"I incite. Grand jury indicts. I also invite. How's about lunch?"

Now that was a first.

"You paying, Sugar Ray?"

"No sass, fat ass. This is your lucky day."

"Yeah, why?"

"A friend of mine over on Northeast Fourth Street wants me to charge you with something, but we can't seem to find a crime."

"Your friend being Deborah Scolino."

"Jakester, just what did you say that got her federal panties in such a bunch?"

"Only that the theme of my case would be to blame her for Gorev's murder."

"Well, she's a little high-strung, so that would do it. Anyway, the lady and I met yesterday evening. You'd probably call it a 'conspiracy of sovereigns taking place in the shadows,' except we had dinner on the patio of the Biltmore." He chuckled to himself. "I do appreciate a man who can turn a phrase, and you, Jake, are second only to me."

"Get to the point, Ray. I've got mobsters to visit."

"Soho Beach House. One hour."

He hung up, and I put on a tie.

The Soho Beach House is a fancy oceanfront hotel, private club, public restaurant, and spa. A few months ago, it's where LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, and Chris Bosh ate salads and guacamole as they decided their future . . . and that of the Miami Heat. Maybe LeBron didn't like the salad dressing.

I got there on time and found Pincher in the courtyard of the Italian restaurant on the hotel grounds. His table was under a silver buttonwood tree laced with pin lights. Glass lanterns hung from wooden trellises overhead. Three of the four seats at the table were taken. Pincher, of course. Plus Assistant US Attorney Deborah Scolino and Miami Beach Detective George Barrios.

"In one corner," I said, taking the empty chair, "the city, the state, and the federal governments. In the other corner, little old me. Doesn't seem like a fair fight."

Only Pincher cracked a smile. "Jake, you're gonna like what we've got to say."

I ordered a Peroni, fried anchovies, and meatballs, and listened.

"What's the biggest weakness in the state's case against Solomon?" Pincher asked.

"Motive," I said. "Barrios has some bullshit theory that Solomon was having an affair with Nadia Delova and got talked into doing the crime."

"Or tricked into it," Barrios said. "Either way, he's guilty."

"Except it's not true. The Russian woman was a client, nothing more."

"Well, sir," Pincher said, "today we've got a dead-solid perfect motive."

I sipped my beer and said, "Wake me up when you get to the part I'm supposed to like."

Pincher nodded toward Barrios. "Detective, you do the honors."

"Jake, remember when I told you we traced the Glock to a guy in New Jersey."

I chewed a spicy meatball and said, "Owns a courier service. No record. Name is Littlejohn."

"Does business as Littlejohn Couriers, Inc. We looked into it. Little family corporation, but it doesn't really own anything but the name. The trucks are registered to a Florida corporation whose stock is owned by a Bermuda trust. The trustees are officers of a bank in the Cook Islands. Are you following me?"

"Not really. I don't even know where the Cook Islands are."

"A bit east of New Zealand, and that's where the feds come in."

Deborah Scolino put down her fork. She had been nibbling eggplant caponata and now patted her lips with her napkin while still managing to scowl at me. Multitasking. "The Cook Islands don't give comity to American judgments and really don't cooperate with our law enforcement agencies. But we have ways of getting information."

"Sneaky NSA ways or old-fashioned bribery?" I asked.

"I'll ignore your slanderous innuendo," she said. "Mr. Pincher tells me it's just your way, and I shouldn't take it personally."

"Excellent idea," I said. "I didn't take it personally when we were sparring and he hit me in the balls."

Another scowl. Then she said, "Once you cut through the shell corporations and trusts, Littlejohn's trucks are owned by Benjamin Cohen. It's one of his businesses. Littlejohn is pretty much just a bookkeeper."

"And because of his clean record, Littlejohn is Benny's gun buyer."

"Exactly. When our agents confronted Littlejohn, he folded in about thirty seconds. Admits he buys weapons for Cohen, including the Glock that came from Houston and was used to kill Nicolai Gorev."

"So what's that got to do with Solomon?"

"Hang with us," Pincher said. He was eating a kale salad with apple and grilled chicken. Maybe planning on getting back down to middleweight range.

"We have warrants to tap Benjamin Cohen's phones." Scolino lowered her voice to a whisper, maybe afraid the Guatemalan busboy also worked for Benny. "Three days before Gorev is killed, Benny gets a call from one of our CI's who's playing both sides of the street."

"I'm shocked, shocked that a scumbag informant would do that," I said.

"The guy tells Benny that he's our real target, not Gorev."

"And Benny knows Gorev will flip on him," I ventured.

"In a Moscow minute," Scolino said.

"Giving Benny the motive to kill Gorev," I said happily. "So Benny gives Nadia the Glock and she kills Gorev, just like my client told Barrios at the crime scene."

Pincher cleared his throat. "Not exactly."

I thought I saw where this was going. "You don't have Nadia to testify. In fact, Ms. Scolino doesn't want you to have Nadia testify because my cross-examination will get the esteemed prosecutor a transfer to North Dakota. So, as of this minute, you can link the gun's ownership to Benny, but not its use as a murder weapon."

"But Solomon can."

"How? Benny gave Nadia the gun. She's the link."

"Think about it a second, Jake."

I followed instructions while Pincher gave me his campaign poster smile. After two seconds, I would have liked to knock out his pearly teeth. I've seen the state pull some shit in my time, but this was pretty much an all-time low.

"Sugar Ray, are you saying that, in a town filled with thugs and creeps and killers, a career criminal like Benny the Jeweler hires this half-assed lawyer to kill a Russian mobster?"

