Before Kordian could do anything to avert the catastrophe, his ringtone, one of his favourite songs, blasted out as Will Smith exhorted the ladies to fiesta.
‘What’s that?’ asked Artur Żelazny.
‘S-s-sorry,’ stammered Oryński as he struggled to pull the phone from his jacket pocket. He was sure he had switched it to silent before he entered the building that morning, before his encounter with Chyłka.
‘Don’t keep your phone there, son,’ advised Żelazny, from behind his desk.
The massive desk reflected the status of the person seated behind it. Made of fine mahogany, it had all the trappings of legal authority: an expensive Waterman pen, brand-new unopened legal code books, and cufflinks in a gilded case.
‘No, sir.’
‘He’s not some army officer, just one of the partners,’ said Joanna. ‘And what’s that musical hogwash?’
‘It’s from the Willennium album.’
‘Willennium?’ repeated Chyłka, closing her eyes as if she were at the graveside of her best friend. ‘You put me in a bleak mood, Zordon. And that never ends well. From tomorrow, I want to hear the solo from ‘Wasted Years’ whenever anyone rings you. That’s your second task. Do you remember the first?’
‘Sure,’ lied Kordian.
‘Go on then, tell me.’
Oryński scratched his head. ‘Was I supposed to go to the Hard Rock Cafe?’
‘You were supposed to find out which historical figure Iron Maiden sing about for eight minutes straight. The test is fast approaching.’
Kordian looked to Old Rusty for help.
‘I don’t envy you, son,’ Żelazny said. ‘But really, don’t keep your phone in your jacket, it produces a magnetic field. Why keep it so close to your heart?’
‘You’re right, sir,’ replied Oryński deferentially, before he could bite his tongue. Chyłka looked at him with disapproval.
‘Please sit down, both of you,’ said Żelazny.
Once they had settled into the comfortable chairs in front of the desk, Żelazny fixed his gaze on the trainee. It was not good form to trouble the bosses with insignificant newcomers, yet for some reason, that’s what Chyłka had decided to do.
‘I understand you’ve already signed a contract with our firm?’ asked Artur Żelazny.
Oryński nodded, realising belatedly that Old Rusty was not asking out of mere curiosity, he wanted to make sure Kordian had signed a non-disclosure agreement prohibiting him from revealing company secrets.
‘Excellent,’ said Artur, rubbing his hands. ‘I’m sure you’ll be an asset to Żelazny & McVay.’
Hearing the cliché, Chyłka yawned extravagantly.
‘Why have you called me?’ she asked, considering the pleasantries to be over. ‘And what are you doing in Warsaw? Shouldn’t you be somewhere abroad, pretending to work?’
‘I’m the last person you could accuse of idleness,’ replied Żelazny. ‘But we won’t discuss your prejudice against all other lawyers here,’ he added, adjusting his jacket. ‘Have you been to see the client?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘And it’d be easier to talk to your own backside while sitting on the throne.’
‘I’m not altogether surprised,’ replied Artur. He was used to the fact that Chyłka did not take their differences in status particularly seriously. She was, after all, senior associate, so not far away from becoming a partner herself. In addition, they had worked together for years, so a degree of familiarity in their professional relationship was inevitable. Only up to a point, of course. When Joanna went too far, Żelazny had no problem playing the authoritarian.
‘What did he tell you?’
‘Nothing. I think he might be shy with women.’
‘Oh, without a doubt. Especially if he’s anything like his father,’ Żelazny replied sardonically.
The firm had pulled Langer Senior out of the mire on several occasions, most recently from a situation that seemed quite hopeless. It was largely thanks to Chyłka, who always seemed able to mollify whichever girl from Belarus or Kaliningrad had been wronged this time.
‘You don’t have to remind me about Langer Senior,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I still wake up at night, sensing his lascivious eyes all over me.’
‘And Piotr Junior? What did you think?’
‘I don’t know, I haven’t had a chance to get to know him. He only really started talking when he was alone with this young man here,’ she replied, making a sweeping gesture towards Kordian.
Oryński pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully.
‘So?’ asked Artur, undoing his cufflinks and lining them up next to the ones that were on his desk for decorative purposes.
‘No, he didn’t explicitly say he’d done it. He didn’t admit guilt, neither to me, nor . . .’
‘No, no,’ interrupted Żelazny. ‘He’s guilty beyond doubt. But what I’d like to know is will he cooperate?’
‘Maybe, as a last resort. As we left, he said we had a free hand.’
Artur Żelazny fell silent, taking a long look at Kordian.
‘A free hand is not the same as willingness to cooperate.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ agreed Kordian. ‘In fact, he was quite vague.’
For a moment, Oryński considered adding that Langer had pounced on him like a ravenous beast craving meat. Chyłka, however, had not mentioned it, so he also decided against drawing it to Żelazny’s attention.
