Richard Egbert was one of the greatest talkers I ever met, and I loved interviewing him, because he was bright, combative, colorful, and intense.

Very intense.

He represented gangsters and politicians and sometimes it was difficult to tell them apart, but when I chided him for defending low lifes he tore into me, and gave me plenty to think about.

When Edward DiPrete , under indictment for corruption, hired Egbert, I twitted the Boston barrister by saying that, as governor, DiPrete employed an executive counsel but now, as a private citizen, he hired a mob lawyer.

Egbert said I was being “moronical,’’ and declared, “It’s you people who liked to put labels on lawyers or doctors or anyone else because it fits. I’m a criminal lawyer. That’s what I do for a living. I’ve represented judges, doctors, newspaper reporters….’’ And, he said, “The one time I seem to get the most respect from someone …is when they come on the wrong end of that indictment.’’

DiPrete, who had called him “tough as nails,’’ was saddened today when I phoned with news of Egbert’s death. “He was a top professional,’’ said the former governor, who settled for a plea bargain and served time in jail.

More recently, I watched Egbert defend Buddy Cianci at trial, but I first got to know him when he represented the late Rhode Island Supreme Court Chief Justice Joseph Bevilacqua in a 1986 House impeachment inquiry. Now THAT was something. It included scenes like former mobster Richard “Moon’’ DiOrio arriving in a black mask and Miami Dolphins hat and then testifying while shielded from view. Egbert tried to get him to concede Bevilacqua was a wonderful man. DiOrio wouldn’t bite. “If he wants to smell like a skunk, that’s his business,’’ he said. Egbert said, “Well, what do you think you smell like?’’

Egbert had a gift for the law and a gift for gab, and he had a great appreciation for what would make good copy in the newspaper.

One time when I interviewed him in his office before we’d each be heading to Opening Day at Fenway Park, he told me of his early visits to the games with his father and unclde.

“My uncle was one of the old bookmakers in the runways,’’ he said. “You could bet a nickel on the next at-bat.’’

I miss Egbert already.