surprise at that word crosses Paul's face. "Okay. That all?"

"All the highlights, anyway," he says.

"Details could be very important," coaxes Paul.

"He steals his mother's clothing and makeup," says Mr. Hammond.

"My wife," he growls, "abandoned ship. I don't know that she'll have the stones to say a word against me, but she won't say one for me, that's for damn sure."

"Ah." Pause. "What does she know?"

"Most of it," says Mr. Hammond. "Including what an incorrigible monster she gave birth to, but apparently that doesn't sway her any."

"None of that language at the trial," Paul remarks. "Okay. We'll hope she declines to testify. The prosecutor has your son, presumably - who else can they call that we need to prepare for?"

"My driver's probably seen a few things, but I don't know that they'll manage to squeeze any out of him."

"Even if they sit him down and put him under oath?" Paul asks.

"If they have to get him to admit he knows something first, I doubt they'll get that far. But who knows. If Judith can grow a spine at this late hour, maybe he can too."