The Racketeer

“Yes sir.”

“And that until there is an indictment you will remain in the custody of the Bureau of Prisons?”

“Yes sir.”

After more discussion about the terms of the agreement, Judge Slater signs the order and the hearing is over. He does not say farewell and I do not curse him the way I’d like to. Again, it’s a miracle that more federal judges are not whacked.

I am swarmed by an entourage and led down the stairs to a room where more dark suits are waiting. A video camera has been set up for my benefit, and Mr. Victor Westlake is pacing. I am asked to sit at the end of the table, face the camera, and offered something to drink. It’s a very nervous bunch, desperate to hear me utter the name.

CHAPTER 12

His name is Qui

I pause, take a breath. The room is silent.

At least five of the dark suits are taking notes. One has a laptop and has already pulled up the file on Qui

“As I said, I met Qui

“Do you know why he walked away?” Victor Westlake asks.

“I think so. Qui

“Do you know where he is now?”

I nod, take my time, say, “He has a cousin, don’t know his name, but he owns a couple of strip clubs in Norfolk, Virginia, near the naval base. Find the cousin, and you’ll find Qui

“Under what name?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not Qui

“How do you know this?”

“Sorry, but that’s none of your business.”

At this point, Westlake nods at an agent by the door, and he disappears. The search is on.

“Let’s talk about Judge Fawcett,” Westlake says.

“Okay,” I reply. I ca

“A big part of his gang’s business was ru

I pause and take a sip of water. The agent with the laptop is pecking away, no doubt sending directives all over the East Coast.

“What is the nephew’s name?” Westlake asks.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think his last name was Rucker. Within his family, there are several last names and a fair number of aliases.”

“And so the nephew’s case was assigned to Judge Fawcett?” Westlake asks, prompting me along, though no one seems to be in a hurry. They’re hanging on every word and anxious to find Qui

“Yes, and Qui

“How much cash?” Westlake asks.

“Half a million.” This is met with great skepticism, and I am not surprised. “I found it hard to believe too. A federal judge taking a bribe. But then I was also shocked when an FBI agent was caught spying for the Russians. I guess under the right circumstances, a man will do just about anything.”

“Let’s stay on subject here,” Westlake says, irritated.

“Sure. Qui

“This is a nice story, Mr. Ba

“Because he told me he was going to do it, out of revenge and to retrieve his money. He talked about it often. He knew exactly where the judge lived, worked, and liked to spend his weekends. He suspected the money was hidden somewhere in the cabin, and he firmly believed he wasn’t the only one who’d been ripped off by Fawcett. And, because he told me, Mr. Westlake, he will target me as soon as he’s arrested. I might walk out of prison, but I’ll always look over my shoulder. These people are very smart—look at your own investigation. Nothing. Not a clue. They hold grudges, and they are very patient. Qui