The martini was icy cold. So cold that the gin and vermouth felt like oil on his tongue. He was quite comfortably and satisfactorily drunk. He looked out of the great huge windows and could not see a single plane that he knew was grounded out there in the dark and the gloom and the wet - somewhere. Every single person who had told him to not even bother going to the airport today had been right. There was just no way under the sun - hell, there wasn't even any sun - that his flight was going to leave today.
But it was not a total waste. He had met Henry and Henry had made him the best martini he had ever had. He could not at this moment remember which of the several martinis had been the best martini he had ever had, but he was sure that Henry had made it. Why did Henry keep saying Jeremy every time he called him Henry?
He could not take time to worry about that now. He was in a charming conversation with a local that was just fascinating. The man knew the best places in town to play cards or get laid or get drunk. He was the one who had introduced him to Henry in the first place. Why had he called Henry Jeremy?
It was after several martini's and a captivating story about how the stranger's mistress had been shot by a jealous boyfriend and how that boyfriend had been beaten beyond recognition when the Texan had turned to him and asked, "Don't I know you?" It had sounded much more like, "Dawn't Ah know Yew?" but the English to Texan translation center of his brain was apparently still working. He turned and smiled at the gentleman who had paid for more than half their drinks. "I do don't I? Have I seen you on TV or something?" And that was all it had taken to form a beautiful friendship over fantastic martinis.
"You may very well have, my good man."
"Well I'll be... You're that lawyer, ain'tcha? The one representin' that guy in Chicago that stole all that Wallstreet money."
"Well, sir, I used to represent him. Until about 3:22 in the morning this past Tuesday."
"Oh hell, that's right. I heard about his heart attach. Sad. Man that old, under that kind of stress. And word was you was going to get him off."
"Oh hell, yeah. The S.E.C had no idea what hit 'em. Best they could have hoped for after I got done with their star witness was a mistrial and they knew it. I caught the poor bastard up so many times the jury wasn't sure if they believed him when he stated his name for the record." This was followed by a cackling laugh and then a hacking cough.
The other man shook his head and took a sip from whatever he was drinking from a tall collins glass. "Damn. That's sad. To have the stress and strain of a trial kill ya. And him with that young wife of his expecting. How old is she?"
He sipped his latest favorite martini and winked at Henry and said,"Twenty-two. And every attribute that you have ever admired on television or in the papers is completely and totally hers. Nothing store bought on our Mrs. Russoff. No sirree. That's all hers. And near as any gossip I have ever heard, those twins she is carrying in that new great big belly are the sole responsibility of my 78 year old deceased client. She is apparently a faithful and true gold digger and he is - was - a miracle of modern science. TO FATHERHOOD AT 78 YEARS OLD!" He sloshed his drink in the air and the other man smiled at him while gently shaking gin and vermouth from his left arm while hefting his own drink.
"To an innocent man," he said as he lifted his collins glass. This was met with even more violent laughter and a truly disturbing coughing fit. The martini was forgotten as he coughed so hard he gagged.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then wiped his spittle covered hand on his tailored slacks. "Innocent? Innocent? Oh God. He wasn't innocent! He was guilty as sin! He stole every damn bit of that money and more that the Feds had no freaking clue about! Innocent! Ha! Henry, I've lost my damn drink. Hit me man."
He never noticed how Jeremy the bartender looked at the man with the collins glass and waited for a subtle nod before he ever reached for the gin. "Guilty? Really? He took all those millions from all those people and those companies Really?"
"Geez, man. That's just the money on the actual - above - the -table - books. My client, my poor little Russian emigre' of a client, Osip Dmitrii Russoff was old school mafia. Went semi-legit way back in 50's. Used to say he was following the Kennedy model to respectability. But he kept some of the ties. SOOoooo, when he starts making millions for legit outfits, it was only a matter of time before his friends with the crooked noses wanted a taste. Only they didn't know it was a great big ole house of cards. And he was either too scared and too ballsy to tell 'em."
He paused to sip his latest martini. "Henry,"
"Jeremy"
"...that just might be the best damn martini I have ever had it my whole damn life."
The man with the collins glass smiled. "He swindled the mob?"
"'THE'? 'the'? He swindled every damn mob there was. Early on it was the Italians and the Irish and the Jews. And then it was the Jamaicans, the Russians, the Crips, the Bloods, the Mexicans, the Columbians. You name a poor, mistreated minority group in this country that had a self hating criminal element that abused their own people, and Osip Dmitrii took 'em for millions - billions maybe. And was smart enough to get away with it."
"How?" This was met with more laughter. And coughing.
"Any time he had to make a payment to anybody that he couldn't cover, all of a sudden a gang war would break out or somebody would turn state's evidence or something would happen that would just completely wreck the operation in question. Sometimes it didn't even cost him a dime. He would just tell one group what he saw the last time he was with one of the other groups. Hell, sometimes it would even be the truth. The old bastard was a master at it."
"The whole trial, all of it, I wouldn't be surprised if the old coot hadn't set it up as an out. Make himself too hot for the boys but not hot enough to get convicted. God knows he was never worried a single step of the trial. Never met a damn soul as self-assured as old Osip Dmitrii."
The man with the collins glass smiled and shook his head. "If he had it all planned out that well, why did he need you? No offense," he added as he saw the beginnings of a hurt look on the other man's face.
"None taken. I was a prop. I was stage dressing. I am building a name for myself, ya know,in certain circles. He was my biggest case, by far, ya know, but I had gotten other guys off, or, at least, reduced sentences. Settled some cases that looked like federal time was coming for my clients. But I'm good at what I do. It would be plausible. I could get him off if he had been in any actual trouble. But the more I think about it, I wonder if the prosecutor or even the damn judge was on his payroll."
"A crooked judge? That's a hell of an accusation."
"Just the martini talking. Speaking of which," and he picked up his martini, " to Osip Dmitrii Russoff, the guilty bastard!"
The man with the collins glass raised it for the toast but then asked, "Hey, isn't all this, what do you call it, attorney - client privilege?"
The man with the martini laughed long and hard and wound up coughing again. "Look mister, no disrespect, but we are basically alone in an airport bar drunk off our asses and I'm the currently-famous-because-of-the-latest-crime-of-the-century attorney John Farfenelli. If you went outside right now and tried to tell anybody any of this, what do you think the chances are that anybody would believe you?"
"Oh, I don't know. It has been my experience over the years that even if they shouldn't, most people believe the word of a sitting county magistrate."
"What now?"
"We have not been properly introduced, Mr. Farfenelli. My name is His Honor Bentley Amos Bradshaw, elected Magistrate for Harris County, TX. Welcome to Houston."
End Chapter 10
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