Silicon Beach

by Davis MacDonald

  The meeting was at Gelila on Abbot Kinney. Located several blocks from Venice Beach, Abbot Kinney Blvd. was a collection of boutiques, salons and other establishments, just a tad off the beaten track. In the 80s it’d been little more than old cottages and empty industrial buildings. But activists and property owners undertook an extensive cleanup and campaigned to bring in new shops, restaurants and galleries. The resulting eclectic mix offered everything under the sun in just a few blocks. The foot traffic attracted some of the best restaurants in L.A., several bars of note, some intimate, some rough, and of course the homeless, all but invisible to the tony shoppers plying Abbot Kinney’s sidewalks.

  Personally the Judge found it a little too jumbled to be cool and a little too city to be pretty. But what’d he know?

  Gelila’s rustic courtyard was patronized by beautiful people, fashionably disheveled and looking to be casually cool. It was quiet this afternoon with only half a dozen tables occupied, providing a quiet place for confidential discussion.

  He entered the courtyard and started to retrieve his cell phone to call Mr. William Strong, the potential client. But a bearded gentlemen across the court set his coffee down and stuck his hand in the air, waving vigorously. Apparently the client.

  The Judge threaded his way through the tables to the other side, already assessing the 40ish man beckoning him. He wore a dark grey suit, wool, and a club tie of reds and grey. His beard was clipped into a goatee around his chin and attached to wide sideburns which snaked to his ears. The drama was heightened by contrast. He was totally clean shaven on top, apparently preferring a Star Trek Picard to a Friar Tuck. Dark eyes regarded the Judge as he approached with a sharpness which belied the broad smile on his face and his articulating hands motioning the Judge to sit.

  The Judge sat and ordered a cafe latte.

  After some brief preliminaries about the weather, where the man was from (Detroit), where he was staying (the Ritz Carlton in Marina del Rey), how he had found the Judge (the internet), and his profession (public accountant), Mr. Strong got down to business. He had a slight accent the Judge couldn’t place.

  “I represent a certain conglomerate, Judge. It has unlimited money and would like to buy your knowledge and expertise.”

  “I’m flattered,” said the Judge. “Exactly how do they need my help?”

  Strong opened the briefcase at his side and took out a sealed white envelope which he slid across the table to the Judge.

  The Judge took the envelope and opened it. A single piece of paper was inside. A cashier’s check drawn on Chase Manhattan Bank, made out to the Judge, for $500,000. The Judge blinked at the number.

  “That’s a rather large retainer. What do I have to do for it, Mr. Strong?”

  “You have a particular document. My employer would like you to discreetly make a copy for him.”

  “What document would that be?” asked the Judge, getting a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  “It’s a report that was prepared by Carl Greene and given to you pursuant to a request for discovery.”

  The Judge sat back in his chair. Every time he turned around he ran into this damn case. Was it never going to let him go?

  “Exactly who is this conglomerate you represent?” asked the Judge.

  “That’s of no importance. They’re offshore. I assure you their money is good.”

  “If I had that report, and I’m not saying I do, do you think this money would be considered a bribe?” asked the Judge.

  “I wouldn’t call it a bribe. We’d expect you to do some light legal work around the edges to justify its payment.” Strong was all smiles now, ready to cut a deal with an interested recipient.

  “I couldn’t consider such a proposal when I don’t even know who it’s from,” said the Judge carefully. He wondered if he was being recorded.

  “Let’s say there’s a certain Russian conglomerate then. Nothing sinister. Just industrial interests in Russia and Eastern Europe.

  “Are there National Defense overtones here?” asked the Judge.

  “No, of course not. You’ve seen the report. Understand the significance of the technology. But there’s no secret military weapon here. You know that.”

  “Sometimes weapons can be economic.”

  “Judge, let’s not… how do you say it, beat the bush. You would like the money. We would like the report. Mr. Greene is dead. It’s a simple exchange. No one gets hurt. No damage is done. No one ever knows.”

  Again the broad smile.

