Bikini Baristas: Ted Higuera Series Book 4

by Pendelton Wallace

  Big companies made major investments in their employees. They didn’t want to hire people with criminal records, those who had been bad employees at pervious jobs, or those in financial difficulty. With the new privacy laws, it became harder and harder for employers to legally investigate their candidates. That’s where Catrina’s business came in. She could find out things about a candidate that an employer was not allowed to ask.

  Catrina started out doing searches of county and state databases looking for criminal activity. Now she had operatives in every state that could do “boots on the ground” investigations should her clients require it.

  If you were planning on making a six-figure offer to an out-of-state candidate, it was worth her fee to know everything there was to know about the person.

  All of this brought in enough income to finance Catrina’s other operations. Her real passion was helping women out of tough situations. Rape cases were a specialty for her. Messy divorces paid for themselves, while investigations for sexual harassment suits sometimes did and sometimes didn’t pay. It was a sure fire bet that helping battered wives escape their abusers was a losing proposition.

  Now, Catrina had set Ted loose.

  “Modernize our network. Bring our systems up to date. It’s time we got into the twenty-first Century,” she told him.

  He sat on the floor in the new computer room and worked on his Surface Pro tablet. He tried to think ahead. What will we need a year from now? Five years from now?

  New servers, routers, VOIP phone system, video conferencing, wireless network. Where should he start?

  “You make any progress on the Murray case yet?” Catrina stood in the computer room door. She must be going to court today, he thought. She wore a light blue suit that worked with her gray eyes. Ted smiled to himself. She had great pins and knew it. She wore very short skirts for a woman her age, and the heels didn’t hurt either.

  Her cream colored blouse had the top buttons unbuttoned. Ted smiled. She must be testifying in front of Anthony Petrocelli. That idiot assistant district attorney would be drooling all over himself staring at Catrina’s cleavage. She could play him like a game of Las Vegas craps, and all he ever rolled was snake eyes.

  “Yeah, I hacked into his home system.” Ted got up from his place on the floor and wiped off the back-side of his jeans with both hands. “I placed a little Trojan Horse on his personal computer. I’m recording all of his key strokes. I’ll download the data tonight while he’s asleep. I should have his passwords and bank account data for you in the morning.”

  “Good, Jennifer’s going to court on it tomorrow afternoon.”

  Jennifer Trask was Catrina’s best friend, attorney and sometime employer. Jennifer often hired Catrina’s firm to do investigations for her cases.

  The Murray case was going to be a good income-producer. Charles Murray owned three car dealerships in the Seattle area. When his wife, Georgia, filed for a divorce, Jennifer knew that millions of dollars were at stake.

  But Murray was a cagey bastard. When he presented his financials, Jennifer knew that he had been squirreling away his money anticipating this moment. She and Catrina now depended on Ted to find the truth.

  “I’ve got some good stuff for you already,” Ted said. He stepped past Catrina and led her to his office.

  “Right here.” He picked up a file folder from the tray on his desk. “Emails. Some really hot stuff between Mr. Murray and his honey.”

  “Hmmm...” Catrina scanned the printed emails.

  “I’ve got receipts too. From his credit cards. Hotels, restaurants. I got a couple of airline tickets to Cabo.”

  “Lookin’ good, Higuera.”

  Catrina’s smile made him want to cuddle up to her like a love-sick puppy.

  “Keep at it.” Catrina turned and walked out of his office.

  Ted stared at her a moment. Watching her walk away was a pleasure all in its own. She was one good-looking woman.

  His smart phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and saw a text message from Maria. His face glowed red with embarrassment.

  ****

  The short, dark man rose from his chair and reached for the yellow legal pad on the table.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Abe Weinstein said, walking slowly to the polished oak bar around the jury box. “First of all I want to thank you for your service. I know you’re taking time away from your busy lives to perform your civic duty. I commend you.”

