Gangster's Court

by Adam Van Susteren

  Omar nodded his approval. “You could have fifty people in here. The office all yours?”

  Brian walked across the office, nodding for Omar to join him. “My actual office is in the back. At first, I just rented out the back room and the landlord rented this out for meetings like traffic school and AA. My practice grew busy enough, so I made an offer to get the whole place. Sometimes I rent out or use this room for mock trials. Been here four years now.”

  It’s perfect. But the lawyer is more important than the office. Omar observed Brian’s gait. His long strides were relaxed, the man seemed as cool as the spot in front of the air conditioner. “You’ve been in practice four years?” Omar asked.

  “Five,” Brian said as he opened the door to his workspace. He walked around an old dark wooden desk and sat on a new black manager’s chair. An air conditioner hanging out into the small parking lot poured cold air into the room.

  “Where’s the secretary I spoke to?” Omar sat down across from Brian and darted his eyes around, taking in the certificates and framed pictures decorating the office. Omar’s eyes lingered on a suit coat and slacks hanging on a rod sticking out of the wall.

  “Oklahoma, I think. It’s a virtual secretary thing for when I’m in Court.” Brian shrugged. “How can I help you?”

  “You know Jo Channing?”

  “Judge Channing?”

  Omar nodded

  “Not well. I went against her in a trial a few years ago.”

  Omar put a foot on top of his knee. “Who won?”

  “She did. Got my guy guilty on burglary.”

  “Still chose you to handle Tai Nguyen.”

  Brian shrugged. “What’s this about?”

  Omar exhaled and pulled a wad of hundreds out of his pocket. “Does the attorney-client privilege work for anything I say here?” He placed two of them on the desk, pocketing the rest of the stack.

  “Yes.”

  Omar sat silently, thinking over what options he would have if this lawyer reported him to the police and Jo, to wherever complaints about judges are made.

  “Mr. Omar. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

  “It’s delicate. I had a, kinda, a partnership with Jo when she was in private practice.”

  Brian leaned forward, his interest obvious. “What kind?”

  “Started with a tax issue. Then she helped me get in touch with people. I paid her a lot of money,” Omar said and noticed Brian jerk back slightly at the idea of a lot of money. “But now she’s on the bench and the nature of our partnership has changed.”

  “You still have a partnership?”

  Omar casually adjusted his tie tight against his neck. “We’re working on a dirty cop case. Kind of like how I helped her with the Brad Gecina case.”

  “Interesting,” Brian said as he leaned back in his chair. “How can I help?”

  “Mostly I need help communicating with people. Ideally they’ll be your clients too.”

  Brian squinted. “Judge Channing, former prosecutor, was in this business with you?”

  Omar nodded. “Started with Tai Nguyen and me.”

  “If you worked with Jo, then you must know that I can’t help you commit any crimes. I can’t help people who conspire to commit crimes.”

  “I know. I’m talking about dispute resolution, not committing crimes.”

  “Dispute resolution?”

  Omar noticed Brian’s leaning to and fro, concluding Brian must be uncomfortable. “Yes. The biggest problem certain businessmen who have disagreements is, there’s no access to a system to resolve disputes. They can’t go to the cops. They can’t go to the courts. So usually they hire someone to collect.”

  “How?”

  Omar scratched at his chin. “Hypothetically?”

  “Sure,” Brian said with a nod.

  “Hit ‘em with a baseball bat until they make good on their obligation.”

  Brian swallowed. “And you were working with Jo on expanding your business?”

  “I’ve been,” Omar said, gesturing towards Brian, “like a lawyer, advocating for the aggrieved. I want to offer my services to act as a judge—to mediate disputes between two different sets of businessmen. That way they don’t have to just try to kill each other.”

  Brian leaned back and took a deep breath. “What you’re saying sounds insane, impossible, against the law, but pretty clever.”

  Omar smiled. “Glad you understand. But, illegal?”

  “You’re going to have all this evidence of cri-, uh, business practices, being presented and not forwarded to the police. Any good process would result in being an accessory after the fact. Maybe even obstruction of justice.”

