by Dave Daren
“Right,” I said, “Can we overturn it?”
“We’re going to have to prove that we qualify for exception because of ‘extraordinary circumstances,’” she said. “I’ve got a call in to the consulate to see where she qualifies at all.”
“Okay,” I said, “Sounds like we’re making headway. Barring any more ghosts or superheroes, we’re on target for winning our cases.”
“What makes you so sure?” Vicki teased.
“My psychic told me,” I said.
“Well, then I guess we’ve got it all wrapped up and in the bag,” she replied.
“I guess so,” I said.
“Good,” she replied, “then that means you can go pick up lunch.”
“That,” I said, “I can definitely do.”
“Good,” she said, “because I just placed an order at Jitters. Can you go get it?”
I nodded. Jitters was our coffee shop down the block. Vicki and I were both terrible cooks, and ate on the run most of the time, save for the occasional Martha Stewart phase that Vicki goes through for a few days every two or three months.
She’ll watch that Julie and Julia movie; the one where the cynical New York career woman finds new life by making all these Julia Child recipes and blogging about it. So, this viewing sets off a whole phase where Vicki will YouTube all these complicated dishes. She’ll make some decent food, I’ll give her that. But she’ll spend more time cooking than it would take to drive to a restaurant, order, eat, and come home.
I have to find things to do that week, because if I stick around, she’ll make me help her, and the last thing I want to do is get caught up in an emotional pitfall because her stringbeans don’t look like the ones in the video.
Last time I tried to console her by telling her she could just buy them already cooked by professionals. As I found, pissing off a woman with a butcher knife in her hand, is not a very good idea. So now I stay away from the Julia Child experiment. I also hid her DVD.
“Yeah,” I said, “I’ll go pick it up. I need the fresh air anyway.”
I always loved the stroll from our office to Jitters. Just a block down, it’s more of a pain to drive than it is just to walk. In early May, the spring air was brisk and cool, but with the impending excitement of summer just around the corner. I passed a hipster playing bongos for change. A few office workers sat on benches eating lunch and enjoying the music.
The bongo player launched into a long and involved beat once he saw me. I snickered and tossed a five into his case. He nodded and kept drumming as I walked on. For a drummer, he was alright. But, I was jaded. I knew too many professionals.
Jitters was a locally owned shop, and in my opinion, had the best coffee anywhere. During my L.A. years it was one of the things I really missed about Sedona. They have their own brand, and they grow it on a farm out here. I turned Vicki onto it, and now it’s the only coffee we drank.
Jitters was always crowded, and the scent of Arabica hit me full in the face as soon as I arrived. In the way of coffee shops, it didn’t have much of an original look. The typical browns and deep maroons and stuffed chairs.
“Order for Vicki Park,” I said once I reached the counter.
A young female barista, drowning in eyeliner and cynicism went to find my order. While I waited, a man approached me.
“Hey,” he said. “I know who you are.”
I raised an eyebrow. I didn’t know who he was. He was a burly man, looked a little older than me, mid-thirties perhaps. He was shabbily dressed in an oversized blue t-shirt and faded jeans, and wore a blue and white trucker hat.
“You’re Henry Irving,” he said. He edged up too close to me, and his aggressive tone put me on the defensive.
“I am,” I said as I looked around for the barista. She was handing another customer a coffee.
“You’re defending the lady that murdered the naked dancer,” he nearly shouted, even though I was mere feet from him. “You’re in bed with Marvin Iakova, now, too, aren’t you?”
It was clear the question wasn’t directed at me, but to somehow “out” me to everyone within earshot. I’d had enough.
“Excuse me,” I said, and I moved away from him toward the barista. “Ma’am, my order, please?”
“Do you know that Marvin Iokava supports an expansion of media law that would effectively have no censor on false information?” the man shouted across the shop to me. “He wants to allow people like Holocaust deniers to have their say in the media.”
I grabbed the bag and tossed the barista a tip and turned to walk out.
“That’s what he supports,” he yelled to my departing back. “Do you support that? Do you believe in the Holocaust sir? Sir, sir, do you think it’s right that the Holocaust deniers can be represented in media? Or that people that are spreading fake news should be allowed to exist?”
I finally addressed him. “I can’t speak for the business practices or political opinions of Marvin Iakova. But I can say that this coffee shop has great deli sandwiches. You should get one while you’re here. Support local business.”
There was a loud cheer, and on that note I left the shop. I hit the sidewalk and the bright sun glared in my eyes so I slipped on my shades. It had been an odd week, and I had had enough of aggressive protesters for a while. Suddenly I heard shouting behind me.
“Hey, hey,” the man yelled.
Shit. He was following me. I walked faster. He caught up to me and came at me from the side. He was now carrying a video camera.
“Jerry Steele, Steele Productions,” he filmed from the front as I ignored him and walked on. “What do you think about SB 1110? SB 1110 would ban media censorship entirely, allowing falsehoods and fake news to cloud over the truth. Your buddy Ioakova supports it. What do you support, Mr. Irving?”
“I’m not signing a release,” I told him as I held my hand up to the camera.
