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disclose all kinds of information relating to their family background and
health. Here, I ve used only what I ve been able to dig up on these people.
 I understand.
 I ve also thrown into the mix a few factors that I couldn t legally consider
in an insurance application. Things that, frankly, might get an insurance
company sued.
 But I m not an insurance company, and anyone who s stupid enough to sue me
ought to have their head examined. Just give me what you ve got.
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 Okay. He cleared his throat, checking his notes.  The highest score goes to
the prosecutor. High-stress job, smokes like a chimney, looks to be about
forty pounds overweight. He s fifty-eight and his father died of a heart
attack at age fifty-five.
 Beautiful. He could go at any time.
Hanson shot him a curious look, seemingly uncomfortable.
Gerry asked,  What s wrong with you?
 I guess I ve never done an analysis where my client is actually rooting for
the big bony man with the black hood and sickle.
 I m not rooting. I just want you to tell it like it is.
 I m glad you said that. Because the second-highest score goes to you.
 Me? I don t even smoke.
 Yes, you do.
 Socially.
 That aside, the biggest thing working against you is something I can take
into consideration only because you re a friend of mine and I know your
lifestyle. Basically, you re a horny divorce lawyer who hoses half the women
who come through his door.
 Say what?
 Sorry, Gerry. You asked for my honest analysis. As many sexual partners as
you ve had and will continue to have, I put you at a high risk for HIV.
 But I use condoms.
 No, you don t.
 How do you know?
 Because I saw those pictures that Lisa Bartow put on the Internet. You
remember your old client Lisa, right? You sued her because she wouldn t pay
your bill, and so she retaliated by posting those photographs on the Web of
you and her doing 
 Yeah, yeah, yeah, I remember.
 Funny, I never heard anything more about that dispute. I guess it settled,
huh?
Gerry wasn t smiling.  For an accountant, you seem to think you re one funny
guy.
 Just dealing with the facts.
 Fine. So you got me in second place.
 Right. Third is the ex-husband.
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 That s ridiculous. How is it that both Miguel and me are at a higher risk
for early death than that black guy, Tatum Knight.
 Good point. In all fairness, I had trouble assigning any score at all to Mr.
Knight. I don t have any real reliable information on him. For example, family
medical is real sketchy. His father is unknown.
 What a surprise.
 He was raised by an aunt. His mother was a druggie, and I haven t been able
to nail down whether she s alive or dead.
 Don t waste your time pursuing it. For my purposes, I ll just assume he s
the kind of guy who could get blown away next week holding up a liquor store.
 You may be right about that.
 So, bottom line is what? asked Gerry.
 Hard to draw firm conclusions. Like I say, Tatum Knight is somewhat of a
wild card. And then there s that sixth beneficiary who didn t show up for the
reading of the will. Until you get me a Social Security number, I can t pull
any information to rank him.
 Are you telling me I paid you to do a worthless analysis?
 No. Purely from a statistical point of view, I don t think it matters who
the unknown is or what his score is.
 Why do you say that?
 In all probability, your biggest worry is still going to be the newspaper
reporter.
 Low score?
 Very low. She just had her twenty-ninth birthday last month. A vegetarian.
Runs marathons. Doesn t smoke. And she has amazing family history. Her parents
are in their seventies and still alive. Both sets of grandparents are also
still living. The oldest is ninety-two. If I was going to bet on who was going
to win the longevity race, I d put my money on her.
Gerry raised his glass and winked.  Don t throw your money away, my friend.
 What does that mean?
 Nothing. Thanks for the help. I ll call you if I need anything else.
Gerry laid a twenty on the table to cover the bar bill. Hanson gathered up
his reports, shook hands, and headed for the front exit to Miracle Mile.
Gerry s car was in the back parking lot, so he headed out alone for the rear
exit, past the men s room and the wood-carved sign with the old Irish drinking
toast:  May you be in heaven one hour before the devil knows you re dead. The
final stretch of hallway was the John Martin s walk of fame, two walls lined
with autographed black-and-white photographs of probably every local celebrity
who had ever tasted beer, from Roy Black, famous criminal defense lawyer, to
Dave Barry, funniest man alive. It soured Gerry s stomach to see it. Nearly a
full year had passed since Gerry had presented the owner with a framed and
autographed eight-by-ten of himself.
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Still not up there, you son of a bitch.
The smell of garbage greeted him as he opened the door and stepped into the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]