  He studied the jury for a moment, eight women and four men. The women were all middle aged or older, the men all retired. Not a good mix. He really needed younger people on this jury. They just hadn’t been in the jury pool.

  “The prosecutor has failed to prove his case,” Weinstein began. “He has tried to confuse you with obfuscations and inaccuracies. The truth of the matter is that my client, Richard Randall,” Weinstein turned back towards the defense table and spread his open palm towards the graying middle-aged man at the table, “did not know that the young lady in question was a minor.”

  Weinstein was a stocky man, with a full beard, that showed traces of gray to match his graying temples. There wasn’t much hair left on the top of his head. He wore gold, wire-rimmed, granny glasses that kept sliding down his long nose and constantly pushed them back up with his right index finger.

  “Richard Randall is innocent of any wrong doing. He runs a completely legitimate business. He checks his employees’ IDs to insure they’re of legal age. He has written rules against lewd behavior. He requires each of his employees to sign a form stating that they understand the rules and that they will live by them. They know full well that breaking those rules will result in their dismissal.”

  Weinstein hit his stride. He turned back to the jury and placed both hands on the bar surrounding the jury box then looked directly into the jurors eyes. He was open, honest, pleading with twelve solid citizens to consider the facts and return the only verdict possible.

  “My learned colleague, the prosecutor, has paraded witness after witness to prove his case. He has put Mr. Randall’s employees on the stand to support his case. I ask you to consider this: each of these employees faced charges of prostitution or lewd behavior. As a reward for their testimony, those charges have been dropped.

  “Now I ask you, can you trust these women? The prosecutor himself has portrayed them as women of questionable character. Can you really believe what they tell you? They had a clear choice. They could tell the truth and face jail time, or they could lie and walk free. Which choice do you think they made? What choice would you make?

  “Look at the facts. We have questionable witnesses saying one thing and we have written rules and signed documents saying another. These very women who testified against my client signed the documents in question. They promised, in writing, that they would not perform lewd acts or acts of prostitution, yet the prosecutor would have you believe that my client encouraged such behavior.”

  Weinstein paced back to the defense table. He plopped down his yellow legal pad. He stood and stared at his client for an instant.

  “I ask you, who do you believe? A bevy of tainted women or a man who has been a pillar of this community? A man who served on the Edmonds School District board for three years. A man who coached little league baseball and soccer. A man who has provided employment for dozens of people in our community.

  “I ask you to consider the facts. I ask you to deliberate long and hard. I ask you to return the only verdict possible. I ask you to find my client not guilty.”

  Weinstein stood frozen in front of the jury box for a moment. Then a slow smile spread across his face.

  “Thank you for your service to this community. I could ask no more of you.”

  He turned and slowly made his way back to the defense table.

  Chapter 5

  “The jury’s back,” the bailiff said to Weinstein and Randall from the conference room door.

  “That didn’t take long,” Randall said. “Is that
good or bad?”

  “Yes,” Weinstein said to his client. “It’s good or bad. Let’s go see what they have to say.”

  Dick Randall had a panicked look on his face.

  “Take it easy.” Weinstein patted him on the back. “I’m very hopeful. We presented a good case.”

  The pair made their way back into the courtroom and made themselves comfortable at the defense table, or at least as comfortable as they could be on the hard, wooden chairs and with Randall’s rising panic.

  “All rise,” the bailiff shouted. “Superior court for the county of Snohomish is now in session, the Honorable Judge Daniels presiding.”

  Weinstein, Randall and the few occupants of the courtroom came to their feet. A stooped, gray-haired man entered from the side door and ascended to the bench.

  “You may be seated,” he said. “I am told that the jury has reached a verdict.”

  “We have, Your Honor,” the jury foreman said.

  The bailiff walked over to the foreman and took a piece of paper from her. He returned the paper to the judge.

  The judge opened the paper and studied it for an instant.

  “Will the defendant please rise?”

