Downward Dog in Miami

by Larry David Allman

  The senior partner, Jefferson Pike, had attracted two younger lawyers whom he had seen in court. He’d sized them up as up-and-comers, with skills and personality and visions similar to his own. Pike was twenty years older than Anthony “Tony” Oberdorfer and Charles “Chuck” Schein. The partnership jelled nicely. It attracted plenty of clients, including some major corporations. The firm hired associates aggressively and kept them busy with paying work. Pro bono were words not spoken at POS.

  When Jeff Pike Sr. passed away in 2015, from a massive stroke on the golf course where he was quite good at schmoozing current and potential clients, his son, Jefferson Pike Jr., was already a partner in the six-partner firm. Jeff Sr. had insisted on a provision in the firm’s partnership agreement that the son or daughter of any partner would automatically be hired by the firm upon graduation from law school and would receive priority (translation: guaranteed) consideration for partnership after three years of uninterrupted work at the firm. Oberdorfer and Schein had agreed to the provision without much thought. Schein’s son was an associate at the firm with two years of experience and was looking at a partnership position next year.

  It was Jeff Pike Jr. who was the main beneficiary of that clause. A marginal college and law student, and an even more marginal attorney, he was hired right out of law school and made a full partner on the last day of his third year as an associate, all with the blessing of his father while he was alive. Schein, the current managing partner, and Oberdorfer both considered Pike Jr. as a necessary nuisance, baggage which required oversight and the occasional “discussion” about firm practices and ethics. His case load consisted mainly of personal injury cases, as many rear-end collisions as the firm could attract. He was allowed to form corporations and partnerships for minor clients, but always under the guidance of his supervising partner. He occasionally brought in clients, which the firm considered accidental business, because they were never repeat clients or even past-client referrals.

  Three days ago, Lev Lavorosky had needed an attorney on quick notice for a “minor” criminal matter. He had taken the elevator down, marched across the lobby, taken the elevators up to the sixth floor, entered the POS offices, and asked for the senior partner, Mr. Pike. The receptionist had asked if he meant “Jefferson Pike,” to which he had glared and said “Of course!” She asked him to have a seat and called Jeff Jr.

  Lavorosky and Pike had met three days ago. The new client, who had the impressive title of Executive Vice President of Siroco International Investments Corporation, the company which occupied the pricey top two floors of their building, explained that two of his employees had been arrested for carrying guns without a permit, a very minor offense, in his opinion. They had been bailed out on a twenty thousand-dollar bond each. There would be an arraignment hearing in five days, and those employees needed legal representation. Pike knew immediately that he, personally, was out of his depth. He had rarely been in court, and never in criminal court, which was an entirely different animal than civil court.

  When Lavorosky reached in his coat pocket and pulled out five thousand dollars in one bundle of hundreds and laid it on the desk, Pike snapped to attention and forgot about any lingering doubts concerning his own abilities. He could get one of the other attorneys to cover a routine hearing like this. This was what rainmaking felt like. He reached in his right-hand drawer and got out a retainer agreement that referred to the “date of the accident” and “insurance coverage,” but who cared? He could fix it later.

  “We’re happy to help you, Mr. Lavorosky,” Pike said. “We’ll just need this retainer agreement signed.”

  “Not necessary,” Lavorosky cut him off, mainly with a hand gesture. “Do you not trust me?”

  “Okay, sure,“ Pike retreated. Don’t lose the client over a stupid retainer agreement.

  “Good,” Lavorosky said, standing up and handing Pike the arrest report and court information. “Take care of it. If you do a good job, there’s plenty more work for you.”

  He shook Pike’s hand and left the office in one continuous movement, without another word—or thought.

  Pike grabbed the money, looked at it for a moment, then picked up his phone and called his supervising attorney. “Richard, we have business to do. Can I see you… Yes, now.” Pike glanced at the papers the new client had left him. The words automatic weapons jumped out at him.

  That had been three days ago. The firm had registered Jefferson Pike Jr. as counsel of record for the two individuals. The arraignment hearing was coming up on the following Monday. Lev Lavorosky wanted a meeting today, Friday, in ten minutes. And Pike’s supervising attorney was in court.

  * * *

  Lavorosky and one of his men took the elevators down to the lobby, got out, and walked toward the other bank of elevators.

  “Can I help you, sir?” one of the guards called out to him.

  “Do I look like I need help?” Lavorosky barked. “Who are you?”

  “New, sir. Just trying to be helpful,” the young guard in the blue blazer said. “My first day on the job. Let us know if we can do anything for you.”

  “Just stay in your box there. Don’t bother us.” Lavorosky turned and marched on to the elevators, muttering offensive displeasure. The second, larger man gave the new guard a cold stare for a few extra moments, then moved off toward the elevators. They got in and rode up to the sixth floor in silence. The new guard adjusted his blazer, with particular attention to his lapel button.

  Lavorosky and the other man, much larger and with steely eyes, were shown into Pike’s office without delay at reception. The large man closed the door, stood in front of it, and said nothing.

  Lev sat down in front of Jeff. “How’s the case going?” he asked.

