The Judge took the hand she offered and helped her into the chair beside him, careful not to crush the long slender fingers, made to play the piano, garnished with matching ruby nail polish.
“Thanks for coming, Yana. How are you doing? I’m sorry I upset you last time we met.”
“Better, Judge. Thank you.”
“I’m still trying to find out who did this to Carl. And a few more questions have come up. Are you still willing to help?”
“Of course, Judge. Whatever I can do.”
“Are you and Allan Clark still an item?” asked the Judge.
“Allan and I… we take a break. There’s no more Carl. So I look for someone new in my life. Maybe a judge.”
Yana’s green eyes looked up, directly into the Judge’s eyes, measuring the lift in her trial balloon.
The Judge ignored the innuendo, moving smoothly onto safer ground.
“Yana, did Carl have a silent business partner in his technology project?”
Yana’s eyes narrowed. She considered her answer carefully. No doubt calculating how what she might say would impact any claim made to share in her ex-husband’s new technology.
“I think maybe yes, but no more,” she said.
“How long ago did Carl get the partner?”
“I think, maybe, two years. Right after I filed.”
“Was he another inventor, Yana?”
“No, he paid money I think.”
“He provided investor capital.”
“Yes.”
“When did he stop being a partner?” asked the Judge.
“Maybe three months ago. Not sure. Carl tried to give me as little information about his business as possible.”
“Did Carl pay him? Pay his money back?”
“I think maybe. I don’t know. But from the few things Carl said, there was big fight.”
“Between Carl and the partner?”
“Yes. I think Carl’s partner didn’t want to go.”
“So Carl forced him out?”
“I guess.”
“What was the partner’s name, Yana?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ever meet him?”
“No.”
`“Carl never told you his name?”
“No. Yes. One time he slipped. Called him Robbie.”
“Was the partner in L.A., Yana?”
“I think so. My impression was Carl used to meet him at Hollywood Park.”
“The race track? Carl played the horses?” asked the Judge.
“No. Poker Club. Carl loved poker.”
“So this might have been a poker playing friend of Carl’s?”
“Yes. Yes. Maybe.”
“And his name, or nickname, was Robbie?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t your divorce attorney want to know about this partner?”
“We try to get Carl’s new technology ruled community property. If we succeed, then we would find out. That’s what attorney says.”
“Alright, Yana. Carl's lawyer said Carl had an earlier attorney. An old patent attorney Carl used to use. He helped Carl document information for a confidential report submitted into the arbitration. So confidential Carl’s current lawyer was not allowed to look at it. Do you know who this earlier attorney might be, Yana?"
"Not sure. Maybe old Gerald Jenkins. Must be over 80. Carl’s patent lawyer when we first marry.”
"Know where I can find him?”
"Santa Monica. Top of the big office building. You can see water.”
“Very good, Yana. You’ve been a big help.”
“So now Yana has question for you, Judge.”
“Yes?”
“My attorney tells me you’re special lawyer. Super Lawyer.”
“Well, I’ve had lots of experience, Yana, it’s true.”
“I want to hire you for my lawyer.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“I want to hire you on the site.”
“The site?”
“Yes, quietly, for advice from time to time. Nobody knows.”
“You want to hire me on the ‘side’?”
“Yes, that’s what I said.”
“Okay, Yana. But I still don’t understand. For what?”
“Are you expensive?”
“My fees are commensurate with my experience,” the Judge said cautiously.
“Five hundred an hour,” Yana said. “I’ll pay double that, on the site, and we can have the fringe benefit. Like with my divorce attorney. I’ll have the cash.”
“But I still don’t—”
“Once, twice a week,” Yana interrupted. “You come to my place for the dinner. Gourmet Russian. The massage. We have relations. It is all good. You will live longer, Judge. In my country important lawyers all have these relations. Particularly if married. Men get tense during week. They need to relax. It’s natural thing. They do better job. Live longer time. Are happier. Weekends for the family. Tuesday and Thursday for Yana.”
She sat back in her chair then. She’d made her pitch. The Judge shook his head to clear the remnants of the vanilla martini.
“Yana, I don’t need the… the… the fringe benefit. I’m happily married. But what is it you want me to do for you? What’s the problem? Why do you need legal advice on the site… I mean on the side?”
“Oh. Well…. My divorce lawyer says we have a chance of a hot snowball in getting Carl’s new technology made community property.”
“You mean a snowball in hell.”
“Yes. What I said.”
“So I need help on that. Perhaps you can figure a way round. And then I need reasonable allowance from Carl’s assets for alimony. I am not a cheap girl. I cannot live on cheap alimony.”
Yana folded arms, indicating there could be no compromise here.
It certainly wouldn’t be cheap to take care of Yana, the Judge thought to himself. Then cut that line of thought off quickly.
“Well, I suppose I could consult on the side a little,” said the Judge, “providing there’s no conflict of interest. The patent arbitration would have to be settled first.”
“I cannot wait for that,” said Yana. “I need you to write some checks now.”
“Wait a minute, Yana. You’re hiring me. You’ll be writing checks to me for my legal advice.”