  “I’m afraid you’ve picked the wrong man, Mr. Strong. As a lawyer I’m an officer of the Federal Court, and in this case, also the appointed arbitrator by the litigants. I don’t take my oath lightly.”

  The smile cracked and fell from Strong’s face. Leaving him looking cold, angry, and dangerous. There was now only malice in the dark eyes. He said nothing more. He simply snatched the envelope with the check back from the Judge, put it in his briefcase, rose, and strode out of the courtyard, not looking back.

  The server brought over the Judge’s latte, and a check for two lattes. Damn, stuck with the check. That seemed his Karma these days. He sipped the steamy foam off his drink and considered their brief conversation. Everything that had happened seemed tied somehow to that damn report. He wished to hell he’d read though it when he’d had it in his hands. Damn Frankie. Damn, Damn, Damn.

  He drove back to his office and settled at the long table in an uncomfortable side chair, a pad in front of him. He drew circles and boxes and lines and arrows, trying again to piece things together.

  How did Strong know about the technology? And more particularly, about the report? Did Frankie offer it on the internet or something? Would he have been so foolish?

  Everybody seemed to know about it. As though everything that happened in the arbitration was common knowledge. How could that be? Were people watching the arbitration? Following it step by step?

  He stood up and began a close examination of his office, starting with his desk phone. He examined it carefully, unscrewing the earpiece end, then the mic end. Nothing looked out of order, though he wasn't sure he'd know. He examined the base, then put the phone down and looked around the office. It was sparse. There was the long table, chairs, bureau with coffee and drinks on top, an old fashioned clock on one wall, and an inexpensive reproduction of a seascape on the other. He scanned the frame around the seascape. It seemed normal.

  He walked over and stood on tip toes to be eyeball to eyeball with the clock. It was mounted on a flat circular piece of wood, a metal frame projecting outward encasing the clock face. Just below the metal rim, in the wood, was a small glass bead. He looked closely. It looked back at him. It didn't light up or blink. But somehow he didn't think it belonged.

  He lifted the clock, back plate and all, off the wall. Turned it over on the table. A hole had been drilled all the way through the wood. The glass bead was mounted in front and two fine wires came out the back and ran into the mechanism box. He pried off the metal back of the clock mechanism box. The wires ran into a small box lodged inside, about the size of a thimble. Out the other end of the box projected a small antenna. A third wire ran to a battery, hearing aid size, glued to the inside of the box. It all looked professional.

  Son of a bitch, thought the Judge. It was a bug. But who? The little he knew about over the air transmitters left him with the impression their broadcast range wasn't far. Was there someone else in this executive suite watching even now as he fiddled with the damn clock?

  Someone had been watching his confidential discussions held separately with each side in the arbitration and his private discussions of the case with Frankie. Someone who perhaps saw him flip through the confidential report, then put it back in the brown envelope and lock it in his bureau.

  They probably watched him take his naps in the afternoon. Listened in on his calls to Katy. The Judge felt like he’d been violated. Like he’d been stupid to ever trust the security of this place. He hung the damn clock b
ack on the wall.

  He strolled out of his office and went door to door to the other offices in the executive suite. It was late in the afternoon and most everyone was gone. Many doors were locked, some were open. There was only one that was vacant and for lease. It was the office second over from his, a small card posted on its door: “For short term lease.” On the off chance it was unlocked, he pushed at the door. It swung open.

  The office was furnished exactly like his office, down to the same seascape print on the wall and the same bureau at the other end under the window. There was even the same wall clock. He hoped at least the bureau keys were different.

  He walked to the window and tried the bureau drawer. Unlocked and empty. He bent down and opened one side cupboard in the cabinet. Also unlocked and empty. He opened the other side cupboard. It wasn't empty. It had a small DVD player/recorder sitting on the shelf, happily running, its little green light blinking at him. A small box sat on top with an antenna. Here was the dump for the video being recorded in his office. He was sure.

  He punched a button on the little recorder and a DVD player dish smoothly slid out, displaying a twirling disk. He plucked it out and slipped it into his coat pocket. He strolled back to his office, brought out his laptop, and inserted the DVD.

