“Naah. We all know what the cause of death was. All we were interested in was recovering the lead from his body to make sure it matches the casings we found in your car and see if it gives us a positive hit on any others in the database. Mrs. Luskin called and pleaded with us to release the body as soon as possible, so after we remove the bullets and finish with some photos, we’re going to let the funeral parlor pick him up.”
I’ll let him worry about solving the murder case. I’m too busy trying to figure out how to beat the ticket he gave me.
Several days have passed by with nothing exciting going on, so I’m pleased when the phone rings and my caller ID display shows that it’s Stuart’s home phone number.
“Hey, Stuart, I know this is a local call, so now I can righteously welcome you back home. You still single?”
“Oh yeah, I’m still single, but not for long. That’s what I’d like to talk to you about. I want to bring my girlfriend over here, but it requires a special kind of passport, and I want to see if you can help me get through the paperwork.”
“Okay Stu, I’ve got to go back to La Verne in a couple of days to make a court appearance and pick up my Hummer, so if it’s okay with you, I’ll hang onto your Town Car. When it’s time to go out there, I’ll pick you up and we can talk about Thailand all the way to La Verne.”
Stuart agrees, so I’ve got a car to use until next week, and a ride to La Verne to pick up the Hummer and for my arraignment in traffic court. It’s a funny thing about criminal charges when they happen to an attorney. For some reason you stop thinking like an attorney and start sounding like a client, with thoughts like ‘they can’t really do this to me, can they?’ That’s probably why people should never try to represent themselves in court; they’ll be guaranteed to have the fool that they turn into as a client.
I find out that I’m not the only attorney who is having trouble with the law. Over the past few months I’ve been fortunate enough to earn some pretty big fees on cases assigned to me by Charles Indovine, the senior partner of a huge insurance defense firm. His main client is Uniman Insurance, and for having been successful in saving them from paying out on some pretty big policies, I’ve been rewarded quite nicely.
I hear the pitter-patter of huge paws. On our boat, whenever the animal comes into my private area it’s because he’s the bearer of tidings. We call it dog-mail and it takes the form of a note tucked into his collar. I finally convinced the kid to stop letting him deliver my mail in his mouth because inkjet printing has a tendency to smear when it gets drooled on.
The message is removed and the messenger receives the tip he waits for: a pat on the head and a ‘good boy’ compliment. He turns and makes a not-so-graceful exit, knocking things off of the table with his tail. The note is a personal message from Charles Indovine. He wants to talk to me, but not on the telephone. He wants to meet in person.
Indovine and I exchange some e-mails under the heading of ‘policy discussion.’ He obviously doesn’t want his office to know anything about this. We agree to meet for dinner near my boat at the Charthouse Restaurant. It’s a pricy place to eat, but I’m sure that he’ll be picking up the tab.
My Charthouse barstool near the window gives me a clear view of Charles Indovine’s limo pulling into the parking lot. A real gentleman, he gets out of the car himself without demanding that the driver open his door. The limo driver parks down the street and Charles joins me for a drink while we wait for our table. Charles leans over to me and speaks in a hushed tone. I have no idea why he’s talking like this, because there’s we’re the only two people sitting here at the bar. This is obviously something he considers extremely confidential.
“Peter, I’ve got a slight legal problem and wonder if you could possibly help me out with it. Of course, you’ll be given a nice retainer, and I’d appreciate it if on this matter alone, you send invoices to our firm for a special consulting service, instead of the real reason I need your assistance.”
He usually calls me ‘Sharp,’ but this time I’m ‘Peter.’ Boy, he must really be in trouble to get on a first name basis with someone like me, who went to a non-accredited evening law school. As long as we’re using first names tonight, I might as well go along with the program.
“Sure, Charles I’ll be glad to help you out. What’s the problem?”
His answer is a real shocker, because I’d never expect a guy like him to be in this situation.
“Peter, I was arrested last night. The police were nice enough to let me out on my own recognizance, so no bail bondsman was required, but I’ve got to fight this thing and keep it as quiet as possible.”
Boy, he caught me off guard with that one. Years of experience as a trial lawyer kick in and I manage to keep a straight face with no emotion.
“That’s unfortunate, Charles, why don’t you tell me all about it and let’s see what can be done.”
The waiter shows us to our table, but because it’s completely surrounded by others, we request a more secluded spot further from the windows, facing the water and closer to the bar. It’s a slow middle of the week so there’s are several empty tables we can sit at back in the corner, away from anyone else who might come into that section of the restaurant. Once seated, Charles tells me the story, but it doesn’t seem as bad to me as he feels it is.
After his divorce he began seeing one of his secretaries on a social basis. He drove himself to her apartment on the evenings they got together because he didn’t want his driver to know about the affair.
Because she lives in a neighborhood that isn’t as nice as the one where Charles lives, he decided that it would be nice to have some protection with him, so he started carrying a protection with him, so he started carrying a inch barrel, just like the police detectives used before they switched over to Glock and Baretta automatics. It was originally purchased by him and duly registered in his name.
