Ginger Snaps

by Webb Hubbell

  Dub went from glowing to glowering. “Sorry, I don’t. I’ll see you tomorrow. Uh, thanks for having me on your show.” He stomped off the stage to berate his deputies, slamming a stage door when he finally noticed the cameras following his every move.

  Sam called almost immediately, said he’d be more than happy to escort Debbie to the auction.

  “Throw me in that briar patch any time. I’ll be there tomorrow. Don’t you disappoint.” He was laughing as he hung up.

  Cheryl was holding on the other line.

  “You better have the goods, Jack. Your U.S. attorney actually tried to get me alone in the coat room!” She was not amused.

  “He’s not my U.S. attorney, and I’m sure you know exactly how to handle him. He’s in for a few surprises tomorrow and, if I’m right, you’ll have a huge story either way.”

  “Dub’s pretty confident, Jack. Are you sure? And when are you going to tell me about the girl sitting next to Sam? Dub about shit a brick when he saw her. She’s way too classy for Dub.”

  “I’ll pass on the compliment. You’ll meet her tomorrow. Let me keep a few surprises in my bag of tricks.”

  Paul and Debbie came into the house on a high.

  “Dub blew a gasket when he saw me. What a jerk! But let Paul tell you about it. I’ve got to get out of this outfit.”

  “Cheryl Cole said you were classy. I want you dressed the same way tomorrow. Cheryl may want to interview you.”

  “Classy? Me? No way!” She flounced out without another word. I wondered what she had against “classy.”

  Paul was full of himself. “Jack, it was great. We made an entrance at the last minute. Two of Dub’s deputies showed up and asked us to leave, for ‘security reasons.’ Sam walked in at almost exactly the same time. He kissed Debbie on the cheek and said, ‘Thanks for saving my seat, Paul. Gentlemen, these seats have been reserved, and this lady is with me. Is there a problem?’ Sam loved every second of it, and the deputies backed down pretty quick. You should have seen Dub chewing out those guys. He was hopping mad. After the show the deputies tried to detain Debbie for ‘questioning.’ But once again Sam intervened, accompanied by two deputies of his own. This time the gloves were off. ‘This lady is a witness in an ongoing investigation. If you wish to interview her, have one of your superiors call me.’ He walked her out to my car and said, ‘I’d be honored to be your escort any time. Tell Jack I’ll see him in the courtroom tomorrow.’ He even kissed her hand.

  “Debbie was speechless, glowed the whole ride home. I hope we didn’t telegraph too much.” Paul wasn’t speechless, but he was out of breath.

  “You and Debbie did just fine; you got exactly the desired effect. Make sure you stay close to her in the courtroom. Dub is going to be livid when he sees her.” Paul nodded happily. Debbie emerged in comfortable sweats and big bunny slippers, plopping down on the rug near Micki.

  “Jack, everyone’s here—hadn’t you better tell us what to expect?” Maggie suggested.

  “I’m not sure I can. If the auction is cancelled, we’ll know they’ve figured out what we’re up to. We’ll be back to square one. I don’t think that will happen, but they always seem to be one step in front of me. What’s more, we may win the battle, but lose the war.”

  Stella asked, “What does that mean?”

  “We’re going to have a half-million dollar letter of credit, meaning I can bid up to five million. If someone bids more than that, we may know who the culprit is, but they’ll still have Doug’s research.”

  BACK IN DC, Mr. Kim was shouting into the phone, “Tell that stupid fool to keep the hell off TV and do his job. We have too much riding on this!” He threw the phone across the room blindly, managing to hit the cat, who flew from the room with a yowl. Feeling a little better, he wondered if perhaps Dub Blanchard had outlived his usefulness.

  WEDNESDAY

  May 7, 2014

  56

  I WANDERED INTO the kitchen around six the next morning, roused by the smell of fresh coffee. I could see Stella outside flipping some tractor tires she had found in Micki’s barn. Flipping tires, big tires—my eyes were ready to believe, but it took my mind a little longer. Clovis joined me on the porch, and soon we heard the clatter of Debbie’s skillets in the kitchen. Either the prospect of court or Moira had given everyone insomnia.