  “No problem. We have the arraignment on Monday. We’ll plead ‘not guilty’ and drag it out, maybe for years,” he said with a smug smile. “All we need are their passports and driver’s licenses. They apparently did not have them the night they were arrested.”

  “That’s too bad. I’ve just received some news. They’ve left the country. We don’t know where they are.”

  “What?” Jeff choked. “They’re your employees. And I’m counsel of record. I swore to the court that they would provide the requested items.” His heart was beginning to race. “Can you find them?”

  “No, they’re gone. I doubt they’ll be back. Just fix it,” he said with a wave of his hand, like it was not a problem.

  “I need—” Jeff started to say, but Lev cut him off, gesturing at him to shut up.

  “You’ll take care of it. I need some other legal work done.” Lev moved to the edge of his chair, closer to Jeff, who became concerned for his safety.

  Jeff looked at Lev with a blank face and a mind filled with a thousand incoherent thoughts. Words refused to come out of his mouth.

  “I need two agreements to buy companies. Can you do that?”

  “What?” Jeff was experiencing brain lock.

  “I… need… two… agreements. Can you do that?”

  “Yes… Yes, we do corporate,“ he started to respond, but was again cut off.

  “Good.” Lev pulled a paper from his coat pocket and placed it on the desk in front of Jeff. “Here are the two companies we’re going to buy, Sabra Security and Florida Trucking. The information is here. Just leave the purchase price blank… We’re negotiating.” Lev stood up as if the meeting was over. The second man reached for the door. “I’ll need these agreements on Monday.”

  Jeff knew he needed to say something. The words just weren’t there. Standing in front of him, Lev reached into his inner pocket and pulled out five thousand dollars in a bundle of hundreds.

  “Take care of these things, Mr. Pike. These agreements, they’re just forms. We both know that. This money should take care of them,” he said as he placed the packet of hundreds on the desk in front of Jeff. “Handle them a
nd handle the criminal case, and don’t forget, we have a lot of business for some lucky attorney. It could be you. And don’t ever send me a bill for legal fees. We pay in cash; we pay up front. We’re the kind of clients lawyers want.”

  Lev walked out the open door. The large man followed him and closed Pike in his office. Alone.

  He had no idea what would happen in a criminal proceeding when the court’s orders were not followed—he had never been in criminal court. The tensing of his stomach muscles started to get seriously uncomfortable. And two corporate agreements. Those were long. He had seen some once, even if they were just forms. By Monday! One thought ricocheted around his brain like a high-powered bullet: What kind of hell have I walked into?

  * * *

  Sitting in my car at Sabra after the meeting, I took some deep yogic breaths and recentered. The news that Katarina Truska would be here had hit me in the meeting like an energy bolt. It was such an obvious danger sign. My intuition had pinged loudly in that meeting, but I had pushed them down and carried on to finish with a modicum of professionalism.

  Now, sitting alone, I thought about the situation. It could be a strong-arm move, not my first choice on any case I was involved in, but always a possible tool in the remote section of the toolbox… way remote! It could be something else, perhaps something more amicable, more voluntary. Maybe they just bought her. I hadn’t questioned it in the meeting. What would be, would be. I’m a cyber security consultant, not the director of covert operations for my clients. I had solved the cyber part of the problem Sabra had faced, but I had not completed the job, because the problem still lurked out there, the Siroco crew were still active and still causing problems for others… like Lauren.

  I drove off the Sabra lot and headed for Prime Mortgage. I tapped in Lauren’s cell. She answered on the first ring.

  “I’m coming to you now,” I said. “Do you want to go out to lunch?”

  “I guess,” she responded with half-hearted energy.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Oh Derek, what’s happening? My best friend was killed in an auto accident… and these security guys you got, they’re nice guys, but they’re making me nervous. I need to have security guys with me… all the time?”

  “Yes, you do. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Okay. Do you know how to get here?”

  “Yes Lauren, we have these new GPS things now,” I tried to joke.

  She laughed, just a little, but it was something.

  After I ended the call, I checked my texts. Lenny Brown, the kind of best friend everybody needed, would be arriving at MIA at four-thirty. I had just spoken to him this morning; how had he arranged that so quickly?

  Linda’s text said that she had spoken with George Madadian, the head of the company that provided security for my building in Palo Alto, and wanted to update me. Another message was from James, who told me to fuck off… and to call him. Mixed signals, but I understood: he’d probably had his FBI meeting.

  I flipped on my Bluetooth and told Alexa to send a message to Lenny that I would pick him up at the airport, and a message to James that I would call him back later this afternoon.

  As I negotiated the midday Miami traffic, I flashed on the fact that things were getting stressful for me personally with the Sabra case, and that my relationship with Lauren, although new, was important. I cared about her and her safety and well-being. I also flashed on the fact that tonight was my last yoga class here in Miami. That alone would free me up to focus full time on the Siroco criminals. Good thing I knew how to effectively de-stress. And another good thing: I had next week free.

  * * *

  Prime Mortgage was located in a three-story, standalone building in a high-end area of Miami, surrounded by much larger commercial and residential buildings. Probably the result of smart real estate professionals making a smart real estate investment decades ago. The building sat just down the street from the American Airlines Arena, and, equally advantageously, close to the Miami Cruise Port. Tourists with healthy bank accounts at home were able to easily come by and discuss a second or third vacation home in lovely Florida.