The problem is that he’s not licensed to carry a concealed weapon. Several years ago he did have a valid Carry Permit, but that was a favor from some past assistant police chief who he helped get promoted. He lost track of the time and was under the impression that the permit was either still in force or had been renewed automatically, like some real property leases.
He had a few drinks at his secretary’s house and later that evening as he was leaving, he stumbled down her front stairs just as a police squad car was passing by. Seeing what was obviously a well-dressed gentleman having some difficulty walking, especially in a neighborhood where he obviously didn’t reside, they stopped to assist him. Everything would have been okay if the revolver hadn’t fallen out of his coat pocket and landed on the foot of one of the cops.
“I’ve gotta tell you Charles, this doesn’t sound as serious as you make it. With a copy of your original permit, I can probably make a good argument to the judge that you were confused about the expiration date. He’s probably one of the many judges on your election campaign list, and you’ll get off with a slap on the wrist and a warning not to do it again.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“What do you mean that’s not good enough? Didn’t you hear me? I told you I could probably make this whole thing go away with no conviction, no publicity, no probation, no nothing. What could possibly be better? You want me to do it for free too?”
“Peter, I hear you perfectly. It’s not the results you offer that I have a problem with, it’s how you intend to go about it. I don’t merely want this thing to go away because of your ability to make a good argument on my behalf to a judge I’ve contributed to, I want this thing to go away on a constitutional ground.”
This guy amazes me. In my twenty plus years of practicing criminal law, I’ve never once heard a client turn down a promise of acquittal. That’s all that any criminal client wants. But is that good enough for Mister Indovine. Nooo. He wants me to make a Second Amendment argument.
“Now it’s my hearing that must be defective Charles. Am I correct in assuming that you want to make t
his a federal case? You want me to argue that you’ve got a constitutional right to carry a concealed weapon, a right you claim is guaranteed by the Second Amendment?”
“That’s correct Peter. You heard me right. And I don’t care how much it costs. I don’t even care if we lose. I just want the argument made.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me Charles. I know you’re an intelligent man who watches his finances. I can’t believe that all of a sudden you want to push this rock up a mountain just to make a fool out of both of us, spend a lot of money, and ultimately lose. Not you, Charles. There’s got to be another reason, so let’s have it. Why?” He hesitates and takes another sip of his drink while he thinks over whether or not to let me in on the secret agenda or not. His decision is made, and I now find out what’s really going on.
“Peter, our firm bills several million dollars a year to companies like Uniman Insurance and some other large carriers. We make a very nice living off of our practice, but that’s nothing compared to what we’re going to make if we can land a certain big client we’re now talking to. He’s a multi-billionaire who wants to retain our firm on a yearly basis. If he does, that will mean another couple of million dollars annually for us. In order for him to make his final decision, we want to show him what we stand for.”
“Oh, now I get it Charles. You want me to fight this battle for you so he can see ‘losing’ is what your firm stands for.”
“Not quite, Peter. He’s an ultra right wing conservative who donates millions a year to the National Rifle Association, and we want him to spend that much with us each year too. We want to show him how strongly we feel about the Second Amendment. It doesn’t matter what we really feel like, or even if we win or lose. He’ll be impressed by the fact that we stood up and fought for what we he thinks we believed…it’s what he believes too.”
Charles reaches into his pocket, pulls out an envelope and hands it to me. I open it up and see that it’s a check made out to me for fifty thousand dollars.
“That’s just an initial retainer, Peter. If you can get this case up to the appellate court level, there’ll be another few checks like that waiting for you. And don’t worry, if you can’t get it any further than the Municipal Court, there’s no rebate expected. The check is yours no matter what. Win or lose… but please, no quick making it go away. There must an argument made in court somewhere. An argument that this new prospective client can come and watch.”
He can tell that I’m hesitating. I certainly want to keep this check, but don’t know if I want to make a spectacle out of myself by arguing a losing case and polarizing an entire universe of prospective clients. I’ve got a good relationship with the legal community. My ex-wife isn’t in love with me, but like the rest of the bench and bar that I’m constantly in contact with, she has a respect for my ability as an attorney and my reputation as a guy who never bullshits. If I say I’m going to try a case, they know it’s not just to bully them into a plea - I’m really prepared to take it all the way to a trial. And when I make a representation to the court about one of my clients, the judges know I’m not lying to earn an extra couple of bucks by saying that I know the defendant for years and personally vouch for his intention to honor his release terms and return for further court appearances.
If I sell out and take this check to make an argument merely for the purpose of helping Indovine land a big fish, I’ll be jeopardizing the reputation it’s taken me over twenty years to build, and I don’t know if I can afford to do it, because it might cost more than this in the long run.
“What’s the matter Peter, do you have a problem with the Second Amendment?”
“Charles, I know the Second Amendment by heart. It’s only one sentence. It says that ‘A wellregulated Militia being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms shall not be infringed.’ When I was in high school I was a card-carrying member of the NRA and competed on our ROTC rifle team. And as for your question about me having a problem about the Second Amendment, my personal feelings or problems have nothing to do with whether or not I accept a case.
