Attorney at Large (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 3)

by John Ellsworth

  She shook her head. No, they wouldn’t want to damage his voice. Put him in prison for forty years, maybe, but in good voice. He would need his voice in prison.

  She tilted the pitcher and filled the glass he selected.

  “Upsy-daisy.” She smiled, indicating a drinking motion as one might to a small child.

  He obeyed.

  The water was cool and soothing. There were even small slivers of ice that he could suck and he was especially glad for that.

  It was the little things that counted in this life, he reminded himself, and wondered how he had ever lost that thread and taken to stealing money.

  It was the little things, damn it, but oh no, that hadn’t been enough for him.

  No, he’d had to frost his cake with stolen funds. And now they were within one misstatement by him of sending him away for the rest of his life.

  He drew a deep breath and guzzled more water.

  “Better?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Much. Thanks. And let me rephrase an earlier answer. You asked had I ever been inside the count room while the security system was disabled. Or something like that.”

  “Close enough,” Kroc agreed.

  “Well, I meant to say I haven’t been in that situation to my knowledge. It might have happened and I wouldn’t know about it.”

  Kroc looked puzzled. “How would that come to pass?”

  “Well—I don’t know. You’re the one asking the questions.”

  “But you’re the one giving the answers and it’s your last answer that has me, frankly, very puzzled. You’re telling us that you might have been inside the count room while the security system was disabled but possibly wouldn’t have known the system was disabled. Is that it?”

  Mickey sat up straight. “Now I feel like you’re putting words in my mouth.”

  “Sorry, but I must disagree. Can we agree to disagree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s move along,” Magence suggested. “That question seems to have been just about exhausted.”

  Kroc shot her a terse look. He was the superior. He would decide when a topic was exhausted, not her.

  She caught the look and stared down at the table. “Sorry.”

  “Let me tell you some guesses we’ve made about the casino’s operations. Fair enough?”

  “Anyone can guess,” said Mickey. “I can’t help you with that.”

  “Hold on. We’re guessing that someone is skimming money from the casino. And we’re guessing that someone is Thaddeus Murfee.”

  You could have flown a 777 ten feet overhead and it wouldn’t have been any louder coming in his direction than the words, “someone is skimming money from the casino.”

  But then, when he realized they weren’t talking about him, that they were thinking Thaddeus Murfee, a great balloon of joy floated up through his chest, and his head cleared. The thought fugue slowed and slowed and stopped.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ve wondered about that myself.”

  “You’ve wondered about Thaddeus skimming cash out of his business?”

  “How could he not? It’s there, it belongs to him, and maybe he doesn’t want to share it with the IRS.”

  “Do you have any evidence what you’re saying might just be right?”

  Mickey looked up at the ceiling as if an entire mural of tattletale images floated there where he could pluck and choose at will, for their edification.

  “Yes. I believe that the system log for the count room security system would indicate the system is being regularly turned off.”

  “Have you examined the log for this?”

  “Not yet. I’m still pretty new. Regular audits of security system logs were on my to-do list. I expect to have an engineer assigned to that task sometime this quarter. Next quarter, latest.”

  He had to admit, that certainly had a ring of authenticity to it.

  Plus it made him look damn bright and excellent at his job.

  The whole notion of examining system logs—auditing logs—was actually brand new to him, but it really, at bottom, was a terrific idea.

  “So you don’t really know what the logs have to tell us at this point.”

  “Not wholly, no.”

  “Well, partially then.”

  “Still no.”

  “Can you bring those logs to us so we can review them?”

  “I can.”

  “Will you?”

  “I will.”

  “When can we expect them?”

  “Soon.”

  “Like, first thing in the morning?”

  Mickey was sweating again, precipitously, and realized he was about to bolt from the room. Strong self-talk helped him stay put. “First thing in the morning? I can have them here. Ten o’clock good?”

  “Excellent. We’ll see you then.”

  Mickey climbed to his feet. “You will see me then. And I’ll have the logs.”

  “What are these system logs, text entries?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent.”

  They walked him to the door with the keypad and saw him through.

  He realized he had no idea if the logs were text entries or scribbling on papyrus, but he had immediately confirmed Kroc’s guess because he was about to break and run.

  He was that close to running from the room.

  He felt the sweat trickle down his back as he watched the elevator lights as the car rose to take him aboard.

  He felt faint but he was damn sure not going to faint right outside the IRS offices. He was too strong for that.

  He wanted to smile but didn’t for fear there might be security cameras spying on him.

  He had done it, he had held his own.

  Damn, he was good.

  23

  Bat arrived at work just before eight the next morning.

  He told security that he had an appointment with Mr. Murfee and security rang Maria Villar, his day secretary.

  “No,” Maria told the security officer, “there’s no meeting on his calendar with anyone named Bat. Does he have another name?”

  Silence.

  Then the security officer came back. “Billy A. Tattinger. Says Thaddeus will know him as ‘Bat.’”

  “Wait one. Let me buzz Thad.”

  Thaddeus was sleeping on his back and his mouth was parched. He swallowed hard and reached for the bedside phone.