“Well, this is public property,” he said. “I can film freely on public property without a release. You’re familiar with media law, you know that.”
He was technically right, but his premise was shaky enough I could still win a lawsuit against him if I wanted. By now a crowd was forming on the street around us, and I saw a couple of cell phone cameras pop up. I sighed. I was going to have to handle this.
“So do you or do you not support SB 1110?” he yelled.
There were boos and cheers some crowd members had definite opinions on the proposed legislation. Honestly, I had been so busy chasing down murderers and defending senile coots and their tigers, I hadn’t had time to turn on the local news.
“I’m not familiar enough with the bill, so I can’t give you an honest opinion one way or another,” I said.
“Oh,” he mocked, “an ‘honest’ opinion? That’s right. Hide behind semantics and fancy shades. That’s what lawyers do, don’t they? You can’t give an ‘honest’ opinion because your opinions are all ‘dishonest.’”
I rolled my eyes and kept walking. His self-satisfied laugh implied that he had somehow gotten one over on me by finding hidden meanings in my word choice. I just shook my head. Whatever helps you sleep at night, bud.
“Well, do you support Marvin Iakova?” he yelled. “That’s something you should be able to give an ‘honest’ opinion on.”
I kept walking. The block seemed so much longer today.
“We have you tied to him on no less than five occasions,” he said. He pulled a crumpled note paper out of his pocket, and his attempt to read, yell at me, and film all at the same time was both comical and commendable.
“You served with Iakova on Alister O’Brien’s estate,” he accused. “You were connected to him as a business partner for Coconino Brew, and you’ve been spotted in the company of Earnie Green, his longtime business associate and early investor in Starbright Media…”
He paused as he interpreted the notes in his hand. Everything he said was totally true, and I had never had any intention whatsoever of hiding any of that. We were nearing the off
ice now, and I wanted to shut this down.
“I consider Earnie Green to be a good friend,” I started.
“Oh, really?” he was delighted by this statement. “Are you aware that after the story broke about Iakova supporting SB 1110, Earnie Green cashed in his stock and moved to Tahiti?”
I was aware of this, but it had nothing to do with any kind of news story. Earnie’s best friend and lifelong business partner had just died, and he figured it was as good a time as any to cash out and retire to Tahiti.
“Earnie Green’s retirement was for personal reasons,” I said. “He went to Tahiti to mourn the loss of a great friend, and that should be respected.”
“That ‘friend’ was Alister O’Brien,” he accused. “Do you know what went on in his personal life? Do you know that he supported polygamy? Is that what you support? Polygamy?”
“I have no further comment,” I said.
I was at our office door and slipped inside. He stood out on the sidewalk and through the glass I heard him yell, “You can run, but you can’t hide from the truth. The truth will find you. The truth is being exposed.”
“What is that?” AJ stood in the window.
“I see you,” he yelled. “You can’t hide.”
He stood in the street and filmed through our windows.
“Get away from the window,” I barked to AJ.
“Oh, my god,” Vicki’s eyes were wide as she watched him from her desk.
I popped my head out the door. “Sir, you’re going to have to leave--”
“This is public property,” he said. “I can--”
“I don’t care,” I said. “If you don’t leave now, I’m going to call the cops, and you can argue media law all the way to jail. Now, leave or I’m calling the police.”
“Alright,” he held his hands up in surrender. “But you’re about to get exposed. Your kingdom and Iokava’s kingdom are coming down. You just watch.”
“Is he bothering you, Mr. Irving?” a cop showed up on the sidewalk.
I smiled. It was Bernice, a petite black woman that I had worked with on a handful of occasions.
“Thanks, Bernice,” I said. “Yeah, can you get him out of here?”
“Jerry,” she yelled. “I’m not going to tell you again.”
I went inside, and the three of us tried not to gawk while Bernice tried to get Jerry to leave.
“What the hell was that all about?” Vicki said as she sorted through the takeout bag.
“Iakova,” I sighed. “Apparently he’s a controversial figure right now.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she said.
“What do we know about SB 1110?” I asked.
“SB 1110?” Vicki asked. “What’s that?”
I sighed. “Apparently it’s some kind of legislation to do with media law. Iakova’s on board with it, and now we’re taking some heat by association.”
“Is that what that was?” she asked. “The guy with the camera?”
“Yeah,” I said. “His name is Jerry Steele, Steele Productions, is the name of the company. I guess he’s trying to do an expose on Iakova?”
“Again,” Vicki replied, “How could you possibly try to bring down Starbright Media by using media?”
“I have learned,” I said, “that with the crazies in this town, there is no logic.”
“Okay,” AJ piped up. “I’ve got it about SB 1110.”
“Shoot,” I told her.
“It’s a state bill having to do with a ban on censorship and the controversy over fake news,” she said. “This bill would make it illegal to censor pretty much any media outlet, it sounds like.”
“Free speech,” Vicki shrugged. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Well,” I said, “free speech is a tricky animal. It’s not as advantageous as you might think. Under free speech, for example, you could presumably, publish a story that the current presidential election is a fraud, and keep it going, until it undermines national security.”
“Presumably,” Vicki smirked.
“Presumably,” I said.
