Fletch Won

by Gregory Mcdonald

  “Sounds edifyin’.”

  “Educational. Also, of course, peons such as I are to be present at meetings so we can understand what research, leg work, is to be done on the case underfoot.”

  “Don’t you mean, under consideration, or under advisement, or something?”

  “Underfoot. So here’s a client, new to Habeck, Harrison and Haller—”

  “Ha ha ha.”

  “Excuse me? I haven’t finished yet.”

  “I should have said, Hay, Ha, Haw. Have I got that right?”

  “Probably. Whatever it is you’re saying.”

  The waiter put their sandwiches in front of them. He said, “Here’s your fodder.”

  “Yeah,” said Fletch. “Thanks, mudder.”

  “Anyway,” continued Alston, while checking his ketchup and apparently finding it satisfactory. “This new client was interrupted Saturday night by the police while removing silver, stereo, and other glittery things from a home up at The Heights. The scandal, and the reason for this gentleman coming to Habeck, Harrison and Haller, is, you see, that the home, silver, stereo, and other glittery objects did not belong to him.”

  “A burglar.”

  “Well, someone in the front lines in the theft business.”

  “Why wasn’t he in court this morning?”

  “Came directly to us from court, having had the wisdom to ask for and get what will be, I’m sure, the first of many postponements.”

  “He was out on bail.”

  “Which modest amount he posted himself. His reason for doing so and rushing off, he told the court, was that he was obliged to take his fifteen-year-old dog to the dentist.”

  “Had he an appointment?”

  “Unbreakable.”

  “A mission of mercy.”

  “Doubtlessly the court is now prejudiced in his favor.”

  “You’re not about to tell me he was lying to the court?”

  “Well, he told us, or, rather, he told Mr. Haller, that while he was in court, the dog, waiting to be brought to the dentist, was howling so in pain, a neighbor shot him.”

  Fletch shook his head. “He needn’t have rushed.” He salted his peanut butter-banana-and-mayonnaise sandwich. “Tell me, did he call up and cancel the dentist’s appointment?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “I’m trying to gauge the degree of this man’s honesty, you see, his concern for the social contract.”

  “In meetings, I am not allowed to put forth such questions.”

  “I forgot. You’re a hanging plant.”

  “That, or whatever is put at the base of plants to aid their growth.”

  “I’m surprised Mr. Haller, being senior partner in an important law firm, would be interviewing a simple burglar himself. Why would he be taking on a burglar as a client?”

  “Ah, Fletch, you are innocent as to how law firms, and thus the law, works.”

  “I thought I knew a few things.”

  “I’ll bet you thought law firms practice law.”

  “They don’t?”

  “That’s not their primary function.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. What they actually practice is something called cooling the client.”

  “Do they teach that in law school?”

  “No. Which is why starters, such as myself, work in law firms a few years at just enough above the minimum wage to keep us in clean collars. Because it is not being taught in law schools, we must learn this technique essential to keeping the law firm afloat.”

  “So what’s ‘cooling the client’?”

  “When a client first knocks on the door of a law firm as ambitious as Habeck, Harrison and Haller, the law firm’s first job is to discover how much the client—the client, not the case—is worth. It takes experience and wisdom to make such an assessment.”

  “I don’t see how what the client is worth has to do with what the case is worth.”

  “Suppose it’s a simple, straightforward case. But the senior partner, who conducts the first interview, discovers the client is rich. Under the circumstances, what would you do?”

  “Practice law.”

  “How little you know. You cool the client. The senior partner, having made an assessment of the client’s worth, decides how much of his wealth the law firm will take from him in fees, regardless of how simple or complicated the case is. It would amaze you to know how a talented law firm can complicate the most simple case by creating setbacks, other delays, filing wrong or useless motions, petitions, initiating incorrect lines of argument, et cetera. The object, you see, is to keep the case going as long as possible, all the while milking the client for nearly every penny he or she may be worth. If, despite the law firm’s best efforts, the case is ever brought to a conclusion, and if the law firm has done a masterful job of cooling the client consistently throughout his ordeal, the client ends up impoverished and very, very grateful.”

  “Pardon me, Counselor, but isn’t that called robbery?”

  “In the law, it’s called building a solid reputation.”

  “Supposing, Counselor, in the initial interview, the senior partner discovers this particular client isn’t rich enough to be worth robbing?”

  “One of three things happens. First, the client could be persuaded that his case could be handled just as well, and more cheaply, by a smaller, less prestigious law firm. Which law firm, incidentally, is expected to kick back to the recommending law firm a percentage of whatever fees the poor client is able to pay.”

  “The rich get richer.”

  “And the poor get screwed. Or, second, if the case has any value to the partners socially, or if it might generate beneficial publicity, or whatever, even if the client doesn’t have sufficient wherewithal to be worth robbing, the case is taken. It is then handled with such dazzling speed and efficiency the world is breathless as it watches. The old-boy network is used. Private deals are struck. A settlement is arrived at swiftly, and cheaply, not always to the client’s complete benefit.”

  “And the law firm’s reputation becomes even more solid.”

