Jeff Sherratt - Guilty or Else

Where would we start to look? Las Vegas was the drinking capital of the world. There had to be a million bars.

The trial date was bearing down on me. I was running out of time and I was out of money. I needed Kruger’s testimony.

I entered the lobby of Sol’s office complex. Telephones rang off the hook, people bustled about with papers in their hands and files and folders under their arms. Their footsteps were muffled by an array of lavish antique Persian carpets. Flaming reds, vibrant greens, and golden silk threads were woven together to form intricate designs that told ancient stories. The rugs didn’t mention where I could find Kruger.

“I’m O’Brien, here to see Mr. Silverman,” I said to the young man sitting behind the reception counter.

“Yes, sir. I was told to expect you. I’ll buzz Joyce.”

An abstract painting took up the whole wall behind the guy. It was black and white with gobs of paint running down the canvas. I had had no idea what it was supposed to be. Looked like some sort of a shaggy animal.

I strolled to the picture window at the end of the room and peered out. The rich architectural decor in Sol’s office clashed with the view of Downey’s commercial district-a body shop, thrift store, and a taco stand with a hand-lettered sign that read, “Carne Al Pastor Con Frijoles.” Maybe the picture on the wall was the goat they used in the tacos.

Joyce appeared. “Hi, Jimmy. You can wait in the conference room. Sol will join you in a few minutes.”

I sat at a polished wood table that could have doubled as the deck of an aircraft carrier for a nation of pygmies. I didn’t count the chairs, but if the seats filled, the population in this room would have rivaled a small European principality.

A tall man materialized carrying a silver coffee service with two fragile-looking cups. He wore a formal waiter’s outfit, black pants, white shirt, and a cutaway jacket. The jacket looked too small.

“Jamaican Blue Mountain,” the waiter said.

“What?”

“The coffee, sir. Mr. Silverman’s favorite.”

I didn’t care if it was Purple Mountain Majesty; I needed to speak with Sol. “When will the boss be here?” I asked.

“Soon.” He turned and slipped quietly out the door.

I sipped the coffee. No surprise, it was excellent. I was pretty hyped up about Tracy’s news that Kruger was alive and most likely in Las Vegas. I drank some more coffee and was pouring a second cup when Sol came bounding into the room.

He sat at the head of the table.

“Hope the coffee’s okay.”

“Sol, you know damn well it’s great,” I said, a trifle facetiously. I was proud of his success and he knew it.

He poured a cup for himself. “I have a guy who picks out my coffee and grinds it special.”

That came as no surprise, either. But I didn’t comment. I wanted to tell Sol about Kruger. “I got a call from Tracy, Kruger’s girlfriend. He mailed her a postcard from Vegas.”

“I guess you could call him a coffee designer,” Sol said.

“I think he’s a bartender-Wait, not the coffee guy. Kruger. He’s probably a bartender.”

“Oh, I know about Kruger. I’ve already had my men up there looking for him.”

I leaned back in my chair. “How’d you know he’d be in Las Vegas?”

“One of my informants spotted him on the strip then he disappeared. But it fits. Kruger wants the action and it’d be easy to find a job bartending. There are more bars in Vegas, per capita, than any place. Don’t forget he’s hiding out. It’s like they say-if you want to hide a book put it in a library.”

“With all the places to look, how long will it take to find him?”

Sol set the coffee cup down. “If we just went place to place, showed his picture around, and went back to each bar at every shift change, we’d never find him, not in this lifetime. But we have help.”

“Yeah, from whom?”

“Our old friends, Nick La Cotta, Joe Sica, and the boys.”

“Oh.”

“Look, Jimmy, these goniffs know Vegas. The Mafia built the town. Not much goes on up there that they don’t know about and we need all the help we can get. Remember, we’re not the only ones looking for Kruger.”

“Yeah, I know. Karadimos is after him. Not to mention the FBI. He skipped on the drug thing.”

“If the FBI finds him first, they’ll hustle him off to Houston on the fugitive warrant and you’ll never get to him. Even if you did, he’d clam up. You wouldn’t get anything out of him. But, that’s not the worst of it-” Sol stopped in mid sentence for a beat. “I don’t even want to think about Karadimos finding him before we do.”

“When we find him, we’ll still have to get him to talk,” I said, thinking out loud.

“He’ll talk,” Sol said.

“Sure he will,” I said, knowing it’d be up to me to get Kruger to tell us what we had to know.

I stood and walked to the large arched window at the far end of the room, wondering how I’d get Kruger to talk if Sol and the mobsters actually found him. I looked out at the traffic on Florence Avenue. There were only a few cars parked at the curb and none of them had goons sitting behind the wheel. I figured Karadimos’s men were still keeping close tabs on me, but I hadn’t seen anyone tailing me for a while. Could it be that Big Jake had scared them off?

“Good luck at the fundraiser tonight,” Sol said.

I turned around. “Right now, I’m worried about finding Kruger.”

“We’ll find him and he’ll talk. Quit worrying.”

“He’ll talk if he’s alive.”

“Rita, you did a marvelous job on this discovery form. All it needs is my signature and it will be ready to file. How’d you know what to request?”

I sat across from Rita at her little desk in our outer office. She handed me the discovery request form. I signed it and handed it back to her.

“Three years of law school, Jimmy,” she said. “I know enough about the case to figure out what to request.”

“Well, it’s perfect.”

“When I was at the store, I bought a copy of The Legal Secretary’s Handbook. I used my own money to get it for you. Everything is in the book, how to fill out the forms, make a will, all kinds of stuff. You’ll need a secretary when I’m gone. I’ll be getting my bar results soon. And, well, you know.”

“With that book and a rubber stamp for my signature, I wouldn’t even have to show up at all. The secretary could do everything,” I said, half laughing.

“Yes, that would work; a signature stamp. Good idea, Jimmy. I’ll still be your secretary for a while, anyway. I could pay the bills, file the forms, and take care of things when you’re not here. You’re not here very often, you know, and you always send me home early.”

I realized that Rita needed to be more useful and wanted to expand her skills. She had to be bored sitting around waiting to answer a phone that rarely rang.

“If the stamp is only used with my prior authorization, I guess it would be okay. Call the bank. Find out what we need to do to set it up.”

“Done.” She snapped to attention. “I put your money and the tape recorder on your desk.”

I stepped into my office, and Rita followed. I tucked the money in my pocket and started to fool around with the cassette machine.

“I’ll go back to the bank and get the forms for the stamp.” She moved toward the door.

“Rita,” I shouted after her.

She looked back at me over her shoulder.

“While you’re at it, have some new cards printed. You’re now the new office manager, that is until you pass the bar, and then…” I paused. I didn’t know how to ask. “Maybe we could work something out.”