Russell Atkinson's Blog, page 107

GUT SHOT – Episode 11

Gut Shot – episode 11

© copyright Russell Atkinson 2015

When I got home, Ellen already had the TV on. I gave her a kiss and went into the bedroom to empty my pockets and put on some slippers. The news wasn’t on yet so I had time to wash up and watch Tommy. Ellen came over and asked me about my torn pants. She hadn’t realized why I had to change clothes when she’d seen me earlier in the day. She had assumed I had just come home to change out of my suit to change into something more comfortable. The short version of events I had given her had glossed over the part about the pit bull and the fight. I’d only told her two punks had followed me and I’d had to hitch a ride to the station to get away from them. So I had to explain about hopping the fence and snagging my pants, and about the pit bull and my shredded jacket. I didn’t mention anything about the one mugger pulling a knife. I was more afraid of the tongue lashing I’d get from her than I was of the punk.

“That was your new suit wasn’t it? The Hugo Boss?” she asked.

“Yep. Over nine hundred bucks down the drain.”

“Great. You haven’t even taken the case and you’re already in the hole a grand. How’s your leg? I saw the blood.”

“Just a scratch. Hardly any blood. I’ve been through a lot worse,” I chuckled ruefully. I’d been attacked by a mountain lion once when hiking in the hills. It had taken over four hundred stitches to close all the wounds on my legs, and I had the scars to prove it. The pit bull hadn’t even drawn blood. It had just been the chain link fence.

We heard the pretentious horn fanfare coming from the TV that announced the local news show was starting. We went into the other room to watch it. There was a big apartment fire in San Francisco with good video, so that was the first story. Then came a double homicide in Richmond at a high school, and after that, a spectacular car crash on Highway 101 that also had good video, followed by a commercial break. If it bleeds, it leads. We were both getting impatient for Woody’s case. It was the first one after the break.

The anchor said there had been new developments in the case of the FBI murder as it was now being called and went to the same woman reporter in front of the federal courthouse in Oakland. When she said that Agent Braswell had appeared in court to face charges, a sketch of him appeared on the screen standing in the courtroom next to Breen. Woody actually looked quite handsome in the well-tailored suit. He was a good-looking guy, with broad shoulders, chiseled cheekbones, and a strong chin. I reflected again how smart Bert had been to get him into a suit. Breen looked especially tubby and balding in the drawing.

The screen went back to the reporter. She said that Woody’s lawyer had asked for him to be released, then dropped the shocker: the prosecutor had objected and said the case was potentially a death penalty case. The male anchor repeated the words “death penalty” in a rehearsed gasp, then asked the reporter when the last death penalty case was tried in the Bay Area. She replied that the court regulars she interviewed didn’t know, it had been so long. She went on to report the statement that Sheila Morrissey had made in court about Woody’s girlfriend dumping him. The anchor asked her then if the prosecutor’s theory was that the defendant killed the victim in a jealous rage. She replied that it seemed so. The girlfriend was not identified in any way.

The screen switched back to the anchor. Behind him was a graphic that kept rotating slowly through the sketched courtroom picture of Woody, his football picture, the FBI seal, a picture of Jermaine wearing a mortarboard, and the words “Death Penalty.” The anchor said there had been reports that the prosecutor had called Woody a “rogue agent.” The reporter told him to “take a listen” and rolled a video clip of Sheila Morrissey on the courthouse steps. Reporters were shoving mikes in her face and peppering her with questions. She kept replying that she had no comment, that the government would make its case in court, not the media. Then when someone asked her how she could prosecute an FBI agent vigorously when she works with them every day, she took umbrage and stopped.

“The FBI is full of dedicated public servants who put their lives on the line every day for all of us. I have nothing but the utmost respect for the FBI, for their honesty and integrity. But no one is above the law. Any large group of people can have one or two bad apples, someone who goes rogue in a moment of rage. I’m not talking about this case specifically. It could be bankers or butchers or the FBI or anyone. I’m just saying that the U.S. Attorney’s office will treat everyone the same. No special treatment will be given to this defendant or any defendant. Remember the victim was an FBI agent, too.” With that she pushed her way through the crowd to the nearby building housing her office.

“What a load of BS,” Ellen exploded. “One or two bad apples. Going rogue. That’s supposed to reassure the public?!”