“Since we’ve been doing business together, on two occasions your firm has retained me to represent people charged with murder, and on those occasions you never once asked me if I have a problem with murder. I’m a professional. I represent any client I take on, to the best of my ability with no regard to any personal problem I may have with his or her conduct. You should know that. You’re a professional too.
“My only concern here is not about your right to carry a gun, it’s about my duty as a sworn officer of the court to not commence spurious or frivolous actions for some other purpose than to serve my client.”
“That’s admirable, Peter, but do you know how many lawyers I can find, probably in this restaurant, who would love to have that check you’ve got there in your hand? You don’t think that by trying to get this case up to a higher level that you’d be serving your client? Hell, Peter, that’ll serve me just fine. I don’t care if I go down in flames, as long as those flames are printed in color on the front page of the newspaper that my prospective client’s butler delivers to him the next morning.
“I’ll tell you what. You take your time and think about it for a few days. My arraignment in Municipal Court isn’t scheduled for another week or so. If by the time of my court date you haven’t decided to come on board, you can send the check back. But if anything else happens, and I mean anything else, you keep the check. Is it a deal?”
“And you pay for dinner here tonight too?”
“Yes, Peter, I’ll pay for dinner tonight too. Now, put that check in your pocket and let’s head for the salad bar.”
Back at the boat after dinner I call Myra and discuss the whole matter with her on a ‘hypothetical’ basis, on the usual ‘no names mentioned’ basis. We talk about it for at least an hour and come up with no conclusions. Once in a while I see the kid making trips to the refrigerator, so I know she’s probably tuned in to the whole discussion. What she doesn’t overhear she’ll probably worm out of Myra. I suspect that they talk on the phone every day. The kid is quite talkative to a lot of people, but I never made it onto her list.
I hang up the phone and sit here looking at Indovine’s check for a little while. Out of the corner of my eye I spot the kid peeking at me from behind her slightly ajar stateroom door. I know exactly what’s going through her mind. This retainer is outside work which has nothing to do with our law firm… the one that she runs… the one that I took over from her deceased stepfather and in which she’s an equal partner. If I keep this retainer, the firm gets no portion of it. That’s our deal on my outside work. On the other hand, if for any reason the law firm gets involved in it, she gets a portion of the fee for administration costs and other charges she consistently dreams up on a daily basis.
Her little brain is probably spinning at top speed now, trying to figure out how to get her paws on this check, and to tell the truth, if she can come up with a solution, she’s probably entitled to whatever she demands.
4
Stuart is out in front of his warehouse waiting for me as I pull up in the Lincoln Town Car. This is the first chance we’ve had to have a real conversation since his return last week from Thailand, and he can’t wait for our long ride to La Verne so he can fill me in on all the details.
It takes him from Van Nuys all the way through downtown Los Angeles just to finish describing his condo there. And in answer to a question I started to ask him during his last phone call to me from Thailand, he tells me that yes, there is an establishment in Bangkok called ‘Lewinsky’s’ and the person that the place is named after probably wouldn’t be too happy seeing the neon sign outside the place, complete with it’s graphic, simulated motion.
We finally get around to talking about the main thing on his mind. He wants to bring his sweetheart over here so they can get married. I tell him the results of my research and from consulting an attorney friend of
mine who specializes in immigration law.
“Stu, if you’re really serious about this, you’re going to have to apply for a fiancée visa.”
“Wow. You mean they really have things like that?”
“Yes. It’s really called that, but the official designation ‘Fiancée Visa K-1’ and it’s good for only ninety days. If you don’t marry her within that period of time, she must return to Thailand and will never be able to get another fiancée visa to come here. They only give a girl one shot at getting married here, so if you’re not serious about this, you’d better not apply.”
“Peter, I’m really serious. What should I do first?”
“The requirements aren’t that tough. All you have to do is establish that both of you are legally able to get married, with no existing marriages still valid. The other requirement is that you’ve personally met with her during the past two years.”
“No problem, I’ve got pictures to prove it.”
“Spare me the details Stu, I’m just telling you the rules. If you want to start the ball rolling you should contact the local INS office because you’ll have to file your petition with them. Your petition will also need two additional forms completely filled out. They’ll want your birth certificate, passport photos, a picture of the twoof you together, your financial info, and a lot more stuff, so be prepared to go into form hell.”
Hey, Pete, I’ve got an idea. There’s a mail order bride place not far from my warehouse. that specializes in girls from the Philippines. I’ll bet they have all the forms and everything, and know exactly what to do. Whatta think about me using them?”
“Sure Stu, that might work, but what happens when you bring a bottle of wine into a restaurant and tell the waiter that you’ll drink your own instead ordering some from the restaurant?”
“Uh, I think they charge you a corkage fee, which is usually about the same amount their lowest price wine sells for.”
“Exactly, my friend. If you go into that place and want them to do the work without ordering from their meat catalog, they’ll want a corkage fee.”
Conspiracy of Innocence Page 3
