Flinch Factor, The (21 page)

Chapter Forty-four

The Noonday Club is on the top floor of the 40-story Metropolitan Square building downtown. As I got off the elevator and started toward the club entrance, my cell phone rang.

“Bertie?” I said.

“Whoa, you got ESP?”

“Caller ID. What's up?”

“Some intriguing new tidbits on your favorite case. You got time to drop by this afternoon?”

“I'm walking into a lunch meeting. How ‘bout three?”

“See you then, gorgeous.”

I put the phone back in my purse and walked over to the maitre d', who smiled and bowed slightly.

“Madame?”

“Rob Crane?”

“Ah, yes. Please follow me.”

He led me back to a small private room with a large picture window that looked south past the Arch and down the broad waters of the Mississippi River. The dining table could have seated ten comfortably but was set for two, the place settings across from each other in the middle.

Rob Crane stood by the window, his back to the door, talking on his cell phone as he watched a tugboat pushing a string of eight barges upriver toward the Poplar Street Bridge. The barges were lashed in two rows of four and loaded with black coal. It was a sunny, clear day. From forty stories up, you could follow the river as it curled to the right just south of downtown and then swung back to the left off in the distance beyond the redbrick complex of buildings that comprised the brewery and headquarters of Anheuser-Busch.

Crane turned and nodded at me.

“Hey, Marty,” he said into the phone, “I have to go.”

He listened, nodding to what Marty was saying. Crane had on his standard power outfit: navy pinstriped suit, crisp white button-down shirt with gold cufflinks, navy-and-red striped tie, dark hair slicked back, strong cologne. He'd actually be sexy if he weren't such a testosteroned jerk.

“Sounds good, Marty. I'll take care of it.”

He disconnected the call, slipped the cell phone inside his suit jacket, and held out his hand.

“Hello, Rachel.”

We shook.

“I appreciate you joining me here today.”

“You sounded distraught.”

“Distraught?” He chuckled. “I hope not.”

I shrugged but said nothing. This was his party.

He gestured toward the table. “Please sit down. I told Julius we'd need to be served promptly. I know you're a busy gal.”

As if on cue, an elderly black man entered the room.

“Mr. Crane, sir?”

“Hello, Julius. This is Ms. Gold. If you can tell us about today's specials we'll place our orders now.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Crane.”

He ran through them. I picked the Greek salad. Crane opted for the corned beef sandwich special, in defiance—or perhaps ignorance—of one of the fundamental teachings of our Talmud, which is never order a corned beef sandwich at a
goyishe
club.

Crane's phone rang again just as Julius left to put in our order. He checked the number and gave me an apologetic shrug as he answered. The call sounded personal. I strolled over to the window to watch the tug's progress upriver as Crane tried to end the call without being rude. He succeeded just as Julius entered with our iced teas. I returned to my seat.

Crane lifted his iced tea toward me with a forced smile. “Cheers.”

I nodded, took a sip, and lowered my glass.

“Why am I here, Rob?”

“As you and I have discussed before, my client is—”

“—which client?”

“Which?” He gave me a look of puzzled irritation. “Ruby Productions, of course. What other client could I possibly be talking about?”

I shrugged. “Corundum Construction.”

He paused, expression neutral.“Ruby Productions is my client. Of what possible relevance is that construction company?”

“What don't you tell me?”

“I don't represent—what's their name?—Corundum.”

“Proceed.”

“My client is convinced you are investigating the possibility of another lawsuit involving one of his TIFs.”

“So what?”

“That would put you in violation of the signed representation of yours that we attached to the settlement agreement.”

“Only if I had been representing another adverse party at the time of the settlement.”

“My client believes you were.”

“On what basis?”

“Among other things, based upon persons you contacted before the settlement.”

“What persons?”

“In other cities where Ruby Productions was involved in projects.”

“Your client is mistaken.”

“Do you deny those contacts?”

“I don't admit or deny anything, Rob. It's none of your business—or your client's business. I stand by the truth of that statement I signed for the settlement. Period.”

There was a knock on the door. Julius entered carrying a platter with our lunches. We waited until he had set them down. I noted that the corned beef special was served on white bread with two small condiment dishes, one with yellow mustard and the other with mayonnaise. Q.E.D.

Crane waited until Julius had refilled our iced teas and closed the door behind him.

