Free Proof Positive (2006) by Phillip - Jaffe 3 Margolin Page A

would make the life of any DEA, FBI, or PPB eavesdroppers more difficult.
    Frank took a few steps down a narrow hallway and waited while Charlie chatted with the massive bodyguard stationed outside the door to Martin Breach's office. The bodyguard knocked, then opened the door, and Charlie LaRosa ducked inside.
    Go on in, Mr. Jaffe, Charlie said a moment later.
    Martin Breach, Portland's most violent citizen, was almost six feet tall, but his stubby legs and chunky upper body made him seem shorter. Thinning sandy hair, drab brown eyes, and a pale complexion gave him the look of a failed used-car salesman. His ghastly taste in clothes added to the mistaken impression of ineptitude the last impression some of his victims ever formed. Tonight he was attired in plaid golf slacks, an aloha shirt, and a Madras sports jacket that had gone out of fashion decades ago.
    Martin's tiny office was as unimpressive as its owner. The rickety furniture was secondhand. An out-of-date calendar from a motor-oil company and pictures of strippers decorated the walls. If the IRS was going to run a net worth on Martin, it would have to start someplace other than the Jungle Club.
    Breach closed the skin magazine he was reading and gave Frank a genuine smile of welcome before waving at a chair on the other side of his desk.
    Take a load off, Frank, Breach said, speaking so low that Frank barely heard him above the AC/DC track blasting through the paper-thin walls. Frank collapsed in the chair. It swayed under his weight.
    How's my favorite mouthpiece?
    I'm wiped, Marty. I just drove up from Medford after trying a case for a week.
    Sorry, Martin said, sounding sincere. I wouldn't have asked you to come over if it wasn't serious.
    Charlie told me that Art is in trouble, Frank said, getting right to the point in the hope that he could wrap up the conversation as soon as possible.
    They busted him for murder and ex-con in possession of a firearm this afternoon. He tried to call you.
    I must have been on the road. Where is he?
    The Justice Center.
    What do you know about the charges?
    Not much. The cops searched his house a few days ago and found a gun.
    Did they have a warrant?
    Yeah. It sounds like everything was done nice and legal.
    We'll see.
    Martin smiled. That's why I want you representing Artie. You' re thinking of ways to beat the rap already.
    Breach reached behind his desk and swung a battered brown leather briefcase onto the blotter. He swiveled it so it was facing Frank and opened the lid, revealing stacks of soiled, wrinkled cash. The bills on top were hundreds. It was illegal for Frank to accept a fee that was the fruit of an illegal activity, like drug dealing. He started to say something, but Martin held up a hand.
    Don't worry. This dough is as innocent as a newborn babe. You don't think I'd let you get in trouble, do you? Put it in the bank and let them call the feds. You'll be just fine.
    Frank held his tongue. He was certain that the money was clean because it had been laundered, but he was also certain that the government would never be able to prove it. Besides, he owed Martin big. Amanda was the most important person in his life, and she would be dead if Martin hadn't protected her. Art Prochaska was Martin's closest friend and he was in trouble. Frank was going to give him the best defense possible.
    Take this home, count it, then tell me if it's enough. If it ain' t, tell me what you need. Nothing's too good for Artie.
    Frank found Breach's show of affection touching, and had to remind himself that Breach and Prochaska's friendship had been forged by joint acts of mayhem that would have horrified Hannibal Lecter.
    Hey, I just remembered something. One of the cops asked Artie if he knew a guy named Vincent Ballard. Breach held up a hand. Don't worry, Artie didn't answer. In fact, he didn't answer none of their questions and the only thing he said was that he wanted a lawyer. But I did some digging and a guy named Vincent Ballard