Gangster's Court Page 11

  He checked the time on his phone, almost nine-thirty on a Monday morning and there was no one in the lobby. No one on the elevator. Where are people? Is this a set-up?

  The doors opened, a sign indicated the office was to the right. He exhaled deeply, thankful there weren’t a dozen officers waiting for him. Instead, he followed the tan carpet path to a heavy door labeled La Jolla Rheumatology. Omar was greeted by the smell of the elderly. Three eighty-year-old bottle blondes sat in chairs opposite the front desk with its sliding glass privacy wall. Omar smiled at them, noticing the chairs to his right were vacant.

  As he approached the obscured glass, the shape on the other side slid it open. An attractive and slender forty-something woman asked in a soft southern voice, “How may I help you?”

  “A couple of your patients asked me for help. Bao and Markus.” Omar tapped at his pockets. “I lost my paper with their last names written on it.”

  She smiled warmly. “Have a seat. I’ll go see if either of them is here.”

  Smart lady. Doesn’t admit they’re even there. “Thank you.” Omar sat at a ninety-degree angle to the three old ladies who seemed to be appreciating, if not ogling, the way he filled out his black polo shirt and gray slacks.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket. Jo responded, [If you need to talk, I’ll be free at noon].

  Omar looked at his phone, then up at the medical office. He tapped, [Got time to meet at your dad’s medical office after court?]

  The secretary opened the door to let him back. “Sir, follow me.”

  Omar rose and followed her across the pleasantly plain lobby. They went past four exam rooms and into the office of Dr. Dusan Racic. Inside, Bao and an old white man sat in chairs across an empty desk.

  The old man stood. “Thanks for coming. I’m Markus Racic.”

  Omar shook his hand. “Your son’s office?”

  Markus smiled. “Yes.” He gestured to the big chair. “Take his chair. Have a seat.”

  The receptionist closed the door behind her. Omar looked around the office, the odds of this being a police sting seemed low. Bao would know better than to cross him. The office was legitimate, the old ladies out front didn’t seem like plants. The building was probably empty because the rich people in La Jolla don’t work much in the summer.

  “What’s the issue?” Omar asked with his guard mostly down.

  Markus settled into his seat. “Straight to the point?” he asked Bao.

  Bao nodded.

  “Well, we have something a bit unusual going on. The city owns a rundown school building three blocks from the ocean in Pacific Beach. Four acres of incredibly valuable land. Families with children rarely live by the beach. Too expensive. Plus, a lot of beach houses are short-term rentals. So they shuttered the school and will sell it.”

  Omar shrugged.

  Markus looked at Bao, who nodded in return. “Mr. Omar. I understand from our friend here that you are discreet. Would you sign an NDA?”

  Omar smirked. “What your friend does for a living isn’t exactly legal. I’m guessing what you’re about to say isn’t either. Let’s just get straight to it.”

  After a sigh, Markus said, “I’ve got two council people who owe their seats and their future political careers to me. But that damned Blake McConner has funded three council members and the mayor.”

  “So?”

  “The city is going to sell the site. My firm and McConner’s are the only two that meet the local union requirements for a rebuild – so one of the two of us is going to get the contract. If we bid against each other in the open market, we’ll drive up the price. If we delay, another player could get a contract with the local unions and be eligible to bid. Then the price goes up even more.”

  “What’s the fair market value?” Omar asked.

  “As is? Right now?”

  Omar nodded.

  “Fifty million, with the zoning restrictions.” Markus held up his hand to show a limit. “Zoning puts a cap at thirty feet and a dozen units per acre. Whole project is worth about a hundred when sold. But build, land, and litigation costs will be about half.”

  “Good margin,” Omar remarked. “Did Blake wrong you? Do something improper?”

  “No,” Markus admitted softly. “If we fight over the project, the city could sell the land close to market value. Or some busybody might get a petition on the ballot to turn it into a park or something.”

  “How could my court help resolve your dispute?”