  It started to play at the beginning of the disc. It was his office. He and Frankie were there discussing plaintiff’s motion for production of Carl Greene’s new technology. Frankie was making an impassioned argument that plaintiff Hicks was entitled to see Greene’s new technology. And to seek a declaration that Hicks’ technology didn’t infringe. Frankie argued that Carl Greene’s report be turned over to Hicks’ legal counsel immediately. The Judge wasn’t so sure, pointing out that the new technology might be totally unrelated to what Hicks was doing. It sounded like a fishing expedition to the Judge.

  The Judge fast forwarded through several minutes of conversation. Then Frankie left for the day. He said he had a hot date. The Judge held up the brown envelope that Greene’s attorney had produced at Thursday’s meeting. The one containing the secret report on the new technology.

  The Judge was alone. Or so he’d thought. He’d hadn’t known a video camera watched over his shoulder. The Judge opened the brown envelope just as he remembered. He watched himself page through it. He’d been too tired to read it and his reading glasses weren’t handy. There’d been a summary about how much money the new technology was worth at the beginning. Lots apparently. He’d gotten no farther than that.

  But the camera didn’t register what he’d read, only that he’d studied the report for perhaps five minutes. He’d then put the report back in its brown envelope and locked it in his bureau drawer, foolishly thinking it was secure. He’d turned off the office lights and left his office. The video went off. It was apparently activated by movement.

  The Judge watched the next clip. It was dark in the office now, but the camera had a dark light feature that picked up much of the detail. The door had opened, the motion triggering recording. This must have been Thursday night after he’d left.

  Christ, it was Frankie. He’d turned on the lights and went right to the bureau. He brought out a screw driver and pried away at the drawer lock a little to leave marks. Then unlocked the drawer with his key. He pulled a white plastic trash bag from his pocket and shoved the brown envelope into it. Then hurriedly locked the drawer again and left.

  The recording started again with the return of the Judge and the two attorneys on Friday morning. A few minutes later Frankie slid in, looking tired and anxious. The entire hearing was there on video. Frankie looked scared when the Judge started discussing the report. He jumped up and excused himself, fleeing the room.

  The Judge fast forwarded to the end. The last entry showed the Judge a half hour ago, opening the door and going to his desk to make notes. No one had recovered the DVD and put a new one in since the middle of the day on Thursday morning.

  Damn, thought the Judge. Frankie must have been sweating bullets that the Judge would open the bureau drawer and find the Carl Greene Report missing during the Friday hearing. It explained why Frankie had left so quickly. Randall Hicks hadn’t lied. Frankie had taken the report, presumably to sell a copy to somebody. And Frankie had been hired to sway the Judge into giving Hicks access to the report.

  But who had bugged his office, recording everything that happened, including his confidential discussions of the case with his law clerk? He backed up the DVD player file on his computer. Then he looked at the disk properties. The screen indicated that the video took up about 95 percent of the space on the DVD. He popped the DVD out and put it in his coat pocket. He pulled a blank DVD he had in his supply cabinet out of its sleeve, walked back to the empty office, and inserted the blank disc into the DVD recorder. He wondered who would retrieve it. Whether they’d notice it was a different brand.

  CHAPTER 30

  3:00 PM Wednesday

  The Judge returned to his office and stared at the DISC he’d taken for a while. Wondering who he could turn to for help. There was one person who immediately came to mind.

  Manny Leibowitz operated a small computer repair shop in a dilapidated little place in Playa Del Rey Village. Manny had helped the Judge before, setting up his computer and bailing him out when it’d caught a virus.

  The Judge headed for the elevator and the parking garage. It was worth a 15-minute drive over to Play Del Rey Village to see if Manny could find anything else on the DVD.

  Manny had a small shop on Culver behind the flower shop, with a sign in the window touting computer repair. He gave the Judge a big smile as he walked in. A small, rotund little man, in his 70s now, with long hair and a full beard that had been red once but now was mostly grey. He shook the Judge’s hand vigorously, bowing slightly as he did so. Then asked the Judge what he needed, crinkly dark eyes assessing the Judge with good humor.

