Brash Endeavor, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 3

  Chapter 7

  PAYDAY

  Three weeks later we still had not received any material cash from the law practice. At the beginning of the month we had sent out over $6,000 in billing but since that time no one had paid us. The situation was desperate as we had exhausted our American Express line of credit and were nearly sixty days past due on that account. It was Saturday morning and we were getting ready to go to our first of two soccer games that day. We were not looking forward to the day Marcia turned five since that would mean we would have four soccer games every Saturday. I had just made pancakes for breakfast and was cleaning up. Rebekah was reading the paper.

  "When is Kurt going to get off his butt and pay you?"

  "I don't know; I can't understand why he hasn't paid me already. He's making an ungodly amount of money on these deals I'm doing for him."

  "Have you said anything to him?"

  "Well no, I hate to do that. I shouldn't have to do that."

  "Well, what are we going to do for money?"

  "If I don't get a check on Monday I'll go visit him on Tuesday and ask him to pay me."

  "What about Inca? Did you tell Tomlinson you wanted in on the well?"

  "No, I told you that already."

  "I hope not. Lone Star Gas is threatening to cut off our gas."

  "When did they threaten to do that?"

  "We got a disconnection notice in the mail today."

  "That's why it would be so great to get in on Parker #3. If it came in, we'd never have to worry about disconnection notices again."

  "You're a dreamer, Stan. Where did I find you anyway?"

  "It was your lucky day when you found me. I've already given you more excitement in your life than you ever dared to imagine."

  "Your kind of excitement I can do without."

  "Well, we've got thirty minutes until we have to leave for the soccer game, if you want some real excitement."

  "That kind of excitement I can definitely do without." Rebekah laughed.

  "Thanks a lot. I'll remember that the next time some voluptuous woman throws herself at me."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Nothing, just kidding."

  "You better not ever cheat on me, Stanley Turner. I wouldn't ever forgive you. Trust me."

  "Relax, I wouldn't ever dream of betraying you. I love you too much."

  "You better not."

  On Monday there was no money in the mail so I put a call in to Kurt to ask him about my bill. When I talked to him he seemed genuinely surprised that I hadn't been paid and suggested I stop by in the morning to get that situation rectified. I advised him I would be there at nine.

  The next morning, I arrived at Kurt's house promptly at nine. As I made my way into the den I felt embarrassed coming to see Kurt to get paid. I wondered what he thought of me coming in almost begging for money. It was very awkward and I hoped he would just write me a check next time and drop it in the mail. Kurt was in a red velvet robe sitting at his desk when I entered the room. He looked up and smiled.

  "Good morning, Stan. Come on in and sit down."

  "Thanks.”

  “I'm sorry you had to come by today but I guess we must have misplaced your bill. Do you have a copy of it?"

  I pulled a copy of the bill out of my coat pocket and handed it to him. "Yes, right here."

  "Let me see, three thousand one hundred dollars."

  "That's a lot of money."

  "Well, you've been working me pretty hard."

  "And you've done a good job," Kurt said as he leaned over and pulled up the corner of the rug next to his desk revealing a floor safe. He spun the dial right, left and then right again until there was a distinct, click. He opened the door and pulled out a briefcase. He placed it on his desk and opened it in front of me exposing a multitude of neatly wrapped stacks of one hundred dollar bills. He picked one up, carefully counted out thirty-one of them and handed them to me. "Just initial your statement so I'll know I've paid you."

  "Sure."

  I put my initials on the statement, smiled and then got up to make my retreat. "Thanks a lot. I guess I'll let you get back to bed. I heard you had a late night."

  "I'm not going back to bed; I've got too much to do."

  "Well, let me know if I can do anything else for you."

  "I will."

  I was excited to have thirty-one hundred dollar bills in my pocket but my excitement was blunted by a strange feeling that pervaded the Harrison mansion that day. There was something going on that I didn't know about, but I figured it wasn't any of my business and soon forgot about it. I went immediately home to show Rebekah the money. I opened the door and ran into the house."

  "Rebekah! Where are you?"

  "In the baby's room," she yelled.

  I ran into Marcia's room where Rebekah was changing a diaper. She looked up and smiled. "What are you doing home?" she asked.

  "Guess what?"

  "What?"

  I pulled out the thirty-one hundred dollar bills and waved them in Rebekah's face. Rebekah's eyes lit up.

  "Where did you get that?"

  "Kurt paid me."

  "Thank God," Rebekah said. "Did he pay all of it."

  "Yeah, and there's lots more where that came from."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Kurt has a briefcase in his house that must have a hundred grand in it."

  "You're kidding?"

