75

THEY ARRANGED TO MEET at Bruce Singer’s law office, in the Fairfax Building, early on Saturday morning.

“Good to see you, George,” Bruce said, welcoming him with a smile and a strong handshake. “Carol told me all about the screwing you got at WC&B, except she seemed to let it go pretty quickly. If a woman was given that kind of treatment, my wife would be going through the roof non-stop. How’s it working out for you with Teddy Barrows?”

“I like it there, Bruce,” he answered, accepting the cup of coffee Singer poured for him. “It’s only been four weeks, but I’ve enjoyed it. They’ve put together a nice bunch of lawyers. So far I haven’t seen any office politics and I don’t find a new memo from management on my desk every twenty minutes. Believe it or not, no one has said a word to me yet about going out and doing some marketing with another firm’s clients. It’s a whole new world.”

“I’m glad it’s a good situation. You deserve it. It was hard to believe what Ed Jackson did to you.”

“It was Fiore, Bruce, not Jackson. Ed doesn’t have the balls to do it. He just does what he’s told. If you win the election next month, Fiore will be right back in the driver’s seat. In the meantime, ‘Big Ed’ doesn’t want to make any waves. He thinks people look up to him because he’s on the Executive Committee, and he’s afraid Fiore will bounce him off if he’s a bad boy while he holds down the fort. Fiore was just settling an old score he had against me, and used Jackson to do it.”

Singer noticed the sun hitting Ryder in the face and went over to the window to close the blinds. “It’s scary,” he said. “Things have gone so far downhill in this business. Some of our honorable brothers will use any chance they get to stick a knife in your back. They’ll steal clients from you the minute you turn around, or hold back critical documents in a case when they know they should be turning them over. Some of them will even make a deal with you, shake hands on it and then break it a day or a week later if they suddenly decide it’s not as good for their clients as they thought it was at the time. It’s hard to trust anyone in this profession anymore. I have no trouble seeing why the average person in the street hates lawyers so much.”

Ryder nodded his head in agreement. “You’re right,” he answered. “And maybe what I came to see you about isn’t the most noble thing in the world for a lawyer, either. I thought about it a long time before I called.”

Singer waved his arm, a sign that he was giving George the floor. “Okay, let’s hear what you’ve got.”

Ryder took a small package out of his briefcase and placed it on Singer’s desk. It was wrapped in brown paper and held together by a few strategically placed pieces of duct tape.

“There are eleven audio cassettes in here,” he began. “They’re numbered in order. Every minute of what you hear on these tapes was recorded in Room 606 at the Biltmore, from late in May through September of this year. You’ll recognize the man’s voice. It’s on sound bites on radio and TV every day, something to do with the race for governor in Rhode Island.”

Singer mouthed his opponent’s name. “Fiore?”

Ryder shook his head affirmatively. “Yup.” He continued. “The woman is the wife of one of his clients. No, I take that back, she’s the wife of the president and general manager of his client’s plant. Between you and me, it’s Ocean State Wire & Cable and her name is Pat Hanley. I used to help her husband Brad negotiate their labor contracts.

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do with these, but I don’t trust your worthy opponent for a second. In case he tries to pull any bad shit on you before the election, anything personal, I thought you should have some ammunition of your own.”

Singer looked stunned, like a man who was just awakened and told to choose either a gun or a sword in a duel to the death that was about to begin. His hands didn’t move. “George, I’ve got to ask you. How did you get these?”

“By conduct unbecoming a man of our profession,” Ryder answered. “You listen, and I’ll try to make a long story short.” He waited for Singer to sit back before he began. “Ocean State has Room 606 on sort of a permanent basis. I think they pay for it by the month. Brad Hanley, the Company president I mentioned, gave me a key so I could sleep there instead of having to drive home if we were up real late negotiating with the union. I went to use it one night and it was easy to see what was going on. Fiore’s briefcase and raincoat were there, and the bed was all messed up. I found out from the desk clerk that Pat Hanley had the room for that day.

“Not long after that, Fiore got Jackson to start sitting on me about my billables. It was obvious that he was greasing the skids for my departure. I figured it couldn’t hurt to have something on him when the showdown came. I didn’t know if I’d use it, being what it is, but I sure as hell couldn’t use it if I didn’t have it.

“Anyway, I spoke to a private investigator who owed me a favor. I took him to the Biltmore on a Sunday morning and he installed a tape recorder under the bed in that room. Then he put microphones in the lamps on the night tables. I got another key made for him and he changed the tapes every so often. The results are what’s sitting on your desk.”

“Have you listened to all of these?” Singer asked.

“No, just the first one and part of the second. They get repetitious, if you know what I mean.”

Singer nodded. “I don’t know what to say, George. I gather you decided against using them yourself.”

“Yes, but that’s only because I caught on with Barrows and LeBlanc. Before that, I was sick about the fact that a majority of my partners were ready to back Fiore if I refused to resign and took it to a vote. They knew that meant all I’d get is three months’ severance after thirty-two years. I know I was a special case, that Fiore had it in for me for a long time, but no one else that I can remember ever had to resign because his billables turned sour. I was told by some of the partners that Fiore has always been fair, even though they knew he wanted as much control as he could get. But when I pointed out that what was happening to me could only happen when the managing partner felt he could do whatever he pleased, and that made it a dictatorship, not a democracy, most of them just said, ‘Sorry, George,’ and turned away. At that point I didn’t have much choice, but I’d already lost my taste for staying there and having to think of those guys as my friends. But I’ll tell you, Bruce, that if I didn’t have another place to go by the deadline they gave me to get out, I might have mailed one of these to Fiore and let him guess what I was thinking of doing with the rest. I’m sure that would have convinced him to open his heart and improve my severance package. Three months, after thirty-two years.”

Ryder got up from his chair. “Hard to believe someone could do something like that,” he said. Singer shook his head, but without speaking, and Ryder pointed to the tapes. “Look, do what you want with them. They’re yours. I don’t need them anymore. Like I said, I think Fiore will do anything in the world to beat you, clean or dirty. That’s who he is, in my estimation. Right now, he’s way ahead in the polls, and he can act like a statesman. But anything can happen between now and the election, so if it tightens up, watch out.” He zipped up his windbreaker. “I’d hate to see that bastard become my governor.”

Singer walked out to the reception area with him. “I appreciate your good intentions,” he said, and held out his hand.

Ryder shook it. “Say ‘hello’ to Carol for me.”

“I will, George, and thanks again.”

Singer watched him walk part of the way toward the elevator. Then he hurried back to his office, opened the credenza behind his desk and took out the Sony tape recorder.