“Because I am Bootsie. Do you ask people why they call you Matt?”
Interesting logic. I was born Matthew and people call me Matt. She was born Fatah and people call her Bootsie. I decided to change the subject.
“So what brings you to Blake & Randolph, Bootsie?”
“Not long ago I make believe I am a nurse.” As she said that she wiped a hair off her forehead with her right hand. At that moment, my heart missed a beat. I thought I’d pass out. She was missing the first digit of her right ring finger.
“Barbara,” I said into the intercom, “please hold any and all calls. I don’t care who it’s from.”
“Bootsie, I have to ask your permission to do something. I request that you allow our conversation to be video recorded. The camera is hanging in the corner right there.”
“Yes, you can make video. Is my hair looking okay?”
I pressed the record button on the desk, and looked at the camera.
“I’m Matt Blake of the law firm of Blake & Randolph. I’m sitting here with a woman who has come forward to talk. Her name is Fatah Alumina, but she prefers to be called Bootsie. Please go ahead Bootsie.”
“Meester Matt, I am frightened. I’m also ashamed of myself. You won’t lock me up will you?”
“Bootsie, here, have a glass of water. I have no interest in locking anybody up,” I lied. It depends on what she has to say. I may want her in protective custody. “Please start from the beginning and tell me what the problem is.”
She reached into her purse and withdrew a photo.
“Thees man is a scoombag.”
“Well, Bootsie, why don’t you tell me who this man is to you, and then we’ll see if he really is a, well, a scoombag.”
I noticed that the man in the photo had red hair and a red beard. My heart skipped another beat and I began to sweat. I poured myself a glass of water. I walked over to the camera and held up the photo.
“He calls himself a doctor, but he’s a liar, a lying scoombag.”
“And how do you know him?”
“He used to work next to me at Johnson Electronics. We would put leetle things into a motor machine and make it go. That’s how I lost part of my finger. One day he asks me if I want to make some money. I had very leetle money. At Johnson they pay like sheet. So I say, ‘okay Chuckie, how you make me money?’ ”
“The man’s name is Chuckie?”
“We call heem that. Real name is Anwar Chudori. He wanted everybody to call him Dr. Chudori. He says he learn to be doctor in Yemen, but I think he full of sheet.”
“So how did this Chuckie fellow propose to make money?”
“He tell me all I have to do is act like nurse and help him to give three physicals in three different cities (feesickles).”
“Do you know anything about the locations of these physicals?”
“No, Chuckie just tell me to be there. He buys me the plane tickets to New York and San Francisco. At each place I help him hang some stuff on walls to make the offices look like medical places.”
“I have an important question, Bootsie. How did you find me? How did you know that I’m the attorney for Ali Yamani?”
“My English not too good, but I not stupid. The scoombag government in Afghanistan would not allow me to go to school because I was a girl. But I teach myself reading and writing English. I read Chicago Tribune every day. I read the articles about the shopping mall bombings. That’s where I read about Ali Yamani, Mustafa Almeth, and Muhammed Sidduq. I never forget a name. In one article they said that you were the lawyer for that Yamani guy here in Chicago, so I figure I come see you.”
A thought gripped me where unpleasant thoughts always do, in my stomach. This woman has a target on her back. If she has the power to get the three defendants off, and she definitely has that, she also has the power to fuck up al-Qaeda’s plans for the mall bombing conspiracies.
“Bootsie, do you still live where you did when you performed the physicals?”
“No, my little rental house was too much money. I move in with my sister and live in basement apartment. It’s a good thing I move. I read in newspaper that my old house burned down last week.”
Holy shit. I’ve got to move fast on this. My new friend Bootsie obviously didn’t realize that the house fire was a hit intended for her.
“Do you still work for Johnson Electronics?”
“No, I got new job that pays a leetle better.”
“Does Chuckie, or Dr. Chudori still work there?”
“He still working there when I left two weeks ago.”
“Barbara, please ask Woody to come to my office.”
