"Say, Steve, mind if I say something out of school?"

Bigby talking. What the h.e.l.l did he want?

"Shoot," Steve said.

Bruce laid a protective hand on Victoria's shoulder. "My sweetie tells me you're one heck of a wily compet.i.tor."

"She said that?"

Bruce laughed like a man who didn't owe anyone a dime. "Actually, she said you're a sleazy son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h who should be disbarred, flogged, and run out of town."

"She's an excellent judge of character."

"Isn't your hearing about to start, hon?" Victoria said.

Bigby plowed ahead, looking Steve squarely in the eyes. "I told Victoria you were her baptism of fire." He stopped, caught himself. "That's not offensive to you, is it, Steve, the word 'baptism'? I mean, I a.s.sume you're Jewish."

"No problem. It's probably better than 'Bar Mitzvah of fire.'"

"Anyway, I told her that crossing swords with you would be good training for coming in-house."

"Not following you, Bruce."

"After we're married, I want Victoria to come aboard. General counsel of Bigby Resort and Villas. We're converting farmland to vacation ownership units. More than eight thousand potential owners. Can you imagine the paperwork?"

"Time-shares?" Steve asked. "You're selling time-shares in the Everglades?"

Bigby held up a hand. "Please. Time-share is old school, used-car salesmen in cheesy sport coats giving away steak knives. Vacation ownership reflects modern sensibilities."

"Like calling a garbage dump a sanitary landfill?"

"I can give you a heckuva deal on a unit right on the lake. Throw in upgraded cabinets, too."

A beep interrupted them. Pulling out his pager, Bigby checked the digital display. "Whoops. Zoning Board's back. Gotta go."

He brush-kissed Victoria, slapped Steve heartily on the back, and hustled out of the courtroom.

Victoria pretended to study her notes. "Don't say a word."

"Real estate contracts? You, a paper pusher? And what's that bit with the salad?"

"I'm allergic to avocados."

"And you've never told your fiance?"

"It would hurt his feelings."

"Why aren't you that nice to me?"

"You don't have feelings."

"So, you can be honest with a guy you call a sleazy son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h but you have to lie to the man you allegedly love?"

"This doesn't concern you."

"May I ask a personal question?"

"No."

"This Bigby. Does he have a foot-long shlong?"

"You are such a vulgarian."

"Because I don't know what you see in him."

"Go back to your table."

"He's not right for you. He's got no poetry in his soul."

"And you do?"

"Maybe not," Steve said. "But at least I wish I did."

"All rise! Court for the Eleventh Judicial Circuit in and for Miami-Dade County is now in session!" Elwood Reed, the elderly bailiff, announced His Honor's arrival as if the judge were Charles the Second ascending the throne. "All those having business before this honorable court, draw near!"

Judge Gridley strode in, robes flowing, and with a wave commanded all to sit. "Are counsel ready to proceed?"

"State's ready, Your Honor," Victoria said.

"Defense is ready, willing, and able, Your Honor," Steve said, sliding off the prosecution table.

"Mr. Solomon, call your first witness," the judge ordered.

"The defense calls Mr. Ruffles," Steve said.

"Objection!" Victoria leapt from her chair and knocked over a stack of books.

"On what grounds?" the judge asked.

"Mr. Ruffles is a bird," she said.

2. In law and in life, sometimes you have to wing it.

Seven.

TWO BEAGLES IN THE BARN.

A white c.o.c.katoo named Mr. Ruffles sat on the limb of a plastic tree, swiveling its head left and right, one blue-rimmed eye locked on Victoria. The fluffy bird, its feathers the color of sugar, resembled some dazzling sweet confection, she thought, a coconut cake maybe. The bird had a curved beak the color of blue curaao and intelligent, liquid eyes. On its head, a flaring sulfur crest added a punctuation mark, like a sapphire brooch on a gown.

"h.e.l.lo there, fellow," Judge Gridley said. "What's your name?"

"Feed me, d.i.c.kwad," Mr. Ruffles said.

Scowling, the judge turned to Steve. "Counsel, control your bird."

Steve signaled Marvin the Maven in the front row. "My a.s.sociate may be able to help."

Marvin toddled through the swinging gate, opened a small deli bag, and began feeding the bird a prune Danish, one nibble at a time.

