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“Seriously, Swyteck? Are you threatening my client with criminal prosecution to gain advantage in a civil lawsuit?”
“Of course not,” said Jack. “That would be against the rules of professional conduct. I’m simply stating facts. If this civil case continues, I will get to the bottom of the Tyler McCormick connection. And I have a client who wants me to leave no stone unturned. If that makes your client uncomfortable, he needs to take it into consideration.”
“If you don’t call that a threat, you’re walking a very fine line.”
“The practice of law is filled with fine lines.”
Ellis hung up without so much as an “up yours and have a nice day.” Theo was still on the line.
“Well, that went well,” said Jack.
“You probably should have just said ‘arrgh’and told her to walk the plank.”
“I’d put the odds that she drops the case at about one in ten thousand.”
“Add at least two zeroes, dude. About the same odds as Righley’s soccer team winning a game this season. Man, this morning was ug-lee.”
Jack’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. “You went?”
“’Course I went. What kind of godfather you think I am?”
Thegodfather’s qualifications were not at issue. “Was she upset I wasn’t there?”
“Nothing that a trip to Disney World and years of therapy won’t cure.”
The traffic light changed. Jack drove past a Mister Softee ice-cream truck parked along the side of the road, and it didn’t help to see the kids in soccer uniforms lining up for a postgame soft swirl.
“I feel like such a fuckup,” said Jack.
“That’s because you fucked up.”
Jack steered onto the expressway ramp, heading home. “The day’s only going to get worse.”
“What’s worse than not seeing the next Mia Hamm pick flowers at midfield?”
“Missing the game,” said Jack, “andhaving to ask Andie about Tyler McCormick.”
Another Saturday, another date night. They dined downtown at Andie’s favorite Japanese restaurant, and then went for cocktails at a rooftop bar in the East Hotel called Sugar. From forty stories up, a seat inside at the Balinese-style bar or outside in the garden offered the best views of the Miami skyline. A full moon rising over the bay was a bonus.
“Mmm, watermelon margarita,” said Andie. She ordered one for each of them.
Jack had procrastinated all afternoon and throughout dinner, waiting without success for the perfect moment to broach the subject of a homicide that Andie may have investigated on some level when she and Jack had barely known each other. It was obvious that such a moment would never arise. He was just going to have to dive in.
The server brought the cocktails to their table in the garden. Andie drank her margarita, as Jack told her about his meeting with the MDPD detectives. He stopped short of mentioning the phone call from an anonymous tipster and the possible connection to Shaky Nichols.
“Why are we talking about Tyler McCormick?” asked Andie.
“We’ve always known that when an FBI agent marries a criminal defense lawyer, there’s at least a theoretical possibility of some overlapbetween our work. It looks like Tyler McCormick could be a point of intersection.”
“How?”
“I can’t tell you how. It’s not in my client’s best interest to be telling anyone in law enforcement why I’m asking questions about Tyler McCormick. I just wanted to make you aware, in case it circles back to you.”
“Okay. But one word of advice. If you don’t want anyone to know which client has you meeting with MDPD homicide detectives on a Saturday morning, Imani shouldn’t be tweeting about a Saturday-morning meeting with her lawyer.”
“She tweeted about that?”
“Yes, Jack. She lives on social media. Life is only worth living if you can post about it.” Her voice had thatjoking, but not jokingtone to it.
