Union Flagg (ePub)

225 Pages.

It's 1973, and after three years of working for the LA District Attorney's Office, 26 year old Rudy Steinway moves back to his hometown, La Jolla, to open up his private practice as a criminal defense attorney. Immediately, he is hired by a wealthy French colonist with a big house on the beach in La Jolla, and plantations in Viet Nam and Laos.

"I'm Union Flagg." His accent was French. French man in a French house. Probably not a coincidence. Short pause and then he continued, "And I presume you're the lawyer?"

"Rudy Steinway."

Flagg glanced closely at me. He pulled his reading glasses up from his chest where they were held by a gold chain draped around his neck. He focused his eyes behind the glasses and said, "You don't look Jew." I gave no reaction. A statement without any hint of bias, more of an observation.

I hesitated. Another anti-Semite? Didn't really sound like it and a lawyer doesn't choose his initial meeting with a prospective client. He listens to their story, does his best to ferret out the facts, and explains the law as it deals with those facts. An experienced lawyer then makes a judicious determination as to whether or not he can help the person; and if he can, does the lawyer want to take the case.

"No. Protestant. For whatever that matters."

"Steinway sounds Jewish."

"German."

Flagg continued his stare. "You a Nazi?" Not a condemning or welcoming tone, but again, observational. Nevertheless, the extremes in this man's thoughts threw me, but my face remained placid.

"Look, Mr. Flagg. I'm not a Jew and I'm not a Nazi. Maybe you're looking for somebody else and not me." Maybe I should have stood up and walked out then and there. But I didn't. A lawyer deals with prejudice all the time. Conflicts between people. The life blood of a lawyer. Nobody goes to a lawyer when they're hunky-dory about their life. They got a problem and they want you to fix it.

"Rudy Steinway, lawyer," he said.

"Yes sir."

I stared back at the tall white man. Several seconds passed and Flagg finally said, "Don't mind me. I haven't had time to check you out. I'll do that later. Please sit down."

I sat in a soft leather chair that Flagg directed me to. I noticed he had a gold bracelet surrounding his left wrist as he moved around his large desk and sat in a matching leather chair. He saw me sliding my arms along the armrest.

"Rhodes leather. They use Kentucky buckskin for the covering. Special order out of Atlanta several years ago."

"Very nice."

He said, "If you study the embroidery on the rugs, you'll see that the one's under your feet depict hunting scenes. Special order out of Azerbaijan to match the leather." He seemed to want to impress me with his wealth. Whatever. There was a lamp on Flagg's desk which bounced light against his face. He was older in the light. Sweating a little, although the room was cool. I saw small blood vessels visible in his nose and cheeks. Signs of an indulged life. He appeared to have the money for it.

"How old are you son?"

"Twenty-six," was my reply.

"You look younger. You haven't had enough stress in your life to age you." He had no idea.