I was steaming internally, too, but was more interested in the legal maneuvering. The earlier report had exaggerated, as I had expected. Sheila had not called Woody a rogue agent, although she’d come as close as she could ethically. She claimed not to be talking about this case specifically, but of course she was. This was an attempt to taint the jury pool, without a doubt. He knew Morrissey had violated the U.S. Attorney’s office guidelines in saying as much as she did. The rules were clear: “no comment” to any press inquiry until the trial’s over. Then I realized that the reporter was talking to a demonstrator, one of those sign-carrying folks I had to bull my way through, and I’d missed the beginning.

I grabbed the remote and rewound to the start of the interview. The interviewee was a fat black woman with a sign that said “Black Lives Matter.”

“What was your reaction when you heard the defendant might face the death penalty?” the reporter asked.

“Jermaine was cut down in the prime of his life. He deserves justice,” the woman answered.

“So you believe the government should seek the death penalty?”

“A black man can’t get a fair trial in this country. The death penalty is always used against blacks. It’s racist.”

The reporter looked confused. “So does that mean you think the government shouldn’t seek the death penalty?”

This time it was the woman who looked confused. She fumbled with her words for several seconds then replied “Black lives matter.”

The reporter, black herself, of course, pressed her further, “Are you talking about the victim or the defendant? They’re both African-American.”

The woman looked even more confused. “All black lives matter,” was all she could say. The reporter turned it back to the anchor who went on to show a cat video that had gone viral that day.

I could see this case was going to give the left-wing fits. From their point of view it was a black defendant accused of killing a law enforcement officer, so of course it was clearly a case where they’d be on the side of the defendant against the racist establishment seeking the death penalty for the black defendant. On the other hand, it was also an unarmed black man gunned down by an FBI agent, so of course they wanted the agent convicted and wanted the maximum possible sentence. It could get interesting.

Baby Names III

Have you ever wondered how much, if at all, pop culture, politics, or other publicity influences how parents name their babies? Here are a few graphs, culled from naming data provided by the Social Security Administration that will provide ample proof that it happens. Click on the images to enlarge them.

For those who are too young or too culturally deprived to recognize the names or the significance of the dates, compare the popularity of the names with dates of: Aretha Franklin’s career; when Erica Kane (the most popular soap opera character of all time) was active on All My Children; the boxing career of Rocky Marciano and the debut of the movie Rocky; and when Frozen became a smash hit (the main character is named Elsa);

The height of each bar represents the popularity of the name for that year as measured by the percentage of male or female babies who were given that name in that year. Popularity varies so much that the different graphs may be scaled differently. The number at the bottom gives the value of the highest bar for any given graph.

GUT SHOT – Episode 10

Murder is born of love, and love attains the greatest intensity in murder. Octave Mirbeau

Gut Shot – episode 10

© Copyright 2015 by Russell Atkinson

Chapter 5

I stopped in the office long enough to check messages, return some phone calls, and look at my snail mail, but I needed to change, so I called Ellen to see if she could pick me up. I gave her the short version of the story over the phone and she scolded me for not knowing how to look up the location of the BART station on my phone, for dragging my feet on getting another car, and for two or three other things I no doubt deserved. She came and picked me up.

Once I finished changing she insisted on leaving me with Tommy while she went shopping. It was so much quicker and easier without him, she said a few thousand times until I agreed. Like I had any choice. As I said, this fatherhood thing was going to take some getting used to.

I played peek-a-boo for a bit, then had to change a diaper. I was getting good at this. Fortunately for me, he quieted down after that and I had a chance to go online. The local news outlets already had stories or teasers on their websites about the case. The stories didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already seen or heard myself, but the teaser for one television channel showed a still shot of Sheila Morrissey standing on the courthouse steps and there was a photo caption that said prosecutor Morrissey called the defendant a “rogue agent.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I knew the U.S. Attorney’s office wouldn’t condone such a statement. Federal prosecutors do their talking in court, not to the press, at least on active cases. They aren’t elected like district attorneys. I also knew that reporters, whether print, TV, or other, get it wrong at least as often as they get it right, and they err on the side of sensationalizing the news. The website said the “trial” would be covered in the six o’clock broadcast. There you go – it wasn’t even a trial. Woody hadn’t been formally charged yet, much less put on trial. I forget who once said that newspapers were only good for lining birdcages and wrapping fish, but the same applies to online news sites, too, except for the part about actually being useful for something. I logged off, but I wanted to see whatever footage there was of Morrissey with the reporters, so I planned to get home early enough to watch the six o’clock news.

