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Dan carefully placed the pasta bowl on the kitchen island. When he first joined this firm and learned they’d converted a Snell Isle mansion into their office, he thought it a bit odd. But when he saw the magnificent kitchen, he decided he could live with it.
“Here it is, ladies and gentlemen. Daniel Pike’s super-special deluxe and delicious spaghetti aglio e olio.”
Jimmy beamed. He looked hungry. Stout. Sweater vest. African-American. “That looks scrumptious.” He grabbed a plate.
Garrett looked up from the keyboards. He was playing something jazzy. Tall. Rays t-shirt. Fingers moving faster than the eye could follow. Eyes gazing skeptically at the serving dish. “Is there...going to be a sauce, Dan?”
He placed his arms akimbo. “Seriously? You want to bury this masterpiece in pasta, made from dough I kneaded with my own two hands, under a red sauce?”
Garrett shrugged. “And maybe some shredded mozzarella.”
He shuddered. “Barbarian. You won’t even be able to taste the pasta.”
“Pasta doesn’t taste like anything anyway.”
“Not if you eat crap out of a box. I use a blend of durum semolina flour and—”
“Yeah, yeah. Have we got some Prego in the fridge?”
Maria stared at her phone. Slender. Long rich dark hair. Tight jeans. Pursed lips. “Did you put kale in it?”
“No, Millennial Child. And I never will.”
“Did you sauté it in butter or oil?”
He frowned. He was getting tired of this insufficiently appreciative interrogation. Or perhaps he should he expect a group of lawyers to cross-examine the cook? “Oil.”
“EVOO?”
“EVOO is a finishing oil, not a sautéing oil. Why do you care?”
“I have to enter the right oil into my Fitbit app.”
Well, you don’t have to. “Why?”
“It keeps track of my diet. Let’s me know when I’ve hit my calorie limit. I gotta tell you, it’s not happy about all this starchy food.”
“Carbohydrates are good for you.”
“That’s your story.” She raised her voice slightly. “Alexa, how many calories are in spaghetti aglio e olio?”
A blue ring circled around the top of a black cylindrical device, Maria’s new Amazon Echo. A perky female voice emerged. “Two cups of spaghetti aglio e olio has 779 calories.”
“Tattletale,” he mumbled.
Maria halved her serving. “Sorry, Dan. Just bought new jeans. I have to fit into them.”
“Gucci Genius?” He was familiar with Maria’s fondness for designer clothing, which was some sort of loving tribute to her deceased father. “A.P.O.?”
“D&G. Dolce & Gabbana.”
“Better than Gucci?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I just like saying it aloud.” She affected a rich Italian accent. “Dooooolchey and Gabbaaaaaana.”
He scooped his pasta. This team had its eccentricities, which definitely complicated cooking, but he had learned to appreciate them for their unique talents, not to mention their unique personalities. The youngest, Maria, was the master strategist, teasing out the theme and theory to best sell a case to a jury. The eldest and most conservative, Garrett, was in charge of investigations and legal research. Jimmy took point on all the briefing, and perhaps even more importantly, had the social connections to unlock doors and persuade the unpersuadable. And he was the courtroom miracle worker, although in truth, most of those so-called miracles were the product of a ton of preparatory work.
Garrett finished the riff he’d been playing. “Stole that last bit from Chick Corea. What a genius that man is. You listen to his work, Dan?”
In truth, he’d never had much affection for jazz, which always sounded to him like exactly what you’d expect when musicians are making it up as they go along. “If that’s what you were playing, then I like it.”
“Why are you people talking when you could be eating?” Jimmy hovered over the bowl. “I’m going back for seconds. Possibly thirds.”
“Please do. The cook always appreciates enthusiastic eaters.”
Maria pursed her lips. “Then use more kale.”
“Or chocolate,” Jimmy suggested.
“What a bunch of smart alecks. Uh, do you think K—”
The perky female voice returned. “I didn’t catch that. ‘K’ is the eleventh letter of the alphabet.”
“What? Why—?” He thought a moment. “Oh, I get it. ‘Alecks—uh’ sounds like ‘Alexa.’
“Did that answer your question?” the black box asked.
“No. But there was no—”
“Would you like to continue listening to your audiobook, Passion in the Prairie? You were in chapter—”
“No thank you, Alexa,” Maria said hastily. “Damned spy...”
He raised an eyebrow. “Your voice-activated drone reads you erotica?”
“Oh, grow up. It’s women’s fiction.”
“Okay...”
“Just something to pass the time while I’m putting on my face. I forget the damned robot remembers every word I say.”
He heard a beeping sound. “Is that what I think it is?”
Garrett ran to his open laptop and punched a few buttons. “Mr. K. He’s ready to begin. Grab a plate and let’s move to the living room.”
They gathered on the circular sofa facing a large-screen television. Garrett used Airplay to put the call up on the screen. Not that they could see anything. All they got was a voice.
“Hello, team. How’s everyone doing?”
Enthusiastic responses.
“Much better now that we’ve eaten,” Jimmy said. “Dan’s cooking is fantastic.”
“Says the man whose favorite food is churros,” Maria murmured.
“Yes,” Mr. K said. “I was aware of Dan’s prowess in the kitchen. That’s the real reason I drafted you for this team, Dan.”
He sat up. “What?”
“Just kidding. I wanted your courtroom skills.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “That’s what I thought.”
As he had learned, Mr. K ran the firm, but he never appeared in person. He met with them by Skype, but only by voice, never video. They had no idea where he was or how he chose the cases he assigned, but they always turned out to be worthy endeavors. He only gave them one case at a time, which left them free to take pro bono cases if they wished. And they didn’t have to worry about keeping time sheets or billing clients. Mr. K handled all the administrative duties and paid them a regular—and extremely generous—salary. “What have you got for us this time?”