“I understand, Judge. But I have no money. I have to get the money from you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You write me the big checks. I write you the legal checks!”
“Huh?” The word came out of the Judge’s mouth before he could stop it.
“Don’t be coy with Yana, Judge. You are Trustee of Carl’s trust. You are going to control all his money. I need you to start writing checks now. Nice big fat ones. A girl has got to live and L.A. is expensive town. But think of all the fun we are going to have.”
The Judge slumped back in his chair.He told Yana it sounded unlikely he could help her on the side because of conflicts, existing and potential. He’d be glad to refer three separate tough litigators whom he respected. He thanked her for taking time to meet him. He even reached across the table to formally shake her hand. Then threw a large bill onto the table and, not waiting for change, beat a hasty retreat for The Penthouse exit.
He could see two males shifting at the bar to get up, prepared to fill the space he’d vacated. He doubted Yana would be alone in her corner long.
CHAPTER 44
7:30 Tuesday Night
The Judge drove into the parking lot at Hollywood Park, maneuvering around potholes and rough spots. This once famous racetrack was where the stars would come to watch and bet on the great horses. There was a time in its 75-year run when Hollywood Park was the best thoroughbred racetrack in America. The first ever Breeders’ Cup was held here in 1984. Some of America's most famous racing legends thundered into the history books on this track. But no more. The track had been closed, the grandstands razed, and the 238 acre
site was to become a ‘new modern community’ of homes, stores, entertainment, offices, a hotel, park space, and perhaps an 80,000-seat football stadium for an NFL team.
The city fathers of Inglewood, the poor cousin city surrounded by the octopus-like Los Angeles, announced this was progress. And no doubt it was. Progress for the moneyed interests that controlled the park and would redouble their fortunes by its destruction.
But to the Judge it was sad. He doubted it would improve the lot of the poor residents of Inglewood much. They wouldn’t be able to afford the new townhomes. The number of jobs gained probably equaled the jobs lost with the closure of the track. And the community’s loss of the open space, the fanfare, the drama and the excitement of the magnificent ‘Lakes and Flowers Track’, could never be replaced.
The card club casino was added to the complex in 1994, and curiously it would survive. Branded the Hollywood Park Casino, it was open 24 hours a day and sported 70,000 square feet of gaming space. Eighty table and poker games. It was to be remodeled. The lone remnant of a majestic place.
The Judge walked in and discreetly approached an attendant qua security guard, slipped him a fifty and asked if Robbie, a friend of his and Carl Greene’s, were playing tonight.
“You’re in luck, sir,” said the guard. “Robbie’s just getting a drink at the bar.” He pointed to a tall upright man with his back to the Judge. White hair, kitted out in designer blue jeans and a white and red checked long sleeve shirt. The man looked vaguely familiar.
The Judge walked up behind him and said, “Hi Robbie. How’s the play going?”
The man turned, startled. It was George Roberts, Carl Greene’s dentist, pale blue eyes now focused on the Judge with intensity.
Roberts recovered quickly, extending his hand.
“A surprise to see you here, Judge. Didn’t know you were a poker player.”
“I dabble occasionally, George,” said the Judge.
“Great,” said Roberts. “Shall we sit down? My feet hurt. That’s what happens when you’re standing over teeth all day.”
They both purchased chips and then walked together to an empty table and slid into seats.
“I’m not really here to play, George. I was hoping to talk about Carl Greene and how you knew him.”
The pale blue eyes turned cautious.
"Carl's dead," George said. Flat out, like it had always been.
"I know," said the Judge. "I'm trying to figure out who killed him. And why? You know any reason he might have been killed, George?"
“You said you play poker, Judge.”
"Like I said, I've dabbled at it now and then."
"Let's play some poker, Judge, you and I. Maybe we'll learn a little about each other in the game."
"Perhaps you can teach me," said the Judge.
"Perhaps something. Poker isn't really a game of cards. It's more a game of psychological warfare."
"I was taught to play cautiously," said the Judge. "Bet when you have the right cards, play the odds, bluff occasionally to keep your opponents honest, check or dropout if you don't have a hand. Don't risk more than you can afford to lose."
"Sounds right, doesn't it? The way most people learn. It’s the sort of players we like to have in the game. They fund our preoccupation with the sport.”
"That's not how you play?"
"I start with a different mindset. It's not money I'm betting with. They're just chips. Chips to win or to lose. But I’m going to take them all away from you. I'll push you to your budget limit and beyond any chance I get. I get you sweating over how much money you might lose, I've got you. I'm going to own your budgeted money. All of it." This was said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
“And,” he added, “bluffing isn't about bluffing now and then to keep your playmates guessing. Bluffing is about maneuvering your opponents to quit early, time and again. Small pots, big pots, I don't care. I'm here to win. They're just chips. You have some. I’ll take as many of yours as I can. Kind of like life."
"What about luck?" asked the Judge.
