two-room suite at the Drake Hotel on
Park Avenue, reserved and paid for.
The suite was leased for a month
Hawkins thought it would be enough
time.
For what? MacKenzie was not yet
ready to "spell it out." However, Sam
was not to worry; everything was "on
the expense account."
Whose expense account?
The corporation's.
What corporation?
The one Sam would soon be forming.
Absurd!
Forty million dollars' worth of
delusions that screamed for a frontal
lobotomy.
79 i
And now a cashier's check for ten
thousand dollars. Free and clear and
no receipt required.
Ridiculous! Hawkins could not afford
it. Besides, he had gone too far.
People did not send other people
(especially lawyers) ten thousand
dollars without some kind of expla-
nation. It simply was not healthy.
Sam walked over to the hotel
telephone, checked the confusing
litany on the pull-out tab beneath the
instrument, and placed a call to
MacKenzie.
"Goddamn, boyt That's no way to
behave! I mean, you might at least say
thank you."
"What the hell for? Accessory to
theft? Where did you get ten thousand
dollars?"
"Right out of the bank."
"Your savings?"
"That's right. Didn't steal from
anyone but myself."
"But why?"
There was a slight pause in
Washington. "You used the word, son.
I believe you called it a retainer."
There was a second pause. In New
York. "I think I said I was the only
lawyer I knew who had a retainer based
in the sort of blackmail that could
march me in front of a firing squad."
"That's what you said. And I wanted
to correct that impression. I want you
to know I value your services. I
surely wouldn't want you to think I
didn't appreciate you."
"Cut it out! You can't afford it and
I haven't done anything."
"Well, boy, I believe I'm in a
better position to judge what I can
afford. And you did do something. You
got me out of China some four thousand
years before my parole was due."
"That's different. I mean "
"And tomorrow's going to be your
first day of work," interrupted the
Hawk. "Not much, but a beginning."
There was now a long pause in New
York. "Before you say anything, you
should understand that as a member of
the bar, I subscribe to a canon of
ethics that is very specific. I'll do
nothing to jeopardize my standing as
an attorney."
Hawkins replied loudly, with no
pause whatsoever, "I should hope not!
Goddamn, boy, I don't want any
slippery shyster in my corporation.
Wouldn't look good on the stationery
"
"Mac!" roared Devereaux in
exasperation. "You didn't have
stationery printed?"
"No. I just said that. But it's a hell
of an idea."
Sam did his best to control himself.
"Please. Please. There's a law firm in
Boston and a very nice man who'll be
on the Supreme Court someday who
expects me back in a couple of weeks.
He wouldn't look kindly on my being
employed by somebody else during my
leave. And you said my work for you
would be finished in three or four
weeks. So no stationery."
"All right," agreed Hawkins sadly.
"Now, what's on for tomorrow? I'll
charge you by the day and deduct it
from the ten thousand and return the
rest at the end of the month. From
Boston."
'Oh, don't worry about that."
"I do worry. I should also tell you
that I'm not licensed to practice in
the state of New York. I may have to
pay outside attorney's'fees; depending
upon what you want done. I gather it
involves filing for this corporation
of yours." Devereaux lit a cigarette.
He was happy to see that his hands
were not shaking.
"Not yet. We'll get to that in a
couple of days. Tomorrow I want you to
check out a man named Dellacroce.
Angelo Dellacroce. He lives in
Scarsdale. He's got several companies
in New York."
"What do you mean, 'check out'?"
"Well, I understand he's had
business problems. I'd like to know
how serious they are. Or were. Sort of
find out what his current state of
well-being is."
" 'Well-being'?"
"Yeah. In the sense of his being
around and not in jail, or anything
like that."
Devereaux paused, then spoke calmly,
as if explaining to a child. "I'm a
lawyer, not a private investigator.
Lawyers only do what you're talking
about on television."
Again MacKenzie Hawkins replied quickly.