Since it was after two and I hadn’t had lunch yet, I fixed myself a sandwich and a glass of milk. As soon as I took my first bite, the rumble of the garage door opener signaled Ellen’s return. Tommy started bawling just as Ellen walked in, grocery bags in each hand. She gave me a dirty look like what was I doing sitting there eating while my son was crying. I jumped up and offered to carry in the rest of the groceries. She told me curtly that they were in the car and went in to see about Tommy. When I got back in the house she was nursing him. I went back out and finished getting the rest of the bags. I put the perishables in the refrigerator and went into the other room to talk to her.

“I changed his diaper,” I said brightly, hoping that would get me some brownie points. She looked unimpressed.

“Congratulations,” she replied. “So did I. Three times today so far.”

Hmm. That tactic wasn’t going to get me far. “I just saw online that the AUSA in Oakland called Woody a rogue agent,” I said, changing the subject.

“I heard that on the radio. I listened in the car. That’s outrageous! He’s a good agent. If this was jealousy, it’s still murder, but he was a good agent.” She was getting heated.

“I know,” I agreed, but more significant to me were two things she had said. She mentioned jealousy and she had used the past tense. The past tense told me she thought his career was over no matter what else may happen.

“Where did you hear about it being jealousy? Were he and Jermaine both seeing …”

“No. I don’t know anything about that. It was just on the radio. The prosecutor said in court his girlfriend had dumped him.”

“Oh.” I had heard that, too, of course, but I was hoping Ellen might know something about that through Bureau gossip channels. “Do you know who it was he was dating?”

“‘Dating?’ You’re a dear but you are an old fogy, aren’t you. People don’t ‘date’ anymore. They’re ‘in a relationship’ or they’re ‘seeing each other’ or ‘together.’ All I know is that someone told me he saw Woody last summer at the FBIAA white water rafting trip with the secretary from the Hayward R.A.”

“Do you know her name?”

“I think it’s Bonnie or Connie or something like that. I haven’t met her.”

This was helpful. The Hayward Resident Agency was located about halfway between San Jose and Oakland. It’s too small to have its own supervisor, so the agents there report to squad supervisors in San Jose. San Jose agents, like Woody, sometimes filled in on Hayward area bank robberies and so forth. Woody probably met the secretary on one of those occasions.

“Do you know anything about her?”

“From the way the guy told it, I guess she’s good looking.” She gave me an accusatory look. “You know how men are.”

“Hey, don’t give me that look. I didn’t do anything. Bert didn’t know her name and was asking me. I’m just trying to help.”

She switched Tommy to the other side and, for the first time since getting home, she smiled slyly. “I know, I know. I’m teasing. But are you taking the case? Because I can’t be your Bureau source. And you shouldn’t be telling me what Bert told you.”

I knew she was right on both counts. “I’m going to turn him down. I think it would take me away from home too much and I probably wouldn’t get paid. And with you not working now …” I didn’t say anything about my thoughts on Woody’s guilt but she knew me too well to buy my excuses.

“Whoa. Don’t put this on me. We have enough money. You like Woody as much as I do. You must think he’s guilty or you’d be doing it for nothing.”

This was the same logic I’d used with Bert Breen, so I could hardly argue. Now she was the one fishing. “I don’t know what to think,” I told her. “But I know he’s not a rogue agent.”

She sat quietly for a long beat, obviously enjoying the mother-child bonding, and then replied, “Cliff, you’re gone all day anyway. I know you have to work. Someone has to support the family. It’s your decision, but Woody deserves a defense. Even if it was murder, maybe it was second degree, not first. Or even manslaughter. Maybe Jermaine said or did something to provoke him. Someone’s got to find out all that. Agents aren’t going to talk to Breen, you know that. He needs an investigator agents will talk to.”

“And you think that’s me? Even Gina wouldn’t talk to me about the details.”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Cliff, people in the FBI know you and respect you more than you think. You were an agent’s agent.”

