Fletch Won (7 page)

“And the law firm’s reputation becomes even more solid.”

“I’m giving you the internal workings of your average, greedy law firm. At least of Habeck, Harrison and Haller. How some lawyers look at the law, you might say.”

“You’re robbing me of my innocence.”

“The third thing that might happen is that which happened this morning, which is what I’m trying to tell you about.”

“If a person who engages himself as a lawyer is a fool, what’s a person who engages Habeck, Harrison and Haller?”

“You can see why violence is not always an illogical solution.”

“A solution discovered by an increasing percentage of our population,” Fletch said. “Have you heard the complaint, The courts don’t work’?”

“Once or twice,” Alston admitted. “The third thing that can happen with an impecunious client is what I saw happen this morning. A burglar rushes from the court and finds himself being interviewed by Mr. Haller.”

“The presumption can be made that if the burglar had enough money to afford Habeck, Harrison and Haller, he wouldn’t be a burglar.”

“A lot of burglars do afford Habeck, Harrison and Haller. There’s a system to everything, you see.”

“The legal system.”

“Burglars, obviously, must be represented.”

“They have their rights.”

“They are in a hazardous profession. No telling when their presence might be requested in a court of law.”

“That’s the breaks. And entering.”

“So Mr. Haller, this morning, after pretending to listen to the bare bones of our new burglar-client’s difficulty, explains to the burglar that many of his colleagues in the burglary business retain Habeck, Harrison and Haller on an annual basis. A kind of occupational insurance, you see. Just in case their earning a living is threatened by an arrest, conviction, and jail sentence. For example, Mr. Haller explains, if our burglar this morning had already paid such a retainer to Habeck,
Harrison and Haller, a Habeck, Harrison and Haller lawyer, such as myself, would have been waiting for him at the police station when he was arrested Saturday night, to do the proper and necessary. He wouldn’t have even had to set bail for himself.”

“How much of a retainer?”

“Ten thousand dollars. Not much, really, when you consider that a burglar in prison is no good to anyone. Not to his family, not to his friends, not to the economy, and not to Habeck, Harrison and Haller. In jail, he can’t make a living.”

“Alston, if this guy had ten thousand dollars Saturday, why would he go burglarizing Saturday night?”

“That’s not the idea. He wouldn’t have ten thousand dollars. The law firm would have ten thousand dollars. So the man can go earn his living without fret. Peace of mind, Fletcher, is worth almost any price.”

“I’ve heard.”

“So our burglar-client is told this morning by Mr. Haller that if he comes up with ten thousand dollars within ten days—that is, before his next court appearance—he may look forward to the full services, support, and talents of Habeck, Harrison and Haller. If not, Mr. Haller can recommend to the burglar a smaller, cheaper, less prestigious firm which can be counted on to represent the burglar to the best of their limited resources.”

“How the hell is a two-bit burglar supposed to come up with ten thousand dollars within ten days?”

“Guess.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“You mean, a senior partner, in a major law firm, is sending a burglar out to burgle?”

“Really, we only want professionals among our clientele.”

“Isn’t Mr. Haller technically a member of the court?”

“He’s a half-decent golfer, and a doting grandparent.”

“Did the burglar accept this deal?”

“Of course. Where would his family be if he went to jail? Lock your doors tonight.”

“In other words, the burglar is now burglarizing on behalf of Habeck, Harrison and Haller.”

“If he’s going to be in this profession, obviously his professional fees and expenses have to be guaranteed.”

“Supposing he gets arrested again?”

“All the more work, and all the more fees, for Habeck, Harrison and Haller.”

“Alston, you’re making me sick.”

“I’m sure it’s not the sandwich you just ate affecting you. What could be more soothing to the stomach than peanut butter, banana, and mayonnaise? I must try it someday.”

“Frankly, I’m shocked. In the first place, that your man, Haller, who must have just heard that his partner had been shot dead in a parking lot, would sit down and have a serious discussion with any client, burglar or not.”