''I can't be81
lievethat. If somebody wants to become
part of a corporation, the attorney
for the company should find out if the
fellow's on the up-and-up, shouldn't
he?"
"Well, it would depend on the degree
of participation, I suppose."
"It's considerable."
"You mean this Angelo Dellacroce has
expressed interestP"
"In a way, yes. But I wouldn't want
him to think I was being rude by
making inquiries, if you know what I
mean."
Devereaux noticed that his hand now
trembled slightly. It was a bad sign;
better than a pained stomach but still
bad. "I've got that strange feeling
again. You're not telling me things
you should tell me."
"All in good time. Can you do what I
ask?"
"Well, there's a firm-here in the
city that my office uses used to use,
anyway. Probably still does. They
might be able to help."
"That's fine. You see them. But
don't forget, Sam, we've got a
lawyer-client relationship. That's
like a doctor or a priest or a good
whore; my name doesn't get mentioned."
"I could do without the last
reference," said Devereaux.
Damn it. His stomach growled. He hung
up.
':Angelo Dellacroce!" Jesse Barton,
senior partner, sonof-founder, Barton,
Barton and Whistlewhite, laughed.
"Sam, you've been away too long!"
"That bad?"
"Let's put it this way. If our
mutual Boston friend and your
erstwhile employer I assume he's still
your employer Aaron Pinkus, thought
you were seriously considering
Dellacroce for some kind of money
deal, he'd ca
ll your mother."
"That bad?"
"I'm not kidding. Aaron would
question your sand* and personally
remove your name from the office
door." Barton leaned forward.
"Dellacroce is Cosa Nostra with a
capital Mafia. He's so high in the
charity rackets the cardinal invites
him to the Alfred E. Smith dinner
every year. And naturally, he's
untouchable. He drives district
attorneys 82
and prosecutors right out of their
gourds. They can't get him, but not
for lack of trying."
"Then Aaron mustn't learn of my very
innocent inquiry," replied Sam in
confidence.
"Your indiscretion is safe with me.
Incidentally, is it an indiscretions
This party of yours, is he really that
naive?"
Sam's stomach began to answer for
him. He spoke rapidly to cover the
sound. "In my judgment, yes. I'm
paying back a debt, Jesse. My client
saved my ass in Indochina."
"I see."
"So he's important to me," continued
Sam. "And according to you he's naive.
About this Dellacroce."
"Don't take my word for it," said
Barton, reaching for his telephone.
"Miss Dempsey, get me Phil Jensen
downtown, please." Jesse replaced the
receiver. "Jensen's second in command
at the prosecutor's office. Federal
district, not municipal. Dellacroce's
been a target over there ever since
Phil joined; that was damn near three
years ago. Jensen gave up an easy
sixty thou' to go after the evil
people."
''Commendable."
"Bullshit. He wants to be a senator
or better. That's where the real money
is " The telephone rang. Barton picked
it up. "Thank you.... Hello, Phil?
Jesse. Phil, I've got an old friend
here; he's been away for a few years.
He was asking me about Angelo
Dellacrocc
The explosion on the other end of
the line reverberated throughout the
office. Jesse winced. "No, for
Christ's sake, he's not involved with
him. Do you think I'm crazy?. . . I
told you he's been away; out of the
country, as a matter of fact." Jesse
listened for a moment and looked over
at Sam "Were you in northern Italy?.
. . Where, Phil?. . . Around Milan?"
Devereaux shook his head. Barton
continued, one ear at the telephone,
his words directed at Sam
"Or Marseilles? . . . Or Ankara? . .
. What about Rashid?"
Devereaux kept shaking his head.
"Algiers?. . . Were you in Algiers?.
. . No, Phil, you're way off. This is
very straight. I wouldn't be calling
you if it was anything else, now would
I?. . . Simple investment stuff, very
legitimate.... Yes, I know, Phil....
