[h2]Truth-enstein?[/h2]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/db4vRi2.jpg[/img]

“So, how we doin’?”  Booth leaned through the kitchen door.  “Doc getcha all fixed up?”

“Not a doctor yet,” Moshe applied the final wraps of the cast.  “Stop it, Uncle Lenny!” he laughed as the attorney gave his hair a good tousling.  “From what I can see, the medic on that boat you rode here took care of business.  All I had to do was set up the cast.”

Yuri nodded.  “I thought that as well.  Nice to hear you say it, though.”   He watched as the med student squeezed a tube above his arm, leaving a heavy stream of thick goop that was soon to be smeared into the wrappings.  Moshe looked to be roughly his age.  Behind the black framed glasses and intern’s lab coat, the family resemblance to “Uncle Lenny” was unmistakable.

“Finished,” Moshe proclaimed as he removed his gloves.  “Now we let this cure for about ten minutes before we reapply the sling.  How does it feel?”

“Warm.”

“That’s the curing process.”  Moshe cleared the remnants of his work from the table.  “Where’s Dad?”

The attorney stepped in.  “His study…finishing breakfast.”

“Shiny,” the young medic made for the door.  “Back in a few ticks.”

Booth sat across from Yuri.  “Good kid,” he said of his nephew.  “Had a rough patch there around seventeen…I did a little pro bono work for the rabbi to clear his record, and now look at him!”

The mechanic studied his new cast.  “You and your family have done so much for me,” he shook his head.  “This cast, hiding me in a synagogue overnight, and the food!  Oh my god!”

The lawyer patted the beginnings of his paunch.  “Hadassah can cook alright. She’s decided that if she can’t get me married off, the least she can do is fatten me up like my brother.”  He leaned forward, elbows propped upon the checkered table cloth.  “So…I had a friendly little chat with your boss…DeVillers?  Really charming guy.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Yuri grunted.

“Yeah, you’re reading him alright.  We’ve got a meet scheduled in a couple hours.  Now here’s what’s gonna happen.   Right about now, your company’s source box jockeys are finishing the address trace.  I’m conjuring we got about ten ticks before the gorillas in the suits show up on either end of the block.”

The younger man’s brow furrowed.  “Would they force their way in?”

Booth waved a hand.  “Nah.  Temple Shalom Khao Yai has cultivated a…symbiotic relationship…with the local Five-Oh.  Anyway, we’re gonna march right out the front door with a couple uniforms.  They’ll make with the lights and sirens on the way to my office, where a few of my associates will hang out to keep things serene…capiche?”

Yuri gave a dull nod.  “This feels like a gangster movie.”

The attorney chuckled.  “Count your lucky stars on that one, boyo.  If we’d been tryin’ to dodge the local O.G?  They’d still be hosing us off the pavement.  Corporate contracts like this call for discretion, not to mention some legit sounding ex military types with all the bona fides.  And that,” Booth smiled, “is what makes ‘em predictable.  Otherwise, we wouldn’t be sitting here getting fat on Hadassah Büdenstein’s cooking.”

Yuri gave a curious tilt of his head.  “Büdenstein?  She’s your sister-in-law, no?  It’s not Booth?”

“Shortened my name,” Lenny rose from his chair.  “Salesmanship, my man!  ‘Booth the Truth’ is something your average defendant can remember.”  Sensing the younger’s skepticism, he added,  “You try to make a catchy slogan with ‘Büdenstein’ that doesn’t remind people about  dead bodies and electrodes in the neck.  Now go on and make yourself pretty for the meeting.”

The mechanic obeyed, slipping his newly hardened cast into the sling before rising to leave.  At the kitchen  door, Yuri paused to offer a wry grin.  “How’s this?  Lenny Büdenstein, Attorney at Law…It’s alive?”

“Don’t sell the tool kit yet, kid.”