Two awoke hours later, still on the cot, with the other Watchmen and Hess nearby. His right eye was covered, and he had bandages on his chest. The other Watchmen gazed at Hess who glared at Two.
“You’re a lucky son of a bitch. First, you live by the grace of His Eminence. Second, the bullet hit no organs and came out cleanly. And, by the way, so did your right eye. His Eminence felt it best to take the eye, rather than deal with a detached retina or optic nerve damage—which is probably what you had. Thirdly, you’ll be returning to the big house, but only after just punishment. We’ve got important work to do. Failure cannot be tolerated.”
Then the other Watchmen lifted Two and followed Hess out of the room. They hoisted Two with pulleys attached to the block and tackle in the barn. Hess had set it up the typical way: Two was suspended vertically, about a foot off the ground, with arms and legs stretched by chains at 45-degree angles. The chains were cinched to plastic shackles on his wrists and ankles. Once up, Two slowly turned his head to the left and down. With his left eye, he saw Hess pick up a tool from the wooden table.
Hess approached Two. “As I’ve told you again and again, His Eminence is far too lenient with you. All of you. Here, that same leniency saved you. But your unauthorized actions were fuckin’ intolerable. They won’t happen again. And this—is so you never forget.”
Suspended in mid-air, Two turned his head right, looked down, and stared out his left eye. He watched Hess slowly reach up with wire cutters, toward the shackle on his right hand. Two cranked his head further right and up a bit, just in time…to see the tip of his ring finger fall to the ground. He tried not to make a sound, but a whine rose up in his throat. Then everything went dark.
CHAPTER 21
At 11 a.m. on Monday morning, Joshua F. Censkey, impeccably dressed in a gray suit with his trademark red silk tie and matching hanky, and sporting perfectly coiffed blond hair, sat atop the world. He and his huge semicircular desk seemed to float above the other downtown L.A. buildings, with the majestic San Gabriel Mountains to his back. The rest of the views through his floor-to-ceiling windows were also drop-dead gorgeous, with the Pacific Ocean to his left and, on a clear day, three different mountain ranges to his right. Joshua never closed his vertical shades, which kept his office blindingly bright. People would always squint as they looked at him behind the desk, and every newcomer to his corner office on the 67th floor of the Library Tower simply stood in awe. And why not, he was awe-inspiring. And the setting kept clients, employees, and anyone else in his presence intimidated, which was all that mattered.
Joshua reached over and hit the button on his intercom. “Amanda, send in Ryan, please.”
Ryan Stacey was his personal assistant. In his early 30s, Ryan was already a standout at the company. In fact, Joshua became sure early on that Ryan had decided to hitch his star to Joshua’s wagon. Smart kid. But it meant hard work and long hours, which probably led to Ryan’s divorce. Yet through it all, Ryan never wavered. Always there. Ever trustworthy. And most importantly, he had become Joshua’s confidant. Even the gods, need someone to talk to—now and again.
Ryan knocked.
“Enter.”
As Ryan opened the door, Joshua watched him squint and smiled inwardly. He then motioned to one of the white leather chairs in front of his desk. “Close the door and take a seat.”
As always, Ryan carried his laptop, and took long strides as he crossed the huge office to his chair.
“Ryan, what I’m going to tell you is top secret.” Joshua cleared his throat and waited for Ryan to acknowledge the statement.
“Yes, sir,” Ryan said with a nod.
“I’m not getting any younger. Mid-fifties now. I need to think about my legacy. So, I’ve decided to work with you on my memoir. I’ll talk extemporaneously. You take notes. I’ll edit them later. Any problem?”
Ryan immediately opened his laptop. “No, Mr. Censkey. I’m honored.”
“I’m going to start with an overview of how I got where I am today. Ask questions if you must. I want to make sure you understand.”
“Will do.”
Joshua had thought of starting the book at his birth. With something about his parents. A lot of stories about great men began there. But that would lead to elementary school. Grades 2 to 8. When they picked on him. Chased him after school. And how he never got selected for any team. Bullshit. No one cares about that—or them. And stupid high school—the football guys always making fun of him. Things didn’t really settle down until college, when he realized looking like a winner was the critical thing. But then—some unmasked him anyway.
“Where do we begin?” Ryan said, clearly eager to get started..
“I don’t think you know this, but back in the ’80s, I made my living as a California lawyer. But, as fate would have it, one day the California State Bar came down on me like a ton of bricks.”
Ryan stared at Joshua in disbelief. “Why?”
“Because they could. Bureaucracy at its worse. They subpoenaed my bank records and then alleged I used client trust funds for outside investments.”
Ryan shifted in his seat. “Did you fight them?”
“Why bother? Rather than go through a long, one-sided State Bar trial, I copped a plea. And the assholes disbarred me.”
“What did you do then?”
“With few places to turn, I went into finance, investments, and ended up in hedge fund management in 1990. The good part was I got in at the ground floor. New high stakes gambling with other people’s money, people who wanted huge profits. There was no bad part. I was a natural.”
“What about the State Bar and your disbarment?”
Joshua scoffed. “They were out of it. No one in hedge funds cared about my background. The only thing that mattered was that I made deals and the deals paid big. At first, I did what I had to do to keep things going. Then in 1992, I made some big bucks with a few lucky hits. I was on my way, Joshua F. Censkey, Hedge Fund Manager.”
Joshua looked out the window for a moment and thought to himself. And that’s when I learned money meant respect.
Ryan, shifting again in his seat, sat straight up. “What happened next?”
“I knew I could make more of my success, so I combined my backgrounds. True, I couldn’t act as a lawyer anymore, but I still knew about lawsuits. I also knew that catastrophically injured folks, most times, couldn’t afford to take on giant corporate defendants.”
“You used that how?”
“Well, corporations simply spent injured victims into the ground. Legions of lawyers, expensive experts, and motion after motion in court. They dragged litigation out, knowing the injured person was already out-of-work, crushed by medical bills, and unable to support self or family. Soon the victims and their lawyers ran out of money, and had to go away, or settle for next to nothing. They needed a hero.”
Ryan smiled. “And you became that hero, right?”
“Right. And in 1994, I started JFC, Justice Finance Corporation, to funnel hedge fund money to catastrophically injured people with meritorious lawsuits. In that way, the victims, who were often destitute, could afford to live and fight the giant corporations through trials and appeals. The problem, however, was that, in most states, including California, the law prevented a non-lawyer from investing in a lawsuit and sharing in a client’s recovery. Only lawyers, subject to State Bar regulations, could do that.”
“Why?”
Joshua shook his head. “The self-serving states said they didn’t want unregulated, private marketeers moving in, taking advantage of injured victims, and fanning litigation for profit. I, for one, thought it was all grossly unfair. And Ryan—if you haven’t already, you’ll soon learn something about me. I’m nothing, nothing at all, if not a world-class free-market thinker. Write that down.”
Ryan typed then moved to the edge of his seat. “So, what did you do?”
