Sometimes the best way to know a person is by asking questions, so let’s meet Jake.

What is your name?
Jacob Lassiter, Esquire, but you can call me Jake.

How old are you?
Too old to date Miami Dolphin cheerleaders, too young for social security. Recently passed the half-century mark, if you gotta know.

What is your profession?
Mouthpiece. Barrister. Trial lawyer, the guy took the shy out of shyster and put the fog into pettifogger.

Do you have a significant other?
Why, you trying to fix me up? Don’t bother. I’ve been seeing Dr. Melissa Gold, neuropathologist, expert in Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy. That’s CTE, the industrial disease of the NFL. Yeah, she’s my treating physician and makes house calls. I might have drain bamage, if you catch my drift. Meaning I might be dying. But then, aren’t we all?

Any children?
Nope.

Do you have any sibling(s)?
There’s my half-sister Janet, a serial shoplifter who jumped bail in Florida years ago and has been on the run ever since. I’d call her a gypsy, but that would be an insult to the Romani people.

Cats, dogs or other pets?
Nah. What’d you expect, a pet alligator like Don Johnson on “Miami Vice.” Or are you too young to remember?

What town do you live in?
Miami, that rich and wicked pastel boomtown, to steal a phrase from a better scribbler than Levine, who’s always putting words in my mouth. I hung up my jock years ago. Isn’t it time he gave the keyboard a rest?

House or building complex?
I own a little coral rock house on Kumquat Avenue in Coconut Grove. The place survived every hurricane starting with the Big One in 1926 that drowned 500 poor souls. Built like a bunker, the house also survived a bunch of my parties that often drew the attention of local constables, paramedics, and plaintiffs’ lawyers.

What is your favorite spot in your house?
I’ve got a hammock slung between two gumbo limbo trees in the backyard. It’s a fine place to recline and listen to the neighborhood peacocks screeching nearly as loud as the police sirens.

Who is your best friend?
Doc Charlie Riggs, retired coroner and honest man. He never fudged autopsies to favor the prosecution, and he’s kept me out of trouble for years.

Amateur sleuth or professional?
When clients pay me, I’m a pro. When they stiff me, I guess I’m an amateur.

Favorite meal?
It’s Miami, dude. Stone crabs with mustard sauce, hash browns and Key lime pie.

Favorite hobby?
Running into goal posts at full speed. It’s not really a hobby. It’s just the source of my first concussion, back in high school in Key Largo.

Favorite vacation spot?
Chasing the wily bonefish in the channels near Islamorada, Florida.

Favorite author?
You think I read? Okay, I think this kid Lee Child has a bright future, and Jack Reacher would have made a helluva defensive end. Michael Connelly knows his way around a cop shop, and his Bosch has a problem with authority, which I can relate to. For high falutin’ lawyer prose, I turn to Scott Turow. For fanciful fiction, you oughta read the letters I get from my clients in prison.

Favorite sports team?
My former employer, the Miami Dolphins, would qualify, if they weren’t so damn mediocre, year in and year out. Of course, a long time ago, they cut me from the roster. No other team in the NFL wanted me, and I turned down an offer from the Saskatchewan Roughriders in the CFL because I’d have had to drive a cab four days a week to pay my rent. That’s when I went to night law school, proudly graduating in the top half. . .of the bottom third of my class.

Are you a morning or a night person?
Back in my younger, stupider days, I closed up every after-hours joint in the AFC East, even Buffalo. These days, I doze off after dinner, dreaming of tackles missed, cases lost, and women who high-tailed it out of my life.

In a few sentences, what is a typical day in your life like?
Breakfast is a fresh, sliced mango, a banana, eggs over easy, and black coffee. I fire up my old Caddy – a cream-colored Eldorado convertible about a block long – and head up Dixie Highway toward Miami Beach. (The car was a fee from an alleged marijuana dealer. I won his case, but it took a year to get the smell of weed out of the trunk). My law office is on the second floor of an old building on South Beach. It’s directly above a restaurant called “Havana Banana.” Climbing the stairs, the aroma tells me what the lunch special will be. Today, carne asada, a skirt steak marinated in olive oil, garlic, and jalapeño. I love it.

Jorge Martinez, the owner, will send a platter up the stairs, without my even asking. Of course, I never charge him a fee when fighting the Health Department over sanitary violations. The place used to be called “Escargot-to-Go,” but there wasn’t a huge market for take-out snails. Havana Banana is reasonably profitable when not dispensing salmonella with the quesadillas. Then I wait around for customers – excuse me, clients – to pop in, needing representation in criminal court. I always hope for a client I like, a cause that’s just, and a check that doesn’t bounce. Two out of three, and I’m ahead of the game.

You can read more about Jake in Bum Deal, the 13th book in the “Jake Lassiter” legal thriller. The first book in the series is To Speak For The Dead.

They don’t call us sharks for our ability to swim.

Second-string linebacker turned disillusioned defense attorney Jake Lassiter finally switches teams. Appointed special prosecutor in a high-profile murder case, he vows to take down a prominent surgeon accused of killing his wife. There’s just one problem. . .or maybe three: no evidence, no witness, and no body.

But Lassiter’s used to fighting impossible battles on the gridiron and in court. After all, he’s not totally burned-out—just a little scorched.

Standing in Lassiter’s way are the defense lawyers: slick-talking Steve Solomon and blueblood Victoria Lord, who would love to beat their old mentor in court. Not to mention the specter of CTE, the lethal brain disease Lassiter may have contracted banging heads in the NFL. Drained of his mental edge just when he needs it most, Lassiter faces the possibility of losing the case—and his life—in court.

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Meet the author
Author Paul Levine has been nominated for the Edgar, Shamus, Macavity, International Thriller Writers, and James Thurber awards. He has won the John D. MacDonald Florida Fiction Award. Levine is also the author of the Solomon Vs. Lord series of legal capers. A former trial lawyer, he also wrote twenty-one episodes of the CBS military drama JAG and co-created the Supreme Court drama “First Monday” starring James Garner and Joe Mantegna. A graduate of Penn State and the University of Miami Law School, he divides his time between Miami and Santa Barbara. For more information, please visit www.Paul-Levine.com.

All comments are welcomed.