May 31, 1964

J.T. walked confidently into “21,” past Slick Steve, who gave him an enthusiastic welcome, past the cigar counter, to the bar. The bartender who had served him that first drink with Chauncey Delafield was behind the bar. How the world had changed from that time to this, J.T. thought.

DeValen, who was waiting for J.T. at the bar, smiled broadly when he saw him.

“J.T., how are you?” he greeted J.T. enthusiastically.

“Good, good.”

“Your table is ready, Mr. DeValen,” Mario said. “Good to see you again, Mr. Wright,” he added with a flourish as he ushered them to their table. “Cocktails, gentlemen?”

“A double vodka over ice for me,” said DeValen.

“I’ll have a light, very light, Lilet and water,” said J.T.

“How’s the new job going?”

“No problems,” said J.T. “How’s your empire?”

“Fantastic. I’ve taken over another restaurant chain, and turned them into those places where you get all the salad you can eat and a steak or lobster tails.”

“I’ve seen them.”

The two of them took up the drinks the waiter served.

“Congratulations,” said DeValen, looking into J.T.’s eyes as they clinked glasses.

“Thanks.” J.T. sipped the Lilet. No matter what drink he tried, it always tasted like medicine.

“You can’t imagine how unhappy I am that you’ve left the firm for this special prosecutor’s office.”

“Oh?”

“Not unhappy for you, of course,” he said, touching J.T.’s shoulder. “Just that I was delighted having you working on my things, rather than those twits with the brown shoes.”

“This isn’t forever. I’m only going to do this until I build up my reputation. Then I’ll open my own office. Right now the State of New York is paying for my advertising and publicity. I’ll reap the results myself later on.”

“Aha. Then there is method in your madness. I couldn’t imagine why you’d want to go into government work when you could get rich just handling my affairs.” DeValen tapped J.T.’s leg twice for emphasis.

“I can still give you the benefit of my ideas if you’d like, even though Stevenson & Stetinius are on the job.”

“That would be excellent.”

“When they tell you what action they want to take, you bounce it on me and I’ll tell you what I think.”

“Super,” said DeValen. “I like that. And later on, when you have your own firm, we’ll sit down and work out some kind of retainer or percentage—anything that’ll help us come together better.” He winked at J.T.

J.T. didn’t like DeValen’s touching and winking. But he certainly liked the sound of his business proposition.

Mario approached the table. “Excuse me, Mr. DeValen,” he said, “but Mr. Chandler would like to buy drinks for you and Mr. Wright.”

DeValen looked across the room to a table where a portly man with dark-rimmed glasses sat with a stunning blonde woman of voluptuous proportions. DeValen smiled and waved.

“Tell Mr. Chandler he bought us a nice bottle of red wine for our lunch,” said DeValen. “And then select something for us that is dry and light, Mario. I’ll leave it to you.”

“Excellent, sir.”

“Chandler’s a big butter-and-egg man from out of town,” DeValen explained to J.T. “He’s got a company I’m looking to buy in Dayton. Makes superb batteries for cars. There’s enormous profit in the after-purchase car market.”

“What’s an after-purchase market?”

“The car manufacturers sell their cars with mediocre equipment or accessories. After purchase, the buyer replaces the barely adequate battery, tires, wiper blades, with finer-quality merchandise. I’m getting into that market now. Confidentially, the real bigwigs from Detroit are in with me.”

“You mean to say that the manufacturers purposely provide cheap batteries so they can sell better ones later on?” asked J.T.

“Not really. They put in the battery and other items the consumer is willing to pay for. If the manufacturer installed all top-of-the-line equipment, the car would have a price tag the average consumer would balk at. To keep the initial price down, they put in less expensive equipment. Later on, the dope who thought he had a bargain when he bought the car pays more to add the quality accessories than they would have cost as original equipment. But if John Q. Public thinks that’s a better deal, we’re certainly willing to accommodate him.”

Mario brought the menus and handed one to each of them. “The hash is excellent today, Mr. DeValen,” said Mario.

“That’s for me. I recommend it, J.T.”

“I’ll try it.”

The sommelier brought a bottle of red wine. He opened the bottle, smelled the cork, then poured a small amount in DeValen’s glass.

DeValen’s sniffed the wine in his glass with delight, then sipped. “Ahh, excellent, excellent.”

“Thank you, monsieur,” said the sommelier, serving J.T., then DeValen.

DeValen looked across the room, caught Chandler’s eye, and lifted his glass to him.

Chandler lifted his glass in return.

“Who’s the tomato?” asked J.T. “She’s gorgeous.”

“If you want to meet her,” DeValen said blandly, “I’ll introduce you to the little tart. She works for me.”

“She works for you?”

“I have three or four girls, all equally attractive, working for me all the time. I pay for their apartments and clothes and they entertain my butter-and-egg men from out of town when they come to New York. I do business much more easily when a man’s having a good time. Anytime you want to meet the girl, J.T., let me know,” DeValen said indifferently, looking at J.T.’s face.

“No, I’m not interested,” said J.T. He knew instantly he had said the right thing from the look on DeValen’s face.

“I like you, J.T. You’re an intelligent young man. The tarts are attractive, but a dime a dozen.”

J.T. said nothing.

“We can make a lot of money together, J.T.,” DeValen continued.

“I’m for that.”

“We’ll make a couple of million together the first six months you’re in private practice.”

“Sounds better all the time.”

“Making a million is a lead-pipe cinch.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. Finding compatible people is far more difficult. That’s why it’s important we get along so well.”

They clinked their wineglasses in a toast.

“We should have these lunches at least once a week, J.T. just to follow up on your idea of discussing my legal affairs, don’t you think? I’ll pay you a consultant’s fee, of course.”

“I couldn’t accept any fee while I’m the special prosecutor,” said J.T. “I’d have to start investigating myself.”

DeValen laughed. “You’ve got a grand sense of humor, too.” He patted J.T.’s leg under the table again.