“Come on, Kenny,” Adams said to the other attorney, “I’ve never doubted your determination.”

“I just want to make sure,” Urness said with a toothy grin. “There’s going to be some very powerful people who are going to be really pissed off.”

“No doubt. Are you sure you’re up to it?”

The attorney took a moment and then said, “I’m ready for a new challenge. A cause I can believe in. I’ve made a shitload of money. Now I’d like to make a difference.”

With a raised brow, Adams said, “Like Woodward and Bernstein?”

“Yeah, except you’ll be Deep Throat.”

“Let’s hope I don’t have to wait until I’m ninety to admit my role in all of this.”

“If I’m reading this right,” Urness said, “and I usually do, I don’t think you’ll have to wait more than two years. I’ll have it all gamed by then, and you’ll be treated as a hero.”

“By some.”

Urness pushed his chair back and started to stand. “Fuck ’em . . .”

Adams laughed and stood, oblivious that his white dinner napkin had just slid from his lap to the floor.

“I’m serious. Fuck ’em. You’re never going to get those fascists on the right to understand what we’re doing, so I’m telling you right now fuck ’em and forget ’em.”

“You’re right,” Adams said with an impish grin. As Urness came around the table Adams put his arm around him. He was almost a head taller than his friend. “You’re a good shit, Kenny. I really appreciate this.”

“I’m more than happy to help, Glen. These are strange times. If we don’t take a stand, I’m afraid what kind of country will be left for our kids.”

The two men moved from the restaurant into the bar and toward the front door. Adams looked at the booze behind the bar, and like one of Pavlov’s dogs, began to salivate. He slowed his pace and rubbed his right hand over his belly. “What do you say we have one more bump before we call it a night?”