Page 19 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“I think you were right the first time,” Lisa says. “You’re on a hot streak. You’ve had a good run of cases. You’ve been getting a lot of attention in the paper. You’re young, you’re damned good at this, and… not to put too fine a point on it, but you’re also pretty photogenic. When you do run for the SA’s office, the media is going to love you, and the voters are going to love whoever the media tells them they’re supposed to love. I think Whitehall is looking at you and seeing what he used to be.”

“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings,” I recite softly. “Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”

“Exactly.” Lisa nods. “Percy Bysshe Shelley. Two hundred years later, we still remember the poem he wrote. The poem itself is a monument to a guy that must have done something pretty awesome, back… what, three thousand years ago? Four? Something like that. It’s been a long time since English Lit. But in all that time, his memory hasn’t died out.”

“But Whitehall’s will,” I say, through lips tightened into an angry line. “He’s not going to push me out. I’m going to take this job by the balls and succeed. He thinks it was a curse, that he’ll be able to crush me with it. He’s wrong.”

“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?” Lisa asks softly. “You’re going to run against him?”

I nod.

“I don’t know that I’ll be ready this next election. It’s not quite two years away. But the one after that?” I rap my knuckles sharply on the table.

Lisa gazes at me for a long, silent moment, taking my measure through slitted eyes, then takes a deep breath.

“Be careful,” she says. “I know I’m preaching to the choir, but I’m serious. Be careful.”

“Prudence is my middle name,” I say, patting her hand.

“I know,” she says. “But still. He’s got powerful friends. Friends who…” Lisa pauses, looking down at her hands with pursed lips, obviously choosing her words carefully. “Friends who don’t mind supporting his reelection campaign. Vigorously.”

“I know that.”

“If you want the job, it’s not going to be enough just to succeed and show up. You’re going to need to strip those friends away from him. Whether they support you or not, you need them to at least not supporthim.”

“Yes. I know that, too. I hear you, but it’s still just too early for me to run.”

“Not if you get the right case. You get something that puts you on the radar in a big way? Something that gets national reporting? And if you have the networking side of things taken care of? If you get the perfect storm of… visibility, I guess, and the right backing? You could be a serious contender in 2018.”

“Jesus.” I take a long, deep breath, leaning forward against the table. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“As a heart attack,” Lisa answers.

“I can’t imagine that anything is going to come along,” I say. “Not anything that’s going to push me into that office this next election.”

“Don’t count it out,” she tells me, again wagging the finger at me. “If an opportunity pokes its head up, you have to grab hold of it. I want to see that bastard Whitehall out of office.”

“Look,” I say, “I appreciate the pep talk, but seriously-”

“Opportunity, Gabriel.” Lisa cuts me off. Her voice is cold, implacable. “I want to see him gone.”

“Understood,” I answer, finally unfolding my menu for a first look, and hoping for a change of subject. “So. What’s good here? Anything in particular you’d recommend?”

I’m not ready to even start thinking about political strategies for something still almost five years down the road. I certainly don’t need to look at next year’s election. I need to focus on getting a handle on the Narcotics Unit.

Even while I’m browsing the menu, debating the relative merits of steak against chicken, my schedule and tasks for tomorrow are still occupying at least half my mind.

And my new employee takes up most of the rest.

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