  “This better be good, Maria.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. But there’s a man here name of Bat. Says you know him and he sounds desperate. Security said he was about to cry, he was so afraid you wouldn’t know him.”

  “Give me thirty minutes then send him on up to my office. You did the right thing, Maria. Offer him coffee downstairs, and breakfast. He’s probably starved.”

  He flossed while the shower head beat a heavy spray on his head and shoulders.

  Then he shaved in the shower. Slowly and methodically, a task he hated more than any other of the day.

  “Should just let it go,” he told himself. “Grow a beard.”

  But he knew he wouldn’t. Katy hated beards. She hated all facial hair. She was quick to point out that Native American men rarely have facial hair. It’s cultural, she had told him. She didn’t know that she could stand to kiss a beard and so Thaddeus had promised he would never make her try.

  So he shaved. Slowly and methodically, and hated it.

  Fifteen minutes later he was dressed and breakfast was ordered.

  He had missed his daily sprint for Olympic gold on his recumbent bike, but promised himself he would get it in before bedtime.

  The king-size desk beckoned and he took his place at the helm of the casino.

  At the same time, a thought was forming. Maybe he should help Bat with his little criminal problem, in addition to the job he was giving him. Why not? The guy had no money, which was obvious. And without money he would wind up with a public defender speaking for him, which meant he would do time in prison for the pot sale to the narc.
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  While he was at it, another thought formed.

  The wannabe clients he had talked to at the jail when he was being held, they had turned on a switch in his brain and he couldn’t put them out of his mind. They were hurting, those guys, and most of them would never meet with a real attorney, someone who would really get to know them and hear their worries and fears and walk beside them as they went through the hell of facing criminal charges.

  Instead they would get a hurried, bitter visit with a court-appointed attorney who was so overwhelmed with cases he or she simply wouldn’t have the time to really listen and really help. With a target on his chest, he would be a number; he would appear before some judge and the judge would sight in on him and pull the trigger.

  All kinds of bad things would follow and the guy would be hustled off to some insane form of incarceration and left to rot and learn to hate.

  Maybe Thaddeus could figure out some way to donate an hour a day of real, thoughtful time to helping one or two of those folks.

  Not a lot, just one, maybe two.

  He had the office and he had a staff—hell, he had a full-time law firm working for him two floors down, tending to the casino’s legal affairs. He might hit up one of them for some help with his one or two pro bono cases. It would be a way for him to pay back to the system that had made him wealthy beyond anyone’s dreams, least of all his.

  He switched on the laptop and scanned Huff Post, ESPN, his email inbox, and reviewed the weekend special on the front page of the casino website. Looked good there. It should bring them in by the hundreds, and he was glad.

  Service arrived with a blueberry bagel and cream cheese, a carafe of Starbucks, and one orange.

  He inhaled the food, washed his hands, and buzzed Maria. “Bring Bat in, please.”

  “They just brought him upstairs. I’ll send him on in.”

  Bat was shown in and the first thing Thaddeus saw was a changed man.

  Today he was bright-eyed (one eye), clean shaven, dressed in clean khakis and a spotless white collared shirt with plain black necktie, and was wearing a smile as he confidently thrust out his hand to shake. They shook hands and Thaddeus waved him to a couch. Thaddeus took a seat across the Vermont table and gave his new employee a big smile.

  “You just look like a new man,” Thaddeus admitted. “I wouldn’t have recognized you.”

  “Hey, little brother, I clean up nice. Mama said ‘first day, dress to stay.’”

  “Mama’s right on. Now my idea for you is to start you off in a restaurant, working tables. I’m thinking you start out as a bus boy and we see where that goes. What do you think?”

  Bat grinned. In fact, he hadn’t been able to stop grinning since entering the office. “Man, I’m just excited to finally land something. I’m here to please and the job don’t matter. I’ll do anything you say.”

  “Great attitude. Tell the truth, when I was eighteen I left home and walked down the street, no car, no money, and found a job. Guess what it was.”

  “No clue.”

  “Busing tables. At the Varsity Inn at Arizona State University. Following semester I enrolled in some classes. Made good grades, because the only way I was willing to go in that world was straight up.”

  “I hear that.”

  “Ten years later, I earned my undergraduate, finished law school, and now I own this place.”

  “You own the Desert Riviera?”

  “I do. Which means you can’t be fired or let go because of a criminal record. Not as long as I’m around and not as long as you bust your ass to do a great job for me.”

  “You got no worries about that. I aims to please.”

  “Coffee? I’m getting a refill.”

  “Please. Two sugars.”

  Thaddeus retrieved the carafe and two cups from the serving cart. He made the preparations and handed a cup to Bat. Bat took a deep draw of the liquid and smiled.

  “Great coffee. What are we serving?”

  “We serve only Starbucks in the restaurant. In the casino we serve some generic brand, something off-label. Because no one notices coffee when they’re gambling.”

  “How about booze?”

  “Same thing. Chivas in the restaurants, off-brand on the floor. Every casino in the world operates this way.”