  Randall and Weinstein came to their feet in unison as if they were marionettes on a string.

  “How do you find?” the judge asked.

  “On the charge of sexual exploitation of a minor we find the defendant, Richard Randall, guilty as charged.”

  A soft murmur spread through the court house.

  Dick Randall felt as if he had been slugged in the gut. He had had run-ins with the law in the past, but this? This was too much. He fought to catch a breath and reached out with his right hand to grab the top of his chair and steady himself.

  “You Honor,” Weinstein said, “we ask that bail be continued for my client until sentencing.”

  “So ordered,” Judge Daniels quickly agreed.

  ****

  The conference room at Hardwick, Bernstein & Johnson was impressive. If you were the CEO of Millennium Systems, you would have stopped to consider the power it implied.

  The walnut-paneled room on the sixty-fifth story of the Columbia Tower had floor to ceiling windows looking out over Puget Sound and the Olympic Peninsula.

  Fluffy white clouds flew through the crystal blue sky. Elliot Bay reflected the deep blue, with ferry boats, yachts and fishing boats scurrying across the water. Anchored tankers and freighters presented obstacles to the traffic. White sails dotted the seascape.

  Across the bay, Chris saw the snow-covered Olympic Mountains. Rugged crags soared into the sky like giant snow cones.

  The conference table could easily accommodate twenty people. Upholstered swivel chairs surrounded a brass-trimmed walnut table, the massive weight of which implied permanence.

  “Right this way, Mrs. White,” the attractive brunette said as she opened the door. “May I get you coffee, water or any refreshments?”

  “Coffee would be nice.” The slightly overweight, mousey-looking woman entered the room. Behind her, a tall, well-built young man wearing jeans and a University of Washington Husky T-shirt lingered, watching the receptionist walk away.

  “Mrs. White,” Chris said, extending his hand, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Chris Hardwick.”

  The woman shook Chris’s hand. The movie-star handsome teenager just stared.

  “Please sit down.” Chris motioned towards the table. “Let’s get started.”

  Natalie White meekly took a chair. Clayton Johnson-White stared defiantly at Chris for a moment then sullenly sauntered to the other side of the table before he sat down.

  “First of all, I want to explain attorney/client privilege,” Chris said.

  “Do you think we’re stupid?” Clayton asked. “I know all about that shit.”

  “Clayton, language,” Mrs. White interjected.

  “Okay, Clayton. It looks like you’re in some trouble.” Chris opened the folder in front of him. “You have been charged with breaking and entering, with third degree theft. Do you understand these charges?”

  “Get real, man.” Clayton swiveled back and forth in his chair. “They can’t do much to me. I’m a minor. A couple of weeks in Juvie and I’ll be back on the street.”

  The pretty receptionist came back into the room carrying a tray with a thermos, two cups of coffee and cream and sugar.

  “You’re sure I can’t get you anything?” she asked Clayton.

  He shook his head.

  “Clayton, you’re building quite a record here,” Chris said. “The longer your rap sheet gets, the harder the judge will be on you.”

  “Man, this is bullshit. Get me a lecture by the judge and let me get on with my life.”

  Chris studied his client for a moment. The teenager was obviously intelligent. Just as obvious, he had no respect for authority.

  “What do you expect your life to look like, Clayton?” Chris asked.

  “Why do you give a shit?”

  “Clayton Johnson-White. Language,” his mother said.

  “I give a shit because you’re my client. I give a shit about all of my clients. You’re a smart kid. You have a lot of promise. I hate to see you mess up your life with childish pranks.”

  “Fuck you. You think because you have long hair you can understand me? Well, let me tell you that you don’t understand anything.”

  “I understand more than you think.” Chris picked up his coffee cup and took a tentative slip. “I said you’re smart. I have your IQ test results here. You’re off the charts. I know what that’s like. You think that everyone else is dumber than you. They don’t see what you see. They can’t relate to how you see the world. You can’t understand why it takes them so long to figure things out. I get that.”

