by Michael Kahn
I sighed. “Go ahead.”
“Although my law firm is principal counsel to Ruby Productions, there are occasional situations where we are prevented from representing the company due to a conflict of interest with another client. Just last year, for example, Ruby Productions was in competition with a major local developer. Ruby Productions wanted the property for a gated community. The developer wanted the property for a shopping center anchored by a Wal-Mart. My firm represents Wal-Mart in certain matters, and as I result we were unable to represent Ruby Productions in that deal. My client wants to have a back-up attorney on retainer in the event that should happen again. My client would like you to be that attorney.”
I laughed. “Me?”
He took a bite of his sandwich, nodded as he chewed, and took a sip of iced tea.
“To insure your availability,” he said, “my client is prepared to pay you an annual retainer in an amount that would make it worth your while to avoid situations where you would represent clients adverse to him. A generous retainer.”
“Define generous.”
“Two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars per year. For ten years. Non-refundable. If he doesn’t need your services in a particular year, you would still keep the entire retainer for that year. If he does need your services, you would keep track of your time at your normal hourly rate, and if your fee exceeded the retainer amount for that year, he would pay you the balance.”
I nodded. “That is generous.”
“It certainly is. Do we have a deal?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not interested.”
He frowned. “You want a larger retainer?”
“I don’t want any retainer, Rob. I don’t want anything to do with your client.”
His faced reddened slightly. He leaned back in his chair.
“So it’s true,” he said.
“What’s true?”
“You are representing the homeowners.”
“What I am doing and who I am representing has nothing to do with my rejection of your client’s proposal. I am not interested in representing Ruby Productions.”
“You are making a mistake, Rachel.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Perhaps, but this time it will cost you. Dearly. When I tell my client that you’ve turned down his offer, I am certain that he will instruct me to file suit against you personally for breach of the settlement agreement, and he will instruct me to prosecute it vigorously. He is my client. I will obey his request. I will prosecute his claim vigorously. Your clients will suffer, and so will you. There could be significant negative financial and professional consequences for you. You fought the Cloverdale TIF and you won. Why put all that at risk?”
“I’m getting tired of these threats, Rob. You guys need some new material.”
He leaned forward.
“I urge you to reconsider, Rachel.”
I set my fork down, tossed my napkin onto the table and stood. “We done here..”
I paused at the door and looked back.
“See you in court.”
Chapter Forty-five
Jacki Brand shook her head when I finished. “That’s outrageous.”
Benny chuckled. “Old Ben Franklin’s right on target.”
Jacki turned to him. “Franklin?”
“Rachel’s paying the price.”
“For what?”
“For the way she chose not to end her high school date with Rob Crane.”
Jacki turned to me. “What the hell is he talking about?”
“I’ll fill you in later.”
“Speaking of which, ladies, more salami?”
Benny was slicing slabs of Volpi’s Italian salami at the side table in my office. I’d called him on my way back from my meeting with Detective Bertie Tomaso to see if he could meet with us. He came by at five o’clock, having stopped first at DiGregorio’s on the Italian Hill to pick up a Volpi salami, a wedge of pecorino cheese, a crusty Italian bread, and two bottles of Chianti—proving again the good judgment of inviting Benny to your meetings.
“Two-hundred-and-fifty grand a year?” Jacki said. “Sounds more like a bribe than a retainer.”
“That was my thought,” I said.
Benny handed around another plate of salami, cheese, and bread.
“You think that jackass will really sue you?” he asked.
“Who knows. Ken Rubenstein makes lots of threats.”
I took a bite of cheese and then a sip of wine. “This is delicious, Benny. You’re in the wrong profession.”
“I should be a waiter?”
“A wife.” I checked my watch. “I could use one.”
“Is your mom covering?” Jacki asked.
“Fortunately.”
“So enough about Rob Crane,” Benny said. “What’s up with the cops?”
“A couple things.”
“Such as?” Jacki asked.
“Such as Rudy Hickman has vanished.”
“Which one is Hickman?” Benny asked.
Jacki said, “The Corundum foreman that Rachel talked to out at the job site that day. He was the go-between with Gene Chase.”
She turned to me. “Vanished?”
“Apparently. Bertie sent a squad car to his apartment two nights ago. No one was home. The next morning they checked the job site where I’d last seen him. According to the work crew, he’d been gone both days. Back at the apartment complex no one knew where he was.”
“Is he married?” Benny asked.
“Divorced. Five years ago. They talked to his ex-wife. She didn’t know anything about his whereabouts, although they don’t talk anymore.”
“What are the cops doing?” Jacki asked.
“Nothing yet. According to his ex-wife, Hickman disappeared twice when they were married. Once for four days, once for two. Both times he went on a booze and gambling spree—once just across the river to Illinois, the other time all the way to Atlantic City. Just up and disappeared. So the cops are going to give him a little more time to show up. If he’s still missing by the end of the week, they’ll start looking.”
“Did Bertie have anything else for you?” Benny asked.
“I’d asked him to take another look at the results of the tests they ran on Nick Moran’s body fluids. He did.”
