The only good Lawyer

Gant put me away, Mr. Private Eye. Me and Oscar, for a long time. What happened to us back in Vietnam wasn’t enough. No, you guys have to get us over here, too. So, yeah, I was ‘stalking’ the lawyer-man, but not to kill him. Just to... get him.”
    “Get him how?”
    “Like I got Chan there with his restaurant. Make that pureblood respect me.”
    “Only Chan knew he was dealing with you, and Woodrow Gant didn’t, right?”
    Trinh shrugged. “Best I could do. When the lawyer-man put us away, I couldn’t do nothing. When I got out, I make enough money, I could. So I start in with his law-woman. And then I loan some money to his brother. Grover couldn’t come up with enough to cover things, and so it was like old Woodrow was paying me direct, for all the time I was in the slam. And after that. I—”
    Grover Gant began to cry. Deep, blubbering sobs.
    I said, “You what?”
    Trinh changed gears. “Nothing, that was it. Only way I could get the lawyer-man was without him knowing anything. In fact, it was almost better that way. I’m getting him, and he don’t even know shit’s happening.”
    “But Grover’s into you for a goodly sum of money.” Trinh seemed thrown. “So?”
    “So maybe you want to send a message to the deadbeat who owes you.”
    A squint. “You saying I kill old Woodrow because I want to put pressure on Grover?”
    “It fits.”
    “Mr. Private Eye, what kinda shit you smoking, huh? I gonna shoot a lawyer-man put me away after he eats at a place I own? Not to mention old Woodrow’s covering Grover’s bad bets. How am I gonna get paid, I kill the goose laying the golden eggs for this deadbeat crying all over my floor right now?”
    “Because Grover is the beneficiary on a policy covering his brother’s life.”
    Trinh’s nostrils flared, the vein at his temple pulsing under the skin. “Life insurance?”
    “That’s what we call it.”
    “This piece of shit here got money because the lawyer-man died?”
    “One hundred thousand. You see the...” Looking down at Grover, I realized he wasn’t wearing the watch anymore.
    “See the what?” said Trinh.
    “Never mind. Just take my word for it. The company paid Grover off.”
    Trinh stood up, Huong tensing at the wall.
    I said, “Easy does it, everybody.”
    His palms on the desktop, Trinh craned forward far enough to see Gant. “You fucking piece of shit, Grover! You come in here and hand me three hundred you say you got at the track today, and your deadbeat ass is sitting on one hundred large at your momma’s house?”
    I said, “At least he was telling you the truth about the track part.”
    Trinh looked at me, then laughed. Only a titter at first, almost girlish, then heartier. Huong didn’t see the humor in the situation, or at least, he didn’t show it. Grover began moaning louder, the tears flowing freely.
    Trinh sat back down, still laughing, but quieter now. “Mr. Private Eye, you just made my day.”
    “Mind letting me in on it?”
    The middle finger of his right hand whisked under each eye, smearing a couple of tears. “You just tell me I don’t got a thing to worry about. Lawyer-man’s dead, I figure I got to wait till his nice car get sold, get my money from Grover’s ia-heri-tance. Now you telling me, my money’s coming tomorrow, soon as that piece of shit get a cast on his one arm, count me out the bills with the other.”
    I waited a moment, but what Trinh said sounded right. And unless he was up there with Olivier and De Niro, it seemed to me that the insurance policy on Woodrow Gant was major-league news to him.
    “So,” said Trinh, “you got any more questions?”
    “Not just now.”
    “Then do me a favor, Mr. Private Eye. You put your gun away and you take this piece of shit on my floor to a hospital.”
    “I don’t know if he has insurance.”
    “You just told me his brother’s policy—”
    “I mean medical insurance, for the doctors and all.”
    “Oh.” Trinh thought about it, then opened a desk drawer and took out some bills. Tossing them at me, he said, “Here’s the three hundred from the track. I wait for it this long, I can wait some more.”
    Then Nguyen Trinh raised his voice, aiming it over the desk and down. “But, Grover, only till tomorrow, right?”

Chapter 18

    T wenty minutes after dropping Grover Gant at St. Elizabeth’s emergency room, I said, “No rest for the weary.”
    Imogene Burbage looked up from behind the reception desk at Epstein & Neely as I came