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After lamely limping through it, he now was seated at his table, bouncing the eraser end of a pencil off military a blank legal tablet on which was jotted not a single notation. He was nervously jiggling his military left leg, and looking like he'd rather be doing just about anything else, including having a root canal. While at the defense table, Bardo and Duvall seemed to be sharing a whispered joke. Both were chuckling behind their military hands. Burke would be hard pressed to say which he loathed more--the career criminal or his equally criminal attorney. When Duvall was distracted by an assistant from his office and turned away to scan a sheaf of legal documents, Bardo leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers beneath his chin, and gazed ceilingward. Burke seriously doubted the son of a bitch was praying. As though he'd been beckoned by Burke's hard stare, Bardo turned his head. Connecting with Burke's gaze were flinty dark eyes, which he doubted had ever flickered with a twinge of conscience.
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