I had been representing him for several years. He was no stranger to Federal authorities. He was connected. Accordingly, the fee arrangement was somewhat contingent in nature: I win, I live; I lose, I become uninsurable.
Fortunately, I had been ultra successful in my defense efforts. Four trials, four acquittals. We liked each other and he would frequently call me to ascertain how the wind was blowing. His antennae could pick up any bad vibes, whereupon he would immediately go on the lammsville. He was very careful about that---about staying out of harms way. His name was Frank Hamilton.
During this period, I would always purchase my clothes at a certain well known retail store. I had been going there for years. One salesman became my go-to guy. No pressure, just always eager to help. We became friendly. His name was Frank Hamilton.
One day I was looking for a raincoat, found one that I liked but my size was not in stock. Frank said that he would order what I wanted and call me in a few days when it came in. That evening, I had second thoughts and told my young son that "if Frank Hamilton calls, tell him I don't want the coat."
Two days later, client Frank called, from his usual downtown phone booth. My son answered.
"Hello, this is Frank Hamilton. Is your Dad there?'
"No, he's gone to the office but he left a message for you. He told me to tell you, if you called, that he doesn't want the coat."
Every internal alert bell was activated. His personal traffic controller reported for duty. He held the phone at his ear as the lessons of having lived so many years of "the life" swept over him.
He spoke, very deliberately.
"Doesn't---want---the---coat. Got it!"
He slammed the phone down, jumped to the sidewalk and hailed the first cab that drove by.
"I'll know when I get there."