Phil says 83
-
those bastards will own Disneyland
next.... Come on, Phil, that's not
kosher; he'll simply walk away from
him. I just wanted to confine
Dellacroce's status.... Okay. All
right. I've got it. Thanks."
Barton replaced the phone and leaned
back. "There you are.'
"I touched a raw nerve."
"The rawest. Dellacroce not only
skipped free of an airtight indictment
last week, but because of a grand jury
leak, the prosecutor's office has to
issue a public apology. How does that
grab you?"
"I'm glad I'm not Jensen."
"Jensen's not. His office will lay
off Dellacroce for a couple of months
then ring him in again. Won't do them
any good; Dellacroce's got his ass in
butter. He slides in and out of
courtrooms."
"But my client should stay away."
Devereaux did not ask a question.
"Several continents," replied Barton.
"Clothes don't make the man; his
investors do. Ask anyone from Biscayne
to San Clemente."
"Well, goddamn, isn't that
interesting? You just can't tell
^,,
anymore, can your
"Stay clear of him," said
Devereaux, shifting the hotel phone
and reaching for the glass of bourbon
on the other side of the desk. "He's
bad news and you don't want
. ,,
m near you.
"I see what you mean "
"I'd rather you said 'Yes, Sam, I'll
stay away from Angelo
Dellacroce.' That's what I'd like to
hear you say."
"See what you mean."
"You're not listening. When you pay a
lawyer a retainer
you listen to him. Now, repeat after
me: 'I will not go
near ' "
"I know you've had a hard day, but
you might put your
mind to the next order of business.
Just sort of think about it."
"I'm still thinking about Angelo
Dellacroce."
"That part's finished with "
"Glad to hear it."
" for the time being. Now, I want you
to begin roughing
84
.
,~
out a kind of standard corporation. A
real legal document that has blanks
for people putting in money."
"People like Dellacroce?"
Devereaux's voice made clear his
position. - ~
Goddamn, forget about that guinea
bastard!"
"From what I know about him I think
you should refer to him as the
Roman-blood-royal. But I'd rather you
never referred to him again. What kind
of corporation? If you want it filed
in New York, I'll have to bring in
another attorney. I told you that."
"No, &~; bog!" Hawkins shouted the
words. "I don't want anyone else
involved! Just you!"
"I made it very clear: I'm not
licensed to practice here. I can't
file in the state of New York."
"Who said anything about filing? I
just want the papers.
Sam was numb. He was not sure what
he was supposed to say; what he could
say. "Do you mean to tell me you
retained me for ten thousand dollars
to prepare legal papers you are not
going to execute strike that file?"
"Didn't say I wouldn't sometime. I'm
just not going to worry about it now."
"Then why get a lawyer until you
need one? And why the hell am I in New
York?"
"Because I don't want you in
Washington. For your own good. And
when a man raises money for a
corporation, he's got to have real
legal-looking documents to give for
it. I reversed the order of your
questions."
"I'm glad you told me. I won't
pursue either one. What kind of
corporation?"
&n
bsp; "A regular one."
"There's no such thing. Every company
is different."
"The kind where profits are shared.
Among investors."
"In that they're all the same. Or
should be."
"That's the kind I want. No monkey
business."
"Wait a minute." Devereaux put down
the phone and crossed to the chair
where he'd left his attache case. From
it he took out a yellow legal pad and
two pencils and returned to the desk.
"I'll need the specifics. I'm going to
ask you some questions so I can rough
out this not-to-befiled, unexecuted
legal document."
85
"Go ahead, boy."
"What's the title? The corporate
name."
"I thought about that. What do you
think of the Shepherd Company?"
"Not a hell of a lot. I don't know
what it means. Not that it makes any
difference. Call it anything you
like."
"I like the Shepherd Company."
"Fine." Sam wrote out the words.
"What's the address?"
"United Nations."
Devereaux looked at the telephone.
"What?"
"The address. Whatever the United
Nations building
.,.
IS.
"Why?"
"It's. . . symbolic."
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