  “Any Moira sightings?” I asked.

  “Nope, not even a possible. We’re all on alert. You nervous?” he asked.

  “Not nervous exactly, but definitely on edge. It’s like pitching a ball game. You start to warm up not knowing which pitch will work and which won’t. It can be the fastball, curve, or slider, but until you get a feel for the game, you just have to throw and adjust on the fly. This morning I know I’ve got the pitches, but which one will work, I won’t know ‘til we begin.”

  We sat in silence watching Stella, admiring her energy, strength, and physique. She caught us looking and came onto the porch.

  “Don’t you two throw tires every morning?”

  “Well, actually, no.” I laughed. “You ready to make our case?” Late yesterday afternoon Stella finally discovered who had hacked into our computers.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. Think I’ll get the chance?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. All I can tell you is to be ready. At least it’s not a trial where potential witnesses have to sit outside the courtroom unable to hear anything else. You’ll have a front row seat.”

  “Do I have to dress conservatively, like Debbie?”

  “Wear whatever makes you comfortable, but don’t turn off a conservative judge,” I answered.

  Just then a car pulled up into the parking area. Clovis went out to meet it and came back with a package. I opened it and smiled. It was a digital recorder.

  “Stella, after you shower and clean up, I want you and Clovis to go over the contents of this package and give me a summary. If it’s what I think it is, I’ll figure out the best way to present it. You have less than an hour.”

  Micki emerged from the kitchen with a steaming cup of coffee, finally looking healthy and very stylish in a red suit I’d seen before. I gave her a slight bow.

  “Once again, Ms. Lawrence, I’m just proud to be part of your fan club.”

  “You are so full of shit.” She laughed.

  “I can’t tell you how happy it makes me to see you strong enough to join us. I’ve been worried.”

  “I know you have, and you’ve been doing all the heavy lifting. Any chance you can pull this off?”

  “You mean success? Or just making a fool of myself?” I quipped.

  “Aren’t they the same thing?” The verbal jousting felt good to us both.

  Pretty soon we were all ready to meet the day. Clovis gave me the high sign, and Micki and I joined him and Stella in the living room. After Clovis summarized what was on the recorder, Stella turned it on and we listened intently. Micki gave me a wide smile and a thumbs-up. I returned the gesture, knowing I had a long way to go before I could use this gift from such an unlikely source.

  I usually preferred to appear in court with only Maggie by my side, encouraging the visual of a lone lawyer with one assistant against a team of antitrust lawyers. This time I had my own team: Maggie, Micki, Walter, Clovis, Debbie, Paul, and Stella. I halfway expected to see Eric—and where was Liz?

  We arrived to a packed courtroom. Fortunately, Micki had asked the bailiff to reserve the row right behind the rail for our team. Dub and his entourage hadn’t arrived yet, of course. The usual tables had been reserved for attorneys, but the atmosphere was totally different from that of a normal day in court. Along with the usual courthouse junkies and curious on-lookers, I saw a group of silent, impeccably dressed men in custom-tailored suits: the enemy, no doubt. I also caught sight of several less refined gents, probably car dealers, arguing among themselves. Cheryl’s camera crews had organized themselves in the back of the courtroom, and Cheryl was barking orders. Marshal Maroney sat at a table in front of the jud
ge’s bench along with a court reporter.

  Liz sailed in at the last minute, nodded to a couple of people she knew, and sat down next to Maggie. To my relief, she looked every inch the aggrieved party.

  Sam had gotten permission to sit in the jury box along with several curious clerks. Sitting next to him were Assistant U.S. Attorney Rodney Fitzhugh and Peggy Fortson. After we’d gotten settled, I walked over, offering my hand to all.

  “Peggy, you’re a sight for sore eyes, but a complete surprise. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “When I told the attorney general about our lunch conversation, he asked, ‘What are you doing here?’ I told him you were dreaming, that there was nothing to your theory. He cocked an eyebrow and said, ‘I’ve agreed not to interfere, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to turn a blind eye. If you don’t think it’s worth the trip, I’ll send someone else.’ I decided I’d better hightail it down here if I wanted to keep my job. Rodney and Sam have filled me in on what’s happened so far. If you’re wasting my time, Jack Patterson, you owe me two dinners.”

