As in:
Beatrix was almost literally in the shadow of the Duke Kahanamoku statue on Waikiki beach, drinking cold Longboard lager from a bottle and eating an unbearably delicious pulled pork sandwich, when Ramon reached her on her cell phone.
He would do it, he said, but feeling less than a need to offer an explanation, he didn’t. He just wanted to ask, more delicately than he needed to, if she would not mind if he went with an attorney other than Lane Duncans.
“Course not,” she said.
Ramon had, bye the bye, gotten new job offers as well, from Pittsburgh, and Sacramento, and Park City, and even Fargo.
“What the hell is in Fargo?” she asked.
“They want to do a winter carnival, something really, really big with teen hockey, snowmobiles, and ice sculpture, you know, something to bring people from Minneapolis.”
“I got some really noisy people in the suite across from mine who live in St. Paul,” she said. “They’re really into polka and I think it’s pissing off the natives.”
“So?” he replied.
“So I’ll ask them what it takes to get them to Fargo in January.”
“Well don’t ask them yet,” he replied. “I’m kinda leaning toward Sacramento.”
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