Read Lassiter 03 - False Dawn for Free Online

fresh-squeezed orange juice, and a line ocean breeze stirred the palms.
    Pleasant party noises were growing, the tinkling of glasses, animated chatter, and an occasional laugh. People just delighted with their own socially prominent selves.
    “No, the prosecution will be so happy to close the case, Crespo will take the fall by himself. Keeping files open doesn’t help the state attorney’s statistics when it’s appropriations time.”
    Yagamata smiled and let some light into his eyes. The foibles of government seemed to be something he understood. “Fine. If Mr. Crespo says he killed the man, who are we to say he did not?”
    I’m not one of those self-righteous lawyers given to glorifying the lonely warriors of the courtroom, righting wrongs wherever we find them, blah, blah, blah. I’m just a lead-footed ex-linebacker trying to wade through the muck of the so-called justice system. I don’t even mind getting dirty so long as the stains come out. But I’ve also got a big mouth, and sometimes a guy who sits on my shoulder puts words into it.
    “My job is to do my best for Crespo whether he wants it or not.” I sounded tight-assed, even to myself.
    Yagamata’s smile disappeared. He appraised me, probably wondering if I was a fool. That made two of us. I had never worked directly for him before, but the corporate and international lawyers in the firm had been glomming six-figure fees from Yagamata’s business interests for several years. I was meandering on the fringes of an ethical thicket. No lawyer can serve masters with conflicting interests.
    “I’m sure you will do your job splendidly, Mr. Lassiter,” Yagamata said. “But perhaps you read too much into the situation. If Mr. Crespo is shielding someone else, it could be from a sense of honor, a commitment he has made. In my country, that would be praiseworthy.”
    “But it warps the system,” I said. Jeez, where was I getting this apple-pie and flag-waving stuff?
    Little lines formed creases at the corners of his eyes and he chuckled. He liked bantering with me. Maybe nobody ever argued with him, even politely. “The system,” he told me pleasantly, “is made to be warped. If I had not retained you, Mr. Crespo would have employed the—”
    “Public defender.”
    “Yes, and the representation would have been, shall we say, perfunctory?”
    I nodded and grabbed a mimosa from a passing silver tray. The orange bubbles sparkled in the torchlight. “The state’s case looks open-and-shut until you get into it, and the P.D.’s office is so overworked, they might not even talk to Crespo until just before the trial.”
    “Then I would say that Mr. Crespo is quite fortunate to have you as his attorney and me as his employer.” Yagamata moved closer and used his broad back to shield us from the party guests. His voice was little more than a whisper. “They tell me you are a pleasant fellow and a decent if undistinguished lawyer, but that you have problems with authority.”
    Who was I to argue with the truth? I downed the sparkling drink and kept listening.
    “In my country,” he continued, “the failure to adhere to a rigid structure is considered a major personal failing.” Yagamata paused and looked toward the channel just off the patio where a huge Bertram chugged along at no-wake speed, its running lights glowing in the darkness. He seemed to resent the intrusion on his personal space. “On the other hand, I have always believed life is more interesting if you have your own identity. My country cultivates faceless technicians. A man needs personality, singularity. That is why I love your country so much, Mr. Lassiter. Land of the cowboys. Rugged individuals. You understand this, I know.”
    Somehow I heard a “but” coming.
    He gave me a wintry smile. “But it is one thing to be an individual and another to be disloyal to those who are willing to assist you. In our lives, Mr. Lassiter, we cross paths with many people. Most will be of little