The words gratified me more than I would have thought, but I knew they were coming from my wife. She wasn’t exactly an objective source.

“I’ll have to think about it some more.”

I finished my sandwich and left for the office. I spent the afternoon returning calls and handling bills and other office business, but kept thinking about Woody’s case. Maeva left for the day at five and I was shutting down my computer, ready to leave for home, when I got a phone call from a woman identifying herself as Mrs. Leung. She asked if I was Cliff Knowles and I said I was. She had a strong Chinese accent, so I had a bit of trouble understanding her, but eventually I realized she was the homeowner of the house in Oakland where the pit bull had gone after me. She asked if the coat was mine. I told her it was. She asked if I wanted it back. I asked her if it might be repairable. She said she didn’t think so; it was in shreds and soaked in blood. I figured the dog must have gone after that skinny punk pretty good and then chewed on the coat with a bloody mouth. I told her no, that it was useless, and she could just throw it out; then I asked her how she got my name. She told me there were cards in the pocket. Of course! I always kept a few loose business cards in the outside pocket to hand out. I thanked her for calling and we both hung up. I figured that when she saw I was a lawyer she had probably been worried I’d sue her over the dog attack, seek medical expenses, maybe a new suit, but I had no such intentions. The pit bull was vicious, but it was fenced and technically I’d been trespassing. Her dog had saved me from the muggers. I was glad I could relieve her of any worry along those lines. That’s what I thought at the time. I must be losing my edge. I didn’t see it coming.

GUT SHOT – Episode 9

There’s still time to enter the contest to win a copy of Gut Shot. The entry form is below.

Here’s Episode 9, once again in audio form.

http://cliffknowles.ackgame.com/Episode%209.mp3

 

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Gut Shot
by Russell Atkinson

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Blue Warrior by Mike Maden

Blue Warrior by Mike Maden


My rating: 1 of 5 stars

The term purple prose was invented for books like this. Here are a couple of sentences from Chapter 21: “Distant jet engines split the air like rolling thunder, and black smoke smudged the crystalline blue sky.” “…the Pakistani’s throat blossomed in petals of blood and meat.” The plot, if there is one, seems to be nothing more than a loose thread intended to string together violent action scenes designed mainly to display the author’s knowledge of aircraft, weapons, and military stuff in general. The writing and editing are sloppy. He introduces a character called Zhou Yi, then a few paragraphs later he is called Zhao Yi, then back to Zhou briefly, then finally he settles on the name Zhao. Apparently Putnam doesn’t employ competent editors any longer. This book was a disappointment because I owned a “drone,” i.e. personal multirotor aircraft, and thought the premise sounded good, but there’s a limit to what I can stomach. If you’re into drones, try Sting of the Drone: A Novel or Death Row. Both are much better.





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Only one of two . . . well, duh!

I just heard a “financial expert” on KQED newsroom declare that Uber was “only one of two” companies to have reached the $50 billion valuation mark before going to IPO. Well, yeah, of course it was only one of two. How many could it be? Uber is only one company, so it can’t be both of the two. In fact, Facebook is the other. Even if there were fifty or a thousand of them, Uber could still only be one. What he no doubt meant was that it was one of only two. There’s a big difference. The word “only” should be placed directly in front of the number it is meant to modify, which in this case is two. A single company can only be one, of course, so there is no need to mention that it is “only” one, unless, of course, it was the only one to have reached that mark in which case he would have just said that. The item that is newsworthy is the scarcity of companies at that level, in other words, the fact that were only two in all of history. One hears this sloppiness of language all the time and it indicates a sloppiness of thought. Here’s a financial expert who is not very good with numbers, apparently. That’s not auspicious for his career hopes.

So am I just being picky and pedantic? Perhaps, but that’s not the only mistake he made in the two minutes I watched him. He then went on to say that if Uber’s drivers were designated as employees, twenty to forty percent of its costs would increase. So you want to tell us how much those costs will increase? If those costs were to increase only one hundredth of one percent then it wouldn’t be significant or worth mentioning. What he probably meant was that Uber’s costs would increase twenty to forty percent. There is a significant difference between the two. If a company’s overall costs increased by that amount, it would have a huge effect on its stock price and future profitability, not to mention the charges to the customers to offset that cost increase. If only twenty to forty percent of its costs were to increase, and by some unspecified amount, it might not be a significant impact at all. Investor class action lawsuits have been filed and won over such misleading declarations.