  "No, I've seen it for myself."

  "Good, then maybe he can pay you on time next month."

  "I would hope so."

  In the weeks to come Kurt gave me more and more work to do and began to consult with me rather than just giving me orders. The more work I did for him the more I came to realize all was not well with his affairs. One of the projects he put me on was obtaining financing for a rehabilitation of a downtown Amarillo office building called the Panhandle Building. He was negotiating with a Houston S & L, Worldwide Savings and Loan, and they were demanding all kinds of documentation before they would consider doing the deal.

  Unlike most of his other projects, the investors on this one were local people, a dentist, a small businessman and an executive at Frito Lay. Each of them had agreed not only to put up about $100,000 each but also to sign a note on the property to Worldwide Savings and Loan for over a million dollars. Because the Panhandle Building had been designated a historical building and was over one hundred years old, it qualified for some very attractive tax credits. My assignment was to meet with each of these investors and to form a limited partnership between them. Then the partnership would buy the building from Kurt after he acquired it. I invited each one of the investors to my office to discuss the deal. All three of them, Tom Tower, Pete Hall and George Sanders, showed up and we met in General Burton's conference room.

  "Good afternoon, Kurt Harrison asked me to meet with all of you to get started on putting together a limited partnership to rehab the Panhandle Building in Amarillo. Now, before we begin I want to advise you that Kurt Harrison is my client and therefore I have a conflict of interest in putting this partnership together for you. I must recommend that you obtain your own independent counsel to advise you on this venture. If you decide to obtain an independent attorney then I will be happy to provide your attorney with whatever information he or she might require to evaluate this venture," I said.

  "We don't want to have to go find another attorney. Can't you just do it for us? You already know what the project is all about," Tom said.

  "I can if you all sign a waiver of conflict of interest," I replied.

  "Yeah, let's just get on with it. You're not going to screw us are you?"

  "Well no, but that's not the point," I said.

  "Kurt's already given us the numbers on the project. We just need to get it wrapped up as soon as possible so we can start taking advantage of the tax benefits in the deal."

  "I also need to caution you that you should consult an accountant as to these tax bene
fits as neither Kurt or myself have any special expertise in income taxes. We rely on accountants just like you do," I said.

  "What about Dan Kelley, he's a CPA?" Tower said.

  "That's true, but again he can't represent each of you so you may want an independent advisor as to the tax benefits of this deal."

  "Don knows more about tax shelters than anyone in Dallas. We don't have time to get anyone else involved this late in the game. . . . Let's just put the deal together right now and move on," Mr. Hall said.

  "All right, then you all have a packet of documents in front of you which I want to go over with you. Basically there is the partnership agreement, a contract of sale, the waiver and a proposed closing statement. Let's go through these documents one by one and then if you have any questions I'll be happy to answer them," I said.

  We spent about a half hour going through the contracts and discussing the basic structure of the deal. When we were done everyone signed the documents and left, except Tom Tower who stayed to discuss another matter. Tom was a man of about fifty years of age, very laid back and likeable.

  "So what can I help you with, Tom?"

  "My wife and I need to get some wills done. We don't have any and if something were to happen to either of us it would be a mess."

  "We can take care of that. Can you and your wife come in next week so we can discuss it?"

  "Sure, I'll check with her and call you."

  "Great."

  "Tell me Stan . . . do you think this a good deal?" Tom asked.

  "Well, I really haven't analyzed it from a business standpoint, that's not really my job. My role is just to make sure the legal documentation is correct and adequate," I replied.

  "I know, but what do really think? . . . What's your gut feeling?"

  "It looks good on paper. The tax benefits are definitely there but I have no idea if the price you are paying is fair. That would be the real estate appraiser's job and, of course, you can have a dozen appraisers appraise the property and they would all come up with different values."

  "I don't have a lot of money you know, this $100,000 is all of my savings. I make a good salary with Midwest Airlines but with three kids in college I don't end up saving much money each month," Tom admitted.

  "The only thing I can promise you is that the partnership will own the property when the transaction is complete. Whether you got a good deal or not is anybody's guess. Like I said you may want to get your own independent representation."

  "That's all right. I trust Kurt, I've known him since he was a teenager. His dad and I go way back."

  "Oh really?"

  "Yes. Kurt's a good boy."

  That night I began to worry a little bit about the Panhandle Building project. Although it looked good on paper, there was a lot about the project of which only Kurt had any knowledge. I had tried to be as honest and straight forward with the investors as I could. One thing that made me feel better about the situation was that Kurt had never once told me what to tell or not to tell the investors. If he were trying to hide something I would think he would give me instructions on what and what not to say. Since he didn't do that I felt like everything was on the up and up. It also gave me comfort that a big Houston savings and loan like Worldwide Savings was involved in the project. Surely they would check the deal out pretty closely before they lent any money on it. Despite all of my rationalization I still had lingering doubts which I expressed to Rebekah that night at the dinner table.

