by Rick Santini
His new office had two very valuable paintings, or so he would have you believe. The massive table had been expertly stained to resemble a Brazilian maple. It was merely a veneer knockoff and ten percent the cost of an original.
The chairs were all leather. You had to give him that. Even his clients could tell real leather from vinyl.
Billy Jo was happy, and that was all that mattered. At least for the moment.
***
Billy made an executive decision. The firm would take no more misdemeanor cases. They would accept no more minor felony cases. If it was small potatoes, find a young attorney who needed the experience and fee. From now on, the minimum retainer for any case would be fifty thousand. If the client could not afford it, there was always the public defender or some hungry sleazebag who would sell his soul for a buck.
We will sell our soul, but only for fifty K or more. Hopefully a lot more.
If “perception is reality” was his motto, and it was, the second part would have been greed is good. Very good.
No one in the mini firm was complaining. Soon they would be taking on one or two more associates. The associates could do the grunt work and be paid one hundred and twenty-five thousand a year. Based on a fifty-week year and fifty hours a week, that came to fifty dollars an hour. The partners would bill out their time at one fifty an hour. The math spoke for itself. Two young associates would net the firm an additional half million a year.
Maybe a bit more.
Billy Jo had a grin from one ear to the other.
What could be sweeter?
CHAPTER 33
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Of course. I trust you. If something happens, something bad, something unforeseeable, I could not be in better hands.”
Marta had taken her sweet time eating her dinner. The last thing on her mind was the food in front of her. All she could think about was the pipe, what was in it, and how it would affect her.
“May I suggest you make some tea and we can relax in the other room?”
Marta had a sudden fear the “other room” was the bedroom. In fact, Xiang was pointing to the love seat and couch in the living room. They were separated by a good three and a half feet.
Marta threw all the dishes in the sink. She would put them in the dishwasher later if she could. She took a deep breath, smiled, took Xiang’s hand, and walked the few short steps into the next room. She sat on the couch, Xiang on the love seat.
If there is ever a time to say no, this is it.
“I’m ready. As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“You don’t have to do this to please me. I don’t want you to feel any pressure.”
“I’m not a baby. Please light the pipe, Xiang.”
Slow and methodical. That could be the only description of how Xiang filled his pipe, tamped it down, and lit it. He waited a few seconds for the embers to cool and took a long, relaxed hit. He held the smoke in his lungs for a good ten seconds before he exhaled. He then handed the clay pipe to Marta, who had been watching every move, every nuance.
“Do not try to breathe too deeply. Do not force yourself to hold your breath. There is plenty of time and more than enough filler. Take a shallow breath, hold it only for a second or two, and let it release naturally. If you begin to cough, which I expect, slowly sip some tea.”
With that, he sat back and waited.
Marta did exactly what she had been told, including a minor coughing fit. She was not a smoker. Never had been. She was sure she was going to gag. She began to panic. She fought for clean air, finished her coughing jag, and sipped some tea. It felt relaxing. She also felt a slight change in her body. She took another toke, this time letting it fill her lungs for a good three or four seconds before the coughing began. It did not last as long, the tea felt good, and her body began to lose weight and structure.
She was not sure if she felt light headed or her body began to collapse. In either case, it felt good. Xiang motioned for the pipe. He needed to slow her down and allow her to absorb what was happening to her.
Marta watched the transformation in his features and body language. It was the same as the last time. She was determined to try it again, this time without coughing or panic.
She reached out her arm. Xiang handed her the pipe. This time, she drew longer on it and let the smoke settle in her lungs for a few seconds longer. She could feel the change in her body. She wanted to put it in words, but there were none.
“I think you have had enough for the evening. Have another sip of tea, and tell me how you feel.”
Marta seemed to melt into the couch as if she were a part of it. Her hand touched the fabric as if for the first time. It felt smooth and silky. It almost felt alive. She began to stroke the fabric as if it were somehow human and would respond. Xiang observed and said nothing. He was not surprised.
Somehow Marta expected to feel high, excited, outlandish. Instead she was mellow, laid back, even serene. She was aware of her own heart beating. She was positive she could feel the blood being pumped through her veins. She could hear individual notes of a song, not just the melody. She felt alive—and aware. She was not frightened. She was calm. She was at peace with herself.
It felt good. Real good.
For several minutes, neither of them spoke. There was little to say. They were both enjoying the euphoria. Marta’s fear had been alleviated. She was savoring the moment. Probably more than she should have.
So this is what it’s all about. I like it; I really like it.
It was close to ten-thirty before either of them moved. They had been quietly contemplating their own personal sense of freedom. Freedom of body, soul, and mind. For Xiang, it was nothing new; it was one of the few things that brought him ultimate peace and tranquility. Not so for Marta. She had no preconceived ideas of what would happen. She also had a million preconceived notions of what would happen to her. She was shocked—and thrilled, at the results.
