Final judgment

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There was a dead body in the trunk of Avery Fish’s Fleetwood Cadillac. Not that he didn’t have enough problems already. He was late for a meeting with his lawyer, Lou Mason, and the assistant U.S. attorney, Pete Samuelson. They were negotiating a deal for Fish’s body and soul like they were haggling over a used car, both sides selling him “as is.”

Fish knew how it would go. Mason had briefed him the day before, telling him he’d better be on time.

“Why not just strip me down to my shorts and check my teeth like I was a horse being sold by the pound?” Fish asked.

“Because you’re too old and ugly,” Mason answered, grinning. “The feds wouldn’t buy and I’d be stuck with you.”

Fish waved his hand at Mason’s joke. “So what kind of deal am I going to get?”

“You’re charged with mail fraud. I’ll offer twelve months suspended with probation, which is a downward deviation from federal sentencing guidelines, and a hundred thousand dollars in restitution for the people the government says you swindled.”

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