"Damn right. These days the squaw would be raking in chips at the casino." The judge dropped the flag and rolled back to his desk. "My point, Mr. Solomon, is that you offended the dignity of the great State of Florida, and Mr. Pincher has magnanimously decided to cut you a break."
"Yes, sir, but-"
"No 'but.' I just disposed of this baked turd of a case."
"I'm being set up, Judge. By Mr. Pincher and Dr. Kreeger."
"You're talking in riddles, Mr. Solomon. I called the next case, and by God, I'm going to hear the next case."
The clerk called out: "City of Miami Beach versus Weingarten Delicatessen. Violation of Kosher Food Ordinance."
Pincher grabbed Steve's elbow and whispered: "Just chill. See Bill. Ain't nothing but a fire drill."
"You sold me out, Sugar Ray." Steve turned to the judge. "Your Honor, I move to withdraw my plea."
"Are you still here?" Judge Schwartz was scowling. "I'm going to charge you rent, Counselor."
Steve felt a presence beside him. Kreeger had come through the swinging gate. "Your Honor, Mr. Solomon's recalcitrance is a normal manifestation of his behavioral type. I'm sure he'll do fine with therapy."
"Like I give a rat's tuches," the judge said. "Where's that butcher who's selling trayf as kosher?"
"Judge, there's a motion pending," Steve insisted. "I've moved to withdraw my plea. I want to go to trial."
"Motion denied. It's time to clear my calendar, Mr. Solomon, and not the one with the Playboy bunnies on it."
"Your Honor, I have an absolute right to-"
Bang! The judge smacked the gavel so hard, Steve could feel his teeth reverberate. "I'm driving the Studebaker, Mr. Solomon, and you're the greasy speck of a horsefly on my windshield."
Steve had no intention of giving up or backing down. "Judge, I once represented Kreeger in a case. State Attorney Pincher prosecuted for the state. They've cooked this up. If Kreeger doesn't clear me, you'll sentence me to jail. Can't you see it, Judge? It's a conspiracy."
Judge Schwartz turned his bleary gaze on Kreeger, and for a moment Steve thought maybe he'd made an impression.
"Let's hear from the headshrinker," the judge said. "Doc, what do you say about these accusations?"
"Nothing to be alarmed about, Your Honor," Kreeger replied in his soothing baritone. "While I'm working on Mr. Solomon's anger, I'll check out that paranoia, too."
SOLOMON'S LAWS
6. A creative lawyer considers a judge's order a mere suggestion.
Seventeen
"What did you do to make the judge so furious?"
Victoria demanded.
"Nothing," Steve said. "Nada. Bupkes."
"You must have done something."
"Why?" Steve had come home hoping for comfort and support. Instead he was being cross-examined in his own kitchen. "Why do you automatically assume it's my fault?"
"Because you have a knack for driving people crazy."
"Judge Schwartz was crazy decades before I met him. Can you believe I'm supposed to be counseled by that psychopath Kreeger?"
"Sociopath," Bobby corrected him. "With narcissistic tendencies and omnipotent fantasies." The kid had been reading psychology texts and checking out various medical websites. At least that's what he said when asked why his computer had bookmarked nymphomaniacs.com. Now Bobby gave the adults his wiseguy look from underneath the bill of his Solomon amp; Lord ball cap. Steve had formed a team in the lawyers' softball league, but desperately short of players, he recruited clients to play. Purse snatchers turned out to be excellent base runners; pedestrians knocked down by taxicabs were a little slow off the bag.
Outside the windows, fronds from a sabal palm swatted the stucco walls of the house. Inside, Steve was defending himself from Victoria's torrent of criticism.
"I didn't do anything wrong," Steve insisted. "Kreeger set me up, and Pincher was in on it."
"Why? What's Pincher have to gain?"
"More like what he has to lose. Kreeger threatened to go public, tell everyone our esteemed State Attorney used tainted evidence to convict him."
"Pincher told you that?"
"I figured it out. Pincher's up for reelection next year. Who'd he rather have pissed off at him? A defense lawyer or a guy with a radio show?"
"Aw, why make a big tsimiss out of it?" Herbert Solomon walked into the kitchen, carrying a tumbler filled with ice. "Do the therapy and get the charges dismissed."
"Not that easy, Dad. Having Kreeger as my therapist is like having a burglar in my bedroom."
Herbert had filled his glass so high with bourbon, he needed to slurp it out. "So don't flap your gums about family secrets. Stonewall his ass."
"Then he files a report with the court saying I'm hiding my lunatic impulses."
"If the judge ordered you to go to Kreeger," Victoria said, "you have no choice."
"That's the difference between you and me, Vic," Steve said. "I consider judges' orders as mere suggestions."
"That's the difference between civilization and anarchy. And in your life, anarchy rules."
"Anarchy rules," Bobby repeated. "ANY CRUEL RASH."
"No reason to be all tore up, son," Herbert said. "Maybe the more time you spend with that shrink, the better."
"How you figure, Dad?"
"Ah couldn't find hide nor hair of that boat captain. You need a new plan."
Victoria shot Steve a look. He hadn't told his father everything, and she knew it.
"Dad, it doesn't matter if you found De la Fuente or not. I just want Kreeger to know I'm looking."
Herbert's bushy eyebrows seemed to arch higher. "So you send your old man on a wild-goose chase. Fine son you are."
"But you're right, Dad. There's an upside to spending more time with Kreeger. His girlfriend, too, if I could get her alone."
"You still think you can convince her Kreeger's a killer?" Victoria said.
"No!" He slapped his forehead to signify what an idiot he was. No one disagreed. "I've got it backwards. I think she already knows his past."
"And you base this on what?" Victoria asked.
"Something Kreeger said to me about how much he appreciates Amanda's qualities. That she has an intelligence and understanding beyond her years. That sort of thing."
"Yeah?"
"She's the one he feels safe with, the one who comforts him. Kreeger could have told her about Beshears and Lamm. And who knows? Maybe there's-"
"A third murder," Victoria said.
"Exactly. If Amanda knows Kreeger's secrets, and I can drive a wedge between them, maybe I can get her to help me nail him."
"This 'wedge' of yours? How's that going to work, exactly?"
"I don't know yet, Vic. I'm just riffing here."
"And you don't think a guy as smart as Kreeger will catch on?"
"So he's smart. What am I? Chopped liver?"
"You don't exactly bend spoons with your mind, Uncle Steve." Bobby unscrewed two halves of an Oreo cookie and used his teeth to scrape off the vanilla filling.
"Thanks, guys," Steve said. "But Kreeger's got his weaknesses. He's so damn cocky, he'll figure there's no way I can take him down."
"The omnipotence fantasy," Bobby added. "Freud wrote about it."
"And if Kreeger wants to hang out, like Dad says, that's fine, too."
"Keep your friends close but your enemies closer," Bobby recited.
"Freud?" Steve asked.
Bobby winced. "Al Pacino. Godfather, Part II."
"Don't you have homework to do?" Steve said.
"Nope."
"And where were you last night?"
"Nowhere."
"Physically impossible."
The boy tossed his shoulders, the adolescent symbol for "so what" or "whatever" or "who gives a shit?"