“And?” Jacki said.
“You guys ever heard of a drug called Ketamine?”
Benny and Jacki looked at one another and turned back to me.
“It’s a general anesthetic,” I said. “Typically used on animals. But according to Bertie, it’s become a popular recreational drug for humans, especially at club raves, where it’s known as Special K. It comes in liquid, pill, or powder form. The powder form is the most popular. You can snort it or mix it in a drink or even smoke it.”
“What’s it do?” Jacki asked.
“In small doses, it makes you feel euphoric, which is why it’s popular in nightclubs.”
Jacki said, “And large doses?”
“Pretty much what you’d expect from an anesthetic. Medium doses distort your sense of balance and time, make you lethargic, incoherent. Large doses can cause disorientation, hallucinations, loss of consciousness. According to Bertie, that’s why some creeps use it as a date-rape drug. Pour the right amount in your date’s drink and she’ll be zoned out in ten minutes.”
“They found it in Moran’s blood?” Benny said.
“Urine.”
“How much did he take?”
“They don’t know. The body metabolizes the drug pretty quickly. Usually in a couple hours. But traces of the drug can remain detectable for up to a week. That means all we know is that sometime before he died, Nick Moran ingested Ketamine.”
“Didn’
t seem the club rave type,” Benny said.
“You think he got date raped?” Jacki asked me.
“I think he got murdered. He didn’t have any history of heroin use—or of any drugs. What I think is that someone mixed Ketamine into a drink, got him semi-paralyzed, and then shot him up with heroin.”
“And decided to give him a blow job just for the hell of it?” Benny gave me a skeptical look. “What did Bertie say?”
“He says he’s getting more suspicious.”
“Enough to re-open the case?” Jacki asked.
I sighed. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“He said it’s not that unusual to find other drugs or alcohol in the bodily fluids of someone who overdoses—especially someone who doesn’t appear to have a history of drug use. It happens in clubs, fraternity parties, elsewhere.”
“This is really fucked up,” Benny said. “You got a man who dies of a heroin overdose with a date-rape drug in his bloodstream and his shvantz hanging out of his pants. You got a key witness who ends up dead in a stormwater sewer with a belly full of tap water. You got another witness who conveniently disappears. And all three might be connected to a developer who’s probably been bribing aldermen through a shell company. Top that off with the developer’s lawyer, who’s still peeved over that high school handshake and who’s now threatening to sue you personally for breaching the settlement agreement. All that crazy shit—and meanwhile you got a bunch of law enforcement officials sitting along the sidelines with their thumbs up their asses.”
“Don’t forget about the judge,” Jacki said.
Benny frowned. “What judge?”
“Howard Flinch. If Rubenstein actually sues Rachel for breach of the settlement agreement, the matter gets heard by Judge Flinch because it was his case.”
“Jesus.” Benny shook his head. “That’d be a three-ring circus from hell.”
I started laughing and clapped my hands together.
Benny looked over at me. “What’s so funny?”
“You’re a genius, Benny. Judge Flinch. He’s the answer.”
“What’s the question?”
“How to solve Nick’s death.”
“How the hell does Judge Flinch do that?”
“By being Judge Flinch. He’s our wild card.”
Jacki said, “I’m lost.”
“You won’t be by tomorrow morning at ten.”
“What’s happening then?”
“We’re appearing before Judge Flinch on an emergency motion. You and me, Jacki. You’ll be my lawyer.”
“An emergency motion for what?” Benny asked.
I shrugged. “We’ll need to figure that out pretty fast.”
Chapter Forty-six
Counting Judge Flinch, there were seven of us squeezed into his chambers that morning. I was there as attorney for the settling defendants in the Frankenstein case. Jacki was there as my attorney. Rob Crane was there on behalf of Ruby Productions, along with his posse, which today consisted of a junior partner, a senior associate, and a junior associate—all male, all dour. Rob, Jacki, and I were seated on the three chairs facing Judge Flinch’s desk. Crane’s posse stood behind him.
We were there on my emergency motion for a rule to show cause why Ruby Productions should not be held in contempt, etc., etc. The full title ran on for another three lines. The essence of the motion was that the court needed to step back into the case to (a) enjoin Ruby Productions and its attorney from making baseless threats against me and my clients, and (b) declare that there had been no breach of the settlement agreement. It was, to put it mildly, an unusual motion.
We’d finished it around ten-thirty last night. On her drive home, Jacki served a copy on Crane, along with a notice that we’d be appearing in court the next morning to seek a prompt hearing. He’d met her at the door in his bathrobe.
Judge Flinch was delighted to see us. As I had confirmed with his clerk, he had nothing on his docket the whole week. He was leaning back in his chair now and twisting the end of his mustache with his right hand as he appeared to ponder the situation. He was staring at Jacki.
“Tell me, Counsel,” he said to her. “Is it Jacqueline or Jacki?”
“Jacki, Your Honor.”
“Jacki, eh?”
He nodded and smiled, twisting the end of his mustache.
“You are a fine strapping young woman, Miss Jacki.”