  I parked in the Prime lot. I noticed Bob and Jimmy sitting in a black Chrysler, parked and facing out. I waved, they waved. I was glad to see them on the job. I entered the building with my briefcase through the golden-hued doors, which were intended to reflect wealth and solidity, the way banks used to until they moved into our cell phones. I knew Lauren’s office was on the second floor. The receptionist, battling the attacking phone calls with a head unit and apparent keen sense of awareness, directed me with a hand gesture to the elevators when I told her I had an appointment with Lauren Berger. That receptionist clearly had skills.

  Lauren’s corner office was a nice size for an executive office, and included a seating area and windows on two walls, with some plants and paintings of flowers. I saw it as fitting for an executive vice president of a national corporation. As I got to her door, I saw Jerry Rodriguez coming out of an office at the other corner of that side of the building. I waved to him, and he nodded without stopping, appearing to be in business mode with an open file in his hands.

  Lauren was at her desk, on the phone. She waved me in and pointed to the client chairs in front of her, explaining on the phone something about the pre-payment penalty in the loan documents. I sat and listened, but mainly, I watched her in action. She was a beautiful woman, oozing sophistication and intelligence, but in this moment, weakened and vulnerable vibrations hung around her. My heart ached in a way that I had not felt in a few years. I cared for this woman, it was clear.

  * * *

  The receptionist took the incoming call while she looked up and saw two men entering the building. One was thin and wiry, with gray hair, the other was large in both length and width. The thin one marched up to the desk and pointed with his finger for her to get off the phone. She told the caller to wait a moment, please.

  “Yes,” she said, keeping professional poise.

  “Mr. Rodriguez. I’d like to see him.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. Just call him… please.”

  “He’s in a meeting.”

  “I don’t care. Just tell him I’m here.”

  “Your name, please?” He handed her his business card. She looked at it, told the caller to please continue to hold, and said, “Have a seat. I’ll see if he is available.”

  “I’ll stay here,” he said, giving her eyes and attitude.

  She dialed the manager of Prime Mortgage and noticed that the larger man hovered nearby, observing the transaction, soldier-like. When Jerry answered, she told him a Mr. Lavorosky was here to see him, and wanted a meeting… now.

  “Mr. Rodriguez will see you in a few minutes. He’ll be meeting with you in the conference room, just down the hall to the left.” She gestured for him to go. He nodded and moved off, with his large friend following close behind.

  * * *

  When Lauren got off the call, she stood up and walked over to me, and we hugged. She had some super nurturing skills, but right now, she needed nurturing, physical touch, and comfort. I gave her all that I could: a good, firm, full-body hug and a kiss on the top of her head. She smelled like heaven, a rich sweetness that was unique to Chanel. I inhaled it. Neither of us moved for a good minute. It may have been a new relationship, but there were some solid tracks building between us. We were interrupted by her phone. She released me and walked over to the desk; I saw that the call was from Jerry Rodriguez.

  “Yes, Jerry.” I saw her face move from the comfort of our embrace to something else.

  “Here… Now!“ She listened for a few seconds, then put down the receiver.

  “The guy Cathy met with, the one who gave her a problem… He’s here now! He wants to meet with Jerry.” She paused, her face reflecting disturbing thoughts. “Jerry
wants me in the meeting.” She started to hyperventilate.

  I moved over to her, put my hands on her shoulders, and forced her to look me in the eyes.

  “Let me go into the meeting with you,” I said to her.

  We were interrupted.

  Jerry knocked on the door and entered her office, carrying a file. I released Lauren, turned toward Jerry, and moved over to him with my hand extended. We shook.

  “Good to see you, Jerry.”

  “You too… Derek, right?”

  “Jerry, let me go into this meeting with you. These are the same guys who are creating problems for my client. I know who they are; I have information about them. I need to see them in action, up personal.”

  “What will you do in the meeting? We have corporate rules about—”

  “Nothing! I’ll just observe. I’ll just be another employee making loans. Whatever. It doesn’t matter, just let me be in the meeting.”

  “Lauren?” Jerry asked.

  “Jerry… I’m frightened.”

  “Okay. Don’t say anything, just watch.” Jerry was now in leader mode, making decisions based on the information he had, trying to protect the business as well as his people. He turned and led the way.

  I grabbed my briefcase as we left Lauren’s office, Jerry then Lauren then me, a team of three. I reached into a compartment in my briefcase and located and pulled out a clear plastic tape. As we walked down the stairs, I pushed the record button near the locking mechanism just under the grip, then resettled the briefcase by my side, where one would normally carry it. As we walked into the conference room, I made a final adjustment in my hands and took a deep breath to settle myself.

  The conference room was a nicely decorated, large space with built-in shelves at the far end wall and windows on the adjoining wall. The conference table was six seats by six seats, with an additional one on each end: seating for fourteen. A man was sitting at the far end of the table—the head of the table, which I saw as inappropriately presumptuous. And a large behemoth was standing behind him.