Page 37 of Blame it on the Bet
Chapter Fourteen
BRYAN
Truittism No 7: The only way to beat your enemy is to know him. The only way to know him is to become him…to live among him. Or her. Or them.
Imagine if you knew exactly how your enemy thought. How he would respond to something, what he might do to try and protect himself…or to fend you off. Short of ESP or a crystal ball, that’s no easy feat. What I’ve discovered over the years is that the best way to get into someone’s head is to act like him—to become him. Live in his neighborhood. Shop where he shops. Go to the church he goes to and eat in the restaurants he eats in. Embed yourself in his world, and it’s only a matter of time before you start to think how he thinks. And that is an invaluable advantage.
Contrary to what I thought when I first arrived, the O’Hallorans are not my enemies. Nor are the residents of Mayhem, Minnesota. And yet, I find myself relying on the same protocol that I use anytime the outcome of my bid is uncertain. Usually this sort of thing will help me convince someone to sell or convince a community to accept my plans or convince an investor to take a chance on me. The longer I’m there, the more they see me in and around and among them, the more they come to think of me as one of their own. The more they think of me as one of their own, the more likely they are to give me what I want.
Plain. And. Simple.
I already have my little wager in place with Hennessy, and I’m 99.999 percent certain that I’m going to walk away with the pub property, one way or the other. But I don’t like leaving anything to chance. And as long as this isn’t a 100 percent certainty, then I must proceed with my SOP. To that end, I’ve turned the Truitt Group’s satellite office into a modern-day war room. I was lucky that I heard Hennessy at the counter when she stopped by the Gazette to see King the other day. It gave me time to flip over the huge rolling board, hiding the side that has my Mayhem project displayed prominently.
If Hennessy had walked in on my work-in-progress that afternoon, she’d have seen her own picture—and those of her sisters—taking up a good chunk of the corkboard. I’ve got a headshot of each with notes underneath, including stats like age, education, career, spouses, etc., mostly provided by Helen. I’ve also created my own enlarged map of Main Street, and I’ve been filling in the blanks as I explore each of the local businesses and take notes on their proprietors.
There’s also a section on the board with a big calendar.
Each time I become aware of another event in the community, I put it on the calendar so I can get an idea of the way these people live. I’ve logged service times for various houses of worship, high school basketball and college hockey games, and anything else that attracts the locals—even a craft fair set to take place next week at a nursing home.
Crotchety old King Colby has gone home for the night and left me working down in the basement, combing the paper’s archives. I’m not sure what it is I think I’m going to find down here, but I’m enjoying leafing through the town’s history. I’ve even found the birth announcement for Hennessy V.S. O’Halloran. I have to remember to ask her what the V.S. stands for. I’ve spent most of the afternoon down here with a bucket of coffee, and I’m just cleaning up the last of the folders when my phone vibrates on the table. “Helen,” I answer when I see a picture of her stern face and orange hair pop up on my screen. “How are things back on the home front?”
“All is well here, O fearless leader,” she replies, deadpan. “Good, good.” I laugh, imagining her at her desk.
“Anything from the Iowa people?”
“Their project coordinator checked in to tell you the zoning permits are looking good and they should have them by the end of the month. Other than that, it’s been pretty quiet here with you gone.”
“I’ll bet it is.” I grin to myself. “Hey, outstanding job with all your research. The stuff you’re sending me is really great.”
“Have you set up your war wall somewhere yet?”
“Oh, you know me too well. Yes. I’ll snap a picture of it for you when I get off the phone. You can have a look and tell me if I’m missing anything.”
“Sure, sure. It hasn’t been hard. That’s a community with some serious roots and a surprisingly large online contingent. I didn’t have to do much digging for anything.”
“Excellent. Hey, speaking of digging, any more on Hennessy’s job?”
“Ah yes, actually. I have a friend at the California Bar who has an ex-girlfriend at the Minnesota Bar. I convinced him to reconnect with her… You know, for old time’s sake. Blah, blah, blah…”
“Oh, Helen, you’re such a romantic,” I croon sarcastically. “Yup. That’s me. Anyway, what I’ve been able to find out so far is that Hennessy O’Halloran passed the Bar Exam on her first try—not as common as you might think, apparently—and was immediately offered jobs with three prestigious firms in Chicago, Milwaukee, and Boston.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I begin, stopping mid note-taking. “I thought she was a public defender?”
“She is,” Helen confirms. “In the end, she turned them all down in favor of working for Hennepin County—a mere three-hour drive from home.”
I sit up suddenly, surprised by that little tidbit. “Really? She gave up a lucrative salary to work for next to nothing defending the dregs of society?”
“Bryan,” Helen begins in her “don’t be such an imbecile” tone, “just because someone can’t afford a two- hundred-dollar-an-hour attorney doesn’t mean they’re any less deserving than someone who can. I’m surprised at you!”
My assistant’s disapproval hits me hard.
“You’re right, Helen. Thank you for the reminder,” I offer contritely. “So, what do we know about her work?”
“Well, near as I can tell, she’s quite an exceptional attorney with a surprisingly high success rate for a public defender.”
“Oh, well, that’s good.”
“You’d think so, right? Maybe not so much.”