Jacki gave him a perfect Miss Manners smile. “Why thank you, Your Honor.”
She looked elegant—and imposing—in a dark blue skirt suit and white blouse. In her blue pumps, she actually stood taller than Rob Crane. She’d towered over Judge Flinch when he stood to greet us as his clerk ushered us into his chambers.
That Judge Flinch was taken with Jacki only improved our chances. The motion was a long shot to begin with—a strategy worth trying only in front of someone like Judge Flinch. On our drive to the courthouse Jacki and I had gone over every scenario we could come up with, including various arguments Crane might try and various persona the judge might put on—but neither of us had imagined a Casanova in a black robe.
Crane cleared his throat. “To repeat, Your Honor, I can assure the Court that there is no need for a hearing over this purported settlement dispute. I can further assure Court that I will speak with my client today. I will advise him of Ms. Gold’s position, as set forth in her motion papers, and I will discuss with him the possibility of a quiet resolution of this matter outside of Court.”
Judge Flinch pursed his lips in what almost passed for a thoughtful expression and turned toward Jacki.
“‘A quiet resolution,’ sayeth he. What sayeth thee, Miss Jacki?”
Oy, I thought. He’s going Old Testament?
Jacki shook her head. “I am afraid there can no longer be a quiet resolution, Your Honor.”
“Really, Miss Jacki. What maketh ye say that?”
She gestured toward Crane. “Opposing counsel and his client have already broken the silence. They have rung the bell of breach. Frankly, Your Honor, as Judge Ito once said, ‘You can’t unring that bell.’”
I could have kissed her.
Flinch nodded gravely and sat back in his chair. “Excellent point, Miss Jacki. Excellent point. You maketh me seest the light.”
I said, “If I may, Your Honor, let me also point out that the bell Mr. Crane and his client have rung is not some trivial sleigh bell. This Court fully grasps the significant public policy issues at stake in the underlying case. Indeed, I described to Ms. Brand this morning the Court’s deep concern that the settlement of this matter would deprive the citizens of our community of the opportunity to observe a hearing on those crucial issues. So, no, Your Honor, the bell Mr. Crane and his client have rung is much closer in size and significance to the Liberty Bell.”
Crane snorted. “Oh, for God’s sake, Rachel, that is absolutely—”
“Mr. Crane!” Flinch leaned forward, his bald head flushed. “Do not argue with Counsel! Not in my Court and not in my chambers. Have you no shame, sir? Have you no sense of decorum? If you have a response to Opposing Counsel, you address that response to me.”
“I apologize, Your Honor,” Crane said in a clipped voice. He took a breath. “Contrary to Ms. Gold’s ridiculous metaphor, no bell—sleigh or otherwise—has been rung by anyone. I had a private discussion with her about my client’s concerns regarding her compliance with all terms in the settlement agreement. Her compliance, Your Honor, and not her clients’. That was a purely private and confidential conversation.”
“Not anymore, eh?” Judge Flinch held up the motions papers, which included as Exhibit A my affidavit detailing Crane’s threat and his client’s offer of a multi-year $250,000 retainer. “This is public, Mr. Crane. Filed down there in clerk’s office for the whole doggone world to see.”
“Which brin
gs me to our emergency motion,” Crane said. “The one we filed this morning. My conversation with Ms. Gold was strictly confidential. She should never have revealed it in a public filing. That is why we are asking this Court to enter an order placing her motion under seal.”
“That’ll be granted…when hell freezes over.” Flinch laughed. “Denied.”
Crane nodded, expressionless. “We would also ask the Court to deny Ms. Gold’s motion. We have filed no claim of breach of the settlement agreement, and we have no present plans to do so. We are investigating the matter and we will be happy to discuss it further with Ms. Gold and her Counsel. But at present there is no justiciable controversy, Your Honor. Nothing for this Court to consider or to rule upon.”
Crane paused and gave the judge an exasperated man-to-man smile.
“Frankly, Your Honor,” he said, “this whole proceeding today is based upon nothing more than idle—or more precisely—overheated speculation. If Ms. Gold really wants to play in the big leagues, I would suggest that she try to develop some thicker skin.”
Jacki leaned forward and rested her imposing forearms on the desk. “Your Honor?” she asked in a sweet voice.
The judge almost blushed. “Yes, Miss Jacki.”
“I realize the Court prefers that Counsel address all comments to the Court and not to one another.”
“Ah, you are correct, Miss Jacki. Dost thou haveth something for thy Court?”
“I do, Your Honor. I wish to express my disappointment at hearing Opposing Counsel make that disparaging personal comment about my colleague. It is unseemly and unprofessional, Your Honor. I was wondering if perhaps you could advise Mr. Crane that if he ever says something like that again to Ms. Gold or about Ms. Gold, I will personally kick his ass.”
“Ha!” Judge Flinch leaned back in his chair, eyes wide with delight. “What a gal!”
He turned to Crane. “Better watch your tongue, sir.”
He looked back at Jacki and glanced at her arms, which still rested on his desk. “Do you lift weights, young lady?”
“I used to.”