I paused to let the mental image sink in, for maximum oratory effectiveness. I counted 3...2...1...0 (i.e., three seconds), then continued. "He could have made my job really hard if he were given free rein. But none of that matters, because the prosecutor always plays fair with you. He has to, by law, you're entitled. He has to show you everything, otherwise it could be a mistrial. He has to give you a list of all his witnesses, you can talk to all his witnesses, he's not allowed any surprises. As Mona Lisa Vito said in 'My Cousin Vinny,' it's called disclosure, you dickhead!"

Tuck of course busted out laughing, and even I had to laugh at my own joke. It wasn't that often that I came up with a knee-slapper like that, so I was going to enjoy this moment.

It took a minute for us to regain our composure, and then I said, "Seriously though, you don't get disclosure. Your witnesses have been dead for thousands of years in another country."

"That's true," Tuck replied, "but even if they were all alive and well right here in this room, they still wouldn't agree, and it would still be hard to get to the truth. Anyway, it is what it is, and unless these people rise from their graves and feel inspired to hop on the next flight to Mesothelioma Lawyers, New York, we can't count on getting any disclosure."

"No, probably not," I acknowledged. "Anyway, does the absence of a year 0 in our calendar have anything to do with the Mayans?"

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