triple. Do something with your life that makes a difference for someone beside yourself. Otherwise, you'll never score. You'll just die on third base.'
Mason envied Claire for her passion to do the right thing, fight the good fight. He had looked for the same spark in his own practice, first in a small firm that represented injured people, then in a big firm that protected people's money, and now in his own practice, where he just protected people. He'd found the spark. Now he just hoped it wouldn't start a fire that consumed everyone he cared about.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Mason was lousy at big social functions. He was no good at being a hail-fellow-well-met or assuring a new face that he was damn glad to meet him while the new face looked over his shoulder for a better deal.
He stood at the back of the Hyatt Hotel ballroom and listened as the mayor sang the praises of the Salvation Army. The speech had been written for him, but he made the words his own. He had the connection gene in his DNA that linked him to his audience, erasing any suggestion that both he and they were just going through the motions.
Billy Sunshine had been the quarterback for the Kansas City Chiefs, retiring after winning the Super Bowl on an eighty-yard bootleg as time expired. He announced his retirement and his candidacy for mayor the day after the ticker-tape parade. Women swooned at his chiseled good looks and men got teary eyed when he told football war stories on the campaign trail.
Even his critics conceded that he was more than another jock with a Super Bowl ring. He was bright, earnest, charming, and irresistible. Dogged by scandal, his cleats replaced with feet of clay, he pretended not to notice as he worked the crowd. No one else in the ballroom noticed either as he wove another football memory into his remarks, earning warm laughter and enthusiastic applause.
The ballroom was packed, at least a thousand people by Mason's estimation, each table festooned with a placard identifying the corporate sponsor that had paid for lunch. Sponsors who wrote big enough checks watched their names and company logos scroll across a video loop projected above the head table.
Mason was Jewish, making Christmas a bystander holiday. His aunt Claire raised him on Jewish ethics, adopting as her personal creed the commandment to heal the world, while discarding the rituals and holidays as little more than historical relics. He wasn't observant, though he occasionally acknowledged a spiritual itch in the back of his soul he wasn't certain how to scratch.
'The gentiles sure know how to throw a party,' Rachel Firestone said.
He was so caught up in the mayor's speech that he hadn't noticed her until she tugged on his sleeve.
'Let me guess. You're a Jewish lesbian.'
'Damn straight! Though I'm not. Too bad you can't take me home to your mother.'
'More than you know. She would have wanted me to marry a nice Jewish girl, just not one who also wanted to marry a nice Jewish girl.'
'Oops. A past-tense mother is not a good thing. Sorry.'
'Don't worry about it. She and my father were killed in a car wreck when I was three. My aunt Claire raised me.'
'Sounds like a feature story. Not my beat. What's your plan to get to the mayor?'
'I was planning on waving a five-dollar bill over my head and whistling. What do you think?'
'That only works with the hookers on Independence Avenue. The mayor's price is higher. See that woman standing over there next to the door to the kitchen?'
Mason followed the aim of Rachel's extended hand, fixing on a dark-haired woman in a severe gray suit standing next to the kitchen door, watching the mayor and her watch, and tapping her foot against the thick carpet.
'Who is she?'
'Amy White, the mayor's chief of staff. She ran Sunshine's last campaign and is planning his run for Congress just in case he doesn't get indicted.'
'What's her story?'
'The usual political prodigy. Savvy, loves politics, and thinks Sunshine will take her a long way if he can stay out of jail.'
'Savvy enough to keep me from asking the mayor, in front of God and everybody, if he knows who killed Jack Cullan?'
'With one hand tied behind her back. Take your best shot.'
Mason winked at Rachel. 'No time like the present.'
He weaved his way around the tables, ignoring the turned heads and murmurs that followed him. Last year, his picture had been in the newspaper and on television for weeks, accompanied by a media chorus flogging the deadly demise of his law firm, Sullivan amp; Christenson. He refused to play the celebrity, adding an unintended angle to the story. Rachel's latest article on Cullan's murder identified him as Blues's attorney, reminding readers that he had been a suspect, killer, and hero in the Sullivan amp; Christenson case.
The mayor finished his remarks and made his way toward Amy White. Mason was on course to intercept him. The buzz increased as people sensed that something was about to happen that would make their $150-a-plate lunch worth the price of admission.
Amy White was the first hurdle Mason had to overcome. She had auburn hair that fell against the base of her neck, dark-rimmed glasses giving her unlined face a serious cast, her gray suit covering a slender build.
She watched as he approached, not flinching, her intense gaze more curious than concerned. Those closest to the scene surged a few steps closer, not wanting to miss anything. Billy Sunshine reached Amy a half step ahead of Mason.
'Merry Christmas, Lou,' the mayor boomed loud enough to be heard at Santa's North Pole workshop and grasped Mason's hand. 'Glad you could make it. I want to talk with you about Jack Cullan's murder. You've got a job to do. I understand that. But Jack was a good man and a good friend. He deserves justice and his killer deserves the maximum punishment the law allows. I know you want that as much as you want to help your client.'
Amy White permitted herself a small smile, satisfied that the TV cameras had captured the moment. She tilted her head toward the doors to the kitchen. Sunshine took his cue, cupping Mason's elbow, leading him through the kitchen, stopping at the service elevator.
'You're as good as people say you are, Mr. Mayor. You saw me coming the whole way,' Mason said.
'A good quarterback has to be able to pick up the blitz.'
'And it helps to have a good defensive coordinator.'
'Amy is the best in the business. You've got five minutes. Don't waste them and don't darken my door again. You do and I'll tell the press that you're harassing me. You can call me to testify at the trial if you think I've got anything to say, but you won't hear anything different then from what I'll tell you now.'
'I'll have a lot more than five minutes at trial.'
Sunshine looked at his watch. 'Four minutes. I hope you're better in court.'
'Let's make it the two-minute drill. Did Jack Cullan ever represent you?'
'Yes. On private matters that are protected by the attorney-client privilege.'
'Did he bribe you to approve the license for the Dream Casino?'
'No. One minute.'
'Who killed him?'
'According to the police, your client. Thirty seconds. Time for one last play.'
'What's in Jack Cullan's secret file on you?'
Sunshine didn't answer. His involuntary glance at Amy and the twitch in his eye told Mason he'd scored.
'Maybe you don't know,' Mason said. 'I guess you'll find out in court. Merry Christmas.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