  Markus looked down at the floor. “Help us fix the bids.”

  “What’s your timeframe?”

  “Next week the city will be requesting proposals. If we submit this week, we have a chance at no more bids.”

  “Shit,” Omar muttered, rubbing his hand against his head. “I may have extra unwanted attention on me for a while.” The two old men looked at each other with confusion. “Don’t worry. I didn’t do it,” Omar said, with his patented smirk.

  Bao leaned forward. “Everything okay on our shipment?”

  “Of course. You’ll get a call soon. Just work with that guy and try not to call me. If you do, don’t say anything over the phone.”

  Markus shifted.

  “Mr. Racic,” Omar said calmly. “If you brought your case before the Gangster’s Court and lost, you would be out the fee and have no recourse. If you won, and Blake and his partners didn’t follow through, they would…” Omar poofed his hands.

  “I – I really don’t think it would come to that.”

  Omar shrugged.

  “What kind of fee would be involved?” Markus asked.

  “Twenty-five thousand cash. Plus five percent of the net savings each of you make, that can be paid out during the project build.”

  “Five percent?” Markus asked with shock in his voice.

  “Of net savings. Not net profit,” Omar responded with a raised hand. “You said fair market is fifty million. If you get the property for ten, that’s forty million in net savings. Two million to save thirty-eight.” Omar leaned back.

  Markus shook his head. “Too much.”

  Omar shrugged. “You sought me out because you know the value of what I can bring.”

  “Even if I wanted to agree to five percent, Blake would have a hard time starting a deal down five points.”

  Omar took a breath and thought for a moment. “Forty thousand cash. And two percent of net savings.”

  “If the contract isn’t awarded to either of us? No net savings. No extra fee?”

  Omar nodded. “Agreed. I win if you both win. So I’ll be incentivized to maximize savings.”

  Markus smiled. “So what’s next?”

  “We need a hearing date and a summons for Blake.”

  “Tomorrow night?” Markus asked.

  “Okay. Where can we find Blake?”

  “I’d imagine he’ll be in his office. I can probably get in to see him this afternoon. Will you come with me?”

  “My associate will. I need to find out how much flexibility I have with pending meetings. I normally hold Gangster’s Court at my lawyer’s office, but I’m not sure if that will work for me this time. What number can I reach you at?”

  Markus spoke a number that Omar committed to memory.

  Omar stood. “I’ll get the location to you both by tomorrow morning and we’ll convene at eight tomorrow night.” He shook Markus’ hand. “Expect a call within the hour from my associate, Milk.”

  “Milk?” Markus asked.

  Omar nodded, then turned to Bao. “Thanks. My guy will be in touch.”

  16

  Jo sat in the dark waiting room of her father’s family medicine practice. There were no windows in the waiting area. No moonlight spilled in, the only light came from three tiny lights plugged into the electrical outlets on the floor.

  Why didn’t I turn on the damn lights? She stared at the light switch next to the brown entry door. Why did I agree to meet him? She looked at her phone and re-read the last text message, sent fro
m an unknown phone number. [Might be late, don’t want to be followed.] Of course it was Omar. Being followed. New phone number. Just as Jo was about to text back and leave the office, she heard a knock at the door.

  “Come in.”

  Omar entered. “Lights out?”

  Jo shrugged. “No. Just felt more clandestine in the dark.”

  Omar flicked the overhead fluorescent lights on. His tight black polo and gray slacks had visible wrinkles, his head and face had some stubble. This was the first time Jo ever saw him not perfectly groomed.

  “Everything okay?”

  Omar scanned the waiting area filled with six chairs. “Will be.” He nodded towards the door to the office. “Show me around?”

  Jo tried to stay calm. “Are you hurt? Need medical attention?”

  Omar sat across the room from her. “No.”

  “What is it, Omar? I don’t mean any offense, but it’s risky to meet with you – I don’t like doing it at my dad’s office. It’s dangerous for me. For us.”

  Omar gave a tired smirk. “Nothing dangerous. I just need your help.”