“But,” AJ said, “what if the story is correct? What if the presidential election is a fraud?”
“Well, sure, if you can prove it,” I said. “But if you can’t, that’s the mind fuck of free speech. Eventually you get so many people saying so many things, no one is listening to anything. And if you do that long enough, you end up with a country so divided, that it’s on the brink of a revolution... all because of oversaturation in the media.
AJ sighed and returned to her screen, “So, the bill would ban technology companies from censoring search engine results through any media server located in the state. Then, it has the long list of things that can no longer be considered libel. It’s really long.”
“Jesus,” I said. “You could argue both sides of this controversy until the day is long.”
“Yeah,” she said. “And people are. The controversy is totally out of control. According to this article, there are people saying they’ve gotten death threats on social media for either supporting or opposing the bill. Either way.”
“Death threats, huh?” I said.
Vicki caught my eye and read my mind. “You don’t think SB 1110 is behind Beowulf’s death?”
“It’s an idea,” I said, “Marvin’s reasons for bringing Ghoti in weren’t particularly strong. And I wouldn’t put it past him for manufacturing a murder for publicity. But he would have to have a motive that was stronger than that. We know he supports the bill, but we would still have to draw a connection between Ghoti and the bill.”
“Julianna is the only link between Sedona and Ghoti,” AJ said.
“I know this woman,” I said. “I’m telling you, she didn’t do it.”
“Are you sure about that?” AJ asked.
I raised an eyebrow and didn’t answer. “Find out everything you can about all the dancers, including Beowulf. We need to know who they are, what their political affiliations are, and what kind of connections they have. We also need to find out what senator sponsored that bill, and if they have any connections to any of our suspects.”
“We already know Marvin is connected to the bill,” Vicki said.
“Yeah,” I said, “But we need to know exactly how.
I spent the rest of the afternoon going blind on research. The whole thing sounded like a recipe for disaster, borrowing trouble on an unresolved and ongoing national conversation. So, Arizona, John Malone and Marvin Iakova were going to be the answer to the global fake news problem. Great. I was trying to find out exactly how he was connected, when Landon came in to pick up AJ for the night. He nodded quickly to Vicki and me.
“Hey,” he said.
AJ looked smitten as she fumbled with her purse, and the two muttered to each other quietly.
“But I’m hungry now,” he told her.
“Yeah,” she said. “There will be food there.”
“Stupid food,” he said. “Like, I want sushi and teriyaki from Fifth Street Bistro. I’ve been thinking about it literally the whole time I was in Chicago.”
“You couldn’t find sushi in Chicago?” I asked.
He turned to me. “It’s not the same. It’s Chicago sushi. They don’t know how to make it.”
“We don’t have time to stop,” AJ said.
“You guys going somewhere special?” Vicki asked.
AJ blushed and looked away.
“She’s doing a poetry reading,” Landon said proudly.
“Oh, fun,” Vicki gushed. “I forgot you write poetry.”
She shrugged. “It’s just... stupid. It’s an open mic thing at the bookstore.”
“Voltaire’s Place?” I asked.
She nodded and shrugged.
“I hear they have a talking cat,” I said.
Bella Swan was the resident black cat at the used bookstore, Voltaire’s Place. She was rumored to meow in English occasionally.
“Dude,” Landon said, “I heard it. The cat clearly said, ‘hello.�
�� It’s creepy as hell.”
“Well, a poetry reading is not stupid,” Vicki said. “We’ll have to read something you’ve written someday.”
“She’s good,” Landon said. “She’s really good. I love the way she describes things. The way she says things. It makes you think.”
AJ looked like she was about to sink into the floor from embarrassment. “Stop.”
“She doesn’t think it’s good,” Landon began, “so she doesn’t like people she actually knows to know about it. Only strangers... and me.”
“Landon, seriously,” she shot him a death look, and he shrugged.
“Enjoy the reading,” I told her. “And video the cat for me.”
“I will,” he said.
They laughed and left, and I watched as they both boarded Landon’s motorcycle.
“You ready to call it a night?” I turned to Vicki.
“Yeah,” she said. “Beowulf will still be dead in the morning.”
We locked up and drove the quarter mile back to our cottage. It was a cozy little place. We rented it because we made the move from LA quickly, and we hadn’t had time to house shop.
“We need to start looking for a house,” Vicki said. “Our lease here will be up soon, and we only got this place until we can find something.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m getting kind of attached to this place, though.”
“It’s tiny,” she said. “We need a place with lots of space and openness.”
“Openness?” I said. “Open for what?”
“People, for one,” she said.
“What if I don’t want to be open for people?” I answered.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked.
“We fight the world all day long,” I said, and I pulled her close to me. “When it’s all done, I want to come home, to just you and me and our little bubble.”
“I love our little bubble, too,” she said. “But it just needs to get a little bigger. One that we can invite Marvin Iakova over for dinner.”
“Ahhh,” I said. “He’s fine to do business with, but I don’t think we need to invite him into our personal life.”
“Oh, yeah?” she said.
“He seems a little shady,” I said. “I don’t know that I want to get too tangled up in his web of deceit and political intrigue.”