Power Lawyer 2

by Dave Daren

  I turned my attention back to my timeline and added more details. The picture I had was pretty ugly but I needed a few more pieces. I needed to connect Watts to the yakuza and I needed to tie the yakuza to the attacks. The tattoo on my nameless foe helped but wasn’t a slam dunk. I stared at the pages, unaware that the sun had set, and the street lights had come on.

  “It’s almost ten,” Sofia announced with a yawn as she stuck her head around my door.

  “Man,” I sighed as I pushed away from my desk and tried to stretch my back. I was stiff in every muscle and I wasn’t sure if I could even stand up.

  “The burrito place is closed,” she added. “I found a Chinese place that will still deliver though.”

  “Sounds good,” I admitted. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Or that I was so hungry.”

  “What would you do without me?” Sofia asked with a grin.

  “Starve,” I replied.

  “Any requests?” she continued. “Yelp reviewers all seem to like the cashew chicken.”

  “Cashew chicken sounds good,” I said as I finally pulled myself to my feet. “Some hot and sour soup would be nice. Oh, and something fried, like wontons or dumplings.”

  “I’m on it,” she laughed.

  Twenty minutes later we unpacked a sack of still-sizzling Chinese food. I wolfed down the spring rolls and dumplings so fast that I barely tasted them, but the pungent flavor of the hot and sour soup finally slowed me down. It was the perfect blend of spice and tang and it left my mouth watering for more.

  “No more soup?” I asked mournfully as I glanced over the containers that were spread across my table.

  “Sorry, boss,” Sofia replied as she shook her head, “I’ll order the family size next time.”

  I turned my attention to the cashew chicken with a sigh. I was certain that the chicken couldn’t live up to the soup, but I was wrong. The sauce was thick and garlicky, but not so garlicky that it would kill a vampire. The chicken itself was crispy and juicy and held just a hint of something citrus. The cashews I could have popped like candy.

  “Fortune cookie,” Sofia offered after we’d demolished the rest of the food and cleared the table.

  “Sure,” I replied. “Maybe it will have a suggestion on where we should look next.”

  We cracked opened our fortune cookies and read the slips of paper that were inside.

  “You first,” Sofia giggled.

  “You will take a long trip,” I read aloud.

  “It doesn’t really say that,” she protested. I handed her the fortune, and she snorted after she’d read it.

  “What does your say?” I asked as she dropped mine on the table.

  “All roads converge on the horizon,” she said in a deep voice.

  “What does that mean?” I wondered.

  “I have no idea,” she replied. “But it sounds very mysterious.”

  “Or desperate,” I amended. “They must be running out of things to put on the fortunes.”

  “So no helpful insights,” Sofia sighed as she dropped her fortune next to mine. “Any luck on your end?”

  “A lot of well-timed accidents, and a video showing an Asian beating up a sixty-year-old white man, but nothing definitive,” I replied. “How about you?”

  “A lot of false paper trails and fronts, but nothing that ties definitively back to ArDex,” she complained. “It’s like trying to catch a fish with your bare hands. It just keeps squirming away.”

  “We have enough to file,” I said. “Hopefully, we’ll find more in the discovery phase.”

  “Do you really expect them to answer our discovery requests?” Anna asked in a doubtful voice.

  “Maybe not, but they’ll have to turn something over,” I replied. “They can’t ignore it. Given what we already know, I think we can weed out what’s a true record and what’s not.”

  Sofia’s phone buzzed, and she checked the caller. She smiled and then returned the phone to the table.

  “Mom?” I asked.

  “No,” she answered with a shake of her head. “Just some friends. They went to see the new Hemsworth brother movie and sent a pic of the after-movie party.”

  “Which Hemsworth?” I asked as I tried to remember what movies had opened recently.

  “Does it matter?” she retorted. “It’s a Hemsworth.”

  “If you say so,” I replied.

  “Don’t be jealous,” she said with a smirk. “They’d probably hold a party for you, too.”