  "I met the nicest guy today, Tom Tower," I said.

  "Is he related to John Tower?" Rebekah replied.

  "I don't think so. He's an executive with Frito Lay and he's investing in Kurt's Panhandle Building project."

  "Oh really?"

  "I'm kind of worried about him and the other investors."

  "Why?"

  "None of them have really checked this deal out. They are totally relying on Kurt and now me to protect them. I told them they needed to get their own attorney but they didn't want to bother."

  "Well, they are grown men, right?"

  "I know, but I sure hope Kurt isn't taking advantage of them. I'm going to feel like crap if this deal turns out bad."

  "Well, what else could you do?"

  "I don't know. I have to believe my client unless I learn something that is inconsistent with what he has told me. So far, everything has checked out, but I still can't get rid of this lingering feeling that something is wrong, dead wrong."

  "It's probably nothing. You're just not used to these big transactions yet."

  "I hope that's all it is."

  That night I couldn't sleep very well. I tossed and turned but couldn't get comfortable. My mind wouldn't slow down long enough to allow by body to fall asleep. Then when I finally did fall asleep the phone rang.

  "Hello," Rebekah said. "Just a minute."

  "Stan. It's for you."

  "What?" I said as I struggled to wake up.

  "The telephone. It's for you."

  "Telephone?"

  "Wake up, the telephone is for you."

  "Oh okay," I said as I reached up and grabbed the phone away from Rebekah. "Hello."

  "Stan, I'm sorry to bother you but I need your help."

  "Who is this?"

  "This is Ron Johnson."

  "Ron? What’s going on?"

  "I'm in jail."

  "In jail! Why?"

  "They're charging me with driving while intoxicated."

  "Oh no. You've got to be kidding."

  "I wish I were. Anyway, I need you to come get me out of jail."

  "What time is it?" I asked.

  "2:40 a.m."

  "Oh, okay. Right now?"

  "Yeah, I don't want to stay in this shit hole any longer than I have to."

  "Okay. What jail are you in?"

  "Dallas City Jail."

  "Okay, I'll be right there."

  "Good, thanks."

  "Oh. . . . What do I do? I've never got anyone out of jail before."

  "Jesus Christ, Stan! Didn't they teach you anything in law school?"

  "Yes, but not how to get someone out of jail."

  "Just come down here and tell them you want to run a writ."

  "Run a writ?"

  "Yeah, writ of habeas corpus. Find a bondsman and get him to write you a bond to get me out. Then take the bond to the Sheriff's office and fill out a writ, they have pre-printed forms. Get the bond approved and bring it back to the jail and they'll let me out."

  "Okay, I'm on my way."

  "Thanks. See you in a few minutes."

  I reluctantly climbed out of bed and wandered over to the chair where a pair of jeans, t-shirt and sneakers had been tossed before I went to bed. I put them on, grabbed a wind breaker, jumped into my car and headed for city hall. With no traffic I made the twenty-mile journey in less than thirty minutes. The downtown area was deserted, so I found a parking place right across the street from City Hall. I was about to go inside to the jail when I remembered I needed to find a bondsman. I didn't know any bondsman so I cruised around downtown until I saw a neon light flashing that read Alliance Bonding - Open 24 Hours. Knowing downtown Dallas at night was not the safest place to be, I glanced up and down the street for any sign of trouble. The street seemed to be deserted so I dashed into the bonding company. Inside a young blond headed man was sitting behind a desk busily working. His arms and chest were quite muscular and for a minute I wondered if I had mistakenly wandered into a gym.

  "Hello," I said.

  The man didn't immediately respond but finished what he was doing. Then he looked up and said. "Hi, what can I do for you?"

  "I need to get a bond for a friend of mine in the city jail."

  "What's the charge?"

  "DWI."

  "What relationship are you to him?"

  "I guess I'm his lawyer."

  "What do you mean, you guess?"

  "Well he's a lawyer too and I used to work for him . . . so it s
eems a little weird to say I'm his lawyer."

  "Does he have any property?"

  "Oh yeah, he owns Bid D Title Company."

  "Oh really? I've heard of it. Okay, I guess we can issue a bond for him. Have a seat and I'll start working on it."

  The man pulled out a form from his drawer and began to fill it out.

  "What's your name?"

  "Stan Turner. What's yours?"

  "Roger Rand," he replied. "Who usually handles your bonding for you?"