People just don’t know how to talk anymore. It’s depressing.

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GUT SHOT – Episode 8

Gut Shot – episode 8

© copyright 2015 Russell Atkinson

A smart lawyer can keep a killer out of jail.

Mario Cuomo

Chapter 4

Bert’s firm occupied the seventh and eighth floors of a high-rise three blocks from Lake Merritt. I got there before he did so I was invited into a reception area that overlooked the lake. I’ve always enjoyed Lake Merritt. I used to run there. At one point earlier in my career, when I worked in San Francisco, I lived in the Oakland hills.

The lake is unusual in that despite being in the heart of downtown and a half mile from the bay, it’s a tidal lagoon, connected by a channel to the inner harbor between Oakland and the island of Alameda. It was also the very first wildlife refuge area in the United States. It has an excellent flat, traffic-free running path around its perimeter that’s almost exactly three miles long, which makes it ideal for those serious runners who train at specific distances. As I gazed out the window I was mentally reliving some of my runs there when Bert called my name.

“Cliff, thank you so much for coming,” he said, grasping my hand warmly. “I realize it’s a bit of a commute for you. Please bill me for your time. I’m sorry I’m late. I had to make a press statement outside.”

“No problem. It’s good to see you, too, Bert.”

“Follow me to my office, will you. I’m afraid I have to get right to business today. I have a very tight schedule and it didn’t get any easier in court today.”

I followed him down a long hallway to his office, a spacious corner office with a nice view of the lake. En route he stopped to introduce me to the young associate with the red glasses; her name was Louise Dern. Up close I noticed she had one eye that aligned itself slightly inward. This, with the brilliant red glasses, gave her appearance a hint of craziness. We exchanged brief pleasantries. She’d graduated from Berkeley Law School two years earlier, I learned.

Bert’s office was decorated in a modern, sterile style in different shades of gray. No sooner had that fact caught my eye when Bert commented, “Fifty shades of gray, right?” and laughed. I fumbled for a reply for a second and before I came up with one he added, “Everybody says that.”

“I guess I’m too virtuous to have familiarity with such cultural references,” I replied in my best mock-offended voice.

“You? Don’t make me laugh. So what did you think of the hearing?” he asked as he motioned for me to take a seat on the sofa. He sat in a plush chair facing me. Both were upholstered in gray, of course.

“That was a good move getting Woody into a suit and tie. How in the world did you manage that?”

“The magistrate was an AUSA back when I was. He likes the Bureau, too, but it was still an uphill fight. Sheila objected strongly.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. She wants the jury pool out there to see him in a jail jumpsuit. He looks guiltier. And any AUSA is going to object to bail for a murder suspect.”

“True,” he replied, but didn’t say any more, waiting for a better answer from me to his question. In truth, I was avoiding it, but knew I had to come out with my unvarnished opinion. There wasn’t any point in being here otherwise.

“Okay, you asked, so I’ll answer, but don’t get mad. I don’t think you’re going to get him out on bail. Murder is murder. And what I heard in there didn’t make me want to take the case. So far he’s looking pretty guilty.”

“Look, don’t jump to conclusions, especially not based on anything an AUSA says.”

“I’m not concluding anything. I’m just telling you how it looked to me. We’ll see how the evening news plays it, but I think you’re starting from a deep hole. Is that true about the girlfriend dumping him?”

Bert hesitated and raised his eyebrows. Always the actor, he had the ability to convey extreme surprise with his very expressive eyes. The brows were thick and dark and seemed to take forever to reach their peak halfway to the ceiling. He was nearly bald, with only a few lonely strands huddling on top, although he once referred to it as a “high forehead.” If it was any higher it would extend to the nape of his neck.

“That was the first I heard of that. I’ll have to ask him about it, of course. I only had twenty minutes to talk to him yesterday and we couldn’t talk in front of the marshals today so I only got the basics about the shooting. We have a lot to talk about. I’ll see him tomorrow and get the whole story. He did say …” and then he stopped. “I can’t really go on until you make a decision, Cliff. You have to be in on the attorney-client privilege.”