  “Got you. When do I start?”

  “Right now, after I ask you a couple of questions. Do you mind if I go into your pending criminal case just a bit?”

  “You’re the lawyer, fire away.”

  “Well, as I recall, you were arrested for selling a significant amount of pot to a narc, correct?”

  “Some might say it was a lot. Compared to what I’ve seen on the streets, it was nothing. Maybe eight ounces.”

  “And you made the sale because you were enticed by the officer? Or am I thinking of someone else?”

  “Must be someone else. I made the sale because I needed the money. Nobody tricked me into doing something I didn’t already want to do.”

  “Afraid of that. So it looks like you’re going to need someone to cut the best deal possible for you and try to keep you out of jail. That about right?”

  “Whatever you say. I jus don’t know.”

  “What would you think if I acted as your lawyer in the case? Would you have any problem with that?”

  “Man, you kidding me? I’d be—privileged.”

  “I don’t think I would have a conflict of interest. The casino is your employer here, not me. I would be acting as private counsel, not on behalf of the casino. I think we could make it work and at the same time keep it ethical so I don’t lose my law license.”

  “Whatever you need to do, Thaddeus, that’s fine by me.”

  “Tell you what. I’m going to file some papers in your case, enter my appearance, and then I’m going to collect the discovery documents from the District Attorney. We’ll sit down, look things over, and decide on some steps we can take to give you a hand here. Fair enough?”

  “Too fair. Man, you’re already giving me a job. You don’t have to be my lawyer too.”

  “De nada. By the way, I charge five thousand for representation in a drug felony case.”

  For the first time, Bat’s smile faded. He looked forlorn. “I don’t have that kind of money. Might never will.”

  “You can make payments. Twenty-five dollars a pay period. Out of your paycheck. Fair enough?”

  “Oh, man!”

  “Good, then let’s shake on it. I’ll have Maria draw up an attorney-client agreement, prepare my entry of appearance, and file some generic motions in the case, including a motion to suppress evidence. I’ve got some friends downstairs who can help. That motion will require a hearing, but you won’t need to testify. It’ll probably just be the narc testifying and most likely the motion will be denied and the dope will come into evidence.”

  “It’s Greek to me.”

  “You’ve been a criminal defendant before. You never went to a motion to suppress?”

  “Nobody ever filed that for me before.”

  “Well, hang on to your ass, because the Murfee Law Group of Nevada is balls-to-the-wall full-on criminal defense.”

  “I’m liking this.”

  “Let’s shake.”

  They pumped hands and Thaddeus escorted Bat to the door.

  He told the security officer to deliver his new employee/client to the Riviera Steak and Chop House.

  He then placed a call to the manager of the restaurant and told him a new employee was on his way.

  “He’s a bus boy. Minimum wage. Plus a percent of the tips. And dock him twenty-five bucks on each check to a note he owes me. Got it?”

  The manager said he understood and that he would take good care of the new man.

  Thaddeus grabbed his coffee cup and returned to his desk. He liked the name of his new law firm, Murfee Law Group of Nevada. He would have it incorporated and get some letterhead, some pleading paper, and some cards to pass out. Nothing big. Just one or two clients, that
was all.

  Then he called the Las Vegas Detention Center.

  He told them he wanted access to the booking log for a certain date. Which just so happened to be the date he had been hauled in. He had heard several painful stories that night from cellmates who were going down the pain path. It just might be that one of them might need legal representation. One, that was all.

  Two at most.

  * * *

  In addition to Billy A. Tattinger—Bat—there was one other brand new employee who started work the casino on the same day.

  Kiki Murphy’s first shift was the six–two—six in the evening until two in the morning. Which were the casino’s heaviest gambling hours. Seventy percent of its profit was made during those eight hours. The remaining thirty percent was taken in over the remaining sixteen hours. So it only followed that the heaviest staffing was during Kiki’s shift.

  She reported a half hour early.

  Her direct supervisor was to be Matty Jones, who was the shift manager for the six–two.

  Matty was a card counter who had gone straight—as Thaddeus described him—meaning he had come over to the casino side of the street and now employed his prodigious skills at card counting, as a casino shift supervisor.

  His job was to locate and eject gambling cheats.

  They came to the casino every night from all over the world, a steady stream of self-infatuated, mostly self-taught, gamblers whose goal was to break the house and end up owning the casino where they were playing.

  Matty’s job was to make sure that never happened.

  Matty reported directly to Mickey Herkemier and indirectly to Thaddeus, who still liked to work the floor every chance he got. Which was becoming less and less as he learned more about the casino and took on more of the hands-on management skills he had been lacking when he first assumed ownership of the business.

  Kiki found Matty thirty minutes before her shift and reported in.

  She had been told to dress so as not to be noticed. She had chosen navy cotton slacks, a white T blouse, and cordovan loafers. She had ditched the engagement ring but was wearing a modest gold chain. The wedge hair cut was recently cut and styled. Extremely attractive but toned way down, that was how she saw herself in the mirror before leaving her condo for the drive downtown.