“You claim your statement is true,” he said. “Fine. I have a proposal for you that should be irresistible if you are in fact representing no party adverse to Ruby Productions.”

I sighed. “Go ahead.”

“Although my law firm is principal counsel to Ruby Productions, there are occasional situations where we are prevented from representing the company due to a conflict of interest with another client. Just last year, for example, Ruby Productions was in competition with a major local developer. Ruby Productions wanted the property for a gated community. The developer wanted the property for a shopping center anchored by a Wal-Mart. My firm represents Wal-Mart in certain matters, and as I result we were unable to represent Ruby Productions in that deal. My client wants to have a back-up attorney on retainer in the event that should happen again. My client would like you to be that attorney.”

I laughed. “Me?”

He took a bite of his sandwich, nodded as he chewed, and took a sip of iced tea.

“To insure your availability,” he said, “my client is prepared to pay you an annual retainer in an amount that would make it worth your while to avoid situations where you would represent clients adverse to him. A generous retainer.”

“Define generous.”

“Two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars per year. For ten years. Non-refundable. If he doesn't need your services in a particular year, you would still keep the entire retainer for that year. If he does need your services, you would keep track of your time at your normal hourly rate, and if your fee exceeded the retainer amount for that year, he would pay you the balance.”

I nodded. “That is generous.”

“It certainly is. Do we have a deal?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not interested.”

He frowned. “You want a larger retainer?”

“I don't want any retainer, Rob. I don't want anything to do with your client.”

His faced reddened slightly. He leaned back in his chair.

“So it's true,” he said.

“What's true?”

“You are representing the homeowners.”

“What I am doing and who I am representing has nothing to do with my rejection of your client's proposal. I am not interested in representing Ruby Productions.”

“You are making a mistake, Rachel.”

“It wouldn't be the first time.”

“Perhaps, but this time it will cost you. Dearly. When I tell my client that you've turned down his offer, I am certain that he will instruct me to file suit against you personally for breach of the settlement agreement, and he will instruct me to prosecute it vigorously. He is my client. I will obey his request. I will prosecute his claim vigorously. Your clients will suffer, and so will you. There could be significant negative financial and professional consequences for you. You fought the Cloverdale TIF and you won. Why put all that at risk?”

“I'm getting tired of these threats, Rob. You guys need some new material.”

He leaned forward.

“I urge you to reconsider, Rachel.”

I set my fork down, tossed my napkin onto the table and stood. “We done here..”

I paused at the door and looked back.

“See you in court.”

Chapter Forty-five

Jacki Brand shook her head when I finished. “That's outrageous.”

Benny chuckled. “Old Ben Franklin's right on target.”

Jacki turned to him. “Franklin?”

“Rachel's paying the price.”

“For what?”

“For the way she chose not to end her high school date with Rob Crane.”

Jacki turned to me. “What the hell is he talking about?”

“I'll fill you in later.”

“Speaking of which, ladies, more salami?”

Benny was slicing slabs of Volpi's Italian salami at the side table in my office. I'd called him on my way back from my meeting with Detective Bertie Tomaso to see if he could meet with us. He came by at five o'clock, having stopped first at DiGregorio's on the Italian Hill to pick up a Volpi salami, a wedge of pecorino cheese, a crusty Italian bread, and two bottles of Chianti—proving again the good judgment of inviting Benny to your meetings.

“Two-hundred-and-fifty grand a year?” Jacki said. “Sounds more like a bribe than a retainer.”

“That was my thought,” I said.

Benny handed around another plate of salami, cheese, and bread.

“You think that jackass will really sue you?” he asked.

“Who knows. Ken Rubenstein makes lots of threats.”

I took a bite of cheese and then a sip of wine. “This is delicious, Benny. You're in the wrong profession.”

“I should be a waiter?”

“A wife.” I checked my watch. “I could use one.”

“Is your mom covering?” Jacki asked.

“Fortunately.”

“So enough about Rob Crane,” Benny said. “What's up with the cops?”

“A couple things.”

“Such as?” Jacki asked.

“Such as Rudy Hickman has vanished.”

“Which one is Hickman?” Benny asked.

Jacki said, “The Corundum foreman that Rachel talked to out at the job site that day. He was the go-between with Gene Chase.”

She turned to me. “Vanished?”