“Some folks are luckier, others not so much. But everybody hits good streaks and bad. It's about maximizing your good runs. If the cards aren't there, you bluff your way ‘round that. If the cards come back, you hang back and milk the pot. But you're not playing the cards. You're playing the other players. You read the players right, play the players right, you walk away from the table at the end of the game with your pockets full. There is no mercy in this game. You play to win, or you play to lose."
“Any other advice you want to give me, George? It sounds like I’m going to need help.”
“I’ll tell you this, Judge. The world is all about risk and reward. Mostly we humans make poor choices when confronted with risk decisions. We’re almost hard wired to choose poorly. A very few of us learn to avoid this trap and to prosper. But the vast majority never escape.”
“What’re you saying?”
“Look at it this way, Judge. Assume someone offers you a game of 10,000 dollars for a free on a flip of a coin. A fifty-fifty proposition, right? Heads you’re given 10,000. Tails and you aren’t given anything. And since you’re a poker player, or perhaps a stock market player, let’s suppose this is a proposition you see over and over again. So the probabilities of this wager will work themselves out over a period of time.
“Okay.”
“Suppose then, I offered you 3,000 dollars to walk away? Not take your coin flip?”
“Alright.”
“What do you do, Judge?”
“What would you do, George?”
“You have a fifty-fifty chance of winning 10,000. You have P equals point five of getting 10,000 and P equals point five of getting zero. Or you can choose not to play the game and get 3,000.”
“Right.”
“Rationally Judge, the number needed for you to walk away and not take your coin flip should be a dollar above 5,000. Statistically over a period of tosses you win half the time, lose half the time, and average 5,000 ahead. Anything above that number is a plus for you. But most people will walk away for less. Sometimes far less. Sometimes people will walk away for 500 or 1,000. After all, it’s money they didn’t have before.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Anyone who accepts less than 5,000 to walk away is known as ‘Risk-Averse’. This is called ‘Risk Aversion’.”
“I guess that would probably be me, George. A bird in hand.”
“But here is where things get more interesting, Judge. Turn my little experiment on its head. Tell people they are committed to a position, in their hand or in the market, where they have a fifty-fifty chance of either ‘losing’ 10,000 or breaking even on their coin flip.
It’s the same probability as before. Over a number of flips they’ll average a 5,000 dollar loss, avoiding the loss half the time and sucking up the loss half the time.
Then tell them they can either take their chances with the fifty-fifty game or they could accept a certain 3,000 dollar loss and fork the cash over. They have a fifty-fifty chance of losing 10,000 dollars. They have P equals point five of losing 10,000 and P equals point five of losing zero. Or they can choose not to play the game and accept a certain $3,000 loss.
What would you do now, Judge?”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to lose the money”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Most people wouldn’t. But rationally, if someone offered you the chance to accept a 4,999 dollar loss and not play the game, you should take it. That equates to a dollar less than your actual risk involved on average over a series of coin flips. An offer to walk away and pay a 3,000 dollar loss is a great offer. You should snap it up.
But faced with this choice, people will play the game, flip the coin, roll the dice, or draw to an inside straight. They’ll pray to God. They’ll consult their stock broker. They’ll swing their lucky hat around or do a rain dance. But they won’t take the 3,000 dollar loss offered. They’ll take the bigger risk.<
br />
Every time. Every single damn time. Nobody wants to ‘lock in’ a certain loss. As long as there’s a chance they could break even, they’ll hope. But hope is not a strategy, Judge. It’s only an emotion.
This is called ‘Loss Aversion’.
Human beings are just not wired for risk. Both parts of our little experiment are stupid. The first part is known as ‘taking profits too soon.’ The second part is ‘letting losses run’. Most people are guilty of both. If you understand the consequences of our experiment, Judge, and can adjust your actions accordingly, you understand half of behavioral finance in the stock market. And you might have a chance to be a winning poker player.”
“Do you apply this risk theory to other endeavors, George? Perhaps business?”
George’s eyes narrowed again. The Judge felt himself being re-appraised.
“You’re sharper than you look, Judge. Let’s play some cards.”
George starting dealing cards on to the table.
"Five card draw. No jokers in the deck."
Roberts dealt out five cards to each of them. The Judge peeked at his. Then looked up to see Roberts focused on him. Roberts hadn't bothered to look at his cards yet. He was more interested in watching the Judge look. The Judge was under a microscope.
"Your bet Judge."
The Judge had a pair of eights, both red. A king of clubs, a three of clubs, and a nine of clubs. Not a bad hand in a game of only two players. He bet a five dollar chip.
"Come on Judge. This is a minimum 20 dollar table. Open your old lady purse and let those moths fly."
Roberts flashed a soft smile to ease the sting of his words.
The Judge could feel himself blushing. He retrieved his chip and reluctantly slid a twenty dollar chip into the pot. Why did it feel like he was throwing the money away?
Roberts’ smile widened. He picked up his hand and had a look. Then he looked thoughtfully at the Judge across the top of his cards. He slid a 20 dollar chip in to pot, and two more, raising the bet by $40.
The Judge picked up his cards again and had another look. His hand hadn't changed. Instinct told the Judge to get out now. But Roberts looked so damn smug.
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