“This is one of those ‘opportunity knocks’ moments, Jimi. We’ll want to get this reward up and posted as soon as we can.”

Sanchez brought a hand up to his mouth, placed two fingers on his lips against the urge to smile. “Of course,” he said. “That goes without saying. I was going to put up twenty-five, same as Sunset.”

“That sounds about right. Nancy’s in at that level too. And I’m sure I can talk to a couple of other colleagues and get the total up to over a hundred, which is about the minimum we’ll need for credibility. As soon as we get to that number, I thought I’d announce the press conference, put things in motion. Then we can sit back and just watch the money start to pour in.”

Sanchez went back to the buffet for dessert, and sat down again across from Turner with a wedge of cheesecake and a brownie sitting under a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Both men waited while their coffees were refilled, and then Sanchez waded into the turbulent waters of the succession question at the Sunset Youth Project. “I realize that there’ll be an open evaluation and hiring process, Len, but I don’t think anyone could object to my qualifications. I’ve been running Mission for seven years. I’d be a logical and natural choice.”

Turner dabbed his lips with his napkin. “Well, that’s what we need to discuss, Jimi. I’m all for supporting you, and for advancing your candidacy with the board, but there are still some unresolved issues that aren’t so obvious.”

Sanchez clearly hadn’t anticipated this objection from his colleague. His brow went dark. “Like what?”

“Like, first, Lorraine Hess.”

“Pah! She’s-”

But Turner raised a hand, stopping him. “Lorraine Hess is a woman with ten years’ hands-on experience with the nuts-and-bolts stuff, Jim. She knows the place inside out. She’s going to have a good deal of support from the board. And she’s made no secret of the fact that she’s going to want to be in the running and deserves the job. And did I mention she’s a woman? We’ve never had a woman director. That could prove to be more important than everything else put together.” Len offered half a smile. “You’re damn lucky she’s not black.”

Sanchez was shaking his head. “She’s not executive material, Len. You and I both know it. She’s a worker bee. She’d be best staying where she is. I don’t think she even has a clue what Dominic actually did.”

This brought a tight smile. “Did anybody?”

“I like to think I’ve got a pretty good idea of it.”

While he shoveled a bite of cheesecake and washed it down with some coffee, Turner said, “I’d be interested to hear that. We can look on it as part of your interview process.”

Sanchez swallowed. “Fair enough,” he said. “But saying what he did first of all entails what he didn’t do, and that is any actual work with Sunset’s organization. He was just totally above it. Which, by the way, is why Lorraine wouldn’t be any good at his job. There wasn’t really anything to Dominic’s job at all, except to do favors and collect money. I think she’s still under the impression that he actually had some function within the organization, when in fact he didn’t.”

“No. I agree. That was his genius.”

“Call it that if you want. But if some new hire goes waltzing into there thinking he or she’s going to be doing something, as opposed to simply peddling and trading influence, there’s going to be anguish and gnashing of teeth, believe me.”

Now Turner leaned in over the table. “Well, frankly, Jimi, that’s exactly the concern that some of us on the board have about your interest in the job. You have actually been in charge of running your programs day-to-day at Mission, keeping track of your people, mandating profit centers. To use your phrase, you’re a bit of a worker bee yourself.”

Sanchez allowed himself a small nod. “I’ve been biding my time, Len. I’m ready to move up to a new level. I think I’ve paid plenty of dues.”

“And then who takes over your place at Mission?”

“It’s good you asked that. You know that my wife has been in the office and on the payroll almost since the beginning. She’d be the natural choice, I’d think, and would serve to demonstrate our commitment to gender equality.”

Turner sat back with a look of appreciation. “You know, Jimi,” he said, “all this time we’ve worked together and I had no idea you were so ambitious. Those two jobs, yours and Lola’s, they’d bring in what?”

“Round it off to eight hundred.”

“Don’t you think that might draw a little scrutiny?”

Sanchez put down his fork. “I make two hundred now, Len. Lola’s at around one fifty. No one raises their eyebrows. If I move to Sunset and Lola moves up at Mission, no one will even notice. The important thing is that Dominic’s work continues, that our people keep getting elected. And how does that happen? You know how that happens.”

Turner did know.

In fact, as counsel to Sunset, Turner had come to understand the power that Dominic Como had held. Not only did he control the purse strings on his $50 million-per-year budget, he directed those funds to where they could wield the most political influence in the city. For the great secret of the nonprofit community, especially in the incredibly corrupt environment that was San Francisco, was its intimate connection to the political, and hence the business, community.

Como’s genius lay in the fact that he’d positioned himself as the broker between all of the elements. He was the go- to guy for problems among the families of the power elite. If a judge’s son needed rehab, for example, Como’s wide- ranging connections in the social service community made it possible for a spot to open in a facility in Arizona, say, or Los Angeles, rather than in San Francisco where the boy’s presence could be politically embarrassing for the father. If a supervisor’s daughter needed a job, Como could find her a place with the Muni bus system. In fact, if a politician was having trouble with any one of San Francisco’s constituencies-unions, Hispanics, gays, immigrants, city employees-Como had been the de facto intermediary, greasing the wheels of governance through the judicious application of money or personnel.

For the simple fact was that election laws in the city forbade any individual giving more than $1,150 to any single political candidate, for whatever position, be it district attorney, city supervisor, mayor, or any other elected position. On the other hand, there was no limit at all to nonprofit charity giving, which could also be written off on taxes.

Len Turner’s position functioned entirely upon this axis. His clients, for the most part developers of multimillion-dollar, long-range city projects, found it in their hearts to be charitable to worthy foundations such as the Sunset Youth Project because the money that found its way into Dominic Como’s coffers could then be applied to the election of city officials sympathetic to these projects. Armies of volunteers, ostensibly on their own time, manned phone banks, handed out pamphlets, packed rallies, and-on a darker note-sometimes disrupted their opponents’ events. While technically illegal and certainly unethical, these practices continued unchecked because the people whose job it was to oversee these activities were among the very people benefiting from them.

Now Turner pushed himself a bit back from his table, crossed one leg over the other, and reached for his coffee cup. He met the eye of his companion and nodded. Jaime was telling him that he knew how the game was played, and signaling that he was ready to try to take his own game to the heights that Como had scaled. It was true that he wasn’t as polished as Como had been-but then who was? “Well, listen,” Turner said. “I appreciate your frankness, Jimi. Let’s let things settle for a few weeks-hell, Dominic’s not even buried yet-and then see how we stand. It’s good you’ve given me this early warning of your interest. I’ll pass it along to some of the board. Meanwhile, let’s get this reward up and running, take advantage of the opportunity that’s right in front of us. How’s that sound?”