  Omar smirked. “Are those even real crimes?”

  “Real enough to cost a lawyer their law license.”

  “What’s that worth? Hundred a year for forty years?” Omar pointed to Brian’s framed Juris Doctorate degree from California Western School of Law. “Four million minus interest on student loans and expenses. We’re talking maybe three mill?”

  “Yeah,” he responded defensively, “millions of dollars.”

  Omar clasped his hands together. “In my business model, my partner would get there in a couple years, not a couple decades.”

  Brian mirrored Omar and clasped his hands. “How?”

  “Let’s say we’ve got a happy ending massage place next door to Buffy’s Bail Bonds, run by Koreans. The Chinese want to put in a gambling room at Penn’s Glass Repair. The Koreans don’t want the extra heat and attention, but they can’t complain to the landlord about the criminal enterprise without drawing attention to their own.”

  “They can’t go to the cops,” Brian added.

  “Yeah. So where do the Koreans take their dispute? How does it get resolved?”

  “Whoever is more powerful wins?”

  Omar shook his head. “Whoever has the most resolve wins. If the Koreans are willing to burn down the shop, or kill the bosses, they would win even if the Chinese have more power.”

  “So, how would you solve it?”

  “Each side presents their case to me, or someone from a panel I create, and then we help them decide. So maybe the Chinese can move in, but if the Koreans are shut down, the Chinese have to pay them a penalty. Maybe the Chinese don’t move in, but the Koreans have to pay them the difference between rent at that location and a more expensive location somewhere else. Figuring both business enterprises’ risks and rewards, I’d make a ruling.”

  “How much do you charge? How would these criminals abide by the ruling?”

  Omar smiled at Brian’s obvious interest in money.

  Brian continued, “A black market justice system is probably going to put you and everyone involved in prison.”

  Omar held up one finger. “Whatever the market will bear.” He held up his second finger. “I’ll make sure of it.” He held up his third finger. “No, we wouldn’t go to prison.”

  Brian opened his mouth but words didn’t come out.

  Omar leaned forward. “Civil mediators charge five hundred an hour, right?”

  Brian nodded.

  “We’re a premium service so can charge more. Maybe two thousand for disputes resolved in an hour, five thousand for a half day. We’d be fast because we wouldn’t have all the bullshit in Court. You’d get two hundred from both sides as an initial consult. And a generous room rental fee for each case I hear.” Omar leaned back. “That is, if I chose to work with you instead of someone else.”

  Brian put his hands behind his head, thinking. After a few seconds he said, “Seems like you figured this all out. How long have you been planning this?”

  “Since I met with Jo an hour ago.” Omar put his hands on his knees. “But I’ve been wanting to find a way to really make my mark for a long time. Jo inspired me to think about doing it as a judge.”

  A ringing interrupted them. “Sorry, there’s someone at the door.” Brian reached for his cell phone to see the feed of who was in the pen
alty box.

  “Probably Tai Nguyen, I asked him to meet us here,” Omar posited.

  “Let’s go let him in.” Brian stood.

  Omar rose, smiling, and followed Brian across the large office. He doesn’t trust me with his files. Brian Hogan was careful to protect his clients, plus he had a perfect office. Got to hook him.

  Brian let Tai out of the penalty box, towering over him and Omar as they walked back across the warmer middle part of the main office to his enclosed private office.

  Once seated, Omar looked at Tai. “How many bosses of Asian gangs do you know?”

  “Couple. Know of couple more.”

  “Can you get in touch with them?”

  “Okay.”

  Omar turned towards Brian. “How are you with taking a few new client meetings?”

  Brian inhaled. “Okay, I think. But I’m not sure. I can’t be any part of committing crimes. Covering up a crime is also a crime.”

  Tai looked from Brian to Omar, then back to Brian. “I don’t get it. What I doing?”

  “Helping him,” Brian nodded to Omar, “establish the People’s Street Court.”

  “Gangster’s Court,” Omar corrected.

  “You like that name?” Brian asked.

  “The gangsters will,” Omar responded.

  “Huh?” Tai asked with a shrug.

