Ginger snaps, p.4
Ginger Snaps, page 4
told me that if the Razorbacks lost on a given Saturday, he’d sulk until
Tuesday, but he never exhibited any erratic behavior. liz, the daughter
of a wealthy Memphis cotton merchant, radiated self-confidence and
good health, a woman who clearly loved life. Whether at charity events
or on the tennis court, she loved to organize everyone else, and no one
seemed to mind or had the courage to object.
The plane taxied to the Hodges Air Center, and as I peered outside
the window I recognized my ride and its driver. Clovis Jones, a former
All-American linebacker, leaned against a large, black Tahoe, boots
crossed, regarding me with some degree of apprehension. Clovis had
provided our protection during the Cole case. He owned a successful
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security company and provided consulting and investigative work for
Walter Matthews’ insurance company. When he was in DC, we usu-
ally found time to catch a Nationals game or drive up to Cantler’s for
crabs and cold beer.
“You didn’t have to meet me,” I said as we gave each other a man-hug.
“Do you really think I’m going to let someone else drive you around?
Maggie’d read me the riot act if I let you set foot in this town without
being by your side. You still got folks madder than a wet hen that you
defended Woody, and now rumor has it you’re here to represent Mr.
Wizard. Dub’s got em convinced he’s their kids’ drug dealer, the scum
of the earth. You’re not far behind. Situation normal.” He chuckled.
“I’m not here to represent Doug. He’s a friend, sort of, but I have
no idea why he’s calling for me. I’m gonna pay him a visit, set things
straight, have a few beers, play some golf, and go home. I don’t need
protection.”
Nobody talked like this in DC. They all took forever to say anything,
probably because they could charge more the longer they talked. It
felt good to be in little Rock.
“I hear you, but Maggie’s already pulled rank. I’ve been hired, and
you might as well get easy with it. Besides, the press is camped out at
the Armitage. You’ll need me to run interference at any rate.”
With that pleasant bit of news, he shoved my bags and golf clubs
into the Tahoe, and we headed to Micki’s office.
Her receptionist stuck out his hand and gave me his name, Mongo
Stankovitch. I saw a muscular man with multiple piercings and tat-
toos, wearing jeans and a tight t-shirt, definitely not who I expected.
“Mongo–really?” I had to ask. Turned out his mother loved the
movie Blazing Saddles, and she named him after her favorite character.
Better him than me.
Micki rushed in suddenly, clutching a fat ginger cat, which she
deposited on the window ledge. Her sandy hair had grown out some,
but she still wore her usual plaid shirt and jeans. She followed a wel-
coming hug with a quick kiss.
“Sorry–I’m fostering Doughnut for a friend. Yes, the cat’s name
is really Doughnut. I see you’ve met Mongo. Debbie is out running
errands. Where’s Clovis?”
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She rolled open the door to her office, as I explained that Clovis
was trying to sneak my bags in through the back door of the hotel.
“Right—I can just imagine,” she laughed. “listen, thanks for under-
standing about dinner and not staying at my place. eric is as old-fash-
ioned as you. Besides, I just might not be able to keep my hands off
you. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Hey, no fair,” I protested. “I want to hear more about eric, but first
tell me what’s going on with Doug.”
Micki went over what she had learned from liz and what she had
found out from her own sources. No formal charges had yet been
filed, but both the DeA and the U.S. attorney claimed very publicly
that Doug was growing at least a hundred full-grown plants in his
backyard and hundreds of seedlings in the flower shed and garage.
“The good news is there’s no indication they’re going to charge his
wife. I’m surprised. Dub not’s above indicting liz, or her cat for that
matter, to put pressure on Doug. The other lawyers in the U.S. attor-
ney’s office are completely out of the loop. A tight little group of DeA
agents and lawyers from Main Justice are in control. Dub’s also taking
pot shots at you—a badge of honor, I’d say.” Micki grinned.
“I saw him on Tv last night. I’m not sure I understand his wit, but
he seems anxious to tee it up. listen, Micki, defending drug cases is
your bailiwick. I’m happy to talk to Doug, but I’ll take my lead from
you. My thought was to meet with Doug, find out what in the hell this
is all about, play some golf, eat some real barbecue, and head home.”
“Well, you have an hour with him at three. liz and I’ll meet you
at the Armitage for drinks at six. eric was okay once I told him she’d
be there. I wish he could join us, but he’s on call this weekend. liz
is spending the afternoon looking for someplace to live. As long as
Doug insists you’re his lawyer, Dub refuses to talk to me, much less let
me see Dr. Stewart. I’d say something big is up, but Dub’s just acting
the same as always—an arrogant ass.”
