Chapter 13
“Your son?” Trotman looked up. There was clarity in his eyes.
“That's right. My son, Darius Freeman, is being charged with the murder of that Roland guy. It's trumped up bullshit and you and I both know he had nothing to do with any of this.”
Trotman settled back in his chair and stroked his chin and puzzled things out.
Herbert glared at the lawyer. “I don't give a shit what it takes. You're doing this.”
“I will defend your son.” Trotman finally nodded.
“Damn straight you will.”
“But in exchange, I'm going to need you to do something for me.”
Herbert felt as though he were going to vomit hellfire on the lawyer and his overpriced desk.
“You have to understand,” Trotman said, his eyes locked on his pen. “This Gideon Roland affair...it's bigger than the two of us. It's bigger than your son. It's nasty business, but it needs to be done.” He looked up at Herbert. “And now they are down a man because of you. If you help me, you'll be helping the entire city, including your son.”
Feeling as though he had just been punched in the gut, Herbert sank back into his chair. He narrowed his eyes at Trotman, trying to work out whether the lawyer was lying. As far as he could tell, the man was telling the truth. “How will I be helping the city?”
Trotman averted his eyes like a scolded child. “Of course, you know of First Metropolitan Bank.”
“Right, that's where Roland was working out of.”
“And you've heard of the Carser Holdings Collective, I'm sure.”
“No, I haven't.”
Trotman gave a look of genuine surprise. “Really? You've never heard of the CHC?”
Herbert answered with a blank stare.
“Well, the Carser Holdings Collective owns most of the land that Carser City is built upon. As you well know, the Carser City Housing Authority manages the developments. The city leases the land from the Carser Holdings Collective. The Carser Holdings Collective, in turn, has a great deal of debt held by First Metropolitan Bank.”
“So? These sounds like rich people problems to me.”
“It's everyone's problem when a Vice President at First Metropolitan decides that the CHC isn't paying them enough and wants to increase the interest rate on those debts.”
Herbert blinked.
“All right, let me try to put this as simply as I can: if First Metropolitan increases the interest rates, that means rents go up, which means less people can afford to live in the developments, which means there will be more desperate people looking for money to support themselves and their families...do you understand where this goes?”
“So...” Herbert spoke slowly, “you guys knocked off Roland because he was going to jack up the rent?”
“Well, I wouldn't put it quite that way, but you aren't far off the mark...”
Herbert rubbed his eyes. “And where do I come into this?”
Silence seeped into the office. The air suddenly felt heavy. Trotman produced a handkerchief and dabbed sweat from his brow. Herbert leaned back into his chair with his arms crossed, staring over the wide brown plane that was the lawyer's desk.
“Roland had a protege. His name is Chase Hathaway. He's taking Roland's place as VP and is going to take up his mentor's mantel. He's going to try to raise the CHC's interest rate, as well.”
“So, he needs to be knocked off, too? He can't be bought?”
Trotman shrugged. “Men of Hathaway's status cannot be bought. There is no single amount of money that can stop them in their pursuit of more power, more status, more...well, more everything.”
“Well,” Herbert scratched his chin. “What about showing him what happened to the guy before him?”
“We hoped he would be intimidated enough to abandon this cause on the...disappearance of Gideon Roland. But we were disappointed to find that Hathaway is doubling down.”
“Okay...so you want me to take care of this guy?”
“Again, I wish it were that simple.” Trotman folded his hands on his desk. “Hathaway has hired a private security company to protect him at all times.”
Herbert frowned. “A private security company? When I was hustlin', we called them hired muscle. I didn't realize we could've incorporated.”
The lawyer's mouth stretched into something resembling a smile. “Well, as it happens, this ‘hired muscle’ is well organized and well equipped.”
“Any idea how many of them there are?”
“Does it make any difference?” Trotman leaned back in his chair with his hands folded over his bulging gut.
Herbert sighed, his thoughts turning to Darius. “I guess not.” He rubbed his eyes then looked up at Trotman. “So, if I do this, you'll make sure that my boy stays out of jail?”
Trotman nodded. “Yes.”
“I want it in writing.”
“What?” The lawyer's eyes widened.
“I want you to put into writing that you will keep my son out of jail. Do I look like an idiot?”
“You... want a contract? Do you think that's prudent to put it in writing? Or necessary?”
“Yes.” Herbert sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I'll wait if I have to.”
Trotman sighed and began typing at his computer.
It didn't take long for the contract to be drawn up. Trotman was smart enough to avoid specifics, merely stating that Herbert was to pay for Trotman's legal defense in “trade”. It all fit on a single sheet of paper with two lines extending across the bottom of the page. Trotman's spidery signature already sealed his end of the deal. Herbert skimmed the document and found it to his satisfaction. He scrawled his own signature on the bottom line.
“May we move on, now?” Trotman asked as he took back his pen.
“Yeah.” Herbert nodded then stood and held out a hand.
Trotman nodded back and squeezed Herbert's hand.
Herbert sat back down. “No hard feelings.”
“Indeed.”
A pause filled the office. Herbert stared down at the contract in his hands. Carefully, he folded it up and placed it in his breast pocket. He would have to figure out a way to get the document to Darius. He looked back at the lawyer and broke the silence.
“When is this all going down?”
“Immediately.”
“Immediately?”
Trotman picked up his phone. “Immediately.”