  I hated to admit it, but I blushed at that comment. Sofia’s phone buzzed again, and this time she showed me a picture of five women all sipping from the same fish-bowl sized margarita.

  “I didn’t know anybody still made those,” I said as I pointed to the beverage.

  “Eh,” Sofia remarked, “A few places do. It’s an easy draw, especially if the food is just ok.”

  “Not that you would know about such places,” I teased.

  “Oh no, this girl is high class all the way,” Sofia agreed as she flipped through more pictures on her phone. After a moment, she stopped and looked up.

  “What?” I asked. It was clearly an avoidance tactic on my part, but if she wasn’t ready to return to work, then neither was I.

  “I wonder,” she said quietly. She returned to her phone and started scrolling again.

  “What are you looking for?” I pressed. I knew she wasn’t reviewing movie night pictures anymore because her intensity had shot up.

  “They say everything is on the internet somewhere,” she replied.

  “Hence the reason you’ve spent so much time on it the last few days,” I agreed.

  “Aha!” Sofia cried triumphantly after a half hour had come and gone. She handed me the phone and pointed towards the picture she had found. It showed two men, deep in discussion, walking through a garden. The taller man was tagged as Tucker Watts. The other man, a shorter Japanese man with close-set eyes and an angry curl to his lips, was simply tagged as ‘father.’

  “Who is this?” I asked.

  “Give me a moment,” Sofia sighed heavily. “It’s on an Instagram account. It was posted about two years ago and never taken down. I think it was supposed to be in the private section but no one ever noticed so it’s still there in the public posts.”

  “Who’s account is it?” I urged.

  “All I can see is the public name,” Sofia replied. “EinO29. But...”

  “But?” I prodded when she didn’t finish.

  “I know someone,” she replied as she took the phone back and dialed.

  “Of course you do,” I managed to say with a straight face. “Another family member?”

  “From my navy days,” she said as she gave me a playful kick.

  “Will this person be up?”

  “Reggie always works at night,” she explained. “Hola, Reggie, it’s Sofia. How are you?”

  I sat through the ensuing fifteen minute conversation as patiently as I could. Sofia gave Reggie the rundown on her various family members, as well as an update on her own status, which included a description of me as a “not too terrible boss”, and eventually explained what she needed. Reggie did most of the talking after that, while Sofia replied with an occasional ‘uh-huh’ or ‘okay’.

  “He’ll call back in a few minutes,” Sofia said as she hung up. “The page has tighter than usual security.”

  “He’s hacking it?” I asked.

  “Hacking is such a crude term,” she said. “He’s just using a back door.”

  “So hacking,” I stated.

  “I need a drink,” Sofia replied as she stood up. “We still have some bottled water left. Do you need one?”

  “Sure,” I conceded. I could still taste the hot from the hot and sour soup and the soda I’d ordered with the food didn’t seem to be helping.

  I’d polished off one water bottle and started on a second when Sofia’s phone rang.

  “Reggie,” was all she said. She quickly scribbled a few notes on a legal pad
and then hung up.

  “And?” I asked.

  “The account belongs to a seventeen-year-old girl named Emi Asaki,” Sofia replied. “Her father is Hoshu Asaki. That’s the man in the picture with Watts. Reggie’s going to send me whatever he can find on Hoshu Asaki but he said there were a few things he wanted to tell me right away.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “First,” she started, “Hoshu is from Osaka, originally. When he was still a teenager, he moved to Sapporo with his sister and grandparents. On the surface, he’s a legitimate strike-it-rich story. He grew up poor but now he runs several huge corporations that make all sorts of baby products. Diapers, wipes, sippy cups, all that kind of stuff. He has operations in Osaka and Sapporo, mostly.”

  “On the surface,” I prodded.

  “There are a lot of rumors about how Hoshu Asaki got to be so successful,” she added. “Including rumors tying him to the yakuza.”

  “That’s awesome,” I said with a grin.

  “Some rumors are more specific,” she continued. “A few of the braver police and news journalists have tagged him as the Mizuchi.”