Woody Donovan, our ace investigator, walked in.
“Woody, I’d like you to meet our new friend Fatah Alumina. She likes to be called Bootsie. To make a long story short, Bootsie was the nurse who helped in the physicals of the three mall bombing defendants, including our guy Al Yamani.”
I watched the blood drain out of Woody’s face. He sat down like a dropped sack of potatoes. I saw him look at Bootsie’s right hand, the one with the missing digit. Then he looked at me.
“Woody, while I’m talking to Bootsie, I want you to contact the Johnson Electronics Company.”
Bootsie scribbled down a phone number and handed it to Woody.
“Woody, I need you to find out if a man named Anwar Chudori still works there. If he does, I’m going to call the FBI and have him collared.”
Woody left the room. Bootsie and I continued our conversation while Woody made his contacts.
“Bootsie, do you have any idea who was behind all of this? That guy Chuckie wasn’t in charge of the operation was he?”
“No, the man behind thees is named Gamal Karam. He’s billionaire from Saudi Arabia. He paid Chuckie lots of money, but like I said, scoombag Chuckie pays me only a little bit.”
“How do you know this man Karam was behind it?”
“Chuckie told me all about him and how he paid the money.”
Great, Chuckie told her about it. Nothing like hearsay evidence to fuck up a solid lead.
“Do you have any personal knowledge about his man, Bootsie? Did you ever meet him or talk to him?”
“Yes, I meet him in Chuckie’s apartment one time. He talked all about what we were supposed to do, but he didn’t say why we were supposed to do it. He gave Chuckie big bag full of money.”
“How do you know the bag was full of money?”
“Chuckie asked me to count it. Like I tell you, Chuckie is not only a scoombag, he is stoopid.”
Bingo. Actual knowledge of a key event—the passing of money.
“And how much was in the bag?”
“Ten thousand dollars, all in $100 bills.”
“Does this Mr. Karam have a house or apartment in America?”
“Yes, Chuckie told me all about it. Here’s the address in Manhattan.” She handed me a piece of paper with an address on Park Avenue neatly spelled out.
“You remember the guy’s address?”
“I told you, I not talk too good, but I remember everything.”
Woody came back into my office and sat down with a thud. I can always tell when Woody’s upset or surprised about something. He thuds.
“So what did you find out about Mr. or Dr. Chudori?”
“He got whacked last night?”
“Whacked?” Bootsie said.
“He was killed. One bullet to the head. He was shot in his apartment.”
“Bootsie, I’m going to be blunt with you,” I said, “You’re lucky to be alive. Does your sister have anywhere to go if she were to leave her apartment?”
Bootsie began to cry. She looked understandably terrified.
“Yes, we have another sister who lives in Peoria. She has big house.”
I handed Bootsie the phone.
“Call your sister and tell her to get out of there now, immediately.”
I walked across the room and grabbed another phone.
“Let me guess who you’r
e calling, Matt,” Woody said.
“You got it. I’m calling the FBI. We need to get Bootsie under protective custody right now.”
“Agent Logan’s office, may I help you,” said the receptionist at the FBI Counterterrorism Task Force in New York.
“This is Matt Blake in Chicago. Please tell Jack Logan I need to talk to him about an urgent matter. He knows me well.”
“So do I Mr. Blake. I’ll put you right through.”
“Hi Matt, what’s up?”
I told Logan all about Bootsie, the angel from heaven, and about the murder of “Dr.” Chudori. I didn’t mention the Saudi billionaire, Gamal Karam, the funding source for the operation. I would eventually share that with the FBI, but I suddenly realized that I needed to get to the guy first.
“Matt, I’ll call our people in Chicago to arrange for protective custody of this Bootsie lady as soon as I get off the phone with you. I’ll call Rick Bellamy at Homeland Security. As usual, you’ve blown the lid off this case. I promise you this, Matt. I am not going to stop trying to recruit you into the FBI.”
“Meester Matt, have I done something wrong? Am I in trouble?”
