As in:
The next unfortunate victim of the voters’ lack of vision would be Shawn Niven McCravage (he insisted on using his middle name) who was the attorney for Spokane Skates On.
There was some irony in this. McCravage had voted with gusto for Duncans’s latest ballot measure, and made no secret of it. He was a pale, thin man joined through his great grandfather, grandfather, and his uncle to the city’s oldest, purple-blooded law firm, McCravage, Savage and Bosippio. Practicing law was that not that hard in Spokane (at least not for him and his firm) but it would be that much easier, and more predictable, he’d figured, if Duncans were to get his wish in the ballot measure for the pay raise, and then keep his pledge to withdraw from the legal profession for the duration of his terms on the City Council.
But now we know that wasn’t to be. Worse, it was an annoying trait of Duncans–as a lawyer constantly trying to agitate against the ossification of the Spokane legal establishment–to try to get inside the heads of opposing counsel. You couldn’t exactly prove, and he would not pretend, that his harassment of his peers gave him an advantage in the outcome of cases. No, he did just because it was fun. Fun for him.
Duncans and Shawn Niven McCravage were not strangers to one another. They had actually opposed each other twice before. But years had passed since the last close encounter and Duncans decided he needed to reintroduce himself.
He did this by parking his car, a venerable black Mercedes, just down the hill from the Spokane Club. He parked at 11:38 and it took only seven minutes before McCravage and whole gaggle of other clubbers in their running shorts and sweats emerged, punctually at 11:45 a.m., as expected, for their Bloomsday trainer. Duncans waited for the pack to pass, lit two cigarettes and asked the young lady in the back seat (she was wearing a low cut black cocktail dress, and had been readily solicited through a reputable escort service) to ready the pastries.
He then caught up with the runners and, while matching their speed with the Mercedes, rolled down the far window and began shouting to McCravage, though in friendly terms, offering him one of the two lit cigarettes.
“If you’re going to run at that pace,” he bellowed, “you may as well have a smoke while you’re at it.”
McCravage tried to laugh this off, but then Duncans pulled ahead by a block. He then braked and had the escort get out of the car. There she waited with a look of carnal distraction and with a tray of fresh cream puffs for the runners to arrive. When McCravage saw this, he quickly broke from the pack and disappeared down an alley without breaking stride. The rest of the group slowed, giggled, and gawked. Two took the occasion to select cream puffs. Still another took the opportunity to exchange cards with the young woman who played along and tucked the information in her cleavage.
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