"If Solomon says so, we'll buy it."

"If Nadia said she was the shooter, you'd buy that, too."

"First one in the door gets the prize," Pincher said.

"We're still not ruling out that Nadia used her feminine wiles to get Solomon into the murder for hire," Barrios said.

I looked at Deborah Scolino. "Did he really say 'feminine wiles'? Doesn't that violate some federal statute?"

"The fact that Solomon looks pretty harmless is helpful," Pincher said. "Adds credibility to Benny's plan."

"How?"

"The whole Nadia passport deal was just a ruse to catch Gorev off guard."

"Still not following you, Ray. Maybe because you're making no sense."

"Noodle it. Nadia had been in Nicolai Gorev's office lots of times. Benny figured she wouldn't arouse his suspicion. And better to bring along this harmless-looking lawyer, rather than some professional hit man or a guy Gorev knows works for Benny."

"So your theory is that Benny hired both Solomon and Nadia to knock off Gorev? That's a helluva high-wire act. To say nothing of it being total bullshit."

"Gorev ends up dead with the murder weapon in Solomon's hand," Pincher said, "and Nadia flees with the contents of the safe. It passes the blush test-don't you think, Jake?"

"Funny, I thought our standard of justice was guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. Now I learn it's when the state's theory doesn't turn you beet red or make you laugh so hard you fart like cannon fire in the 1812 Overture."

That left the three of them glowering at me, especially Deborah Scolino. I pictured her boss, the local US Attorney, reading her the riot act after Gorev got killed, because his boss, the Attorney General, had just reamed him out. That would have led to Scolino stomping her sensible shoes in a conference room filled with FBI agents and yelling that something had to be done to resuscitate the dead-in-the-water Benny Cohen investigation.

I am not one of those defense lawyers who thinks that our federal cops and lawyers are either incompetent boobs or vengeful agents of retribution. Most are hardworking and ethical and underpaid. Okay, there are examples of outright boobery that go back to ABSCAM and beyond. There was the anthrax investigation where a former army scientist was wrongfully named as a suspect-and later paid $6 million-and the FBI's false accusation against a hapless Atlanta security guard as the Olympic Park bomber.

Pincher let me sit there, stewing a moment, then said, "Jake, my man. We've known each other too long for you to be climbing on that high horse of yours. Get your ass down here on the mules like the rest of us."

"Fine, I'll wallow in the mud with you. What's in it for Solomon? Just give me the numbers."

Pincher beamed. "Yes, indeedy-do! Let's make a deal! In a nutshell, Solomon faces conviction for felony murder. Mandatory life without parole. He gets that, right? He'll never see the light of day."

"Unless . . . ?"

"He lays out enough details to indict Benny Cohen for conspiracy to commit the murder."

"Such as?"

"Benny gave Solomon the Glock. Nadia Delova was an accessory. Solomon was promised so much money, yada, yada, yada."

"And . . . ?" I said. "What's the quid pro quo? What do I get besides a thank-you note I can hang over the crapper next to my diploma?"

"Solomon has a clean record, if you don't count his contempt citations, which are basically parking tickets. The guy he aced was a piece of shit Russian mobster. Be thankful for that or we couldn't do this. We'll have to think a bit on what Solomon will plead to, but let's work backwards from the sentence. Say we recommend ten years. Out in eight and a half with gain time. How does that sound?"

Like a monkey with an accordion, I thought.

"Jesus, you must really want Benny Cohen," I said.

"You have no idea," Deborah Scolino said. "Among other things, Cohen has violated the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act with bribes to public officials overseas."

I shrugged. "So has Walmart, but I don't see you framing them for murder."

"You don't understand the scope of this. Benjamin Cohen has been the John Doe of our investigation from the beginning. The largest diamond smuggler on the East Coast. He's corrupted customs officers here and mining company executives in Russia."

Again, Scolino lowered her voice as if Kremlin spies might be listening. "Cohen has partnered with one of Vladimir Putin's closest associates. That's how they managed to reopen portions of a closed diamond mine in Siberia."

"The pit six hundred meters deep that Gorev talked about?"

"The Mirny mine. Officially closed. But a small part is working off the books. Benny gets the diamonds, and Putin reaps millions of dollars a year in kickbacks. It's official US policy to shut off the gravy train to the Russian president. From day one, the Cohen case has been all about Russian bribes and kickbacks to Putin. Not some credit card scam of B-girl joints. The Attorney General himself gets weekly reports."

"The Attorney General himself," I repeated, without overdoing the sarcasm.

Scolino's voice was now a whisper. "The president is also well aware of the investigation."

"Unless it goes to hell," I said. "Then the assistant secretary of the interior will take the fall."

"You have a patriotic duty here," Pincher said, as earnest as a TV preacher.

"To help your country," Scolino added, in case I didn't get it.

I looked at Barrios. I thought he might start whistling a John Philip Sousa march, but he kept quiet.

"Benny Cohen ever kill someone or have them killed?" I asked.

"Other than Gorev, you mean?" Pincher said.

"Yeah, if that's the picture you want to paint."

"We have no intelligence on that," Scolino said.

"So you're basically framing a nonviolent criminal with murder."

"I'll ignore that," Scolino said.

"So what'll it be, Jake?" Pincher said. "Solomon's fate is in your hands. Life without parole. Or dancing in the streets in eight and a half years."

"That's still enough time for you to steal his girlfriend," Barrios said, taking his shot at me.

"I'll convey your offer to my client, as required by the rules," I said.

"But will you recommend it?" Pincher pressed me.