“Well, first I need to ask you a question, Bootsie. Do you want to hire me as your lawyer?”
“Yes, yes, yes, but I have no money to pay you.”
“Do you have a dollar?”
“Yes.”
I reached into my desk and came out with our standard retainer agreement.
“A dollar is a good start, Bootsie. Just sign here and you’re now my client.”
“So please tell me, meester lawyer, am I in trouble.”
“Technically you are in a bit of trouble, but don’t worry about it. You have a thing called leverage, and I’m going to use every bit of it to keep you out of legal problems. You have broken a few laws, although I know you didn’t intend to. Practicing nursing without a license is one. And a big one could be conspiracy, but I can get that thrown out easily. Like I said, Bootsie, don’t worry. Some people from the FBI are going to be here soon to take you to a safe place. The important thing right now is to keep you away from harm. The reason that Chuckie guy got killed is the same reason they’re going to come after you.”
***
After her FBI handlers took Bootsie to a safe location, Woody and I sat in my office. We were both exhausted after the shock of meeting with Bootsie, the most important event so far in this whole strange case.
“Matt, I notice that you didn’t tell the FBI guy about Karam, that Saudi billionaire. Saving him for later?”
“I’m not saving him for anything. I’m going to sue the fucker. He has a residence in the States, and I want to get someone to stake out the place for the sole purpose of serving him with a summons and complaint. The lawsuit will be for wrongful imprisonment, fraud, and I’m sure I’ll think of a few other counts. The feds will eventually indict this guy, and I’ll tell them about him as soon as I serve the bastard. They’re going to have to show proof beyond a reasonable doubt. In a civil suit all I have to show is a preponderance of the evidence. I think Bootsie can give me that. I want Bootsie to be one of the plaintiffs. She doesn’t have the big damages like Al Yamani and the other guys have, but she’ll make a few bucks. So having the feds indict the guy is second on my list of priorities. I just want to sue his rich ass.”
“Yesss,” Woody said, pumping his fist. “Now you’re talking Blake & Randolph language.”
Chapter 33
One of life’s simple pleasures is giving good news to people. Maybe it’s the romantic in me, but I love it. When I announce to a client that I just scored an excellent settlement for his case, I can’t wait to see or hear the reaction. Sometimes, when you have to deliver bad news to somebody, your mind races for some reason to help soften the blow. But good news is different. You get to luxuriate in somebody else’s happiness. It’s one of the payoffs in a stressful profession. With that in mind, I couldn’t wait to talk to Georgi Rice and Jerry Blackwell, my co-counsel in the crazy mall bombing cases. I couldn’t wait. So I didn’t.
Barbara made the calls and buzzed my office when she had Georgi and Jerry on the phone.
“I don’t know how your day is going, but I promise you, it’s about to get much better. The mysterious missing nurse walked into my office this morning.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” said Georgi. “She just walked into your office? You sure it’s her?”
“Yes, I’m sure, missing finger digit and all.”
I filled them in on my long meeting with Bootsie, including the discovery that the good Doctor Chudori had been murdered.
“So our guys are free to go, right?” Jerry asked.
“No, not exactly. Actually, no not at all. As soon as I file the motions based on Bootsie’s statement they’ll no longer be criminal defendants, but they are still witnesses, absolutely critical witnesses, in a huge terrorist conspiracy. The government wants them safe and sound, and I think the three of us agree. I spoke to my guy Al yesterday, and he’s enjoying his life in the Witness Protection Program. He and the other guys get to live in a beautiful house, with financial stipends, and they have all the time they need to write. Al tells me that he, Mickey, and Jake get together all the time to collaborate and help each other with their writing.”
“I spoke to Mickey too,” said Georgina. “He pretty much said what Al told you. Hey, the three of these guys are single, so it’s not that they’re dragged away from any family obligations. They get to chill on the taxpayers’ dime.”
