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The Fortune Cookie and the Strange Story of Juan Llorga
Author: Tulip
Rating: PG-13--I don't think there's anything too bad in here
Category: Vignette
Spoilers: Up to and including JAG TV
Disclaimer: I don't own JAG, I'm not making a profit, I have no money and should probably be finding better things to do with my time...
Feedback: Sure
Archive: Please tell me where
Notes: Okay, this is a very short continuation of "Make it Worth your While?" since a bit of Harm-bashing came to me when I opened a fortune cookie and the fortunes that Harm and Mac cite below were found inside. Then I thought, why not work the story of one of our clients at the Federal Public Defender's Office into the story. It's modified of course, but the guy on which Juan Llorga is based does exist, although Valparaiso University was not involved. And I mean no insult to anyone who went there--it just popped into my head instead of the real university, which will remain nameless...
Clay and I actually settled into an easy friendship after that disastrous day when he found me sobbing outside JAG headquarters. He had called me the day after to thank me for going to the embassy party and to tell me that the couple of law enforcement plants, who were FBI, asked him where he found me, since the
majority of the population of DC is extraordinarily well educated. Of course, both of these guys had apparently also asked for my number. According to Clay, at least.
"So, what do I win?" I ask.
"Well, I'll see if there is an equivalent to an Oscar for best one-time performance at an embassy party." We laugh at that, but we cut our conversation short because I have court.
About two days after that, he e-mailed me to tell me that he had signed Harm up on a listserv that delivers tips on how to be a better lover. I then spend far too long on the hallmark.com website to find just the perfect thank you card, which I sign "on behalf of women all over the world." We continue back and forth like this, and I make sure that I give him the full rundown on Harm's perplexed reaction to his unsolicited e-mail, which Clay has thoughtfully sent to his Navy account. I had no idea Clayton Webb was so damn funny. Everyone else is really missing out.
About two weeks later, a bunch of us decided to go out for lunch, and we settled on a Chinese/American buffet, because there was something for everyone. We sat at a round table, and I was situated in between Harm and Bud. At the end of the meal, we were each given a fortune cookie, and Harriet suggested we play
that fortune cookie game where you add "in bed" to the end of the fortune. This sounded okay to me, and Bud eagerly went first.
"A handful of patience is worth more than a basket full of pop tops--in bed," Bud says. "Well, that doesn't make any sense at all. Usually they make some kind of sense." We all start laughing.
Tiner goes next. "You now possess the power to act like a big kid--in bed. Hmmm." This is somewhat perplexing, because this whole thing usually works better than these fortunes are, but we laugh anyway, thinking of the potential connotations.
Gunny is next. "Never wear your best pants when you go to fight for freedom--in bed. Interesting. It's never my plan to wear pants to bed at all!"
Harriet is next. "What you left behind is more mellow than wine--in bed. Oh my God!!" Harriet turns a shade of red I've never seen before, and we all bust out laughing.
It's now Harm's turn. "Your supportive and caring style will serve you well--in bed." He nudges my knee, and when I look at him, he winks at me. I cough to try to cover my laugh, and, through the grace of God, I am able to read my own fortune, which really should have been Harm's.
"Time and experience will bring clarification--in bed. Hmmm. I didn't realize clarification was necessary. I must have been missing something all those years." That gives me the excuse I need to laugh at Harm while appearing to laugh at our my own fortune.
I grab both our fortunes from the table on my way out, and, when I get back to the office, I spend far too much time enlarging them on one piece of paper. I then call Clay's office, hoping he doesn't pick up, and, thankfully his secretary does. I ascertain that he is in town, and I get his fax number, write a note explaining that there had clearly been some mistake in the allotment of fortune cookies, and then stand at the fax machine, still giggling.
I get a phone call like five minutes later. "Sarah, quick, I have to go to the Hill, but give me the lucky numbers from the back of Harm's fortune so I can play the lottery on my way."
I start laughing hysterically, and I grab the fortune and start reading numbers, which he makes me keep repeating because I'm laughing so hard, when I see the Admiral standing at my door. I stand up and say into the phone, "The lottery is going to have to wait, Webb. I'll call you back."
"Wait! Meet me later?"
"Okay, but quick, I have to go."
"Banana Café, 8th and G southeast. 6:30." He hangs up.
"Why are you talking to Webb? What were you reading to him?"
"Uh, I was reading numbers off of the back of this fortune, sir."
"Any particular reason?"
"It's kind of hard to explain, sir. It's a joke."
"You have an inside joke with Clayton Webb?"
"Maybe? What did you need, sir?" This conversation needs to cease now. I am not going to explain the reasons behind why I have an inside joke with Clay. My misdirection is successful, and I give the Admiral the update he wants.
I manage to run home and throw on some other clothes before I have to meet Clay, although I'm ten minutes late to the restaurant, since some tour bus was parked right on Constitution outside one of the House buildings, because, you know, rush hour is the best time to block a lane. I manage to find parking on the street fairly quickly, although it's usually not a problem in that area of town. I walk in as Clay is taking a sip of a drink.
"Wow, it must be bad. I'm not that late!"
"Hey, Sarah. It's been a long day."
"Well, you're not doing tequila shots so it must not have been the worst day ever."
