The Reformers: A Matt Blake Novel (The Matt Blake legal thriller series Book 2) (15 page)

“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 52
nd
Street and take a cab to their secret location.”

When I got home I told Diana all about the wonderful turn of events in our case. She grabbed a baseball as she let out a scream and flung her fastball at the corner of the couch. Then she took a bottle of club soda from the counter, shook it, and sprayed it all over my face. It’s safe to say that Dee was pleased with the good news.

***

Nothing freaks out a guard in the Witness Protection Program more than visitors. To smooth the way for our meeting I asked Jack Logan to pull some FBI strings to get us in.

We walked into the “secret location” in Tenafly, New Jersey, at 11:30 a.m. What a beautiful place, I thought. Our clients won’t be too upset when we tell them their stay will be extended even though we now have the evidence to get the criminal charges dismissed. The agent on duty led us into a large den where our clients awaited us. As we had agreed, I’d present our guys with the good news. I felt like I was making an opening statement, a happy opening statement. Before I began, Al Yamani walked up to me and gave me a bear hug. As I said, Al and I were becoming friends.

“I must say that you people look great without chains and shackles.” They laughed. “So I have some good news and some better news. The mysterious nurse who performed your bogus physicals looked me up and walked into my office. Here’s her picture.”

They looked at the picture of Bootsie and all three yelled, “That’s her!”

“Based on the evidence she gave me, the criminal charges against you guys will be dropped shortly. But you’re still vital witnesses, so you’ll remain in the Witness Protection Program for a while longer, until the government can bring criminal complaints against the conspirators. You’ll be technically free to go, but your lives will be at risk if you do.”

“What about the doctor who was at the physicals?” asked Jake Almeth.

“He was murdered a few days ago. Thank God the nurse came forward or I’d still be holding a bag of shit for evidence. Her rented house burned down shortly after she moved. They were looking to whack her too. She’s now in protective custody. As I’m saying this, I hope it will convince you guys that the Witness Protection Program is the place to be for the near future.”

I then told them about the civil lawsuit I wanted to bring against the Saudi billionaire. Of course we needed their signatures on documents in order to bring the suit. I didn’t go into what I thought the case might be worth. No lawyer who knows what he’s doing would raise a client’s expectations. But in my own head, I made a promise to myself that I would make these guys millionaires. They all had a few questions, and then we wrapped up the meeting. We each decided that after the meeting we would meet privately with our individual clients.

Al Yamani and I walked into a small library off the den.

“So how’s your writing going, Al? I know you’ve had some time to work on your next book.”

“It’s going great, Matt. I have a terrific editor.”

“One of the other guys? Excellent idea for you to edit each other’s work.”

“No, it’s an outside editor.”

“How the hell can you have an outside editor in the Witness Protection Program? You’re supposed to be invisible. You’re not supposed to exist.”

“I’ll explain, Matt. Let me tell you about my editor. She’s a university professor with a PhD in political science. She’s also a prolific author herself. I’ve read every article and book she’s ever written. You may even know her. Diana Blake.”

I almost cried. Dee, my Dee, is helping out our new friend on the quiet.

“She didn’t tell me anything about this, Al.”

“She asked me not to mention anything until today. She wanted to surprise you.”

“Well that she just did! But how the hell can you communicate with her from the WPP?”

“Matt, this Witness Protection Program is amazing. I’ve been given a new name, George Rudden. And a new email address. The guys in charge insist on seeing anything before we send it, and they want to know the identity of the recipient. They’re concerned that a person in the program may fuck himself by unwittingly sending something that could identify him. But I specifically cleared my communications with Diana. Hell, she’s actually employed by my attorneys, Blake & Randolph. The FBI seems to know her well.”

“I gotta run, Al, or is it George? I have to catch a flight from Kennedy to Chicago. Hey, we can be in touch by email now.”

As I walked toward the front door, a guard walked up to me, smiling.

“Did Al tell you about his new editor?”

Chapter 34

I walked in the door of our apartment and Diana was waiting for me as usual. We hugged and kissed.

“Give me another kiss,” I said. “Have I told you how much I love you lately?”

“Well, not since this morning, but I never tire of hearing it.”

“Today I found another reason to love you.” I said. “You’re helping out our new friend, Al, and I think that’s fabulous. With all the work you have to do, I think it’s wonderful that you’re editing his work. He could never afford an editor like you. So when were you going to tell me?”

“I was going to tell you after I finish the latest draft of his book, but timing isn’t always right.”

“So how’s his work? You thought his last book was pretty good effort. Is this one as good?”

“I’ve been dying to tell you about it, Matt. Al Yamani is a guy with pretty enormous literary talent. He’s improved a hundred percent since his last book. Like most young writers, he didn’t think he had the talent to find a publisher, so he self-published. I think I’ve convinced him that this book needs to be picked up by a major publishing house, and I’m going to help him do just that. I’d love you to read through it after I finish this draft.”

“What’s the title, and what’s it about?”

