"And in all these lunches, Mr. Agostini, thirty-one days of them, you're asking His Honor to believe you never exchanged a single word."
"Her Honor," said Remy.
There was a pause. Judge Moy, on the bench, did not smile, exactly.
"Her Honor," Pratt agreed smoothly. "You never spoke."
"No, sir."
"Not one word."
"Not one. I talked to the waitress. I talked to Spiro, through the door. I talked to the pie case. I didn't talk to her."
"Exhibit Nine." Pratt held it up. "You're sliding something across the table to the reporter. What is it?"
"A napkin."
"What was written on it?"
"Nothing. It was a napkin. The fan in that booth blows them around. Hers blew over to my side, and I sent it back."