‘So he’s planning to kick up a stink,’ concluded Żelazny. ‘We could hardly expect anything else.’
He looked at Joanna, but she just shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t have to tell you this is a high priority case.’
‘No,’ she replied.
‘And you know what Piotr Senior expects?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that all you can say?’ he asked, shaking his head.
‘I am aware that Langer wants a swift, painless trial, as a result of which his darling little boy will be thrown into the slammer post-haste, to languish harmlessly with no internet or media access and pose no threat to his dear father.’
Żelazny got up from his comfortable armchair and walked over to a small drinks cabinet. He poured himself a bourbon without inviting anyone to join him, and took a long, ostentatious sip.
‘Listen, Chyłka,’ he began in a completely different tone, as if the drink had lubricated some previously seized-up gears. ‘I’ll spell it out for you. That pervert is to plead guilty.’
‘Not feasible.’
The boss swirled the bourbon in his glass, looking at her sullenly. ‘McVay thinks the same as me, so don’t bother phoning him.’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘Whatever you have to say, I’m not interested,’ he cut in. ‘Langer is to plead guilty, the court is to rubber-stamp his declaration, the media are to be relatively silent. If there are any leaks, you are to identify them immediately. I can assign Kormak to you permanently until this case is settled.’
Old Langer’s clearly paying him a fortune, thought Oryński.
‘Piotr Senior doesn’t want to get involved at all, for obvious reasons,’ Artur continued. ‘All this has a negative effect on his commercial ventures. You know how business partners can be. Get mixed up with anything dubious, and it’s an excuse to renegotiate all your deals. No, it mustn’t come to that. A swift trial, a swift conviction.’
‘He won’t plead guilty,’ said Chyłka.
‘Of course he will.’
‘No, he won’t.’
‘If he doesn’t, he’ll be looking at a life sentence,’ said Żelazny. ‘While if he does, he might get twenty-five years.’
‘He doesn’t seem to care one way or the other.’
‘So what the hell does he want?’
Joanna pushed away a lock of hair that had somehow managed to break free from her carefully arranged coiffure. Żelazny waited for a reply, then looked at Kordian.
‘I’m not going to beat about the bush,’ he said. ‘You’re starting to get on my nerves. Did either of you speak to that man, or not?’
Both nodded, and Oryński came to the conclusion that the boss’s surname, Żelazny, had a deeper meaning. He was indeed as unbending as iron.
‘In that case, can you at least find out the sort of thing he wants? What does he intend to do? Is he ready to go to prison? Is he of sound mind? Maybe he’s mad and should be restrained?’
‘No, Langer seems . . .’ began Kordian and then looked at Chyłka, who responded by shrugging her shoulders. ‘He seems calm. He’s simply calm, not counting on any . . .’
‘Resigned to his fate?’ Żelazny interrupted.
‘No, he wants truth to prevail. More or less.’
‘Very well . . .’ replied Artur, playing with his cufflinks like dice.
The silence was becoming increasingly awkward, and suddenly Oryński wanted to be back in the noisy corridor, where he wouldn’t be able to hear himself think. Here in the stillness, everything echoed in his skull and took him nowhere.
‘Your task is simple,’ Żelazny said at last, standing in front of the two lawyers. ‘Bring him to heel, just enough for him to plead guilty, get twenty-five years and go meekly to his cell. Appeal, of course, but only as a formality, so that no one will be able to accuse you of lacking commitment. Don’t include anything in the appeal that could prolong the case. The appeal court will uphold the first ruling, and with that your work ends. Swift, effective and painless.’
‘And . . .’
‘I’m counting on you, Chyłka. No pasarán?’
‘No pasarán, el jefe,’ confirmed Joanna, and rose from her chair, gesturing for her trainee to do the same. They nodded to Żelazny and left his office.
‘What’s with the Spanish?’
‘Old Rusty likes it,’ replied Chyłka, pushing through the whirlwind. ‘It’s a tradition that before every case you say no pasarán, either to your boss or just to yourself.’
‘But it’s only a T. Love song.’
‘It’s a slogan from the Revolution, you cretin, which later became part of the catalogue of communist battle cries. It simply means, “they shall not pass”.’
‘OK.’
‘When we win a case, we say hemos pasado. We have passed. It’s our tradition.’
‘I didn’t know I’d ended up in some communist—’
‘Watch yourself!’ protested Chyłka. ‘We’re all liberals here, but if you ever accuse me of lefty extremism, you’ll get what’s coming to you. And why are you following me around like a bad smell?’
‘I thought that—’
‘Go to Kormak and help him with those neighbours,’ said Joanna, quickening her pace.
Elegantly dodging obstacles, she reached her office and disappeared behind the door.