Pushkin.

As far as I'm concerned, I'm a dead man right now.

This is Bob Cooley.

Or I should say this was Bob Cooley.

When I say I'm dead, maybe not even physically dead, but I'm dead in terms of Robert Cooley

no longer exists.

It all started back in the 1970s when Bob was a lawyer in Chicago.

A powerful mobster asked Bob to fix a case, a murder case, so a hitman could get off,

scot-free.

If you say you can do it, and you can, that could be a problem.

I know what that means.

It means you get an extra hole in your head.

It turns out Bob was really good at fixing cases.

And he did it for years.

Until one day, he decided to switch sides.

Go over to the FBI and betray the mob.

The moment I put the wire on the first time, my life was over.

I could never practice law anymore.

I could never stay in the city anymore.

The mob could give us judges, lawyers, police officers, politicians.

He could wire up against those people and go be Bob Cooley.

I would come into the office in the morning, and if he didn't call me right away, I didn't

...