“Yeah, I guess so.”
Outside the south window, two vultures soared high in the up-drafts, huge wings spread wide, then came to rest on the little balcony that surrounded the top floor. The birds seemed to like Socolow’s office. Maybe it was the view. Maybe it was the company.
“I’m waiting, Jake.”
“Like having sex the first time, I know what goes where, I’m just not sure about the preliminaries.”
Socolow leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “Let me help you out. You don’t have to kiss me first.”
“Okay, Abe. I’ve got something for you. Something from Nicky Florio, but I guess you know that.”
“Prom Nicky? Why did I think it was from you, personally?”
“Don’t know.”
“And this something, I take it, is in the canvas bag at your feet, the one which conspicuously says in large print that it’s the property of the Miami Dolphins.”
“That’s it.”
“And whatever is in this bag, Jake, is it a gift?”
“A gift?”
“Yes, what is the purpose of your delivering this rather dilapidated old bag and its contents?”
“To help you in the campaign, of course. To put your face on billboards and buy TV spots where you promise to execute murderers within thirty days of trial, or even before trial, if opinion polls favor it.”
“Ah yes.” Abe nodded, contentedly. “Are there any strings attached?”
“I didn’t think we would get into that.”
Socolow rapped his fingers on his metallic desk, rat-a-tat-tat. Why did it sound like the drum roll of a funeral dirge? Again, he looked out the windows, then back to me. He was watching a lone black bird, its wings swept back, as it circled the courthouse. “A Cuban fortune-teller once told me that the vultures are the souls of lawyers doing endless penance.”
“Doubt it. Lawyers never repent.”
He turned back to me. “You and I share the same cynicism, Jake.”
There was a thought behind those dark eyes, but what was it? “The birds have their own predators. When threatened, do you know what a vulture does?”
“Gets a lawyer bird to write a nasty letter,” I guessed.
“Vomits on its enemy and spoils its appetite.”
“Same thing,” I said.
Socolow studied me a moment before speaking. A wind gust rattled the window on the north side. “To accept this token of your client’s friendship, I must know if a quid pro quo is expected.”
“You mean is this just an illegal campaign contribution or outright bribery?”
He raised a hand and wrinkled his forehead. “Jake, Jake, Jake. Please.”
I stood and walked to the window facing east. Even with the newer, taller downtown skyscrapers, I could see a slice of the bay, crystalline blue, topped with whitecaps. “You don’t want to dance, Abe, so here it is. You take the gift, and when the state cabinet turns to you for an opinion on a certain matter involving Cypress Estates, you come down on Nicky Florio’s side.”
I couldn’t see his face, so I took the silence to mean he was thinking about it.
“And if I take the gift and don’t go Nicky’s way?”
“The governor will have to pick someone to fill your unexpired term.”
He looked puzzled.
“Knowing Florio, you’d be harder to find than Judge Crater.”
Might as well add extortion to bribery.
“I see,” Socolow said. He left his chair and joined me at the window. On the bay, a sailboat slid across the whitecaps on a close reach. I wanted to be on deck, bundled up against the cold wind. I wanted to be anywhere but here. Magically, the boat disappeared behind one of the skyscrapers.
I turned and looked at Socolow, barely a foot away. He put a hand on my shoulder, an unusual gesture for a guy who’d have to warm up to be called a cold fish. There was a hint of sorrow in his eyes.
Then the screeching sound.
A high-pitched electronic wail.
Coming from him.
And me.
“You’re wired!”
He said it. And so did I.
The door to the reception room swung open and banged off the wall. Two men in suits flew through the door. One of them, a barrel-chested guy in brown plaid with a brush cut, looked familiar. I’d seen him around the Justice Building. County detective or F.D.L.E., maybe. He got to me the first. “Jacob Lassiter, you are under arrest for the attempted bribery of a public official and other charges to be later specified. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you.” He turned to the smaller man. “Hank, frisk him.” Brush Cut turned back to me and smiled malevolently. “Okay, asshole, assume the position.”
I spread my legs and leaned against one of the windows, my palms pressed to the glass. A black buzzard on the parapet swung its long neck around and gave me a beady-eyed look. Lucky bird. Nobody was smacking his private parts.
“Hey!” Hank yelled. “What the hell’s this?”
“Can’t tell you,” I answered, over my shoulder, still watching the bird. “I’m remaining silent.”
Hank was under my herringbone suit coat, now pulling out my shirt. I felt a ripping as he yanked the tape off, taking some of the skin of my back with it.
“He’s wired!” Hank announced.
Socolow leaned against the window. “What gives, Jake?” Now the vulture was looking at Socolow.
“Oh shit!” It was Brush Cut. I sneaked another peak. He stood next to Socolow’s desk, dumping the contents of the duffel bag onto the floor. “Hey, asshole, what the hell is this?”
Apparently, as far as Brush Cut was concerned, I had a new name. Even worse, I was responding to it. “Laundry,” I answered. He kicked some tattered Penn State sweatpants across the room. “Hey, careful,” I warned him. “Those have sentimental value.”
Brush Cut was cursing, and Hank was muttering to himself, but he didn’t tell me to turn around or put my hands down, so I stayed put. I’d seen enough angry cops to do what I was told and not do anything else until I was told to do that, too. Socolow was still next to me, waiting. I said, “Abe, I had to find out if you were dirty. Nicky Florio wanted to buy you. At least, that’s what he told me. I was supposed to be the bagman. He wants your vote on something very big.”
“Cypress Estates?”
“Yeah.”
Socolow shook his head. “Doesn’t wash. He’s got my vote on that, and he doesn’t have to pay for it.”
“You don’t understand. Not just the housing and the resort.” I took a deep breath. “Casino gambling, too.”
“I know.”
“You do?” I was floored. “How do you know?”
“Florio took me into his confidence. He’d given me some support, drummed up contributions in the building industry, all reported, all aboveboard. I researched the issue to see if I could support him. Look, a decent lawyer can argue either side, we both know that. But here, it’s really clear. His leases are in order, and the federal law favors his position. I don’t think the state can stop casino gambling on Indian land. I told him I’d support him with the cabinet, no sweat, and it won’t cost him a dime. As far as I’m concerned, he can move Las Vegas out there.”
Now I turned around without asking anybody for permission. Brush Cut was tossing my T-shirts across the room and peering into the duffel bag, hoping to find something more incriminating than a sweat-stained jockstrap.