Xiang again thanked her for a delightful evening, for the well-prepared dinner that she served and said he would be pleased to see her again in a few days. He picked up his cell phone, whispered a short command, and kissed her on the back of her hand.
Then he was gone.
The dark blue sedan that had been parked a few doors down left five minutes after Mr. Yeung’s chauffeur picked him up. As he was about to drive away, he saw the lights of Marta’s apartment go off. She was retiring for the evening.
Rik did not get it. Not for a single minute.
***
Marta lay in bed trying to recall exactly what sensations she had felt. They were warm and wonderful and vague at best. She felt a warm glow that enveloped her entire body. Then she did something she had not done in years.
She masturbated.
She masturbated like it was the most magnificent thing she had ever experienced.
And it was.
CHAPTER 34
Billy Jo decided it was time for a partners’ meeting, to review what new clients they had taken on in the past few months, how many more new clients they would accept, and most important, their expenses and profits.
As far as Billy was concerned, it was a business. He was not a tree hugger; he did not care how many minnows died in the making of the Hoover Dam or if the poor could not afford adequate legal representation. Billy was only concerned about the rich—and whether they could afford his services.
Black Jack Renaldo came from a long line of lawyers. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all lawyers in the great State of West Virginia. He was taught from a mere boy, there was no greater calling than to serve your country.
To the Renaldos, country meant State. The federal government had screwed up so many times; there was no longer hope for the Union. Their loyalty ran to the State. The state where General George McClellan drove off General Robert E. Lee. As a result of the Wheeling Convention, West Virginia was allowed to form their own government, and they ultimately sided with the Union.
Money was never an issue for Jack. When you have it, you don’t worry about it and have no fear of spending it. Jack assumed it would always be there. It was why he began his law career as an assistant US attorney and ended up as The United States Attorney for West Virginia.
The fact he granted special favors as a government official to a few old friends had nothing to do with money or paybacks. It was the right thing to do. Their families all dated back more than a hundred fifty years. What else could he do? If you cannot help your friends, who can you help?
Now, Jack was actually working for a living. A very good living, according to those who knew him. The fact the Renaldo name was still prominent in certain political and financial circles did not hurt. He was practicing law because he wanted to, not because he had to.
To Jack, the partners’ meeting was a complete waste of time and effort.
Still, he had an obligation to his two partners and obligations had to be taken most seriously. It was the moral code he lived by.
For a man who lived by a strict set of moral values, Jack apparently did not take one of his vows too seriously. It was the vow of the sanctity of marriage. To love, honor, and obey sounded good when said quickly. He never considered adultery a crime. It was the right of a southern gentleman.
Besides, it was a victimless crime.
What my wife of close to thirty years does not know cannot possibly hurt her.
Southern wives knew far more than they let on. They also knew if their own pappy did it and their mamas did not fuss over it, far be it for them to fight a battle they had no chance of winning.
Mrs. Patricia Mae Renaldo knew her husband began cheating on her the first week of their honeymoon. It was with a black chambermaid at The Greenbrier in the middle of the afternoon. He was supposed to be playing golf with some new buddies. She was going for a walk, had forgotten her parasol, and was about to open her hotel room door when she heard Jack and his familiar grunts and groans. There was no question what he was doing. Ten minutes later, she spotted Jack and the chambermaid leave the room within minutes of each other.
She called her mama in tears and was told she was mistaken. If she knew what was good for her, she would never mention to anyone ever again. Mrs. Black Jack Renaldo never forgot that advice. And she was still happily married today. Maybe not happily, but she is still married. It was more than she could say for too many of her less forgiving friends.
Thank you, Mama. You saved my marriage. And my life.
Jack never had a clue.
***
The last partner was Marta Clarke.
Marta became a lawyer to right a racial wrong. Her father was black and in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was killed in the shadow of the Washington Monument during what was billed as a peaceful demonstration. No one knew how it happened, and more important, no one cared. There was only one person who vowed to make a difference. She was now a full partner in the criminal law firm of Gibson and Clarke.
The best lawyers money could buy.
Marta now had to decide. Why had she become a lawyer in the first place? Why was she now a lawyer? Did her priorities change and if so, what were they now?
And what was going on with Xiang and her new smoking episode?
Lots of questions. Very few answers.
***
The partners’ meeting was a mere formality. Jack would have called it a waste of time. Billy Jo had an agenda and ran through it like a marathon runner breaking the tape. Marta and Jack smiled and voted yes on everything Billy proposed. It was the easiest way, and besides, Billy was indeed the rainmaker of the firm. He was the one to yes new clients to death, he was the one who sprung for expensive dinners, and he was the one that made the pot boil.
Every successful litigation law firm, especially one practicing criminal defense work, needed three things. An accomplished trial attorney who keeps his promises and produces results; a good organizer, usually called the managing partner; and most important, a rainmaker who brings in the business.