The black Infiniti had pulled into a spot along the curb a little bit
further down the street. For now he was content to watch the com-
ings and goings at Micki’s office. He’d seen Clovis drop Patterson off
and knew he’d have to leave before the bodyguard returned. Clovis
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would draw a bead on him in a heartbeat. Patterson’s arrival was unex-
pected. like everyone else, Mr. Smith knew the professor had asked
for the DC lawyer, but nobody thought he’d actually show up. Too bad
for him. No chance Mr. Smith would let Patterson interfere with their
client’s business.
Micki and I spent what little time we had talking about what Doug
and liz faced. If the charges held up, the government would demand
the maximum sentence and throw away the key. Dub was sure to argue
that all the Stewarts’ possessions were fruits of his criminal enterprise,
including their house, furniture, and their extensive art collection.
They would target every asset they could find, including their bank
accounts. It would all be forfeited and auctioned off, with the pro-
ceeds going into the U.S. Treasury. I could never get over the fact
that even if they never filed a single charge, the government could
still bring a civil forfeiture proceeding against what they believed to
be illegal gain from an alleged crime. It reminded me of a Kafka story
except it wasn’t fiction: in America it happens every day.
Fortunately liz had money in a trust fund created by her grand-
father that the government couldn’t touch. Micki hoped she could
convince Dub to return the house or at least her personal possessions
by arguing that the money for the house and clothes came from liz
and not Doug. Whatever belonged to Doug was as good as gone.
liz continued to insist that all of the marijuana was intended for
Doug’s research, and that the government couldn’t prove he’d sold
even a dime bag. Well, maybe, but Doug was still in serious shit. The
press accounts, fed by Dub, claimed his large backyard had been
knee-deep with well-tended plants and his double garage had con-
tained hundreds of small seedlings under grow lights. The Feds might
have ignored a few plants, but this was a different story. The penalty
for cultivation was based on the number of plants and seedlings with
a root ball, not the weight of the marijuana or how much was actually
harvested. Besides, despite the legalization effort all over the country,
Federal law still doesn’t recognize using marijuana in research or for
medical use as a defense for possession or cultivation. Doug was up a
creek, without any kind of paddle.
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Micki hoped she might be able to cut a deal if the research story
panned out, but she worried that Dub’s malicious theatrics might
make a plea bargain impossible.
Rodney Fitzhugh, her friend and the deputy U.S. attorney, had
warned her, “Don’t get your hopes up. This is clearly no ordinary drug
bust. I haven’t seen this much secrecy since 9/11. I’ve heard wind of a
lot of chatter between Dub, the DeA, and Washington, but nobody in
the U.S. attorney’s office knows what’s going on except Dub, and he is
atypically closemouthed.”
Nor could Micki figure out why Dub hadn’t involved Sam Pagano,
the local prosecuting attorney. The DeA almost always turns drug
busts over to the locals. Sam told her he’d been told to keep his head
down and his office out of the way.
Sighing, she shook her head. “Well, whatever—our immediate
problem is that Dr. Stewart wants you to be his lawyer, even though
his wife has hired me. of course, if you’re bored, I can spare an
office.”
“What would eric think?” I retorted, and she frowned. Her signal
was clear: no teasing about eric. I let the moment pass.
“My presence would only make things worse. Dub’s itching to use
my involvement in Woody’s case to draw press attention. No, thank
you, I’ll spend a little time with Doug, then get out of your hair.” one
corner of her mouth turned down skeptically.
I’d seen the Tahoe pull up to the curb, and now Clovis walked in,
holding the door for a young woman who had to be Debbie. Nothing
in our phone conversations had prepared me for either her getup or
make-up. I rose automatically, and she blushed and smiled coyly as
she took the hand I extended. Micki scowled, giving her a “hands-off”
look. She flounced out without a word.
“What was that about? A little possessive, are we?”
“Don’t even think about it, Jack.”
Clovis saw my confusion and jumped in, direct as ever. “That one
will get your throat cut. A thug by the name of Novak thinks she
belongs to him. She’s terrified of him, and you should be too.”
I had no idea what they were talking about, but I had a date at the
courthouse, so I let it lie.
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“Time to go.” I turned to Clovis, but Micki pushed back from her
desk and stood, this time scowling at me.
“Why are you here, Jack? And don’t tell me it’s because I called. last
time, you came running because you owed Helen Cole. This time your
bags were packed before I was halfway through asking. Doug Stewart
grows and sells marijuana, pure and simple; there’s no reason for you
to drop everything and come running half way across the country.