“The title is
My Journey Home.
It’s about a young man’s turn from radical Islam. The book has a beautiful lyrical quality to it. Al really knows how to write a memorable sentence.”

“Well, pardon my cynicism, honey, but could this book get him whacked? We know what happened after the last one. Maybe he should write under a pseudonym. What do you think?”

“I think he needs some good legal advice, and he has a sharp lawyer who doesn’t know how to bill for his time.”

“Hey, hon, I have no problem doing work on the cuff for a friend, and I consider Al a friend. But I’m not an intellectual property lawyer or an entertainment lawyer who represents book clients. I’m a PI guy. I do broken bone cases.”

“You’re a PI guy who has a mind like a trigger. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this. Why the hell don’t you simply study to bring you up to speed on literary rights? Think about it. I publish one to two major articles a month and at least a book a year. Wouldn’t I love to take advice from you rather than one of those clowns who works for my agent? A couple of on-line courses and you’d be as good as anyone in the field. You’re already a great negotiator, God knows, so why not just back fill some knowledge on this area of the law?”   

“You’ve got me thinking, hon, you’ve got me thinking.”

***

The following week Dee finished the next draft of Al’s next book,
My Journey Home
. Dee was absolutely on target. This guy knows how to write. Professor Dee knows better than me, but I do have an eye for a well-written page. The book is no rant, but it does take some solid punches at the strict forms of the Muslim religion. The way Al writes a sentence, you can’t be put off by his message, no matter what your political or religious viewpoint. But it does worry me. I think he should write under a different name, a pseudonym. Maybe the one that the Witness Protection Program people gave him, George Rudden.

I found Al’s book captivating. The story line is about a young American man, raised in the Muslim faith, who is constantly barraged by emails, Facebook posts, and Tweets, all trying to convince him to leave his country, join the Islamic State, and wage jihad. The character, Dameer Malik, is 16 years old and is a sophomore in high school. His parents raised him in the tenets of Islam, but they weren’t strict. Al did a great job of tracking the boy’s thinking as he deals with the normal problems of a teenager and the pull of an ideology he barely understood. The boy became convinced that strict adherence to the faith would free him from the normal decisions and conflicts that any teenager faces. I had read about this idea in other books—the concept of blind faith as a form of freedom. So young Malik began his descent into mindlessness, a path of devotion where he had no conflicts, no decisions to make, just a sharply defined path for him to follow.

There’s a tearjerker of a scene where Malik is with his parents at the airport, about to board a plane to Turkey. His parents suspected that he would make his way from Turkey to the killing fields of Syria. Throughout the entire book, Al brings you inside this kid’s head, enabling the reader to experience what the boy felt and thought. Anyone who’s looking for a journey into the mind of a young man growing up should read the book. What am I saying? This is only draft two. It has a ways to go before it will be published and sold. If Al decides to self-publish, he has total control over when the book will go on sale. But I think Diana’s right. This kind of quality writing should attract a traditional publisher, may even one of the big houses. Getting picked up by a big publisher means that the book will be available for sale across the country in book stores. With a few good reviews, which I know he’ll get, people will ask for his book.

The publishing business, as Dee told me, has been going through some revolutionary changes, some good and some bad from a writer’s perspective. Your book on a shelf in a book store sounds exciting, but there are fewer and fewer book stores to stock it. And an unknown author is at a disadvantage, like an unknown anybody. But as I read Al’s book I thought that every one of the great authors started out unknown. Their talent and genius gradually made them successful. I think Al may be one of them.

I think of Al as a friend, not just a client, and I wanted to help him carve out a life that he chose. Dee’s idea of my studying the legal side of the literary business is sounding better and better to me. As a personal injury lawyer, I’m known around town as a hard-nosed prick of a negotiator. I’d love to be Al’s negotiator for this novel. I’d also be able to help Dee with her prolific writing. Dee always complains about the attorney that her literary agent refers her to. The guy’s idea of legal advice is to say, “Sign here, initial here.” Shit, if I can negotiate a million bucks for a fractured femur, I’m sure I can negotiate a good book deal for an author. 

But she’s right, I need to study. I don’t know an electronic right from an audio right from a distribution right. I know nothing about international rights. So what? The difference between my present state of ignorance and my ability to represent an author is to study the field. And I know how to study. This idea was starting to grow on me.

***

Saturday was overcast and raining. After our morning game of catch in the living room, Dee and I worked out for a half hour in our gym. After we showered, Dee nuzzled my neck as I made coffee. For some reason, rainy Saturdays make the two of us feel frisky. The rain, combined with Dee’s normal excitement when she works on a project, pointed toward a great afternoon. I remembered a funny talk a guy gave on “Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about Sex.” It can be summarized in one sentence—“When you’re hot, you’re hot; when you’re not, you’re not.” And in recent days, and especially this rainy Saturday, we were both feeling
hot
.

But first, we had a monthly condo board meeting. Board President Matthew Blake reporting for duty. How did I ever allow myself to be talked into this?