“Jake told me the same thing when I spoke to him the other day,” Jerry said. “If these guys weren’t writers, they might be going stir crazy, but for a novelist to have huge amounts of unscheduled time is a gift. Meanwhile, I cannot fucking believe that the mystery nurse actually showed up on your doorstep. Matt, you seem to attract good luck.”
I was flattered by Jerry’s kind words. But if he knew me a few years ago when I was an alcoholic drug addict, he’d know that luck can work both ways. But it’s true. Being clean and sober helps attract good luck, if only because you seldom get lucky if you’re fucked up on booze or dope. Day-to-day life can still suck at times, but when you see things clearly you often make the right choices.
“I’m glad I could bring some joy into your lives today, but I’m not done.”
I hadn’t yet told them about Gamal Karam, the Saudi billionaire.
“Here’s where the story gets really interesting,” I said.
“I thought it was pretty interesting so far, Matt, but please go ahead,” Georgi said.
“Bootsie also told me about a guy who was financing the whole conspiracy, He’s a Saudi billionaire named Gamal Karam. He discussed the details of the operation with her, although not the part about the mall bombings, just the physical exams. He even arranged for the rental of the phony medical offices where they performed the physicals.”
“Dear God,” Jerry said. “The government is going to love you for doing so much of their work for them.”
“Let’s talk about the government’s interest later. Here’s my simple message to you two. I want to sue this rich prick for wrongful imprisonment and fraud. Are you guys interested in joining the lawsuit?”
“Interested?” Georgi screamed. “The best trial lawyer I ever met wants me to join his lawsuit. You better believe I’m interested.”
“Obviously, count me in, Matt,” Jerry said. “Tell me about the specifics you have in mind.”
“As far as the three of us, it’s simple. We’ll be equal co-counsel and we’ll split the one-third contingent fee between our three firms.”
“Hey, Matt,” Georgi said, “nobody can hold a candle to you in the courtroom. You should get a bigger split.”
“I won’t hear of it my friend, but thanks for your kind comment and for suggesting it. We’ll split the expenses and the recovery equally.”
“I absolutely love the idea that our guys can get a few bucks for what they’ve gone through,” said Georgi
. “We’ve all said that our clients have actually become our friends.”
“I second that, Georgi,” Jerry said. “Matt, how much do you think this case can be worth?”
“As you guys know, a wrongful imprisonment case isn’t easy to calculate. Some of these cases have gone into the multi-millions. Our guys went through pure hell and lived in fear for over a month. The actual monetary loss—their salaries—is a small part of it. The mental anguish part can ring a bell. And we also have a count for fraud, obviously. If I take this to a jury, I can get 12 people really pissed off.”
“Do you think it will go to a jury, Matt?”
“No, I don’t. I can’t see this prominent oil billionaire wanting to air his dirty laundry on the front page of newspapers across the world. Also, if he took the witness stand he’d have to plead the fifth to most of my questions. No, I think this guy will want the case to go away, and I’m going to squeeze his financial nuts to make that happen.”
“How will you be able to serve the summons and complaint Matt?” Georgi asked.
“It gets better. Good old Bootsie, with her photographic memory, gave me the guy’s American address in New York City. She knows that he comes to the States often, about once a month. My investigator guy, Woody Donovan, is contacting some private detective friends in New York. They know how to serve papers on a bear in his den. We’ll stake the place out so we can personally serve him with the summons and complaint. I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a lawsuit with your guys’ names as well as your names as the attorneys. It’s being emailed to you as we speak. Please sign them and get them back to me ASAP. I’m really looking forward to nailing this fucker.”
“Matt, we need to meet with our clients, soon obviously,” Georgi said. “I’m in New York, so it’s a short trip to the safe house in New Jersey, but I think the three of us should meet them together.”
“I can be there tomorrow,” I said. “How about you Jerry?”
“Count me in. I’ll take the Red Eye tonight so I can be there early.”
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll meet at Georgi’s office on 52nd Street and take a cab to their secret location.”
The Reformers: A Matt Blake Novel (The Matt Blake legal thriller series Book 2) Page 13