“It only took fifteen minutes. After the client is hooked by the senior partner, he is spun off to one of the lesser lawyers in the firm. The rent must be paid. The Mercedes must be maintained.”

“Alston, do you want a Mercedes?”

“My ambition for one is dimming.”

The waiter stood over them. “Would you gentlemen like some coffee, tea, or would you prefer sludge?”

“What kind of sludge do you have?” Fletch asked.

“Chocolate, vanilla.”

“No strawberry?” Alston said. “I wanted strawberry sludge.”

“No strawberry,” sighed the waiter.

“Guess I’ll have coffee,” said Fletch.

“I’ll have another beer,” said Alston. “Put a cherry in it this time, will you?”

“One coffee,” said the waiter. “One beer with a cherry.”

“Alston,” Fletch said, “I’d like to know anything you can find out about Donald Habeck. Anything you can tell me.”

“Only actually shook hands with him the day I was hired. A short, pudgy man—”

“I know,” Fletch said, adjusting his belt.

“Considered one of the most brilliant criminal trial lawyers in the country.”

“That’s the point. It can’t be too surprising a man with such a wide acquaintance among criminals ends up shot in a parking lot.”

“It is surprising,” Alston countered. “He’s the one person you’d think would be safe from that sort of thing. I should think all the villains around here would consider themselves indebted to him.”

“One coffee,” said the waiter. “One beer with a cherry in it.”

Fletch looked at Alston’s beer. “He actually put a cherry in it.”

“I wanted a cherry in it.”

“Are you going to eat it?”

“You’re eyeing my cherry.”

“Sorry.”

“I mean, just suppose this were a contract murder. A contract were put out to murder Habeck. Who’d accept it? Habeck’s defended most of the murderers worthy of the name.”

“Hey, a job’s a job.”

“From what I hear, professional hit men do not like to murder anyone they know, even people toward whom they have nothing but good feelings. Always afraid a connection might be made.”

“Someone who isn’t grateful to Habeck. Someone Habeck failed, defended improperly, lost the case. For example, I’d look for an ex-client of Habeck who got out of prison lately. Spent time nursing the grudge.”

“I doubt there is anyone like that.”

“There must be. Habeck can’t be successful every time he goes to court.”

“Successful in one way or another. Mr. Harrison, the other senior partner, once said to me, You can commit mass murder in front of witnesses, including police witnesses, and we can guarantee you’ll never go to prison for it. The police or district attorney can always be counted on to make some technical mistake, in the arresting process, indictment, in the gathering and presenting of evidence.’ ”

“He actually said that?”

“He actually said that.”

“That’s terrible.”

Alston shrugged. “The average policeman in this country has something like six weeks of formal training. The average defense lawyer has more like six years, if you add his internship in a law firm. And district attorneys are hopelessly overworked and understaffed.”

“How do people ever succeed in getting to jail?”

“They don’t hire Habeck, Harrison and Haller.”

“Alston, Habeck could not have won one hundred percent of the cases he brought to trial.”

“Pretty near, I’ll bet. He gets to choose his own cases. Thanks to plea bargaining, I’ll bet even those of his clients who are or have been in jail have been happy to go. On reduced charges, you know?” Alston quaffed his beer. “But, I’ll look.”

“Was Habeck a rich man?”

“Pretty rich. He knew where his next Bang and Olufsen was coming from.”

“Rich enough to give away five million dollars?”

“Is anybody that rich?”

“That’s how I first heard of him, this morning. He was coming in to see the publisher, John Winters. Habeck wanted to announce that he and his wife were giving five million dollars to the museum but he wanted it announced discreetly, whatever that means, so their privacy wouldn’t be invaded.”

“He’s never been the most flamboyant lawyer, this coast, but he’s never shunned publicity before.”

“I suspect he’s never given away five million dollars before.”