  “The Mizuchi,” I repeated in a stunned voice. I pulled up the photo again and looked at Hoshu Asaki. He was a small man, even by Japanese standards, but there was something about the way he held himself, even in this candid photo, that reminded me of a snake hidden in the grass.

  “There was one other thing that Reggie wanted me to know,” she said. “There are a lot of stories about how the Mizuchi climbed his way to the top of the gang, but there’s one that stands out, and the Sapporo police believe it’s true.”

  “I have a feeling I’m not going to like this,” I sighed.

  “The Mizuchi personally eliminated his competition for leadership of the gang,” she replied. “Apparently, with his bare hands.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” I said as I looked at the photo again. There was venom in that stare. I wondered for a moment what it would be like to call that man my father.

  “But now I have another link,” Sofia announced.

  “How so?” I asked as I tore my gaze away from the Mizuchi.

  “Those pictures you sent from the trailers,” she replied. “I had it translated. It’s baby formula. And I’ll bet I can link it to one of the Mizuchi’s companies.”

  We both grinned. We finally had our missing link.

  Chapter 8

  I’m not a fan of morning commutes, which is why my office is so close to my apartment. I’ve heard people say that it gives them time to think, or work, or listen to the news, or just get psyched up for the day. But I find it hard to do any of those things when you’re trying not to drive up the tailpipe of a bus that suddenly jammed on its brakes at sixty miles an hour.

  So I was disappointed to find my normal short commute had turned into the usual LA traffic jam. It was my turn to try to work while on the road, but the cute blonde in the convertible next to me wasn’t helping. She had the radio cranked up and tapped out the drumbeat on her steering wheel. I tried not to watch, but then she would shoot me a sunny California smile, and I’d smile back, and promptly forget everything else. I finally settled on a call to Sofia, if only to keep me distracted from the blonde.

  “Sofia,” I exclaimed loudly when she answered her cell phone. The blonde laughed and went back to her drum solo.

  “I hit traffic,” Sofia yelled at almost the same time. “I’m trying to go around but I don’t know how long it will take.”

  “I’m in traffic as well,” I replied. “Look, everything’s done. I just want to give it one more look for grammatical errors and then we can file. Did you tell your mother I was sorry for keeping you so late last night?”

  “I did,” Sofia shouted over the sound of a jackhammer. “She says you owe her a dinner at our house.”

  “You know I love your mother’s cooking,” I replied.

  “I’ll remind you of that when you try to weasel your way out,” she laughed. “See you soon.”

  “Yeah, right,” I said to myself as I tried to gauge where the choke point was. I finally made it around the three-car fender bender that had caused the tie-up and pulled into the parking lot only an hour late. I docked the Caddy, waved to the busboys, and headed upstairs. The office smelled vaguely of Chinese food even though we’d made sure to toss the remnants in the dumpster last night.

  I ignored the blinking phone on Sofia’s desk and the email alerts that popped up when I logged on. I’m not the fastest typist, but I’m reasonably accurate, so I didn’t have too much to do from a grammar standpoint. I changed a few sentences around, to punch it up and really sell the idea that these were evil men. I know lawyers are discouraged from writing something that sounds like a Hollywood script, but I needed to press home how serious this had become.

  Sofia arrived as I made the last of my changes. She wore a pair of muted lavender pencil pants and a white tie-front shirt with tiny blue flowers that showed just a hint of tight abs. The whole ensemble had probably been neatly pressed when she left the house, but at the moment, it looked as wilted as its owner.

  “Dios mio,” Sofia sighed as she stepped into my office. She wiped one hand across her forehead while she fanned herself with her other hand.

  “Tough commute?” I asked as I stood up. I joined her at the door and drank in the scent of her perfume. Today it reminded me of an orange creamsicle.

  “Some people need to go back to driver’s ed,” she declared. “This idiot tried to drive over the median and got stuck. Then he got hit by a delivery truck that couldn’t swerve out of the way.”

  “I’ll go get us something to drink,” I offered. “I’ve made my changes so just read through everything one more time. If it looks good, we’ll file.”

