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Social Justice Salami—Names can be deceiving; this baby packs a wallop you won’t forget.

Percy Patties—Fresh turkey burgers marinated in rum and basted with gin (served dry, with an olive and a cute little umbrella).

Soups

Adm. Goebbels Goulash—Served ice cold in a jack-boot.

Laughing hysterically, Susette handed the menu to Bullock. He was grinning broadly. The small print at the bottom of the menu caught his eye: “Enter our weekly drawing for up to $15,000 in relocation expenses. You can’t win if you don’t leave.” The offer had an asterisk, directing readers to even smaller print:

Offer may be altered or withdrawn without notice. We will never, ever put anything in writing. We reserve the right to negotiate in bad faith through the newspaper. All FOI disclosure requirements will be met (not really). Any resemblance between the NLDC and a legitimate enterprise is purely coincidental. The fact that not one NLDC employee has any construction experience shall not be held against us. Pfizer has the final say over all transactions, as they are the ones who will eventually take title to this land.

Bullock smiled and looked at Von Winkle. None of his clients had ever produced anything so innovative and humorous before.

“If I’m ever in a fight, I want you on my side,” Bullock said, patting Von Winkle on the back. “Can I keep this?” Von Winkle wanted him to keep it. After all, glory days had returned to the Fort Trumbull Deli. The place was packed. Food and drink were in demand. And everyone had a smile and a story to tell. The plaintiffs smelled victory.

Bullock looked around. He couldn’t help thinking this was going to be a fun, unpredictable adventure representing the Fort Trumbull neighbors.

As the party wound down, Steve Hallquist cornered Von Winkle. Ever since filing their own suit with the Steffians, Steve and Amy had been trying to persuade Von Winkle to turn over the documents he had lifted from the NLDC’s Dumpster. But he had steadily resisted. Steve hoped Bullock’s presence would change things.

“Bill, look, we need that stuff. We need it badly. Anything that you have may be very important to the case.”

“You think so?”

“I really do. And what’s to lose? You’re a plaintiff now. Give Bullock the ammo. Don’t hold back the bullets.”

Von Winkle led Steve and Amy to the basement and retrieved two black plastic trash bags stuffed with documents. The Hallquists took the bags to Scott Sawyer’s office. Days later, Sawyer shipped them to Bullock in Washington.

31

SOME DEVIOUS WAY

No one at the NLDC wanted to admit it, but the lawsuit had the agency very worried. Some wondered whether the agency should modify the municipal-development plan. The project called for redeveloping ninety acres of real estate. Combined, the plaintiffs’ land amounted to just 1.54 acres—less than 2 percent of the total area in question. Scaling down the project by an acre and a half seemed worth discussing if it averted a protracted, expensive legal battle that might bring the rest of the development to a screeching halt. Meanwhile, the city council had started getting antsy over the delays. It wanted to see timetables and immediate progress.

Something had to be done, but Goebel had a problem. He was trying to close a development contract with Corcoran Jennison, a Boston-based construction firm that was planning to implement the NLDC’s development plan. Any substantial changes to the plan might require approval from the city council and potentially could trigger another round of public hearings. Besides delaying the deal with Corcoran Jennison, this approach might also provide an opening for opponents to shoot down the plan altogether.

In an e-mail to one of the NLDC’s top aides, Goebel wrote that reducing the scope of the project to exclude the plaintiffs’ land “would be a major change, driving the entire plan, or at least parts of it, back into the public arena. This would be very delaying to the Corcoran Jennison development.”

Instead, Goebel wanted to send something to the city council that would appease