  The Judge produced the DVD. Was there anything else Manny could tell the Judge about the DVD’s origin or use?

  Manny took the DVD and put his reading glasses on.

  “It’s a common brand of read write DVD,” he said. “Available in any of the larger computer stores.”

  Manny popped the DVD into the laptop on his counter and lighted it up.

  “It’s almost full,” he said. “I’m guessing that’s your video.”

  The Judge nodded.

  “Sometimes people make a mistake and re-use a disc. Wipe it and re-use it. They save two dollars that way. Let’s see.”

  Manny opened software on his computer designed to retrieve inadvertently deleted files. He fiddled with settings. The machine hummed and swished for a while as the DVD spun. Eventually a read out of lost files appeared. There was only one. A Word file. Manny printed it out and handed the sheet over to the Judge. It was a memo from Dick Harper to his Accounting Department. It listed a string of his billing hours on some client matter for the Law Offices of Jordan, Biggs and Stolewater, Dick’s law firm. Dick had been spying on him. Damn the slippery bastard..

  Manny retrieved the DVD and handed it back to the Judge. “That’s all I can tell you Judge.”

  “What do I owe you?”

  “It’s on the house. But don’t be a stranger.”

  The Judge thanked him and walked back to his car. He recalled again Dick Harper’s troubles in California over allegations of illegal phone tapping and bugging of the other side's law offices. Dick was reverting to his old tricks.

  The Judge returned to his office. He deleted the video which showed him discovering the clock camera, and swapped the original DVD back into the hidden recording machine in exchange for the blank he’d inserted.

  CHAPTER 31

  7:00 PM Wednesday

  The Judge parked in his usual spot in the marina and walked to the dock gate. He was looking forward to seeing Katy. Settling into his bed aboard The Papillon with a vanilla martini in one hand and Katy snuggled in the other. Maybe there'd be an old movie to watch on Netflix for a while. He'd take on
e of the Vicodin the doctor had given him and just drift off. He wanted to sleep forever. He paused for a minute, admiring his boat at the other end of the dock on the side tie. She was a beauty. It was a long dock with 30 and 40 foot boats, power and sail, nosed in to slips to either side. There were lights on aboard his new neighbor to the left. A beautiful Beneteau Oceanis3 55, fresh from the dealer, its outline just recognizable in the shadow of his boat as the afterglow disappeared from the sky. But he was too tired for introductions now. Perhaps in the morning they’d have a chance to meet. He’d love a tour of the new boat, or even a sail sometime if it were offered.

  Back in the day he'd raced a Newport 30, a sleek and fast sailor in its time. And with some limited success. But he'd been younger then. He'd gotten busy building his law practice. It had been difficult keeping a racing crew together. And somehow that part of his life faded away. Now he was old. He was a stink-potter, and happy to be one. Queen size beds, showers, forced air heating, electric blankets, TV, fully equipped galleys, spacious salons with comfortable furniture, and most of all quick speed in broaching the channel to Catalina. This was his new norm.

  But some days he still missed the rattle of the sails in the wind. The singing in the rigging on a tight reach to windward. And the heel of a boat driven through the water with a silent power so strong it left a huge wake on top of the surrounding white caps.

  He clambered up the fiberglass steps and aboard amidships. Katy and Annie the dog rushed him at the same time, Katy elbowing the dog out of the way to throw her arms around him and press her tummy with its still very small bump against his. Transferring heat and sexual energy that warmed and excited, making tensions and frustrations of the day fall away forgotten. It was good to be home. And home was now wherever Katy was.

  They had an early dinner aboard. Katy produced special steaks from Bristol Farms and microwaved baked potatoes from the small galley. He did the salad, whipping together his home made Caesar Dressing with raw eggs and assorted ingredients, sautéing self-cut croutons in butter on the stove top. Annie the dog contributed moral support, her eyes never far from the steaks lest one might be dropped and need retrieval.