Victoria quickly decided that her job was to keep Solomon from turning the courtroom into a zoo and herself into a laughingstock. The judge had sent the jurors back into their little room to b.i.t.c.h and moan in private while the lawyers argued whether a c.o.c.katoo could testify, or at least talk a bit.

"Birds represent love in mythology," Steve began.

Victoria felt Pincher's eyes on her back, heard his pen scratching on his notepad. "What's love got to do with anything?" she demanded.

"A revealing question," Steve shot back, "considering the unfortunate choice you've made in your personal life."

"That's totally improper. Your Honor, defense counsel should be admonished for the ad hominem attack."

"Settle down, both of you." Judge Gridley tossed aside Lou's Sure Picks, a betting tip sheet. "Mr. Solomon, just what the heck are you saying?"

"Every bird must be heard," Steve said. "It's in the Const.i.tution."

"Where?" Victoria demanded.

"It was implied when the Founding Fathers chose the bald eagle as the symbol of the country."

"That's ridiculous. In the history of the Republic, no bird has borne witness in a court of law."

"Ms. Lord overlooks The Case of the Perjured Parrot."

"Don't think I know that precedent," the judge said.

"One of the early Perry Masons," Steve said. "A parrot named Casanova witnessed a murder."

"Your Honor, this is ludicrous," Victoria said. "A bird can't swear to tell the truth."

"Tell the truth!" Mr. Ruffles said, spitting crumbs of prune Danish.

"Shut up!" Victoria said. Startled, the bird hopped from its tree to Steve's shoulder.

"Your Honor, Ms. Lord is hara.s.sing my bird," Steve said.

The judge's gavel cracked like a rifle shot. "C'mon up here, both of you."

As she approached the bench, Victoria felt her pulse racing. But just look at Solomon. A bird on his shoulder, a s.h.i.t-eating smirk on his face. The judge was going to ream them both, and the idiot didn't even seem to care.

"Y'all want to have your dinner tonight in the stockade?" the judge asked.

"Certainly not, Your Honor," she said respectfully.

"Chipped beef on toast again?" Steve inquired.

"My outburst was provoked by Mr. Solomon, Your Honor. And his friend, Ruffles."

"Mister Ruffles," protested Mr. Ruffles, flapping his wings.

"Ms. Lord doesn't understand creative lawyering," Steve said.

"Mr. Solomon doesn't understand ethics."

Judge Gridley exhaled a long sigh. "When I checked my calendar this morning, it said, 'State versus Pedrosa,' not 'Solomon versus Lord.'" He leaned back in his leather chair. "You two remind me of a couple beagles I have on my farm outside Ocala. One male, one female, always yapping and nipping, raising general h.e.l.l. Tried keeping those two apart, but they'd just yowl. See, they couldn't stand each other, but couldn't stand to be apart. They just loved the fight."

"Loved the fight!" Mr. Ruffles said.

"Then one day, it all stopped."

"Did the female kill the male?" Victoria asked, hopefully.

The judge cleaned his trifocals on the sleeve of his black robe. "I came out to the barn and found the male humping the b.i.t.c.h, just pumping away on a bale of straw."

"Humping the b.i.t.c.h," Mr. Ruffles said.

"If that's the court's order," Steve said, "we have no choice but to comply."

"You see what I have to put up with." Victoria felt her face redden.

"After that, those two dogs stayed as close as hog jowls and black-eyed peas," the judge said. "Now, I'm not gonna referee you. Y'all want to rut around, find your own barn on your own time."

"Six o'clock works for me," Steve said.

He's a juvenile delinquent, Victoria thought. A spoiled brat. She turned her back on him.

"As for the pending issue," the judge continued, "no dad-gum animal's gonna testify in my courtroom. I'm warning you both. Any attempt to elicit information from the bird will be considered a contempt of court."

Victoria felt herself exhale. Ye-ssss! Solomon wanted to give her trial tips? Here's a tip for you. Don't mess with Victoria Lord.

"Now, git on back to your places and let's hang the ham in the smokehouse," the judge said, then gestured for the bailiff to bring in the jury.

On the way to her table, Victoria smiled at Pincher, letting him know she'd won the motion. He nodded his appreciation. Then she felt Steve alongside her.

"Another trial tip, Lord," he whispered. "In law and in life, sometimes you have to wing it."