Read Online Pressure Drop by Peter Abrahams - Free Book Online Page B

Bahamian beat: like reggae, but a little faster and less pronounced. Ravoukian stubbed out his cigarette in a styrofoam coffee cup. He peered for a while at the ashes inside as though reading tea leaves. “It’s too bad,” he said. “Too, too bad. I think you have—would have had—better than a fifty-fifty chance on appeal.”
    â€œOn what grounds?”
    Ravoukian waved his plump hand. “Various. There were procedural errors. Some of the medical evidence might be shown to have been tainted. A few other things.” Somewhere behind the wall, the guitarist stopped playing. The room was silent.
    Matthias said: “Do you ever work on a contingency basis?”
    â€œWhat are you suggesting, Mr. Matthias?”
    Matthias forced the words out; perhaps he was only able to speak them because he knew what the response would be. “Take the appeal and I’ll give you half of Zombie Bay.”
    Ravoukian smiled. He had a mouthful of crooked teeth that he’d never bothered to fix. Ravoukian didn’t have to waste money on front: his reputation was all the front he needed. “And what if we lose? What happens to my share then?”
    â€œYou said I had a better than fifty-fifty chance.”
    â€œAnd that is my true opinion. But I’m not a gambler, Mr. Matthias. I charge a fee, based on my experience and the amount of work invested. My retainer for any work in the Court of Appeal, as I think I mentioned, is fifty thousand, U.S.”
    Ravoukian already had thirty thousand dollars of his money from the first trial. Matthias rose. His body suddenly seemed very heavy and it was a great effort. The big dark eyes were watching him without expression, as though viewing a not particularly interesting movie already seen several times.
    â€œI have had one small thought, Mr. Matthias.”
    â€œAbout what?”
    â€œTaking your appeal. Sit down, please.”
    Matthias felt like a clinical subject in a stimulus-response experiment, but he sat down.
    Ravoukian pushed the legal pad aside, cleared a neat space on the middle of his desk. He put his hands together in the attitude of prayer and rested them in the cleared space. “When you first came to me about this matter, Mr. Matthias, I knew nothing about you. I hadn’t even heard of you. You’ll pardon me for noting this fact. I’ve been practicing law from this office for thirty-five years. I thought I knew everyone in the Bahamas. Of the ownership class. But somehow you escaped my knowledge. My loss, Mr. Matthias, because I have since learned a little about you, all creditable.”
    â€œLike what?”
    Ravoukian waved his plump hand again. Matthias wondered whether it was a tic that jumped in him whenever he was asked for details. “You were a Seal, for instance. I’ve always been an admirer of the training provided by elite military organizations. I’ve also heard something of your Cuban adventure. And—”
    â€œWho have you been talking to?”
    â€œNo one special. It seems to be common knowledge, in certain circles, at least. I’ve also learned how Zombie Bay came into your hands—an inspirational tale, if true. It all confirms my belief that you could be a very useful man.”
    â€œTo whom?”
    Ravoukian showed his crooked teeth. “As a Seal, Mr. Matthias, were you trained in the use of underwater explosives?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI thought as much. I’m an admirer of the Seals, the Green Berets, all those groups. I like the philosophy they instill.”
    â€œI didn’t enlist in the Navy for its philosophy,” Matthias said. “I needed someone to pay my college tuition. It was that or the draft.”
    â€œYes, yes,” said Ravoukian, as if Matthias had reinforced his argument. “Of course. Precisely the attitude certain acquaintances of mine would desire.”
    â€œAre you proposing something, Mr.