  “Yeah, what would you know about that?” Clayton flipped his hair out of his eyes. “You’ve got everything. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You’re a fancy lawyer because your dad’s a lawyer. Well, my dad was a nothing; he left us when I was seven. When he was with us, he used to beat me ‘til I bled. He sent me to the hospital more times that I can count.”

  “Clayton, there’s no need to air your dirty laundry,” his mother said.

  “Why not, Mom?” Clayton turned on her. “Every time you met some new guy, you’d take off and leave Tammy and me by ourselves.”

  “Clayton!”

  “I was seven years old. You left me to take care of Tammy for days at a time in your old trailer.” Clayton’s voice was rising.

  “Listen, Clayton, or do you prefer Clay?” Chris asked.

  Clayton just stared at him, eyes smoldering, and didn’t answer.

  “Okay, Clayton. I can’t change what happened to you in the past. But you don’t have to let it define you. You’re growing up now. You have the chance to make your own future. It all starts right here.”

  Clayton stood up. “What do you know? You’re a dumb shit in a suit that sold out to the Man. You don’t understand anything.”

  “Sit down, kid.” Chris voice was quiet, but took on a menacing tone. “It’s time you listened to someone and learned a little bit.”

  Clayton took his chair. He stared at Chris with a defiant look in his eyes.

  “That’s better.” Chris looked at his folder. “I see you dropped out of school when you were twelve.”

  “Dumb shits. They couldn’t teach me anything that I couldn’t learn on my own. They were teaching arithmetic and I was checking out algebra books from the library. The teachers didn’t know as much as I did.”

  “He’s right,” Natalie White said. “He was smarter than his teachers. He read books I couldn’t understand. I decided that he was better off learning on his own.”

  “Weren’t you concerned about his future?” Chris asked. “About getting him into college?”

  “Why would I want to go to college? To have more dumb shit teachers that don’t know as much as I do judge me?” Clayton sat forward in his chair. He bounced his knee rap
idly up and down.

  Chris wanted to reach out and calm the knee. It drove him crazy.

  “I think I can work with the prosecutor here,” Chris said. “You have seven counts of breaking and entering. I think I can justify the theft.”

  “When Mom brought a new guy home, I took off into the woods. I didn’t need to stay around and hear her banging him in the next room.”

  “Clayton… ” Mrs. White had a forlorn tone in her voice.

  “Yeah, well I broke into those houses to get food and blankets. I needed to take care of myself in the woods.”

  “I think I can bargain this down,” Chris said. “You’ll probably do some time in juvenile detention, but it won’t be too long.”

  “Oh, Clayton.” Natalie White sounded like a lost little girl. “Not again.”

  “Why should you care? It gets me out of your hair. First Tammy, now me. When we’re both in juvie you don’t have to worry about being a mom. You can do whatever you want.”

  ****

  In the old days, when Ted lived in Seattle the first time, he and Chris had a tradition. Every Wednesday night they met at Ted’s apartment after work and Ted cooked a real dinner. It was a time for them to unwind, to discuss whatever was bothering them. Sometimes Ted felt like he was on some cheap TV talk show, but it cemented his bond with Chris. He couldn’t have felt closer to a blood brother.

  But this was a new world. Chris had other ideas.

  “Let’s meet at your sister’s restaurant,” Chris said. “It’s a lot more convenient and you won’t have to cook”

  Yeah, wanting to meet at El Nuevo Chaparral had nothing to do with not having to cook. Ted was onto Chris. He just wanted a chance to see Hope.

  That was okay, but with Hope at the table, Ted never felt like he and Chris made the kind of connections they used to.

  Oh, well, times change.

  Ted was sitting in the bar when his tall friend breezed through the doorway. Ted was so used to seeing Chris in jeans and a T-shirt that this new guy in a Brooks Brothers suit and wing tips almost seemed like a stranger.