“Bert, I told you I’ll treat it as privileged. I can’t make a decision without knowing more about what really happened. I want to talk to Woody.”

“I’ll tell you what happened. You don’t have to hear it from Woody. He was out at Santa Rita at firearms and they were running an arrest scenario in the barracks. I haven’t been there, but you probably know how that works. They were running it with their guns unloaded. Everyone checked his neighbor’s gun and they were told that were no loaded weapons in the exercise, period. They even made everyone empty their pockets so no one could have any ammo. During the scenario, Woody was chosen to play one of the fugitives. He was taken into custody by another agent. Then, as he was being led out the door, he turned and knocked the arresting agent off balance and darted away into another room. There was a bag on the floor and he spied a gun in it. He pulled it out thinking it was part of the scenario, and when Jermaine appeared in the doorway walking the other fugitive out, Woody sprang forward and pulled the trigger, expecting only a click. Instead, there was a bang and Jermaine fell down bleeding. Woody dropped the gun in shock. There was confusion. One of the agents called 911. Another one with some EMT training administered first aid. Jermaine was still alive when the ambulance arrived, but he bled to death on the way to the hospital.”

“When was Woody arrested?”

“Not right away. He was standing there, mouth open like the rest, saying it was an accident. Two agents led him over to another room in the barracks. They were trying to calm him down, trying to tell him not to worry, asking if he was all right, if he needed some water, like that. They kept him away from Logan and the hallway where it happened. It wasn’t until after the ambulance had left that the head firearms guy, someone named Bobu, came in and talked to one of the agents with Woody. Then Bobu told Woody that the SAC had ordered that he be arrested. Woody was shocked but compliant. He said he’d go peacefully but they handcuffed him anyway and drove him to the FBI office in Oakland.”

“Did Jermaine say anything when the shot went off? Or Woody?”

“I don’t know, other than what I just told you. Woody was in a fog after the shooting and doesn’t remember clearly. That’s why I need you. I need to know what actually happened out there. I need the real story.”

“On the news last night they said that someone overheard him saying ‘Die, sucker’ when he pulled the trigger. Is that true?”

Bert sighed and looked at the ceiling. “I was hoping you hadn’t seen that. It might be true. I really don’t know. Woody said they were all joking around during the exercise, like kids playing Cops and Robbers.”

“And the gun? Whose was it and how did it get there?”

“I don’t know and neither did Woody. I’m sure the FBI knows. I don’t want to have to wait for formal discovery. I need you to find that out now. That’s why you’re the best choice for my investigator. You know people in the FBI.”

“I don’t know, Bert. I want to believe Woody is innocent, but it’s not looking that way to me. It would be taking me away from my family now when Ellen needs me around home. Then there’s the finances. I’d work for free for Woody if I was sure he was innocent, but I have a secretary, an office, and expenses to cover.”

“I understand. Woody doesn’t have the money to pay you your regular rate. I’m trying to find someone to start a fund-raising effort among his friends and fellow agents. His father’s deceased, his mother has Alzheimer’s and is in a home somewhere, and he has no brothers or sisters. Current employees have been ordered not to talk about the case, I’ve learned, so I haven’t had any luck getting anyone to take my calls. Maybe that’s something else you could look into. You could get paid that way.”

“I think I can put you in touch with someone who’ll help you. Let me ask you … are you doing this pro bono?”

Bert averted his eyes for a split second. “My firm wouldn’t allow it. It would be great publicity, but the costs are going to be more than what we can afford now. We had a bad quarter and …”

“Did you ask your partners? Did you tell them you’d work for free?”

“Cliff, there are plenty of high-quality firms that wouldn’t touch a case like this. The solo practitioners down around 7th and Broadway would take it, but to them it would just be another perp to make a buck off of; they’d press for a plea bargain and be lost in federal court if it went to trial. The firms with experience in federal cases do mostly white collar, immigration, and drugs, not murder. I really had to go to bat for Woody to get my firm to agree to take the case.”