  Jo gripped the wooden arms of the waiting room chair like a dentist was about to drill into her teeth without novocaine. “With what?”

  “If you go on vacation, you get another judge to fill in for you, right?”

  “Yeah.” Jo gripped harder, fearing he was going to kill a judge so she could take over on a case.

  “I’ve got a case before me tomorrow night, but I don’t think I can make it. I need you to fill in.”

  Jo let go of the chair and nearly fell over in relief. “I can’t do that Omar. You know that.”

  Omar shook his head. “They are white-collar gangsters. I can’t learn my guys up about the law to fill in for me. It’s got to be you. And it has to be tomorrow night.”

  Jo furrowed her brow. “What’s a white-collar gangster?”

  “One rich developer wants to collude with another. They are the only two who qualify for a site in Pacific Beach. If they work together, they save millions.”

  “And screw the city?”

  Omar nodded. “The city’s going to get screwed no matter what. You might as well make twenty grand for an hour.”

  Jo rubbed at her forehead. Somehow, “What would I have to do?” escaped her lips.

  “Decide which one should bid on the contract to win, which one should bid to lose, and how much the winner pays the loser out so it’s fair.”

  Jo shook her head. “I know I owe you, but I can’t get in any deeper. Please just let me pay you back the money you gave me. I’ve got a good salary, I can get you cash.”

  Omar rubbed against the stubble on his chin. “I appreciate the position you’re in. But I don’t need money. I need your help.” He leaned forward and looked into Jo’s eyes. “Like you accepted mine.”

  Jo exhaled like a cannon ball crushed the air from her lungs. She dropped her eyes down to Omar’s shoes. “One-time thing?”

  “If you don’t like it, sure.”

  “Then we’re even? You won’t ask me for anything again?” She looked up at Omar.

  Omar shook his head. “This gets us closer to even. I helped you kidnap a cop, all I’m asking for is an hour to hear a dispute between two developers.”

  Jo looked back at his shoes. “Your unavailability have anything to do with Officer Maggiore and that gang member dying last night?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone, so I’m not worried. But my car was stolen by the gang member. They’re probably going to get warrants to search me and tap my phones. I can’t run the Court under surveillance.”

  Jo leaned back in her chair, letting her head rest against the wall. “Jesus, Omar. I’m a Superior Court Judge. I can’t be around this stuff.”

  “Fill in for me tomorrow, I’ll get far away from you.”

  Jo sat upright, mustering her resolve. “I can’t engage in a conspiracy to collude against the city. I can’t commit any crimes.”

  Omar smirked. “It’s only a crime if you get caught.”

  “There’s a line I can’t cross.” Jo looked firmly back at Omar.

  “You’re not crossing a line tomorrow.” Omar waved his hand. “Your politicians drew the line so far away you can’t even see it.”

  “What do you mean?” Jo wanted Omar to convince her.

  “The whole bid process is rigged. You got this vacant property, paying no property tax, worth maybe fifty million. If one of these guys doesn’t get, it’ll sit vacant. For years, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you think the City Council is going to approve the sale for the highest use? Or for their closest friends and donors to benefit?”

  Jo shook her head. “The latter.”

  “The taxpayers are going to be screwed in the end. We know that. But the longer this waits, the more the City spends on upkeep, and the City misses out on collecting the property taxes it would get once all the condos are finished.”

  “You should be a lawyer. Good argument.”

  “But?”

  Jo smiled, enjoying the quasi-legal argument with Omar. “I’d ask you to review the City Charter to find out how the Council is supposed to dispose of assets. The process matters more than the outcome.”

  Omar threw up his hands. “That’s why I’m not a lawyer. I don’t have time for all that bullshit.”

  “The law isn’t bullshit.”

  Omar leaned forward in his chair. “Twenty grand. Less than two hours. Help settle a business dispute, make headway towards my debt, and help keep the City from getting screwed too badly. What do you say, Judge?”