  "Actually this is the first time I've needed anyone."

  "Well, I hope you'll let us handle all your work in the future."

  "Sure, give me one of your cards."

  Roger pulled open his middle drawer and pulled out a few cards and handed them to me. Then he got on the phone and called the city jail to get all the necessary information on Ron Johnson's arrest. After about fifteen minutes he handed me a completed bond and instructed me to go to the jail and get it signed by my client and then take it to the county sheriff's office to get approved. I looked at my watch and saw that it was 3:10 a.m. As I pulled up to city hall a group of seven or eight Hispanic men were coming out of the jail entrance. They were rather rowdy and gave me an unfriendly glance. I tried to ignore them as I entered into the Dallas City Jail.

  The jail was old, rundown and dirty. The waiting room was crowded with friends and relatives impatiently waiting to get their loved ones out of jail. I went up to the main desk and advised the desk sergeant that I had to get a bond signed. He took the bond and said he would go get it signed for me. I was instructed to take a seat and wait for him to return.

  With considerable difficulty I found an empty spot on a bench and sat down. An old man with torn khaki pants and a badly stained shirt was fast asleep across from me. Every once in a while he would snore so loud he would wake himself up. Several children were running around the waiting room playing tag. Their mother seemed to be oblivious to their disorderly behavior. A well-dressed black woman sat next to me engrossed in a book. I felt very conspicuous and uncomfortable. What was I doing in a place like this? Now I knew why I didn't want to be a criminal attorney.

  By the time I got out of the jail it was 3:45 a.m. I was getting tired, so I drove quickly to the county courthouse and parked in front. I went up to the courthouse entrance but was distressed to find it to be locked. How was I to get this bond approved if I couldn't get into the courthouse? I glanced around nervously wondering where the night entrance might be.

  I heard a noise behind me and turned quickly to ascertain what it was. A slovenly looking man with a paper bag approached me mumbling about something. I quickly extricated myself from his path and headed for the other side of the courthouse hoping I would find an opened door. As I rounded the east side of the building a car pulled up and a well-dressed man jumped out. It occurred to me that this man might be a lawyer so I followed him and sure enough he led me to the night entrance to the sheriff's office.

  Once inside I asked a deputy where I could find the pre-printed writs and the person who approved bonds. He pointed me to a large desk in the middle of the room. I got the appropriate forms, filled them out and handed them to the officer in charge. After a few minute he gave me back the approved bond and writ and I returned to my car. It was now 4:15 a.m.

  I never dreamed it was so difficult getting someone out of jail. When I got back to city hall, I gave my paperwork to the desk sergeant and sat down to wait for Ron to be released. At 5:00 a.m. the large door to the cell block opened and a steady stream of inmates were released. I asked one of the officers who all these people were they were letting go and he advised me it was all the drunks that had been picked up the night before. I continued to wait until it was nearly 6:00 a.m.

  Tired and becoming more and more disgusted by the minute, I went to the desk sergeant and complained that they hadn't released Ron yet. He apologized and explained that they had temporarily lost him. Somehow during transfer from one cell block to another they had lost track of him and could not find him so he could be released. Finally, at 6:45 Ron walked out of the cell block entrance a free man. Much relieved, I immediately escorted him out of the jail and to my car. We got in and drove off.

  "Did you know they lost you in there?" I said.

  "That doesn't surprise me as many inmates as there were."

  "So you must have had quite a party last night?" I said.

  "Yeah, and I've got a hangover to prove it."

  "Where's your car?"

  "Just take me home, I don't want to deal with that now."

  "I hope you don't want me to defend you on this charge."

  "Why, don't you do criminal law?"

  "No way, I didn't enjoy this at all."

  Ron laughed and said, "Well that's okay, I know a guy in McKinney that hasn't lost a DWI case in years. He'll take care of this for me."

  "Good."

  After I took Ron to his house I went home to crash. Rebekah was up making breakfast when I walked in.

  "I don't believe my husband is finally home," Rebekah said.

  "It's a bitch getting people out of jail," I replied.

  "I hope he going to pay you a lot of money for spending the whole damn night away from home."

  "I can't charge him."

  "Why not?"

  "Professional courtesy. He's been helping me out a lot on Kurt's real estate deals, so I couldn't charge him for this."

  "Damn it. You're out all night long and you're not going to get a red cent."

  "I wouldn't have made any money sleeping so I didn't really lose anything."

  "I know, but we're just so desperate for money."

  "We're going to survive, don't worry," I assured her.

  "You want some breakfast?"

  "No thanks, all I want is some sleep. Wake me up at noon okay?"