  “I’m giving you the internal workings of your average, greedy law firm. At least of Habeck, Harrison and Haller. How some lawyers look at the law, you might say.”

  “You’re robbing me of my innocence.”

  “The third thing that might happen is that which happened this morning, which is what I’m trying to tell you about.”

  “If a person who engages himself as a lawyer is a fool, what’s a person who engages Habeck, Harrison and Haller?”

  “You can see why violence is not always an illogical solution.”

  “A solution discovered by an increasing percentage of our population,” Fletch said. “Have you heard the complaint, The courts don’t work’?”

  “Once or twice,” Alston admitted. “The third thing that can happen with an impecunious client is what I saw happen this morning. A burglar rushes from the court and finds himself being interviewed by Mr. Haller.”

  “The presumption can be made that if the burglar had enough money to afford Habeck, Harrison and Haller, he wouldn’t be a burglar.”

  “A lot of burglars do afford Habeck, Harrison and Haller. There’s a system to everything, you see.”

  “The legal system.”

  “Burglars, obviously, must be represented.”

  “They have their rights.”

  “They are in a hazardous profession. No telling when their presence might be requested in a court of law.”

  “That’s the breaks. And entering.”

  “So Mr. Haller, this morning, after pretending to listen to the bare bones of our new burglar-client’s difficulty, explains to the burglar that many of his colleagues in the burglary business retain Habeck, Harrison and Haller on an annual basis. A kind of occupational insurance, you see. Just in case their earning a living is threatened by an arrest, conviction, and jail sentence. For example, Mr. Haller explains, if our burglar this morning had alre
ady paid such a retainer to Habeck, Harrison and Haller, a Habeck, Harrison and Haller lawyer, such as myself, would have been waiting for him at the police station when he was arrested Saturday night, to do the proper and necessary. He wouldn’t have even had to set bail for himself.”

  “How much of a retainer?”

  “Ten thousand dollars. Not much, really, when you consider that a burglar in prison is no good to anyone. Not to his family, not to his friends, not to the economy, and not to Habeck, Harrison and Haller. In jail, he can’t make a living.”

  “Alston, if this guy had ten thousand dollars Saturday, why would he go burglarizing Saturday night?”

  “That’s not the idea. He wouldn’t have ten thousand dollars. The law firm would have ten thousand dollars. So the man can go earn his living without fret. Peace of mind, Fletcher, is worth almost any price.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “So our burglar-client is told this morning by Mr. Haller that if he comes up with ten thousand dollars within ten days—that is, before his next court appearance—he may look forward to the full services, support, and talents of Habeck, Harrison and Haller. If not, Mr. Haller can recommend to the burglar a smaller, cheaper, less prestigious firm which can be counted on to represent the burglar to the best of their limited resources.”

  “How the hell is a two-bit burglar supposed to come up with ten thousand dollars within ten days?”

  “Guess.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not kidding.”

  “You mean, a senior partner, in a major law firm, is sending a burglar out to burgle?”

  “Really, we only want professionals among our clientele.”

  “Isn’t Mr. Haller technically a member of the court?”

  “He’s a half-decent golfer, and a doting grandparent.”

  “Did the burglar accept this deal?”

  “Of course. Where would his family be if he went to jail? Lock your doors tonight.”

  “In other words, the burglar is now burglarizing on behalf of Habeck, Harrison and Haller.”

  “If he’s going to be in this profession, obviously his professional fees and expenses have to be guaranteed.”

  “Supposing he gets arrested again?”

  “All the more work, and all the more fees, for Habeck, Harrison and Haller.”

  “Alston, you’re making me sick.”

  “I’m sure it’s not the sandwich you just ate affecting you. What could be more soothing to the stomach than peanut butter, banana, and mayonnaise? I must try it someday.”

  “Frankly, I’m shocked. In the first place, that your man, Haller, who must have just heard that his partner had been shot dead in a parking lot, would sit down and have a serious discussion with any client, burglar or not.”

  “It only took fifteen minutes. After the client is hooked by the senior partner, he is spun off to one of the lesser lawyers in the firm. The rent must be paid. The Mercedes must be maintained.”

  “Alston, do you want a Mercedes?”

  “My ambition for one is dimming.”

  The waiter stood over them. “Would you gentlemen like some coffee, tea, or would you prefer sludge?”

  “What kind of sludge do you have?” Fletch asked.

  “Chocolate, vanilla.”

  “No strawberry?” Alston said. “I wanted strawberry sludge.”

  “No strawberry,” sighed the waiter.

  “Guess I’ll have coffee,” said Fletch.

  “I’ll have another beer,” said Alston. “Put a cherry in it this time, will you?”

  “One coffee,” said the waiter. “One beer with a cherry.”

  “Alston,” Fletch said, “I’d like to know anything you can find out about Donald Habeck. Anything you can tell me.”

  “Only actually shook hands with him the day I was hired. A short, pudgy man—”

  “I know,” Fletch said, adjusting his belt.

  “Considered one of the most brilliant criminal trial lawyers in the country.”

  “That’s the point. It can’t be too surprising a man with such a wide acquaintance among criminals ends up shot in a parking lot.”

