The Mortal Groove Read Free

at the faces, he recognized only one of the two women—Dorthea Land, a retired Episcopal bishop. Ray had known Dorthea for years, loved to argue ethics and politics with her over one of her famous homemade dinners. The man over by the window was Andrew Youngquist, CEO of AmTec, one of Minnesota’s largest homegrown corporations. The fellow closing the door behind the group was Ted Azel, chairman of Azel, Lund, Malton, Feld and Snyder, the largest and most powerful corporate law firm in the state. Ray assumed the rest were equally well connected.
    Randy Turk stood at the front of the pack. He’d started out as a corporate lawyer, discovered he had a gift for litigation, and made a small fortune by the time he was in his midforties. A few years ago he’d moved into civil rights and poverty law, and he was currently the chairman of Minnesota’s new VoteFair Task Force. Randy was a good ten years younger than Ray. In court, he was a tiger, full of passion and conviction. Out of the spotlight, he was a quiet guy, a man with a profoundly good heart.
    Randy took the lead. He briefly introduced the five men and two women, then turned back to Ray with a serious look on his face. “We’re here to ask you an important question. I know this may seem a little melodramatic—”
    â€œJust a tad,” said Ray, easing back in his chair. “Why don’t you cut to the chase.”
    â€œFair enough,” said Randy. “Did you read in the papers this morning about Theo Ludtke?”
    â€œOur next governor? No. What about him?”
    Ludtke had tossed his hat into Minnesota’s political arena a year ago. He was pushing hard to win the Democratic-Farmer-Labor Party endorsement next June. Ray figured he was a shooin. He was charismatic, smart, politically connected, and rich.
    â€œHe had a stroke last night,” said Randy. “The doctors think he’ll recover, but it will take time. That means he’s out of the race.
    â€œI’m sorry to hear it. But what’s it got to do with me?”
    â€œWe came here tonight because, as coincidence would have it, we were all at the same New Year’s party over at the St. Paul Hotel. We got to talking about Theo, what will happen to the DFL now that we don’t have a solid front-runner. We began kicking names around. Yours came up. Of course, there are others in the race, but nobody we believe who’s strong enough to win.”
    â€œThat’s a judgment call.”
    â€œIt is. In our judgment, we need someone new to step up. The eight of us, plus four others, were the ones who went to Theo last year and convinced him to run. We’re hoping we can do the same with you.”
    â€œMe?” said Ray, almost laughing. “Have you lost your minds? I’m a
criminal
defense attorney. We’re the scum of the earth.”
    â€œStop it,” piped up Dorthea Land. “Give people more credit. They know the legal system is based on checks and balances. Besides, you’ve got a reputation around this state as an honest man when it comes to ethics and the law. That’s no small thing, Ray. Especially in a political campaign.”
    â€œThe point is,” said Ted Azel, standing next to the closed door, “what you’ve got to decide is, is it something you want.You’ve got to have the fire in your gut to run. It will change your life, allow you to really make a difference in the way citizens live their lives in this state. On the other hand, it will open yours up to intense scrutiny. It will have an impact on your family, too, not all of it positive.”
    â€œOkay, just wait a damn minute here,” said Ray, sitting forward and folding his hands on the desk. “I mean, sure this is flattering, but, hell, come on. Me? Why don’t you run, Ted?”
    â€œToo many skeletons in my closet. I’d never get past the door.”
    â€œWhat makes you think I don’t have skeletons