  I smiled and left them to confer. Peggy and Sam were still working on the aftermath of the Cole case, so they had plenty to talk about. I hoped I would need them again.

  All smiles, Dub’s team strode in and seated themselves at the table next to ours. Dub confidently took the chair closest to mine, pointedly turning his back to me. No handshakes on this day. At the strike of ten, Judge Houston entered the courtroom. It occurred to me that the clock, or to be precise, timing, could be a useful tool in the game of power. The size of the crowd seemed to take the judge aback. He looked a little uncomfortable in street clothes, and it seemed odd not to hear the “all rise.” He shuffled some papers on his desk and cleared his throat loudly. The chattering voices ceased expectantly.

  “All right. Let me say for the record that this is not an official court proceeding. The U.S. marshal is here to conduct a sale of assets pursuant to federal drug forfeiture laws. I am here at the request of defense counsel. My role is entirely that of an observer.” Liz jumped up on cue.

  “Actually, Your Honor, it’s at my request. Thank you. I feel much better knowing you’re here.” Liz played her role perfectly. She was well-dressed in a cream Escada suit and Cole Haan heels. Judge Houston looked a bit flustered, but pleased just the same. Dub’s crew radiated a collective look of disgust.

  The judge continued. “Thank you, Mrs. Stewart, but perhaps you should take your seat. Mr. Blanchard’s office has asked me to allow cameras in court for this auction. Against my better judgment, I’ve granted his request. I take it you have no objection, Mr. Patterson?”

  Micki rose. “We have no objection, Your Honor. We don’t understand the media’s interest, but have no objection.”

  “Ms. Lawrence. I apologize for not calling on you to begin with. Welcome back. Do I take it you are acting as counsel?” The judge seemed genuinely glad to see Micki.

  “Thank you, your Honor. Actually, I’m lead counsel in Dr. Stewart’s criminal case, if I can call it that, since he has yet to be formally charged with anything. Since my co-counsel, Mr. Patterson, made the agreement with the prosecution regarding this auction, he’ll represent Dr. and Mrs. Stewart solely for this purpose.” I knew this would cause a buzz from Dub’s team. We hoped to make them wonder if Micki and I’d been fighting about the agreement to auction the assets.

  On cue, Bullock was on his feet. “Your Honor, we have a deal with Mr. Patterson regarding the sale of assets belonging to Dr. Stewart. I hope counsel for the defense doesn’t intend to renege. Whoever buys the assets needs to know they have clear title.”

  He fell right in, and Micki pounced.

  “Your Honor, our clients have every intention of honoring the agreement. Nothing has changed in that regard. I assume the government will honor its commitment as well. The winning bidder walks away with clear title. For example, if Ms. Stewart is the high bidder for the Healy, the car is hers regardless of how low the bid. Am I right, Mr. Bullock?”

  “Absolutely.” Bullock seemed relieved.

  “All right, counsels. This is an auction, not a hearing. Marshal Maroney, you may proceed. Again, I’m only here to observe.” Judge Houston sat down heavily.

  Maroney stood up and said. “As you all know, the rules have been published. In summary we will auction by lots. As published, the winning bidder must present to me cash, a certified check, or letter of credit for at least ten percent of the bid and has thirty days to come up with the total amount. At any time a bidder may require another bidder to provide evidence of his ability to meet this requirement. Traditionally, I’m the judge of the sufficiency of a letter of credit. In this case all proceeds go into the U.S. Treasury. Any questions?”

  Maroney looked around the room. No questions. “The first item is a 1965 Austin Healy 3000. The automobile has been available for inspection. Do I have an opening bid of five hundred dollars?”

  Liz waited until the bidding from a couple of auto dealers reached three thousand dollars, and then raised her hand, just as planned.

  “I bid five thousand dollars.”

  There was a murmur from the crowd, but no response from the dealers.

  “Sold to Mrs. Stewart for five thousand,” Maroney announced. “Mr. Patterson delivered a letter of credit from Ms. Stewart’s bank to me yesterday. It establishes proof of her financial responsibility.”

