“Teddy. Hate me if you must, but understand this. There will come a time—and we are swiftly approaching that time—when I will no longer be able to control events. Do you understand what I’m saying? Think about this. Take the offer. Cut a deal. It’s the only wise move.”

-26-

-26-

“I could make a meal of this,” Kenzie said over an appetizer of chicken wings with taro fries.

“It’s not too late to change your order,” Ted said.

“Yes it is. Besides, I really want the bun cha. I’m hungry.”

He laughed. “It wasn’t the words ‘pork belly’ that got you?” She had taken some care in prepping herself for what was ostensibly only a business lunch. Her hair was tamed into a swoop that cascaded over one shoulder. She had on a white silk blouse with the barest hint of pink in it, black slacks cut in a way that made her long legs seem even longer, and sandals—no socks, matched or otherwise. She had also dabbed on a touch of makeup.

“Why were you such a jerk the other day?” she said, pausing with a taro fry suspended between them.

“It’s a way of entertaining myself. I was in a hurry and didn’t want to take the time to hear your whole pitch.”

“Well, that’s certainly direct.”

“Why did you pick me out?” he asked.

“I told you. I heard about you.”

The courthouse regulars prized their insider knowledge of who was up to what and why, and they traded information with the avidity of poolside matrons at a country club.

“So you know all about me.” He took a long swallow of beer. Kenzie’s Google profile was sparse. A framework was implied by six or seven newsworthy incidents covered by local—and left-leaning—news organs. A collegiate athlete with the same name produced more hits.

“What? I’m having lunch with somebody famous? Sorry. I don’t follow celebrity news. Are you dating a Kardashian or something?”

“You googled me,” he said. It was half question, half statement.

“Well, duh. Let me see. You’re smart. Divorced. You wrestled in college. You look good in uniform.”

He looked like a dork in that photo, but he was proud of his achievements. “Four-year full scholarship.”

“You used to practice law. And your ex is gay. And remarried. Does that cover it? Are you famous for something else?”

“I was famous once in high school. I got arrested on a field trip to Washington, DC—for jaywalking. Jaywalking and being a jerk. The charge should have been ‘Contempt of Cop.’” Having grown up in New York City, Ted had never imagined that other cities might enforce such draconian laws. The policeman hadn’t seen the humor in the situation.

“I’ve been arrested,” she said. “Three times. Never famously, but the Post quoted me once.”

“Arrested? For protesting?”