Bill Reynolds - Life Real Loud - John Lefebvre, Neteller and the Revolution in Online Gambling

Treanor has Eaton’s attention: “Mr. Carruthers has been placed on electronic monitoring,” Eaton says before asking, “what sort of security, if any, has he posted?”

Treanor replies,

Your Honor, I can’t tell you the size of his bond. I believe it’s smaller than the bond here. Mr. Carruthers was the CEO of a company called BetonSports.com, which is an offshore gambling business, one of the businesses Mr. Lawrence’s business facilitated. Mr. Carruthers was arrested when he flew through the United States on a warrant out of the Eastern District of Missouri. He’s been charged with a number of offenses, gambling offenses, racketeering offenses, and required to establish a residence in St. Louis. He was placed on house arrest there with electronic monitoring. He’s been given — initially I think it was two hours a day to leave the apartment to do certain things. I think it was expanded to two two-hour periods after they had — after he had established a record of complying with his pretrial requirements and he’s awaiting trial. He’s been indicted. I think the trial is scheduled for the early summer in St. Louis. And he’s been held under those conditions for exactly the reason that if he were to flee the United States that would severely hamper the prosecution.

Treanor is on a roll, and then he makes the connection: “In fact, Your Honor, we arrested both of the defendants in this case simultaneously at very distant parts of the country because we wanted to arrest them both when they were present at the same time because we believed if we arrested one the other one would never come to the United States. We arrested them simultaneously because we were aware that a single phone call could frustrate the ability of the government to arrest the other. We were — we believe we were correct, seeing that such a phone call was placed to Mr. Lefebvre.”

Eaton asks for more information on Lefebvre: “Is he a U.S. citizen?” Treanor says no but he is also out on a $5 million bond. Then he tells Eaton about the screwup with the bail money: “We were informed that yesterday his attorney attempted to satisfy the final conditions to get his release, but that Mr. Lefebvre, due to an error out on the West Coast, was moved to another facility and I think he was released today and is due — we’ve had conversations with his attorney. He’s due to arrive in this jurisdiction.”

“Yes,” Eaton says, “I guess Judge Gorenstein will hear the arguments about Mr. Lefebvre.” He decides to concede ground to Treanor, deciding that the change “might be sensible just so people don’t run around like chickens with their heads cut off.” Until the end of February, Lawrence is restricted to New York. He’ll be able to travel in the U.S. after that and doesn’t have to suffer any drug testing humiliations.

Meanwhile, back at Oklahoma FTC, finally, over fourteen hours after this morning’s rude awakening, Lefebvre gets processed into another cell. This time there’s actually a decent novel to read, Aldous Huxley’s Point Counter Point . He gets about halfway through. The book takes his mind away from Oklahoma City and transports him back in time. He’s even more pleased when he finds a large, deep crate of books in the common area — more good ones, too.

But the guards, they really annoy him. When they lock everyone down in their cells at night, there is so little light it’s impossible to read. There’s nothing to do except contemplate the fact that there’s some guy he doesn’t know in the bunk beneath, so he can’t sleep. Who knows what the hell the guy did, or what he’s doing right now, or what he wants him to join in with.

Day Six, Saturday, January 20, 2007, Oklahoma City FTC: In the morning, Lefebvre gets paraded to breakfast. Everyone is herded into a central room, which has two levels. The main part is about three steps up, and it has a large steel banister around it. Three steps down is the lunchroom. The lunch tables are set up in a big circle around the central area. Outside the lunch area are the steel doors that take the prisoners back to their cells. Everyone congregates in the middle and walks in circles all day. Lefebvre notices that the black guys all stick together in the corner, doing heavy-duty calisthenics, getting real big. He thinks, Might as well do something while you’re in jail, right? Me, I read a book.

Lefebvre picks what’s known as the cold corner, mainly because nobody would think of sitting there. He pulls his blanket over his shoulders, settles into the cold corner, reads a book, and passes the time. He doesn’t converse much, mostly keeping to himself but maintaining cordiality when necessary. The entire day passes without him having a clue what’s to happen next. His intuition tells him Marella is out there chasing him down, but then again he has no way of knowing. All he knows is the wheels grind slowly. Be cool.

Day Seven, Sunday, January 21, 2007, Oklahoma City FTC: Now it’s the Sabbath, which makes a week of captivity. Lefebvre gets up and once again nobody says anything to him. That’s all right, he’s ready to do it again, sit in the cold corner and read a book, tough it out. Except this time, the guards start treating him differently. “Man, I wish I had your friends,” his guard tells him. Lefebvre picks off his type right away. Guy’s treating him with respect now only because of the dollar amount. Guy’s got only one measurement of a person. Lefebvre thinks, Might as well set this dude straight.

“What are you talking about?”

“Five million bail — fuck you think I’m talking about?”

“I don’t have any friends. That’s my fuckin’ money!”

As with MDC L.A., word gets around. By now everybody on the floor knows what’s up with the “Five Million Dollar Man” standing by the door getting bailed out. Now he’s Lee Fucking Majors. A rock star. They start coming up to him, making conversation with the cold corner bookworm guy. Lefebvre stands in a doorway where on the door it says in large block letters NO STANDING HERE. Lefebvre stands there anyway. Everybody knows he’s going out on five-million bail.

Then the guards escort him downstairs. They stuff him in a room with a wide selection of ugly polo shirts. Not polo shirts exactly, more like ugly golf shirts. Ugly jeans, too. And really ugly nondescript beige nylon jackets — neither jacket nor car coat, really, and they just don’t fit. Lefebvre selects what he thinks he can wear. He stands back and admires himself. He says to the haberdasher, “Guy, how do I look?”

“You look like you just got out of jail.”

Then he goes up to meet his $850-an-hour Beverly Hills lawyer, who has flown in to greet him at Oklahoma FTC with the $5-million check. He gets to the gate. He can see Marella, who waves, “Hi!”

Then they tell Lefebvre, “Go sit over there.”

“What for?”

“GO SIT OVER THERE.”

“My lawyer’s here. My bail’s paid. You’ve got the documents. I’m free. Let me out of here.”

“ARE YOU GOING TO GIVE US TROUBLE HERE? ARE WE GOING TO HAVE TO PUT YOU BACK IN?

“Why?”

“YOU EARNED TEN DOLLARS! WE HAVE TO GET YOU THE CHECK!”

“Put the ten dollars in your coffee jar.”

Lefebvre’s beyond annoyed now. He sits, steaming, while they bureaucratically chase down someone who might be authorized to sign the ten-dollar check. Then he has to sign a document that says he’s received his pay. If he doesn’t sign it, they won’t let him out. The procedure steals forty minutes of freedom. You fuckers!

Not to mention stealing forty minutes of Marella’s time. That’s an expensive wait to receive a ten-buck check. Fuck it — I’m out, that’s all that matters.