Page 6 of The Wrong Side of the Law

John takes a step back and looks me up and down with pursed lips and shrewd eyes.

“Walk with me,” he says, after a long moment of awkward silence.

“Yes, sir,” I answer following the SA back toward the bank of elevators.

Whitehall doesn’t push any buttons, though. With his back to the stainless-steel doors, he looks out over the three-story drop to our building’s atrium, resting his hands lightly on the aluminum and glass guard rail.

“My wife,” he says, once I’m standing beside him, “wants to brighten up our workspace.”

“Excuse me?” Whatever I’d been expecting him to talk about, this was definitely not it.

“Oh. It’s nothing, not really.” The SA chuckles, still looking at the floor three stories below. “Regina wants to commission someone to create some sort of one-of-a-kind… whaddyacallit, a mosaic? On the floor down there.”

My eyebrows raise in surprise. “If you’re paying attention to how much we spend on coffee, then I’m pretty sure that’s not in the budget, boss.”

“No, no. That’s not it.” John looks over at me. “Not our budget. Hers. Trust fund, you know?” He shakes his head. “The taxpayers—the voters—wouldn’t ever stand for it, come reelection time. But hey, a generous gift to the people of the great State of Florida? That couldn’t hurt my chances a bit. Plus-” The SA elbows me, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Whatever it takes to keep the wife happy, right?”

“I wouldn’t know, sir,” I say, with a grimace that I can’t hide. “I never quite figured out the trick to that.” Now it’s my turn to stare at the floor. It’s only three stories down to the concrete. I’d probably survive. Would six months in a full-body cast be too high a price to escape this conversation?

“Ah. Right. I’m sorry,” John says. “I’d forgotten.”

The divorce had been about as amicable as you can get, but even five years later I’ve never quite been able to shake the feeling that it had been my fault. I’d hated seeing the deep sadness in Dorothy’s eyes across the courtroom when the judge sealed the end of our marriage with a sharp rap of the gavel, but even worse was the belief that I’d put it there.

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him, with an insincere wave. “All in the past. Over and done with.”

“Yes. Well.” The State Attorney, the man whose golden tongue had made him the conquering hero of hundreds of trials and the victor in four election cycles, was at a loss for words. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” he says, finally.

“Oh?” Thank Christ for subject changes.

“I know you have ambitions,” he says. “Maybe you’re even thinking ahead to when you can take a run at me for the State Attorney’s office.”

“What? God, no! I’m not even close to thinking about that. Twenty years from now, maybe. If even then!” I protest.

John laughs again at the shocked look I know I’m wearing. The awkwardness has passed, he’s regained his footing.

“You’re a smart young man, Gabriel. No, no-” he cuts off any response I might make with a wave of his hand. “You are. I know it, and so do you. You’re one of the most promising talents to have joined my team in a very, very long time.”

I say nothing, and just nod, waiting for him to continue.

“I am a true believer, young man, in recognizing talent. In developing talent.” The State Attorney locks me down with his eyes; a viper mesmerizing a mouse before it strikes. “I am a true believer in promoting talent.”

Where is he going with this?

“Lamar Raynor is retiring,” he says.

“I hadn’t heard that.”

Lamar Raynor heads the Narcotics Unit. He started off as a prosecutor back in the 1980’s, fighting the wave of cocaine-fueled violence that overflowed Miami, splashing over onto us.

“It’s not public knowledge yet. Lamar has some… let’s just call them ‘health issues,’ and leave it at that,” John says. “I know there’s been some loose talk about you, about favoritism. About the cases you’ve been assigned. Your record speaks for itself, though.”

“I can’t really-” I begin, but the SA cuts me off with a sharp wave of his hand.

“Spare me the false modesty, Gabriel,” he says. “I have no patience for that. Not today. Not from you. We both know that you’re damn good at your job. And we both know that some time down the road, you’re going to be damn good atmyjob, too.” Again, the snake’s gaze lands on me. “And that means that I need to walk a fine line with you.”

“Look, boss, I’m not thinking about anything that far ahead. Not yet.”

“You’re either a liar or an idiot,” he says, and sighs. “And I know you’re not an idiot, Mister Cooper. You must understand that there’s more to being a State Attorney than knowing the law and working magic in the courtroom.”

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