  Omar interlocked his fingers and explained.

  Tai nodded. “Really? I know a guy who might need this. My uncle. He use someone to bring in product from Canada, get busted, because person bring in harder drug for another supplier. He mad, but don’t know what to do.”

  “Who is he?” Omar asked.

  “Please, don’t make me tell his name. He don’t want to be known.”

  Omar leaned back in his chair and stroked his tie. “No one wants their name known. We won’t use last names in Gangster’s Court.”

  Tai shrugged. “What I tell him?”

  “That for a reasonable fee, I’ll hear him and the other party out and come up with a solution.”

  “And he make appointment by coming to him?” Tai pointed at Brian.

  Brian held up his palms. “I’m willing to try one test case. But if it looks like anything is illegal, I’m going to pull the plug. Fair?”

  Omar nodded, reached in his front pocket, and pulled out his cash wad. “You still got a table and chairs from AA meetings here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ll set up in the middle. But, I’ll need a bigger chair. Like the ones that raise judges up.” Omar peeled off ten hundred-dollar bills, tossing them on Brian’s desk.

  “What’s that for?” Brian asked.

  “Room rental for that hearing. You’ll be well compensated for your efforts.” Omar looked around Brian’s desk. “Have business cards?”

  Brian opened a drawer, pulled out a thick stack, and gave Omar and Tai several each.

  “Even though they’re probably not, pretend the cops are listening in on every conversation we have. So don’t give any details over the phone.”

  “Okay,” Tai said.

  Brian nodded.

  “And no emails or texts. Nothing in writing,” Omar added.

  Brian took the twelve hundred dollars and put it in his pocket. “Got it. I’ll just wait for a call.” He looked at Tai. “You’re going to try to set up the first case.” He turned slightly to Omar. “What are you going to do?”

  Omar smirked. “Learn how to be a judge.”

  3

  Jo sat on a black leather couch at Dzuy’s modern-styled condominium staring at her phone, willing him to get home. As she tapped her foot against the hardwood floor trying to release nervous energy, she replayed how she would tell Dzuy about Omar being in her Court.

  The front door creaked open. “In here,” Jo called out, figuring that based on the echo, Dzuy would know she was in the living area of the open concept, one-bedroom condo.

  “Hi,” Dzuy bellowed in response.

  With her foot tapping even faster, Jo waited for Dzuy to take off his shoes or do whatever was holding him up. Her glass of wine was already half empty, the one she poured for Dzuy was full.

  “Ready for triv-” Dzuy stopped when he saw Jo.

  Jo watched Dzuy’s big smile fade as he approached.

  “What’s wrong?” Dzuy asked. “Something with Mel?”

  She shook her head. “Omar was in my department today.” She patted the couch next to her.

  Dzuy sat, blinking in disbelief. “You okay?”

  “I think so.”

  Dzuy reached for his glass of wine and took a gulp. “What happened?”

  “Pure coincidence. Some cop busted his taillight and wrote him up for it. He said he didn’t plan it, it just happened that his arraignment was during my rotation.” Jo closed her eyes. “Bad luck.”

  Dzuy set his glass down and put his hand on Jo’s leg. “We knew he’d come back someday.”

  “I was kind of hoping he’d wait six years.”

  “Why six?”

  “That’s the statute of limitations for kidnapping and drugging Brad.” Jo took another sip of wine.

  “Oh,” Dzuy said, reaching for his wine again.

  “I’m sorry, Dzuy. I really thought I was doing the right thing back then. Somehow I convinced you it was the right thing too.”

  “Because it was. Brad was going to get away with stealing millions from the city and putting a shit-ton of mistrust on the police. There wasn’t a good way to stop him. So we did what was right.”

  Jo nodded. “That’s what I tell myself. And I’ve tried every day since to be a better person. A good judge.” She took a sip, looking at Dzuy with concern. “But who knows what he’ll ask of me.”

  Dzuy took a breath. “He knows you. He knows you won’t cross the line. He’s too smart. He’s probably going to ask for help putting away rival gang members, things like that to clear his path. Isn’t that what you said he did with those Salazar guys?”