“Apparently. Bertie sent a squad car to his apartment two nights ago. No one was home. The next morning they checked the job site where I'd last seen him. According to the work crew, he'd been gone both days. Back at the apartment complex no one knew where he was.”

“Is he married?” Benny asked.

“Divorced. Five years ago. They talked to his ex-wife. She didn't know anything about his whereabouts, although they don't talk anymore.”

“What are the cops doing?” Jacki asked.

“Nothing yet. According to his ex-wife, Hickman disappeared twice when they were married. Once for four days, once for two. Both times he went on a booze and gambling spree—once just across the river to Illinois, the other time all the way to Atlantic City. Just up and disappeared. So the cops are going to give him a little more time to show up. If he's still missing by the end of the week, they'll start looking.”

“Did Bertie have anything else for you?” Benny asked.

“I'd asked him to take another look at the results of the tests they ran on Nick Moran's body fluids. He did.”

“And?” Jacki said.

“You guys ever heard of a drug called Ketamine?”

Benny and Jacki looked at one another and turned back to me.

“It's a general anesthetic,” I said. “Typically used on animals. But according to Bertie, it's become a popular recreational drug for humans, especially at club raves, where it's known as Special K. It comes in liquid, pill, or powder form. The powder form is the most popular. You can snort it or mix it in a drink or even smoke it.”

“What's it do?” Jacki asked.

“In small doses, it makes you feel euphoric, which is why it's popular in nightclubs.”

Jacki said, “And large doses?”

“Pretty much what you'd expect from an anesthetic. Medium doses distort your sense of balance and time, make you lethargic, incoherent. Large doses can cause disorientation, hallucinations, loss of consciousness. According to Bertie, that's why some creeps use it as a date-rape drug. Pour the right amount in your date's drink and she'll be zoned out in ten minutes.”

“They found it in Moran's blood?” Benny said.

“Urine.”

“How much did he take?”

“They don't know. The body metabolizes the drug pretty quickly. Usually in a couple hours. But traces of the drug can remain detectable for up to a week. That means all we know is that sometime before he died, Nick Moran ingested Ketamine.”

“Didn't seem the club rave type,” Benny said.

“You think he got date raped?” Jacki asked me.

“I think he got murdered. He didn't have any history of heroin use—or of any drugs. What I think is that someone mixed Ketamine into a drink, got him semi-paralyzed, and then shot him up with heroin.”

“And decided to give him a blow job just for the hell of it?” Benny gave me a skeptical look. “What did Bertie say?”

“He says he's getting more suspicious.”

“Enough to re-open the case?” Jacki asked.

I sighed. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“He said it's not that unusual to find other drugs or alcohol in the bodily fluids of someone who overdoses—especially someone who doesn't appear to have a history of drug use. It happens in clubs, fraternity parties, elsewhere.”

“This is really fucked up,” Benny said. “You got a man who dies of a heroin overdose with a date-rape drug in his bloodstream and his shvantz hanging out of his pants. You got a key witness who ends up dead in a stormwater sewer with a belly full of tap water. You got another witness who conveniently disappears. And all three might be connected to a developer who's probably been bribing aldermen through a shell company. Top that off with the developer's lawyer, who's still peeved over that high school handshake and who's now threatening to sue you personally for breaching the settlement agreement. All that crazy shit—and meanwhile you got a bunch of law enforcement officials sitting along the sidelines with their thumbs up their asses.”

“Don't forget about the judge,” Jacki said.

Benny frowned. “What judge?”

“Howard Flinch. If Rubenstein actually sues Rachel for breach of the settlement agreement, the matter gets heard by Judge Flinch because it was his case.”

“Jesus.” Benny shook his head. “That'd be a three-ring circus from hell.”

I started laughing and clapped my hands together.

Benny looked over at me. “What's so funny?”

“You're a genius, Benny. Judge Flinch. He's the answer.”

“What's the question?”

“How to solve Nick's death.”

“How the hell does Judge Flinch do that?”

“By being Judge Flinch. He's our wild card.”

Jacki said, “I'm lost.”

“You won't be by tomorrow morning at ten.”

“What's happening then?”

“We're appearing before Judge Flinch on an emergency motion. You and me, Jacki. You'll be my lawyer.”

“An emergency motion for what?” Benny asked.

I shrugged. “We'll need to figure that out pretty fast.”