Dee and I walked into the meeting room at 8:50 a.m. for the 9 o’clock meeting. I didn’t want to incur the wrath of Mrs. Doyle from Unit 23 by being late. The usual 20 people—the “Terrible 20”— were there.

Dee did a quick count of the board members present. Because there were nine members on the board, we needed at least five present to have a quorum. No quorum, no meeting. She shook my arm and squealed, “Only four board members are here!”

Then, Mrs. Fleming from Unit 48 walked in. Shit.

“Good morning everybody,” I said with my studied condo meeting smile. “The meeting is now called to order. I’ll ask Secretary Diana to read the minutes of last month’s meeting.”

Dee is one of the most talented writers in the country. With countless articles and books, she is at the top of her game. I expect that she’s going to win a Pulitzer Prize someday. But she tells me that doing the minutes of condo meetings is the most difficult writing assignment she’s ever had. “How can I write about bullshit?” she often asks me.

Dee read the minutes.

“Excuse me Madam Recording Secretary,” said Mrs. Cohen from Unit 15. “At paragraph seven you said heating unit. It also includes air conditioning I think.”
A spirited discussion then arose whether air conditioning should be mentioned next to heating, even though the subject at the meeting only was about heat.

“Your attention, please!” Dee shouted over the din. “I’ll amend the minutes to say ‘heating
and
air conditioning,’ even though the conversation only involved heat.”

Dee finished.

“Do I hear a motion to accept the minutes as read?” I said.

“How can you accept the minutes when there have been changes?” said Mrs. Jackson from Unit 34.

“Do I hear a motion to accept the minutes as read
AND AMENDED
,” I said, my smile long since having left my face.

The meeting then turned to various matters not on the agenda. Whatever asshole put in the by-laws that non-agenda items could be brought up at a meeting should burn in hell.

A cellphone rang loudly. Apparently some people took my request that they turn their phones off as simply advisory. The call was for Mrs. Johannes from Unit 52.

“Hi, sweetie,” Mrs. Johannes screamed, “how was little Timmy’s birthday party?” Some people, a dwindling group, thank God, have never caught on to the modern reality that it’s no longer necessary to shout at your cell phone. She continued to scream at her phone for about three minutes.

After Mrs. Johannes from Unit 52 ended her phone call, the conversation turned to the color of the new hallway carpeting. Diligent Dee recorded every word, chuckling often. She put her left hand under the table and stroked my thigh, leaving her right hand free to record the meeting for posterity. She leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Hey, I heard it’s supposed to rain all afternoon, just the way we love it. Isn’t that great?”

I could tell that Dee was as interested in this friggin meeting as I was. I could also tell she was starting to feel amorous. She continued to stroke my thigh. When she gets in this mood I call her
Devil Dee
.

“Diana, please.”

“
Diana
? Excuuuse me—
Matthew
.”

As Mrs. Cravitch from Unit 32 was discussing the weave patterns of the carpet, Dee again leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Hey, hon, you look awfully cute in that new shirt,” as she rubbed my thigh.

“Hey, please,” I said.

“Just an observation, honey. You look sexy.”

She continued to caress my leg.

The weave pattern of the carpet really caught on as a topic of conversation. Yes, the weave pattern on the brand new fucking carpet that had just been installed and paid for, and only after a sample was circulated to every unit-owner seeking comment. How’s the saying go? Some people didn’t get the memo. Dee was drumming her fingers. Because one hand was busy stroking my thigh, she had to put down her pen to do the drumming.

Dee leaned over and whispered in my ear as I took a sip of water.

“Hey, handsome, how about a blow job?”

I spit my water across the table, barely missing Mrs. Kaplan from Unit 29.

“I’m sorry, folks, I swallowed it wrong.”

Dee leaned over again and whispered, “But
I
always swallow it
right
, don’t I honey?”

Oh my goodness.
Devil Dee
was on the case. The words, “motion to adjourn” started to occupy my every conscious thought.

The meeting conversation had turned to our new window cleaning contract.

Dee continued to rub my leg, now working on the inner thigh.

“Will you please stop that?”

“No.”

Mr. Morton from Unit 12 demanded to know if the board had let out the window cleaning contract to competitive bid.

Dee leaned over toward my ear. Oh God, now what? I thought.

“Hey, baby, let’s go upstairs and play, and I don’t mean catch.”

The time was half past noon. I bit my lip, turned to Dee and said, “Do you have a motion Madam Recording Secretary?”

“I move to adjourn,” Dee said, loudly.

Please God, let there be a second.

“I second the motion,” said Mr. Burton from Unit 37, bless him. He was just shy of 90 years old, and I’m not sure he really heard Dee’s motion, but I wasn’t about to question him on it.

“All in favor?” Yes, yes, please say yes, you crazy people.

The motion carried! The fucking meeting was over. Now Dee and I can go upstairs and have our own meeting.

“One problem, Dee.”

“What’s that, honey?”

“I have to stand up to get to the elevator.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Well, after your hand massage on my leg I’m not really in a condition to stand.”

She laughed and handed me a jacket.