“That’s an awful lot of money.” Alston munched on his beer-soaked cherry.

“What does it mean when someone gives away five million dollars?”

“It means he ought to get lunch. At the minimum.”

“No, seriously.”

“It means he’s a philanthropist. Kindly. Generous. Has the well-being of the world in his heart.”

“Is that how you’d describe Donald Habeck?”

“No. As I say, I only met the man once. But that’s not how I’d describe him.”

“He was a partner in a law firm which keeps murderers out of jail and sends burglars out to burgle.”

“In this country, Fletch, everyone has the right to the best defense.”

“Come on, Alston. Not all law firms operate the way you describe Habeck, Harrison and Haller.”

“Not all. Many do.”

“Is it possible for Habeck to have earned so much money simply by being a lawyer?”

“Oh, yes. Over a lifetime. That and more.”

“Much more?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Why was he giving away five million dollars?”

“Didn’t have anything else to do with it, I suppose. A man in his sixties…”

Fletch wrinkled his nose in the sunlight. “He had children, I think. Grown, of course. Grandchildren. The impostor I interviewed this morning, the weird lady who said she was Mrs. Habeck and wasn’t, mentioned children and grandchildren. The gardener at the Habeck house said the real Mrs. Habeck is young. I don’t get it.”

“Expiate guilt. Maybe Habeck was trying to rid himself of his own guilt.”

“He sounds like a man who spent his life rationalizing away guilt. Professionally. His own and others’.”

“Yeah, but he was getting older.”

“With a young wife. I don’t get it. His home just doesn’t look like the home of someone who can give away five million dollars. I mean, if you’ve got one hundred million dollars, giving away five can be a casual experience. It needn’t interrupt the flow of one’s life, the rhythm of one’s coming and going. But giving away five million when maybe you have six million, a young wife, probably grandchildren…”

“Which of you gentlemen would like the bill?” the waiter asked.

“He would,” Alston said solemnly.

“No,” Fletch said. “Give it to him.”

“You invited me to lunch,” Alston said.

“You asked me to.”

“Shall I pay it?” asked the waiter. “I had the pleasure of serving you.”

“He’s got a point,” Fletch said.

“It would be the ultimate service,” agreed Alston. “I mean, it would indicate this waiter did everything possible for us.”

“It is the one possibility you haven’t considered,” concurred the waiter.

“But what about the tip?” Fletch asked. “That presents a moral dilemma. Also practical confusion.”

The waiter looked around the outdoor café. “Oh, to work in a grown-up restaurant,” he sighed. “One with walls.”

“I’ll pay the bill,” Alston said to Fletch, “if you answer me a question.”

“Anything.” Fletch watched Alston pay the bill.

“Gee,” Alston said after the waiter went away. “Over
lunch we talked about philanthropy, murder, and the law, and we didn’t get any respect even from the waiter.”

“No one respects the young,” mourned Fletch. “Not managing editors, crime writers, society editors, liquor-store-counter help—”

“Fiancées.”

“Fiancées.”

“Waiters.”

“Now that you’ve paid the bill,” Fletch said, “I’ve got a question for you.”

“Then why didn’t you pay the bill?”

“Will you be my best man?”

“You mean, better man? How many of us do you expect there to be?”

“Saturday morning. Whenever you wake up.”

“Did you get that suit for your wedding?”

“Don’t you like this suit?”

“Gray doesn’t suit you.”

“Barbara said something about our getting married naked.”

“Stark naked?”

Fletch nodded. “She said it would be honest of us. Fitting. She says a marriage is the coming together of two bodies, male and female….”

“You sure you want to marry Barbara?”

“No.”

“Wearing anything, or wearing nothing, would be better than wearing that dumb-looking suit.”

“So, will you be my best man?”

“My question is: Where did you get that suit? I want to never go there.”

“I thought you’d recognize it.”

“Why should I recognize it?”