Solomon versus Lord

Thirty
WEDDING BELL BLUES

An hour later, Steve was still stewing about Bobby's case, and Victoria was grinding away on the murder case, reading appellate cases, taking notes in neat lettering on her cards. The intercom buzzed and Cece said: “Yo, Vic. Hottie alert. Beefcake on final approach.”

Bruce Bigby, in a double-breasted charcoal suit with a thin chalk stripe, breezed through the doorway, kissed Victoria's cheek, and opened a briefcase, all in one motion.

“Hate to burst in like this, sweetie. Hey, Steve.” He did a double take. “Jeez, your face.”

“Shaving accident,” Steve said.

“Hon, what are you doing here?” Victoria said.

“We've got a thousand things to do.” He pulled a file from his briefcase. “Steve, you've got to be more careful.”

“I'm fine. Stick to your gourds, Bruce.”

“Mind your manners, partner,” Victoria warned.

“Avocados aren't gourds, Steve,” Bigby said.

“Who gives a shit?”

“Steve!” Victoria glared at him.

“I'm sorry, Bruce,” Steve said contritely. “Just having a bad day.”

“Not a problem, Steve. I understand.”

What a nice guy, Steve thought. So even-keeled. So imperturbable. So irritating. Steve realized he both resented and envied Bigby. Then he felt guilty about it. He owed Bigby for trying to help with Kranchick, even if it hadn't worked. And he wanted to make up for being such a prick just now. Forcing some cheer into his voice, he said: “So what's new on the farm, Bruce?”

“Arctic front's headed our way. We might be burning smudge pots by the weekend.”

“If you need any extra hands, I'm there.” Steve didn't know which would be worse, freezing his ass off, or watching Bigby make out with Victoria in the glow of a smudge pot. “I mean it. You need the fields set on fire, just call me.”

“You burn sugarcane fields, not avocado trees. But a mighty decent offer.” Bigby dropped his voice to a whisper. “Say, Vic told me. I'm sorry about the doctor's report.” He shot a look at Bobby. “Are we allowed to talk about it in front of-?”

“I'm not deaf, dipshit,” Bobby said.

“Bobby!” Steve said.

“My fault,” Bigby said. “Robert, I apologize.”

“So just why are you here, hon?” Victoria asked.

To Steve, she sounded on edge. Not quite “what the hell are you doing in my office when I've got work to do?” But maybe just a tinge of annoyance.

“The wedding, sweetie,” Bigby said. “You do remember?”

“It's all she talks about,” Steve said, and Victoria gave him a warning look.

“I'm a little busy right now,” she said.

Bigby spread the contents of a file on her desk. “Seating charts, floral arrangements, musical selections, speeches to write. Really, sweetie, we're way behind the curve.”

“I'm sorry, Bruce, but it's been hectic here.”

“I know. I know. Murder and all, but really…”

“Look, I'm gonna take a walk on the beach,” Steve said. “You two stay here and pick out place settings.” He preferred a colonoscopy with a garden hose to listening to their wedding plans.

“We could use your help with final menu choices,” Bigby said.

“I'm partial to barbecue,” Steve said.

“Not unless it's made of tofu,” Bigby reminded him.

Steve got to his feet. “I'll be at Tenth Street Beach if you need me.”

“Isn't that the topless beach?”

“Funny, I never noticed.”

“Hang on a sec, Steve. I want to ask you for a favor.”

“Anything, Bruce.”

“I'd be honored if you'd be one of our ushers.”

“Me? I don't have any training.”

“You'll learn at the rehearsal.”

“I don't know. Somebody trips and falls, they might sue me.”

“Just think about it. And do you want to sit on the bride's side or the groom's side of the church?”

“The Jewish side,” Steve said.

The intercom buzzed again, and Cece announced that State Attorney Pincher was calling. Steve and Victoria exchanged looks-What's he want?-and Steve hit the speaker button. “Hey, Sugar Ray. Coerce any confessions today?”

“Got that discovery you requested.” Faint amusement tickled his voice.

“Great. I'll send my courier over.”

“You don't have a courier.”

“I forgot. Be a pal and send the stuff over with one of yours.”

“Oh, I think you and your partner ought to come over here, pronto.”

“Yeah, why's that?” Steve heard laughter in the background. He pictured an office filled with Pincher's flunkies.

“'Cause I want to see your face when your case goes straight to Hades.” Again, the ripple of sycophantic laughter. The phone clicked dead.

Steve turned to Victoria. “Pincher's gonna sandbag us, but I don't know how.”

“Then the sooner the better.”

“Right. Let's get going.”

Victoria gathered some papers, dumped them in a briefcase. No muss, no fuss. Steve admired how she just got down to business, readied for the fight.

“Sorry, hon,” she said. “The menus and seating charts will have to wait.”

“And the flowers?” Bigby said.

“You choose. Really, Bruce. You're better at it than I am.”

“If you say so,” Bigby said, disappointed.

“I'm partial to birds of paradise,” Steve said, heading for the door.

8. There is some shit I will not eat.