bodyguard, was seated in the armchair on the opposite side of the old teak desk. All of the mayor’s furniture was made of teak, a nautical decorating theme that, together with his corner-office view of the marina, only served to remind him that he never had time to sail anymore. He barely had time for anything that wasn’t official business. Except when it came to his daughter.
Mendoza had always made time for Alicia, from her soccer games as a little girl-he never missed one-to her graduation from the police academy. He loved his wife, and they were still together and happy after twenty-nine years. Even after he was married, however, the concept of dying for someone else seemed a bit unreal, more like a melodramatic metaphor for the depth of one’s feelings than an actual commitment. That all changed with Alicia. When she was sick as an infant, he begged God to make him sick instead. When she cried, he couldn’t bear to hear it. When some homeless pervert was stalking her-well, all bets were off. It didn’t matter that the mayor was nearing the end of his term and facing an uphill battle for reelection. It didn’t matter that the fund-raising had to be done long before voters went to the polls, or that he had places to go, hands to shake, checks to cash. He was trying hard to be diplomatic with Falcon’s lawyer, but this was about his daughter’s safety, and he had little patience for anyone who refused to open his eyes and see things as any father would see them.
The mayor said, “I know it’s unorthodox for the victim’s father to call the defense lawyer, but hear me out, please.”
“It’s happened in other cases,” said Jack. “Worse cases.”
“Then you understand how disappointed I must have been when the prosecutor called to tell me that you wouldn’t agree to revise the terms of release.”
“This is nothing personal,” said Jack. “The law requires the prosecution to show some new facts to the judge, something that makes my client a greater flight risk or a greater danger to the community than originally thought.”
“Your client continues to stalk my daughter. Isn’t that enough?”
“If the prosecutor had evidence to support that claim, we’d be in court this afternoon.”
Swyteck had hit the nail on the head. A defense lawyer had no way of knowing all the weaknesses in the state’s case, particularly at this early juncture, but the prosecutor had laid them out in painstaking detail for the mayor. Without anyone noticing, a homeless bum had to get inside an upscale Coral Gables bar, take a woman’s purse, and ditch it in the ladies’ room. The desk clerk at the copy center said it was a woman, not a man, who rented the computer that was used to send Alicia the e-mail. Falcon’s fingerprints were found nowhere, and the lone extraneous fingerprint on Alicia’s compact didn’t even match his.
“You’re a very insightful attorney, Mr. Swyteck.”
“In cases like this, it’s really just a matter of doing my job.”
“And I imagine there is much discretion in that job description.”
“I suppose.”
“Then why not agree to a restraining order that prevents your client from coming within five hundred yards of my daughter?”
There was silence. He could sense that Swyteck wanted to agree. Was it possible-a criminal defense lawyer with a conscience? No way. Any inroads into the lawyer’s moral sensitivities were due entirely to the mayor’s persuasive powers. Damn, I’m good.
“I’m sorry, I can’t do it.”
That took the air right out of the mayor’s inflated ego. “Why not?”
“Because it’s not in my client’s interest.”
“You want something in return? A little quid pro quo? Is that it?”
“Mr. Mayor, I’m really not at all comfortable having this conversation with you.”
“Seriously. If there is something you want, tell me.”
Again, he could sense that Swyteck was struggling. The lawyer said, “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I can’t even imagine what must go through a parent’s mind when it comes to a child’s safety, even after she’s a grown adult. But we need to avoid these conversations. They will only feed the public perception that the case against my client is driven not by reasoned legal judgment but by raw emotion from the mayor’s office.”
The mayor gnawed his lower lip. It was a good thing Swyteck wasn’t in the office with him. He might have clobbered him. “Thank you for that,” said the mayor. “I should have expected nothing less from a money launderer.”
“Excuse me?” said Jack.
“The ten-thousand-dollar bond your client posted. It’s no secret that you smuggled the cash out of the Bahamas.”
“I didn’t smuggle anything,” said Jack. “And the reason there are no secrets surrounding the bond is precisely because I did everything above-board. My client has access to cash in the Bahamas. I set up a ten-thousand-dollar savings account in his name at his Bahamian bank. The money was sent by wire transfer, the necessary currency transaction reports were completed, and the feds were completely in the loop. End of story.”
“No, it’s not the end of the story. Thanks to you, this won’t be over until that crazy son of a bitch comes after my daughter again. Then let’s see if you’re so smug.” He hung up the phone without saying good-bye, doing nothing to mask his disgust in the presence of his bodyguard. He rose and walked to the window. Not even the sailboats and the flat, blue-green waters of the bay could soothe him.
Felipe said, “You want me to speak to this Swyteck?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” he said, still looking out the window.
“You want me to pay Falcon a little visit?”
The mayor turned to face him as he considered it, forcing a little smile. Felipe smiled back. Before long, the two men were grinning so broadly that the mayor could hardly contain his laughter. Felipe, too, was on the verge of laughter, though he clearly didn’t know why. “What’s so funny, boss?”
“It just amazes me, how stupid you can be.”
Felipe’s smile vanished. “What do you mean?”
The mayor’s expression was deadly serious. “In the great American tradition of executive-office conversations that never happened, let me ask you two questions. One, isn’t it obvious what needs to be done?
“Two, why on earth would you ask the mayor before doing it?”
chapter 10
J ack Swyteck liked to think of himself as a full-ser vice attorney, but he did not make house calls. That was the rule, which, like most rules, was swallowed by its exceptions. He did visit clients who were in jail, who didn’t have a car, or, apparently, who lived in a car.
“You sure about these directions?” said Theo.
Jack was leading the way down a footpath along the Miami River. A commuter train rambled along the track two hundred feet above them. A lazy tugboat churned downriver toward the bay, its wake breaking against a rusted, half-submerged barge. “Am I sure?” said Jack. “These directions rolled right off the lips of a clinically paranoid homeless stalker who threatened to throw himself off a bridge if the mayor’s daughter didn’t talk to him. Why would I question their accuracy?”
Theo considered it, then said, “Do you speak Globalish?”
“Do I speak what?”
“Globalish. It’s the universal language of the homeless. Like Esperanto.”
“What the hell is that?”
“You never heard of Esperanto? It was invented by some Polish dude, but it’s more like Spanish or Italian. A second language for everyone. That’s sort of what Globalish means. It’s English, combined with global, meaning worldwide, though it can also mean ‘great tits,’ depending on the context. Globalish. It’s probably what Falcon was speaking when he gave you the directions.”
Jack wasn’t sure how to respond. Theo had this uncanny ability to make no sense and make perfect sense at the same time.
They kept walking. Earlier that morning, an unexpected phone call from the state attorney had lasted only a