This guy isn’t your best friend like Woody. You hardly remember him.
Is there something you’re not telling me?” Micki’s eyes bored into
mine. Hip cocked to one side, she waited for an answer.
I shrugged my shoulders and walked out the door. Truth to tell,
I didn’t have an answer. I had come back to little Rock looking for
one. Maybe I was tired of my work at the Foundation, maybe little
Rock had a greater hold on me than I realized, or maybe, just maybe,
I owed Angie a promise long forgotten.
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D
You would have been hard put to find anyone in the business sec-
tion of downtown little Rock on a Saturday, much less at the Federal
Courthouse. Unlike the stately, turn-of-the-century county court-
house, the Russell Robinson Federal Courthouse and office Building
was a 1960’s five-story building with absolutely no charm. The after-
noon skies had darkened and the thunderstorm broke just as we
arrived. To my surprise, the press and their cameras were huddled
under umbrellas outside the front entrance. Fortunately, Clovis had
arranged for a deputy marshal to meet us at the back door and escort
us to the holding area where Doug was waiting.
Doug’s stooping posture bore witness to his life in academia: too
many hours spent leaning over microscopes or staring at computer
screens. I vaguely recalled a clean-cut guy in polos, but today he wore
a blue prison jumpsuit and canvas slippers that dwarfed his feet. The
deputy removed his handcuffs, ankle shackles, and the chain belt con-
necting them both. We greeted each other with a handshake and awk-
ward hug. His voice was deeper than I remembered.
“Thanks for coming, Jack. I’m sorry to drag you here, and I know
it looks bad, but you’re the only one I can trust.” Doug said as he sat
down across the table.
I wasn’t sure what to say so I took the easy route.
“We can talk about why you’re here in a minute. I haven’t seen liz
yet, but I’m sure she’ll want to know you’re physically okay. So, tell
me. How are they’re treating you? How’d you get that shiner?” I asked
fearing Doug had already met unfriendly cellmates.
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“I’m fine. one of the DeA agents gave me the black eye when he
stomped on my face. I’m a lot safer in a cell with fifteen other pris-
oners than I was with them. We take turns sleeping on four bunks and
share a toilet in the corner. other than the lack of privacy, I really am
okay. Actually the shiner helps. My new friends are giving me advice
on how to claim police brutality,” he deadpanned.
The Feds didn’t have any lockdown facilities of their own other than
a few holding cells in the courthouse, so anyone they arrested landed in
the county jail. So far, Micki’s concern for Doug’s safety seemed baseless.
“Unless you’re a sex offender or a snitch, you’re probably safer in
county jail than in little Rock’s high schools. of course, it helps that
my cellmates all know why I’m in. I’ve had some interesting business
propositions,” he snickered.
Doug appeared to be in surprisingly good spirits, not intimidated
by his circumstances. I told him what to expect at the arraignment,
and that Micki and liz had been working to make sure he’d make
bail and be out by Monday afternoon. A quizzical eyebrow went up at
Micki’s name.
“Doug, I’m no expert on drug cases. I’m an antitrust lawyer. liz has
hired Micki lawrence, a criminal defense attorney. She worked with
me when I defended Woody Cole. She’s top-notch, and I can’t think
of anyone I’d rather have on my side.”
“You don’t need to justify her to me; I assumed you’d need local
counsel. Work with liz on the money issues, but I’m prepared to pay
whatever. You know what’s at stake.”
This conversation was headed down the wrong path. I wasn’t about
to defend Doug. I had to set Doug straight immediately.
“of course, I realize what’s at stake. You’re likely to spend a long
time in jail and lose your home. The Feds claim you’re a drug dealer
and a terrorist who preys on kids. every newspaper and newscast leads
with the story. Your entire future and reputation are on the line. That’s
why I’m glad liz hired Micki. She’s as good as it gets. You don’t need
me; you need an experienced criminal defense lawyer.”
Doug stared down at his hands clasped between his knees.
“I’m sorry, Doug. Maybe I shouldn’t have come to little Rock at all.
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I didn’t mean. . . ." He reached out his arm to stop my babbling—a
trick I myself used more often than I’d like to admit.
“No, I’m the one who should apologize. I thought Angie had told
you everything. She obviously didn’t. Remember when she made you
promise to defend me, and you agreed? I thought you knew why.”
“What does Angie have to do with this?” I jerked my arm away. I
heard my voice change, raspy with a little hard edge. I couldn’t help
it. “You’re likely to be charged with possessing, growing, and selling
boatloads of marijuana. What does any of that have to do with Angie?