  “It is surprising,” Alston countered. “He’s the one person you’d think would be safe from that sort of thing. I should think all the villains around here would consider themselves indebted to him.”

  “One coffee,” said the waiter. “One beer with a cherry in it.”

  Fletch looked at Alston’s beer. “He actually put a cherry in it.”

  “I wanted a cherry in it.”

  “Are you going to eat it?”

  “You’re eyeing my cherry.”

  “Sorry.”

  “I mean, just suppose this were a contract murder. A contract were put out to murder Habeck. Who’d accept it? Habeck’s defended most of the murderers worthy of the name.”

  “Hey, a job’s a job.”

  “From what I hear, professional hit men do not like to murder anyone they know, even people toward whom they have nothing but good feelings. Always afraid a connection might be made.”

  “Someone who isn’t grateful to Habeck. Someone Habeck failed, defended improperly, lost the case. For example, I’d look for an ex-client of Habeck who got out of prison lately. Spent time nursing the grudge.”

  “I doubt there is anyone like that.”

  “There must be. Habeck can’t be successful every time he goes to court.”

  “Successful in one way or another. Mr. Harrison, the other senior partner, once said to me, You can commit mass murder in front of witnesses, including police witnesses, and we can guarantee you’ll never go to prison for it. The police or district attorney can always be counted on to make some technical mistake, in the arresting process, indictment, in the gathering and presenting of evidence.’ ”

  “He actually said that?”

  “He actually said that.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  Alston shrugged. “The average policeman in this country has something like six weeks of formal training. The average defense lawyer has more like six years, if you add his internship in a law firm. And district attorneys are hopelessly overworked and understaffed.”

  “How do people ever succeed in getting to jail?”

  “They don’t hire Habeck, Harrison and Haller.”

  “Alston, Habeck could not have won one hundred percent of the cases he brought to trial.”

  “Pretty near, I’ll bet. He gets to choose his own cases. Thanks to plea bargaining, I’ll bet even those of his clients who are or have been in jail have been happy to go. On reduced charges, you know?” Alston quaffed his beer. “But, I’ll look.”

  “Was Habeck a rich man?”

  “Pretty rich. He knew where his next Bang and Olufsen was coming from.”

  “Rich enough to give away five million dollars?”

  “Is anybody that rich?”

  “That’s how I first heard of him, this morning. He was coming in to see the publisher, John Winters. Habeck wanted to announce that he and his wife were giving five million dollars to the museum but he wanted it announced discreetly, whatever that means, so their privacy wouldn’t be invaded.”

  “He’s never been the most flamboyant lawyer, this coast, but he’s never shunned publicity before.”

  “I suspect he’s never given away five million dollars before.”

  “That’s an awful lot of money.” Alston munched on his beer-soaked cherry.

  “What does it mean when someone gives away five million dollars?”

  “It means he ought to get lunch. At the minimum.”

  “No, seriously.”

  “It means he’s a philanthropist. Kindly. Generous. Has the well-being of the world in his heart.”

  “Is that how you’d describe Donald Habeck?”

  “No. As I say, I only met the man once. But that’s not how I’d describe him.”

  “He was a partner in a law firm which keeps murderers out of jail an
d sends burglars out to burgle.”

  “In this country, Fletch, everyone has the right to the best defense.”

  “Come on, Alston. Not all law firms operate the way you describe Habeck, Harrison and Haller.”

  “Not all. Many do.”

  “Is it possible for Habeck to have earned so much money simply by being a lawyer?”

  “Oh, yes. Over a lifetime. That and more.”

  “Much more?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Why was he giving away five million dollars?”

  “Didn’t have anything else to do with it, I suppose. A man in his sixties…”

  Fletch wrinkled his nose in the sunlight. “He had children, I think. Grown, of course. Grandchildren. The impostor I interviewed this morning, the weird lady who said she was Mrs. Habeck and wasn’t, mentioned children and grandchildren. The gardener at the Habeck house said the real Mrs. Habeck is young. I don’t get it.”

  “Expiate guilt. Maybe Habeck was trying to rid himself of his own guilt.”

  “He sounds like a man who spent his life rationalizing away guilt. Professionally. His own and others’.”

  “Yeah, but he was getting older.”

  “With a young wife. I don’t get it. His home just doesn’t look like the home of someone who can give away five million dollars. I mean, if you’ve got one hundred million dollars, giving away five can be a casual experience. It needn’t interrupt the flow of one’s life, the rhythm of one’s coming and going. But giving away five million when maybe you have six million, a young wife, probably grandchildren…”

  “Which of you gentlemen would like the bill?” the waiter asked.

  “He would,” Alston said solemnly.

  “No,” Fletch said. “Give it to him.”

  “You invited me to lunch,” Alston said.

  “You asked me to.”

  “Shall I pay it?” asked the waiter. “I had the pleasure of serving you.”

  “He’s got a point,” Fletch said.

  “It would be the ultimate service,” agreed Alston. “I mean, it would indicate this waiter did everything possible for us.”

  “It is the one possibility you haven’t considered,” concurred the waiter.

  “But what about the tip?” Fletch asked. “That presents a moral dilemma. Also practical confusion.”