  Dad could still use money. Jo looked at the worn carpet, old chairs, the old overhead fluorescent lights. Omar got Melvin’s things back. Jo looked at Omar. He’s involved in murder. “I don’t know.” She felt lightheaded as her mind raced through a million things, knowing in her heart she would help, but shouldn’t.

  Omar softened his voice. “I just heard a case yesterday. It’s easy when you can just control the process and decide what you think is right. There’s no wrong answer.”

  Jo perked back up. “What happened in your hearing?”

  Omar recapped, leaving out the part about going into the Oxy business.

  “So you gave them a chance to settle first. What would you have ruled?”

  Omar rubbed at his stubble while he thought for a second. “Trung was a proximate cause of Bao’s damages, but Bao didn’t have exclusive rights to the courier, so I would have made Trung pay Bao half his lost shipment and ten percent of his lost profit for two years.”

  Proximate cause. Exclusive rights. “You spent some time studying the law.”

  Omar nodded.

  “What would you do tomorrow night?”

  With a tinge of excitement flashing in his eyes, Omar smiled. “Try to get them to merge companies in a settlement before ruling. That way they have only one bid to worry about. If that didn’t work, I’d wait to hear what they say. If it’s close, I’d rule for Markus and make him pay heavy to the other guy.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to build the Court. Whenever possible, I want both sides to walk away content so they won’t want to fight about things. And I want the process to be worthwhile for people so they will bring me their dispute.”

  “What if I can’t reach a decision?”

  Omar shrugged. “You can.”

  With a cautious tone Jo asked, “Can I rule that when they place final bids to the City, they both bid in good faith?”

  Omar smirked. “That would be tough to enforce.”

  “I guess so,” Jo smiled softly.

  Omar sighed. “When I met you, I had the idea of helping to avoid gang wars.” He clasped his hands. “Now this Court can do that. Bao didn’t hire people to kill Trung, he came to me. I made them content. If I can close this case and word spreads that I can handle million dollar real estate disputes, people will come to me instead of going to war.”

  Jo took a moment to co
nsider that she was sitting across from a criminal mastermind. “This gets us even? And I get twenty thousand dollars for my dad?”

  A smirk-free smile slowly developed on Omar’s face. “Close to even.”

  Jo stood and extended her hand. “Okay.”

  Omar shook her hand. “Okay.”

  Jo looked at Omar’s puzzled expression. “What?”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d do it.”

  “My perspective might be a little different. I almost died yesterday.”

  Omar smirked. “Me too. Who almost got you?”

  “Dzuy, with some peanut oil.” Jo paused. “What happened to you?”

  “A rose almost got me.”

  Jo looked confused. “A flower allergy almost killed you?”

  “Something like that,” Omar said with a smirk. “We’re both still here. We’ll make some money and do some good with the Court.”

  “How will it work?” Jo asked.

  “My associate, Milk, will bring a table to put in here and you run an arbitration-type hearing.”

  Jo looked around the waiting room. “I guess this can work.” She sat back down. “Tell me all about how you ran your first session.”

  Omar went over it in more detail. The two talked for another hour before calling it a night.

  17

  Milk ducked his head slightly under the heavy yellow bar hanging in the underground garage, limiting the height of cars to six-foot-six.

  “How many times have you done this?” Markus asked.

  “Enough,” Milk responded flatly.

  Markus pressed the button for the elevator. “I like your suit.”

  Milk looked down at his black suit, then gave a tiny smile. “I do look good,” he said in a voice deep enough to rival Barry White.

  Markus smiled back. That was the most Milk had said to him in the twenty-minute car ride to the downtown high-rise. They entered the mahogany paneled, granite floored, elevator. “So I explain to Blake that I’ve hired you guys for a hearing tonight, and you’ll explain a little about what you do?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thirty-four,” Markus remarked as he pressed the button for Blake McConner’s floor. Markus glanced around the elevator, pausing to appreciate how much of it Milk took up. “Did you play football or basketball?”