[center][h2]And Justice For All - Part 1[/h2][/center]

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

The offices of Attorney Leonard Booth were everything Yuri might imagine of a lawyer whose client extraction technique included mariachis.  Terrazzo floors seemed to cower beneath the knockoff Persian style area rugs.  Nowhere could the eye travel that wasn’t slathered in dull gold leaf, or propped up by a mishmosh of Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian columns.  The lobby was dominated by a large screen which blared the latest “Booth the Truth” advertisements and tutorials in which the man himself explained what not to say to the local 5-0.   A dozen wing backed leather chairs with ornate cherry wood fittings dotted the space.  As they swept through, Yuri noted that nearly all the seats were taken.  [i]By members of the same gang, if the matching doo rags were any indication.[/i]

“Booth,” their leader rose as the lawyer nudged his charge past.  “You gotta help my brother, man.”

Lenny stopped.  “Aw, geez, Diego.  Don’t tell me Ramon’s back inside?”

Diego nodded.  “He didn’t do nothin’.”

“Good answer,” the attorney said.  “Look, I’m late for a meeting with some suits.  Lemme get lunch for your crew.  Diane?  DIANE!” he shouted for the receptionist.  “Get my friend Diego and his associates some lunch while they wait.  That shiny with you guys?”  Seeing nods all around, he stepped closer to the young woman’s desk.  “Hit the cortex for any charges filed on Ramon Guitierrez.  Then call Lt. Traxler.  Tell ‘im ‘no interrogations without I’m in the room.’ Capiche?”

Diane responded with the dead eyed stare of a battle hardened receptionist.  “I know how this works, Lenny.”

“That’s why I’m gonna marry you someday!” Booth exclaimed as he ushered Yuri toward a conference room.  Compared to the helter skelter mismatches outside, the more traditional business trim of this room was positively austere.  Except, of course, for the gigantic screen which made up one entire wall.  “Really something, huh?” Booth chortled as he directed Yuri to a seat at the table.  “I got this whole place from a client.  Guy’s company made “art” captures for the cortex,” he winked.  “This was his screening room.  You can see every pore…hey, Shenequa!” he greeted a woman of considerable size who was already seated.  “Say hi to Yuri!”

“Hi.  You’re late,” she looked at him over glasses perched low on her nose.  “They’re [i]shēngqì[/i].”

“Just how I like ‘em,” Leonard Booth, Attorney at Law rubbed his hands gleefully as he took his seat between them.  “Fire that bad boy up, hon.”

The enormous screen glowed to life.  In an instant, the room was bombarded by an image of seven people, all side by side at a massive conference table.  Yuri recognized DeVillers’ profile as he huddled in conversation with three immaculately suited men to his left.  “Those are the company sharks,” Booth whispered.  “Leave them to me.  The other three?  Lackeys who carry your boss’ water.  They’re here to balance the table and look intimidating.  Just keep quiet.  I’ll do the talking, and I’ll  nudge you if you need to say anything.  Remember, this is poker…”Hmmmmph!” he cleared his throat loudly, drawing the attention of the remote group.  “Hey everybody, thanks for joining in!  You know my client,” he smiled broadly as he laid a hand on Yuri’s shoulder.  “I’m Leonard Booth, representing Mr. Antonov.  This lovely lady is Shenequa Robinson, my paralegal…”

“Howard Lang,” the senior attorney interrupted.  “Representing Ogilvy-Norton.  Mr. Booth, do you realize how long you’ve kept us waiting?”

“I sure do,” he nodded vigorously.  “We were delayed en route…had a pop up meeting with some of your client’s associates.  But, thanks to providence and Khao Yai’s uniformed law enforcement officers, we’re here in one piece, ready to proceed.”

DeVillers glared onscreen before Lang whispered a message.  “Very  well,” he began.  “I’ll say that Ogilvy-Norton are relieved and pleased that your client managed to survive the tragic loss of the Eileen McSorley and her crew.  We are, however, confused as to his abrupt departure from New Melbourne, not to mention an immediate retention of legal counsel.”

“Asked and answered,” Booth shrugged.  “Mr. Antonov made all effort to contact Mr. DeVillers as soon as he’d been treated by the rescuing boat’s medic.  As to being along for the ride,” he chuckled, “carrying shipwrecked survivors to the vessel’s next port of call is standard practice that goes as far back as sailing ships on Earth-That-Was.”  Lenny grabbed a pad and stylus as he spoke.  “And while Mr. Antonov is glad to learn of your client’s well wishes, perhaps if they’d chosen to show the love during that initial call we all wouldn’t be here charging our fees…but let’s move past perceptions.  These are confusing times,” the attorney nodded amiably.  “Both Ogilvy-Norton and my client have suffered a terrible loss.  Nature can be a cruel thing, sometimes.  No matter how we…”

“Spare us the preamble…Counselor,” said the legal team head.  “It’s obvious that you and your client are attempting to leverage this grief stricken company for personal gains.  Just tell us what you want.”

Booth lifted an open palm.  “Well that’s the thing.  You see, after doing his duty and then surviving the shipwreck, Mr. Antonov simply wants to live a quiet life.  He harbors no ill will toward Ogilvy-Norton, and he’s not looking for anything more than you’re about to distribute to the bereaved families.  How much is that again, Shenequa?”

She looked up from her screen.  “A hundred twenty-five thousand.”  

“A hundred twenty-five thousand,” Booth repeated.  “Twelve point five salary, twelve point five hazardous duty bonus, and the standard one hundred thousand death benefit.  As easy as that,” the lawyer gestured with both hands and a friendly grin.

DeVillers’ scowl deepened as around him, the attorneys chuckled.  “We don’t pay death benefits to the living.”

“Good point,” Lenny nodded.  “And if your fellas here on Greenleaf had been on their game, the death payout wouldn’t be in question.”

“Are you suggesting…” an attorney on screen welled up in practiced outrage until Booth cut him off.

“Have a sip of water, Counselor.  What I’m…’suggesting’...is that my clients want only the best possible outcome to this tragedy, namely that Ogilvy-Norton experiences no disruption to your insurance claim processing, and that Mr. Antonov is simply given what’s promised in your client’s employee handbook.”

“Disruption?”  DeVillers leaned forward.  “Am I to infer that he thinks he might [i]disrupt[/i] our insurance claim?”

Yuri opened his mouth to speak.  A subtle hand squeezed his wrist.  “Furthest thing from his mind,” Booth quickly filled the gap, “My client  wishes to avoid that kind of unpleasantness altogether.  In fact, he’s willing to take his story and all that he knows to the grave.”

“For a hundred twenty-five thousand?”  The senior attorney was incredulous.  “I’m certain your girl there has run the numbers on our insurables.”

“Yessir, she has.”

“And so,” Howard Lang, Senior Partner continued, “we’re expected to believe that your client will seek no further recompense, nor will he attempt to expose us to future liability?   For a hundred twenty-five thousand?”

Lenny Booth grinned.  “Guaranteed.  You might’ve heard me mention ‘clients?’  Your junior partner did.  He’s been tugging at your Number Two’s elbow since I said it.”  He turned an eye toward his paralegal.  “Shenequa, we got that feed?  Share it with our friends,” he gave an encouraging nod.