  Liz had also insisted that we buy the old pick-up, and she was able to get it for two thousand dollars in record time.

  The gallery grew restive as they waited for the papers to be signed. Maroney finally looked up, and you could feel the tension grow.

  “The next lot includes Dr. Stewart’s computers, his research, his files, as well as his patents and patent applications.”

  I noticed that Dub and all his deputies now sat literally on the edge of their chairs—why bother to conceal their interest at this point in the game? Poor coaching.

  “Do I have an opening bid of, say, five thousand dollars?”

  A balding man sitting in the front row stood up and bid one hundred thousand dollars. Almost immediately a man sitting on the second row stood up and called out two hundred thousand. A third sitting in the back offered three hundred thousand. I couldn’t tell who was conducting this performance, but you could hear a pin drop. Both the judge and Cheryl were paying rapt attention.

  Bids continued to bounce back and forth for a while. Maroney didn’t need to ask for a raise until the bidding stopped abruptly at two million from the man in back. I noticed Dub trying to stifle a grin. I decided to find out who the man was.

  “Marshal, on behalf of Dr. Stewart I’d like to know who offered the last bid and whether he has the where-with-all to bid such an amount.”

  Bullock jumped up quickly, almost as if a spring had propelled him forward.

  “Marshal, my understanding is that only a competing bidder may make such an inquiry.”

  Maroney looked at me and said, “I’m afraid that’s correct, Mr. Patterson.”

  “No problem. I bid two million, one hundred thousand dollars. I now request to know the identity of my opponent.”

  Pushing back his chair as he rose, Dub said gravely. “Your Honor, Mr. Patterson is playing games. He doesn’t have that kind of money. He can’t bid just to force someone to disclose his identity.” The gallery tittered as Judge Houston rolled his eyes.

  All eyes turned to me.

  “I repeat my bid: two million, one hundred thousand dollars. I also repeat my request regarding the previous bidder.”

  Dub looked like a bump on a pickle. Apparently he couldn’t figure out what to say. The three bidders looked at each other. I had taken them off script. I watched as the well-dressed man in the second row scowled at the man next to him, and raised a finger slightly. He was the same man we had seen in the courtroom the other day. Clovis had learned his identity: Ed Thompson, a senior VP at Akron Drugs. The other—I supposed he was an assistant—nodded to the man in t
he back.

  “Two million, two hundred thousand dollars.” He raised the bid and sat down quickly.

  “Marshal, I am a legitimate bidder, and I demand to know the identity of the man bidding and whether he came prepared to present the proper security,” I said sternly.

  Fortunately, Micki had let Maroney know this might happen, so he said. “Sir, I must ask you to identify yourself and present the security for your bid.”

  “What about Patterson, where’s his security?” Dub said loudly.

  Maroney smiled blandly. “As you previously pointed out, Mr. Blanchard, only a bidder may make such a request.” Dub sat down with a thud.

  The bidder walked to the front and said. “My name is Robert Mangum. I’m a vice-president of Akron Drug Company. Here’s my letter of credit.”

  Maroney looked it over carefully and announced, “Mr. Mangum’s security is adequate to secure his bid.”

  Dub relaxed, that is, until I spoke.

  “Thank you, Mr. Mangum. I bid three million dollars.”

  That brought a murmur from the gallery loud enough for the judge to instinctively bang down his gavel and bring Dub back to his feet. Thompson, clearly Mangum’s senior, pulled out his cell phone, but Maroney was ready.

  “Sir, no cell phones are allowed in the courtroom. Please turn it off, or I’ll have to excuse you.”

  Thompson scowled.

  Mangum was of cooler stock. “Marshal, I’d like to know if Mr. Patterson brought security adequate for his bid.”

  I rose and handed my letter to the marshal. He took his time and then looked up with a slight smile.

  “Mr. Patterson’s security is adequate to secure his bid.”

  Dub almost blew a gasket. “How high can he bid?”

  The marshal said calmly. “Mr. Blanchard, that information is clearly confidential. You’ll note I have not disclosed Mr. Mangum’s information either. Mr. Mangum, do you have another bid?”