Gibson and Clarke had all three.
“I think this calls for a celebration. Let’s all meet at Grimaldi’s Steak House for dinner. After looking at what we made in three short months, the firm can well afford it.”
Billy had all the books and records to show the net profit for the past ninety days was just over one point three million. Billy had proposed a distribution of two hundred fifty thousand to each partner. Marta was flabbergasted. That was more money than she had made in the last two years, and this was only the first quarter.
Holy crap. Why, after taxes, I will have netted more than one hundred seventy thousand bucks.
Marta had forgotten she had tentative plans to meet with Xiang this evening.
Jack pleaded he had a plane to catch, but Billy would not hear of it. Making that kind of cash called for a party. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt their reputation if the three of them were all seen together celebrating. Word would quickly get out something big had happened at Gibson and Clarke.
As far as Billy was concerned, that was what he lived for.
Recognition by his peers.
What could possibly be sweeter?
Dinner was a huge success, depending on how you define the word success.
There was not a patron in the high-end restaurant that did not know Billy Jo Gibson was celebrating with the firm he put together, a remarkable first quarter. Billy did everything except bring a chalk board with the exact figures written in three-foot letters.
The waitstaff loved a big tipper. Billy loved to play the role of the big tipper and had the means to prove it. It was a marriage made on Wall Street or a convention of high rolling four flushers.
All Marta could think about was Xiang and how she must have disappointed him. Not to mention another opportunity to get better acquainted with the now infamous clay pipe.
How could just a few hits of whatever it was in the pipe affect me so much?
She knew it was a naïve question. One that had been probably asked by about a million pot heads before they got hooked. She vowed that would never happen to her. Just a few hits to relax, that was it.
Xiang, bless his understanding heart and nature, made it clear he was not disappointed. There would be other times, he reassured her. Business came before anything else. He did not sound convincing. She apologized and promised they would get together the next night. In fact, it would be sort of a date. She knew this would make him happy. It was agreed he would send his car around to pick her up at the appointed hour.
While thinking about Xiang, she suddenly realized she had not spoken to Mei Ling in a few days. Actually it had been more than a week. She would call her in the morning.
Marta drove herself home and went right to bed. It had been a long but most profitable day. She could not sleep. Her thoughts were all over the place. At the top of the list were Xiang and that damn clay pipe.
And how luxurious it made me feel.
CHAPTER 35
Mei Ling was cordial, but guarded. She knew Marta was not her real friend; she was just doing her job, representing her brother. She also knew if it was not for Marta she never would have agreed to meet with Xiang and would never have received the money necessary to take the clinic to the next level. As for letting everyone know the clinic had only enough funds to keep afloat for the next few months, a little white lie can be a businessperson’s best ally.
“Have you seen your brother since your last meeting?”
“No, but we have talked a few times. He wanted to know exactly what happened to our parents and how they died. He also wanted to know how I escaped the charity hospital, where I lived, and how I met my husband, the one who brought me here and then abused me. I guess in one sense, I should be grateful.”
Marta sensed Mei Ling felt like talking, so she listened and asked a question now and then. It was obvious Mei Ling was vacillating as to her feelings for her long lost and now found brother.
She missed and c
learly loved Xiang but abhorred what he did for a living—the classic love/hate relationship. Mei Ling had no idea how to resolve the problem. It would take time and something else. She was not sure what that something else would be.
Money, remorse, admission of guilt? Maybe something she had not even thought of yet.
Mei Ling was not sure.
The fact the construction of an addition to the clinic for twelve more beds was keeping Mei Ling busy—and most pleased. She knew it was a gift, and in her culture, gifts must be repaid. It is not good—it is not acceptable—to be beholden to another. Not necessarily in kind, but with a gesture or acknowledgement. For more than a million dollars, it had to be a big time acknowledgement.
She felt it would not be proper to discuss this matter with Ms. Clarke. She was the legal representative for her brother.
“May I invite you for tea? I have the same as you and your brother. It was a gift from Mr. Yeung. He is a most thoughtful gentleman.”
And he gives me some great coke.
“You are so gracious, Ms. Clarke. I think I would like that.”
“Good, and please, call me Marta. I may not be your closest friend, but I am certainly not your enemy. I am merely doing my job. I understand your dilemma and like you very much.”
The two of them made arrangements to meet in Newark, at Marta’s apartment, on Saturday afternoon. She felt Xiang would be pleased to hear there had been some progress. It was now very important to please Xiang in any way she could.
***
Rik was having trouble finding a new job. It had nothing to do with Marta. She had promised she would give him a good recommendation and state their philosophies regarding guilt and innocence of one merely accused were not in sync. The fact he was a special investigator for the sheriff for a number of years, made a switch to work for a criminal defense firm, and left less than thirty days later raised some serious questions.