  “I need something cold and refreshing,” Sofia replied as she slumped into her chair. “Whatever the agua fresca is today.”

  “One agua fresca coming up,” I replied. I ventured downstairs to the burrito joint. A few of the regulars were already there, ensconced on their favorite stools.

  “What will you have today, Mr. Creed?” the young woman who manned the counter called to me.

  “An agua fresca and a café de olla,” I ordered. I definitely needed the caffeine rush this morning.

  “We have some churros this morning, too,” the waitress replied. “Maybe one order, to help tide you over until lunch?”

  One of the regulars helpfully held up the churro he was about to consume, and I had to admit, it did look delicious.

  “One order,” I conceded.

  The drinks and fried dough appeared a few minutes later, and I carried everything back upstairs. I held the bag of churros up as I stepped inside.

  “I wondered what was taking so long,” Sofia remarked. I placed the agua fresca and the bag of churros on her desk. She opened the bag and took a sniff.

  “Couldn’t resist,” I explained as I snagged a churro from the bag. “How’s it going?”

  “It looks good,” she replied as she claimed one of the fried delights for herself. “I’ve only had to add a comma and delete an extra period so far.”

  I nodded my agreement since my mouth was full of cinnamon sweetness. Sofia’s gaze returned to the computer, and we ate our churros in companionable silence.

  “It’s ready,” Sofia said. She took another swig of her agua fresca and gave me a raised eyebrow.

  “File it,” I told her.

  It was a big moment, for us and our client, and I felt a zing of anticipation. The reality was less dramatic as Sofia logged onto the court website and uploaded our documents.

  “It’s done,” Sofia said a few moments later. “I’ll send a copy to Kurzak.”

  “Right,” I sighed. “I’ll get working on some of our other cases.”

  “That would probably be a good idea,” Sofia said with a smile.

  “Don’t get snarky with me, young lady,” I warned. “Or I won’t bring you any more churros or agua frescas.”

  �
��The churros I don’t need,” she replied. “The agua fresca, however, is a must.”

  “Ah,” I observed, “Now I know your kryptonite.”

  “So you believe,” she laughed as I ducked back into my office. I forced myself to focus on anything but Anna’s case. I plowed through emails, made some phone calls, and even drafted a complaint in a landlord/tenant matter. Around noon, Sofia appeared with a white fish baked in parchment from the place downstairs.

  “The chef wants to know what you think,” she explained as she placed the fish in front of me.

  I slit the paper and let the steam evaporate. I peered inside and saw a beautiful filet with green onions, tomatoes, and lime wedges. The aroma was amazing. I closed my eyes and had visions of warm sand, rolling waves, and a sky so clear that it hurt the eyes to stare at it.

  The first bite beat every expectation I had. The fish was just the right balance of firmness and flaky softness. There was a buttery flavor that balanced the cumin very nicely. I think I moaned because Sofia gave me an eye roll and left the room.

  I was scraping the last of the sauce from the bottom of the paper when the office phone rang. Sofia answered and then said nothing for several minutes. I thought the other person must have hung up but the little red light was still on. I waited, but nothing. I had finally just taken a sip from my own agua fresca when Sofia finally transferred the call.

  “It’s Kurzak,” was all she said.

  “Mr. Kurzak,” I greeted as I switched to the outside line, “How are you today?”

  “Damn it,” he spluttered, “I warned you. I warned you to walk away from this. Now there has to be a response.”

  “A response,” I murmured. “That sounds threatening.”

  “Oh, I’m threatening you all right,” he declared. “I’m filing a defamation suit against you and Anna. That’s after I file a motion to dismiss. This…this travesty cannot be allowed to proceed.”

  “You received our complaint and our motion for an injunction,” I observed.

  “You know damn well I received the complaint,” he spluttered.

  “I wouldn’t be counting on that motion to dismiss,” I said calmly. “I’ve already prepared the first of my subpoenas. We’ll also be looking through the company’s books soon.”