"That's true," he laughs. "Your fortune cookie story made it better. My secretary knew something was up--she said you were bordering on hysterics when you called, so she brought the fax right in. By the way, here's the lottery ticket. I say we split it fifty-fifty if we win."
I start laughing. "I can't believe you stopped and bought a ticket. I thought you were joking. But I'm going to hold you to the offer to split the ticket if it's a winner. So, what's going on?"
"Nothing. Did you have someplace else to be tonight? I'm sorry. I really didn't give you a choice, did I?"
"I would have told you if I had plans. I was just asking generally."
"Well, besides the fact that I feel really old today?"
"Why?"
"I got an invitation to my twenty year high school reunion. But, I don't want to think about that anymore. Actually, I had a great story for you, but it needs time for telling, so I thought over dinner would be perfect."
"I can't wait to hear it."
"Let's order first." We do finally place our orders, and I'm dying of curiosity.
"Clay? The story?"
"Okay. This is kind of long, but you need a little background. So, this story is about Juan Llorga, aka Prince Ali-Khan of Saudi Arabia. It appears that Llorga was, at some point, the boy toy of some Saudi Arabian prince. He's been living in Dade County, Florida, and has all kinds of information about
various different members of the family, and he has made his living since by obtaining credit cards, bank accounts, and all kinds of things in the names of these different family members. He says he's a devout Muslim, insists his name is Prince Ali-Khan, and he passes easily as an Arab. Even when he gets arrested,
which happens fairly frequently as you can imagine, he makes calls from the jail, trying to get more credit cards, ordering stuff from boutiques, and then hiring limousines to go pick up the packages. I mean, it's totally ridiculous. There is apparently a box full of stuff, thank you letters from people for donations he's pledged, information on million dollar condominiums along with detailed plans for renovations, and even a letter from a highly ranked politician, sent to the P.O. Box at the Dade County jail, welcoming him into some club for big donors."
"You're kidding!"
"Oh, no. It gets better. So, one of these Saudi Princes attended Valparaiso University in Indiana, so Llorga, who had some help on the outside, called them, saying he was Prince So-and-so and wanted to make a donation. First, though, they had to wire transfer him money to cover the cost of the tax."
"They didn't!"
"They did. So, of course, he ended up in the federal penitentiary in South Dakota or someplace remote like that where he promptly became a really huge pain in the ass. He got a bee in his bonnet one day over his prayer rug or skull cap or something, and tore his cell apart. The put him in five point restraints after like 35 minutes of his ranting and raving. They carried him out and he saying in this Horseshack sounding voice, 'you motherfuckers, I'm going to get you motherfuckers...'"
"How do you know that?"
"Video. They filmed almost the whole thing through the door. Anyway, he's such an obnoxious asshole that they charged him." I laugh again, knowing full well that prisons usually handle that sort of thing with administrative sanctions rather than new charges. "Oh, I forgot the best part. He was like 3 months from release when this happened. So he ended up pleading, and eventually got out and headed back to Florida."
"How long did he last before he violated parole?"
"Funny you should ask. I think around six weeks. His attempted purchase of a large luxury yacht was probably a mistake. So now he's claiming that he knows where Osama bin Laden is in an effort to convince the U.S. Attorney to show some leniency on the parole violation. Of course, the U.S. Attorney won't talk to him, because he's full of shit, but some rookie cop in Dade County, Florida, has bought into the story. Llorga is a very good con man, after all. This guy calls every few days or so, giving us some new random location where bin Laden is hiding, and I hear he's run up a couple thousand dollar phone bill chasing down these alleged leads."
"Geez. Haven't the cop's superiors stepped in?"
"They did when they got the phone bill!"
"What an idiot. Didn't he look at Llorga's files? And how did he run up such an enormous phone bill."
"Well, he not only called us but also people in Afghanistan and Pakistan. I think they cop looked at Llorga's files, but like I said, Llorga is good." Our food arrives.
We talk about other things over dinner, staying clear of our jobs. The food is really good, and Clay has a couple more drinks. After we pay, Clay doesn't want to drive yet, so we take a walk down to Pennsylvania. We wander slowly towards the Capitol, discussing what we like and what don't like about DC. He has a far different perspective, having lived here more or less his whole life.
"Oh, Sarah, by the way, I have a couple of parties coming up. Could I bribe you into going?"
"I don't really need to be bribed, but you'll probably end up at the Navy ball, you know."
"Well, we'll have to negotiate my reunion then if I have to hang out with Chegwidden and Rabb for the evening as your date. They'd both want to break more than my nose if I showed up as your date."
"Can you imagine the looks on their faces?! No offense, but they would have kittens if I brought you along. And I'd make sure they didn't break anything. I could take them," I laugh.
"Gee, thanks, Sarah," he says, feigning hurt.
"Oh, you know what I mean."
"Believe me, I'm well aware of what they think of me."
We get back to his car, and he insists on driving me the few blocks to mine. Before I get out, I say, "Thanks for suggesting dinner--it was very entertaining. Call tomorrow with the dates of those parties. If I'm free, I'll go."
"Thanks, Sarah. See you later."
As I make my way home, I marvel at how much fun Clayton Webb can be. Who knew?
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