“Something completely different. But you like a challenge, don’t you, Dan?”
“Sometimes. Criminal matter?”
“Not yet. But it could become one. I’ve emailed Garrett all the relevant documents.”
Garrett glanced at his laptop. “Got ‘em.”
K continued. “Your client will be Camila Pérez.”
His eyes widened. “The mayor?”
“The one and only.”
“I thought we represented underdogs.”
“Underdogs come in many different shapes and sizes. Think you can work with her?”
“If I must.” Mayor Pérez had been an important witness in a murder case he handled several months before. He’d gotten his client off and exposed the true murderer—but only after suggesting the mayor might be a suspect. He hoped she wasn’t the type to bear a grudge. “Has she gotten herself in some kind of trouble?”
“Yes. Campaign finance problems. An investigatory committee believes she may have violated state regulations.”
“Because she took contributions from known gangland figures?” Another tidbit he learned during the previous case.
“No, apparently that has nothing to do with this. It’s all very technical and she’s the best one to tell you about it. I’ve made an appointment for her to talk with you this afternoon.”
“And...she’s okay with me as her lawyer?”
“She’s a smart woman. That’s why she’s achieved as much as she has. She knows you’re the best in town.”
He remembered Jazlyn mentioning that something big was in the offing. This must be what she was talking about. The DA filing charges against the mayor, technically his boss, would be a controversial big hot mess. “So what do we do?”
“Ideally, prevent them from filing criminal charges. Talk them out of it. Show them the error of their ways. And if that doesn’t work—win the case.”
“Got it. How did this happen?”
On the other side of the Skype line, he heard a big intake of air. “The charges were filed by a woman named Prudence Hancock.”
“Never heard of her.”
“She heads a non-profit organization called Citizens for Responsible Democracy. The acronym is CRED. Though some people call it CRUD.”
Jimmy jumped in. “I’ve heard Hank talk about them.” Hank was his husband, a physician at Flagler Hospital. “They were trying to get the hospital to adopt regulations requiring potential patients to show proof of citizenship.”
“Okay. I hate them already,” Maria said. Not surprising. He knew her father had immigrated from Mexico. “How do people like that get funding?”
“In this case,” Mr. K said, “CRED’s primary contributor is a man named Conrad Sweeney, who by the way, is Prudence Hancock’s boss. Heard of him, Dan?”
He had not.
“I have,” Jimmy answered. Of course. He knew everyone. “Lex Luthor.”
“Not a bad comparison,” Mr. K replied. Apparently Jimmy’s encyclopedic knowledge of DC Comics lore had some use. “He’s believed to be the richest man in St. Petersburg, and he wants everyone to know it. Made his fortune in tech, cloud computing, and systems integration. Control freak. Craves power. Probably involved in a host of illegal schemes, but he works through underlings who always take the rap. Nothing ever traces back to him.”
Maria’s lips pursed. “Is he trying to take down the mayor so he can fill the vacancy?”
“I don’t know if he wants the job himself. He simply prefers people he can control. Mayor Pérez has been extremely resistant to control.”
“Especially by a sexist pig. I gather he’s uber-conservative?”
“Hey now.” Garrett sat up straight. “Let’s not be trash-talking conservatives.”
“I’m not sure if Sweeney is a Democrat or a Republican,” Mr. K said. “I’m not sure partisan politics matter to him. He just wants power. He wants to be the top dog. In some ways, he’s the most dangerous kind of operator. Completely amoral, so you’re not going to appeal to his conscience. Only cares about himself, so you’re not going to get to him through friends or family. And completely ruthless. But you’re probably going to have to talk to him, Dan.”
“Okay by me. I’ll bring my kryptonite.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes. “That works on Kryptonians. Not villains.”
“My bad. This Sweeney sounds like exactly the kind of guy you formed this firm to fight, K.”
The prolonged silence from the television was revealing. “I’m glad to see we understand each other. Let me ask you a question, Dan. When you dealt with Mayor Pérez before—what did you think of her?”
He shrugged. “Quick. Whip-smart. Hard-working. Dedicated. Believes what she says. I liked her.”
Maria made a snorting sound. “You liked her because she’s cute.”
“Why do people keep accusing me of only caring about women’s appearances?”
“I’m not saying it’s the only thing you care about. But it’s definitely the first thing you notice.”
“I don’t think you know me that well.”
“I think I know you better than you know yourself.”
“I’m being wrongfully accused.”
Maria grinned. “You know what you need? A good lawyer.”
Mr. K cut in. “I believe we’re facing a leadership crisis in this country. The land is only as strong as its leaders, and right now, too many of our leaders are jokes, in politics for all the wrong reasons. Too often the genuinely good people get beaten down and crushed because they’re too nice, or because they’ve lived real lives that occasionally involved making mistakes. But Camila Pérez has real potential. A lot of people in the world of politics have their eyes on her, even at the national level. She could become a major force for good. She could be exactly what this country needs.”
“Unless someone destroys her barely launched career over some campaign finance triviality.”
“Exactly. She’s a lodestone for those who want a better tomorrow—and as a result, she’s a target for those who oppose change.”
He nodded. “I think I understand the mission. We’ll talk to the mayor. And we’ll get this thing disposed of as soon as possible.”
“I know I can count on you, Dan. I just want you to understand that...even though this isn’t a case where someone’s life is on the line, that doesn’t mean it isn’t important. If we want a better future for this nation—we have to stand up to the bullies.”
He pushed himself off the sofa. “As it happens, Mr. K, standing up to bullies is what I do best.”