This answer told me a lot. Bert had avoided my question. He obviously hadn’t volunteered to work for free and probably hadn’t even brought up to the other partners the idea of doing the case pro bono. If he’d thought Woody was innocent, the Bert Breen I knew would have done the case pro bono with or without his partners’ agreement. That meant he thought Woody was guilty. His partners probably agreed to this case only because an FBI agent might make enough money to pay their legal fees, at least if they could get a fund-raising campaign going. I decided I wasn’t going to take the case, but I didn’t want to tell him right then. He’d just keep arguing with me why I should. It’s easier to say no on the telephone.

“I tell you what, Bert. I know who the FBI Agents Association chapter president is. He’ll be the one to start the fund-raising. Woody’s a member, I believe. I can’t guarantee how much they’ll raise since Jermaine was a fellow agent and probably an FBIAA member, too.”

“FBIAA? I’ve never heard of that.”

“It’s basically a union.”

“I thought federal agents couldn’t have a union.”

“They can’t. That’s why it’s an ‘association.’ They don’t have collective bargaining power, but they provide members access to legal advice and raise money for agents’ families during disasters, stuff like that. They don’t have the clout of a union. Most agents belong to it. I’ll put you in touch with the local rep. As for taking the case, I’ll have to think about it overnight and talk it over with Ellen. I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

“You gotta do it, Cliff. You’re his best hope.”

“I know he has a great lawyer, Bert. That’s his best hope. No charge from me for today but I know you’re charging by the hour. I don’t want to run up his bill anymore, so I’m going to get going.” I stood.

Bert stood and thanked me for coming. He walked me to the lobby, insisting the whole way that I really must take the case for Woody’s sake.

I left the building and walked out onto the street. It had been years since I was in the area, and now that I wasn’t going to take the case, time wasn’t pressing. I decided to walk over to the lake. I needed the exercise. Soon I was there walking the same route I used to run. In my suit and wingtips I wasn’t about to run, but I took my coat off and slung it over my shoulder so I could pick up the pace without getting too sweaty.

Betrayed by Lisa Scottoline

Betrayed by Lisa Scottoline


My rating: 3 of 5 stars

If you have a Y chromosome you’ll want to keep a barf bag handy for this one. It’s mostly about women “being there for each other”, the relationship between a mother and daughter, aunt and niece, sister and sister, and girlfriend/boyfriend. Still, I urge you to suppress the gag reflex and keep reading. There is a decent mystery and action scene waiting for you if you can endure the girliness.

Judy, the main character, is a lawyer with some very unadmirable qualities. She’s in love with an inconsiderate Neanderthal of a boyfriend, she doesn’t want to try civil cases involving measuring damages in a product liability case, and she acts like a rebellious, whining teen half the time, including to her boss. She wants her law practice to be warm and fuzzy, not about money. Maybe she should have gone to puppy-cuddling school instead of law school.

The author writes with journeyman (journeywoman? journeyperson?) skill but I found none of the characters particularly likeable. Judy’s mother and her boyfriend are especially obnoxious and she isn’t much better. The legal stuff was done pretty well, though, which rescued this one for me, and as I said, when the author finally got around to the mystery and final chase scene, that was also well done.





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Bay Area Mega-to-be has been published

For my geocaching friends and readers who have not already heard, Groundspeak HQ has approved the publication of the event geocache Cachin’ the Bay, aka GC5Z4XF. The date is June 18, 2016. The cache has not yet achieved Mega status (500 or more attendees) since it was just published yesterday, but it is fully expected to reach that status. Already it has 177 Will Attend logs and many of those have indicated multiple family or group members attending.

I am really looking forward to the event and I encourage everyone who enjoys geocaching or even just wants to check it out to come. If you already have a geocaching.com ID, then please log your Will Attend.

Having said that, I must declare my disapproval of the name and the logo and the slogan. For a long time it was agreed that the name would be some variation on BAM! (Bay Area Mega, Bay Area Madness, etc.) The logo was going to be an otter holding a GPS unit. The otter is still on the cache page, although it looks like it’s holding a bar of soap now. The name somehow got changed to Cachin’ the Bay, which sounds like someone threw cash into the waters of the bay. The logo got changed to something that looks like a bug but I think is supposed to be a computer memory chip, and the slogan became “Out of the Garage.” I have no idea what that is supposed to mean. It sounds like a gay pride event for mechanics, but I don’t think that’s its intent. Still, what’s in a name as The Bard once said. It’s going to be great fun, so plan to come on out.