“No fucking problem.”
Wrong, Jessica-big f-ing problem. Barry and I went together out into the hallway. There was a fair amount of foot traffic, so he pointed at the men’s room door and ordered, “Get your ass in there. Right now, Drummond.” We stepped inside, the door closed, Barry shoved me against a wall and said, “What the fuck’s going on here?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t. Your issues at the firm have no business here.”
“My… Hey, word gets around, doesn’t it?”
“You’re on my team, idiot. Of course I was informed.”
“Did you have to be told?”
“What’s that mean?”
“What does it mean?”
“You lousy prick.” He pounded my chest with his right fist. “You’ll do what you’re told. You better not be trying to blackmail me, Drummond.”
I wasn’t. I was trying to extort him. But you can’t expect corporate lawyers to understand the fine distinctions of the criminal codes. I replied, “And if I am?”
He slugged my chest again and said, “You don’t want to fuck with me, you punk. I’ll-auugh!”
Well, Barry suddenly stopped talking. I suppose he was suddenly overcome by an abiding sense of shame and remorse for the way he’d been acting. Also, I think he noticed that my left hand was gripped tightly around his testicles.
I danced him backward until his butt was against the wall. Well, we then stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, adjusting, as it were, to the terrible predicament we found ourselves in. Just to be sure that Barry fully understood that predicament, I informed him, “They say it only takes forty pounds of pressure to rip ears and nuts off a body. You believe that?”
I received a frantic nod. Personally, I didn’t believe it. But what mattered was what he believed.
A quick jerk brought Barry up on his tippy-toes. “I should warn you I’ve done ears, no problems. But this nuts thing… it’s kind of confusing… I mean, I tried it once and I don’t know… I probably squeezed when I should’ve yanked… and, Jesus, they’re sort of like grapes, you know? Very soft.”
Barry’s mouth opened, and I said, “Shhh.”
Well, for once, he actually did shut up. Barry was being very reasonable. Maybe I had misjudged him after all.
I asked, “Did you insert those legal files in Lisa Morrow’s e-mail?”
He shook his head, but it’s important in these situations to be on the same wavelength, so I gave another hard tug. He babbled, “Ow, ow. .. I swear… I swear.”
It looked like an honest response. “Okay, Grand Vistas. What is it?”
“You don’t… I mean… please…”
“Do you think your voice will actually get higher?”
“It’s… it’s what I told you. It’s a holding company.”
“Who owns it?”
“I… I don’t know.”
Barry suddenly found himself another inch higher up on his tippy-toes. He’d better know how to levitate.
“I… I swear I don’t know. God, ow… it hurts… please don’t.”
“Is it a front? What?”
“No… it’s a… a real company. Like I tried to tell you, it’s… auggh… it’s a legal partnership.”
I had to contemplate that for a moment. Barry, I thought, was being as honest as he knew how to be. I mean, you could only expect so much from a guy like him. But I was also certain he was scared out of his wits. The fount of that fear, however, was the interesting question.
So I asked him, “What are you afraid of?”
He studied my face, I think weighing which was worse- explaining to the Mrs. why there’d be no more tiny Barrys skipping around the suburbs, or exposing what he knew about Grand Vistas. Not a hard choice, in my view. But hey, that’s me.
“I don’t know who they are. I met with their lawyers and brought back the agreement. That’s what I was told to do… and look… that’s all I did.”
“Told by who?”
“By Cy. And Jason.”
“No due diligence?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I was assured they were okay.”
“What are you not telling me, Barry?”
“I, shit… I just, please, don’t… auughhh.”
Well, Barry somehow arched up another quarter inch, but I think he and I both knew we were down to the last millimeter.
“Ow… oh God, this hurts… ow, ow, ow…” Then he said, “All right… please… ow…”
So I let him down about two inches. He drew a few deep breaths, then blurted, “I swear, I don’t know who they are. Not people you want to fuck with, though.”
“Crooks? Spies? What?”
He was shaking his head. “I don’t know… something. We met in a secret location in Locarno, Italy. They came with guards.”
“Lots of rich assholes have private security.”
“Not like that, Drummond. These guards were tough bastards. They were different, you understand?”
I suspected I did understand. I asked, “Nationality?”
“I only spoke with their lawyers. One French, the other German. The meeting lasted less than thirty minutes. They gave me the contract and told me to get it signed. No changes, no negotiations.”
I released Barry’s gonads and he slumped immediately to the floor. He was rubbing his crotch, and you could tell Mrs. Bosworth wouldn’t have to fake any orgasms for the next few weeks. I walked to the basin and washed my hands. I said to Barry, “You will go out and inform Jessica that my concerns about the audit are reasonable and will be straightened out in a day or so. Understand?”
“You don’t tell me-”
I took a step back in his direction and he slapped his hands over his crotch. I added, “Tell Cy and Bronson I’m completely unreasonable. Explain that I’m very pissed off. Put on your lawyer’s hat and persuade them that I will not sign that audit if they take any action against me. Understand?”
He looked up at me. “You can’t… This whole deal could go down the drain.”
“Yes… it definitely could.”
“Don’t be an idiot. If we lose that contract for Morris, he’ll drop our firm. It’ll destroy us.”
“Good point.” I wiped my hands and added, “Be sure to explain that to Cy and Bronson also.”
I left him blubbering on the men’s room floor. I found Martha, got a copy of the audit, and departed.
Okay, yes, I had been very, very rough on Barry and his nuts. Sometimes I have no idea what gets into me. However, a string of ugly thoughts had begun dancing around inside my head. Right now, it was like one of those hyper-modernist, impressionist paintings with colors splashed everywhere, dripping down the canvas and running into one another.
But with a little elbow grease that picture would clarify.
CHAPTER THIRTY
A defense counsel practicing criminal law owes his fealty to his client-open and shut. It matters not that most clients are guilty, even when you know they’re guilty. Unless the client wants to confess, it’s ethical, in fact orthodox, to pretend innocence and try to hinder, smear, and obfuscate the search for truth and justice.