  Jo took a sip of wine. “Either he got them to turn on each other and they killed their friend. Or,” she grimaced, “he killed the guy himself with a perfect setup.”

  Dzuy took her hand, squeezing it firmly. “Either way is scary. But he also got murderers off the street. I don’t think he’s a bad guy.” Dzuy shrugged. “Just kind of a bad-ass guy.”

  Jo let out a feeble chuckle. “I don’t know. But that’s what’s so scary. I could think I’m doing the right thing, justify doing something against the law, and follow him down the wrong path. I can’t do that. Again.”

  “We won’t.”

  Jo took another sip, then set her glass on the table. “Ugh.” She shook her head. “How was your day?”

  “Usual. Actually, had a positive test on a new technology. Hoping we can repeat it tomorrow.”

  “That’s good,” Jo said, trying to focus away from Omar.

  She reached down to the glass coffee table and picked up her cell phone. After a few taps, she rolled her eyes.

  “What?”

  “I had my ringer off. Missed a text. From Omar. He wants to know if I can meet him for lunch on Saturday at a taco shop.”

  “Shit,” Dzuy whispered.

  “Maybe I should. See if I can get this favor done while I’m still in traffic court and don’t have any real power. Maybe it’s about that officer picking on him? If she’s a dirty cop, I can tip off Matt Terry to get the police involved.”

  “Let’s find out. And hope the tacos are worth the trouble.” Dzuy looked at his cell phone. “We need to leave soon for trivia with Melvin. Or I do. You can skip if you want.”

  Jo shut her eyes. “Melvin.” She opened her eyes and looked at Dzuy’s handsome face. “I’m in.”

  Dzuy leaned forward, giving her a little kiss. “Thanks. You know how much it means to him.”

  Jo forced a smile. “Call an Uber?”

  Dzuy nodded. “Tell Omar we’ll see him on Saturday?”

  Jo nodded.

  * * *

  A h
ostess wearing a tight white button-down shirt paired with a plaid green and red kilt welcomed them at the Tilted Kilt. “Here for dinner?”

  Dzuy nodded. “And trivia.” He took Jo’s hand and walked past a large bar with televisions hanging everywhere. They headed to the quieter section with a dozen tables set before a card table clothed in white.

  Jo scanned the room and saw Melvin. She smiled and waved at the chubby, unkempt man sitting alone at a table. He’s more unresponsive than usual.

  “Hi, Melvin,” Jo said with a warm smile, feeling an urge to find a comb to work on the curly mats of his hair.

  Melvin looked up, revealing a swollen and discolored eye. “Hi,” he said, quickly looking back down at the table.

  Jo looked at Dzuy, not sure what to say about the black eye.

  “What happened, Mel?” Dzuy asked.

  Mel looked up at Dzuy, tears forming in his eyes. “I got robbed.”

  Jo put her hand on the forty-year-old’s back, gently rubbing. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded.

  “What did he take?” Dzuy asked.

  “Everything.”

  Dzuy looked at the floor near Melvin. “Your backpack?”

  Mel nodded and started sobbing.

  “Did this just happen?” Jo asked.

  “Uh huh.”

  Dzuy sat next to Melvin, pulling out his cell phone. After a few seconds he said, “Looks like he hasn’t tried to use your laptop or phone yet, and he’s still downtown.” In a gentle tone Dzuy asked, “Did you have a good password on your laptop?”

  Melvin looked up. “Pi cubed to eight digits and Jo’s middle name.”

  Jo blushed slightly at the further admission that Melvin had a huge crush on her.

  In a serious tone, Dzuy said, “That’s good. Did you have any secure code on it? Code that wasn’t supposed to leave the office?”

  Jo saw Melvin tremble. She leaned across him. “Is this necessary?”

  “I didn’t take anything from the office,” Melvin answered defensively.

  Dzuy nodded at Jo. “I didn’t ask that. Was there anything sensitive?”

  Melvin nodded. “I was working on an algo. But I didn’t copy anything from the office.”

  “You memorized it?” Dzuy asked.

  “Yeah.”