Open Sesame

By: Hank Horne
(© 2018 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

HHorne@tickiestories.us

Chapter 16

The carpet was large enough to hold the four of us real-live-humans comfortably.  We floated a little while to get used to the feeling of a sort of free-flight.  Then we disappeared and the next thing we knew, we were approaching a forested area.  The weather was wonderful; clear blue skies, large areas of trees below us, a winding river to our west, and large stretches of land ahead.  We could see a city to our east, which must be the Atlanta megalopolis, and the river should be the Chattahoochee, the way it divides and forms a large island within it. 

Jamal pointed out some patches of land with minimum development on the west bank of the river.  They seemed perfect for our project.  We could buy up the land from the owners for a handsome profit to them and it would be close enough to the city and yet secluded enough for our needs.  Any place we would get would need to be hidden from the air so low flying airplanes and media helicopters would think nothing had changed except ownership.  The jinn paused the carpet long enough for Maji to get some pictures of the area, so we could identify it on land records.  Maybe we could buy the island for the resort – who knows? 

I got what I needed for the moment, so we headed back home.

We looked at the 16”x20” prints which we could use to find the map at the Cobb and Fulton Counties’ office buildings.  I turned to Jamal again, planning to ask him to find me a real estate attorney in Atlanta who could help us in closing the sale of the property and getting the counties to approve rezoning the area for our needs.  He handed me a business card before I could speak, with the name of his choice for the right attorney. 

“I think you will find him and his partner satisfactory for your – needs,” Jamal said, smiling. 

“Goldberg, Tyner and Associates, LLP, Pre-Nuptials, Real Estate, Trusts, and Wills,” I read aloud from both cards.  “Marcus J. Goldberg, J.D./L.L.M., Senior Partner, and Evan R. Tyner, J.D., Senior Partner,” on the separate cards.  “I find you very satisfactory too, Jamal, in many ways,” I told my grinning jinni.

“Let me know when you would like to meet with them and I’ll arrange the appointment,” Jamal replied.

“Check their schedules and see when the next time is available for an hour meeting together, and we’ll arrange to be there,” I told the incredible hunk.

“Next Tuesday at ten in the morning is available for both. Shall I enter that time in their appointment books for you?”

“Please, do.”

“It has been done,” he said. 

I just shook my head in amazement. “Thank you.”

Tuesday morning at quarter to ten, Maji and I appeared in two stalls of an otherwise empty men’s restroom of One Park Tower, in midtown Atlanta.  It’s on Peachtree Street – of course!  We checked ourselves in the mirror, making sure our thousand-plus dollar jinn-acquired suits were perfect, and walked out into the hall to get the elevator to the sixteenth floor, where the law firm was located.  We walked into the office at five minutes to ten and identified ourselves to the receptionist.  Two minutes later, two very hunky middle-aged men entered the reception room.

“It is the Grant Richards!  I told you it would be,” one of the men said to the other.  “Mr. Richards, I’m Marc Goldberg.”

“I’m Evan Tyner.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Good morning, and thank you for seeing us today,” I replied, as I shook hands with each of them.  “This is my cameraman, Majid Mustafa.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Maji said, as the other men greeted him.”

“Betty, we’ll be in Conference A, and are not to be disturbed,” Tyner told the receptionist, who acknowledged his instruction.

“To what do we owe this pleasure from GNN’s top newsmen?” Goldberg asked.

“Majid and I have found a piece of property that we would like to develop into a multi-use area.  Your firm was recommended as being the one we needed to ask to help us clear all the hurdles of purchasing the land, getting it approved by the county for construction, and all the other red-tape that goes into a development.”

The partners glanced at each other then back to us.  “We appreciate the referral and will be glad to look over what you are suggesting to see how we can best serve you,” Goldberg replied.

“First off, I have here a certified check for one hundred thousand dollars made out to your firm as a retainer,” I told the partners.  I have a map of the area that we are interested in and are ready to pay cash for the property.  It’s on the western bank of the Chattahoochee, near that big island,” I explained.

The lawyers said, “Buzzard Roost Island” at the same time.

 “I guess so,” I replied.

“That’s going to be the sticky part that will be a difficult sell to the local officials,” Tyner commented.

“But not impossible,” Goldberg injected.

We went over many of the details of what we needed for the project, regarding the land, who owned the acreage we wanted, tax value, and all the other elements of buying the land from different owners. 

Around 12:30, Evan Tyner suggested we all go to lunch.  He looked at Goldberg and asked, “Anatolia?”  His partner nodded, and Evan buzzed reception to make reservations.  We walked a couple of blocks to the restaurant and were met by the owner, who greeted our hosts and me, then greeted Maji in Turkish.  He replied in Turkish, much to the surprise of both of us.  Arman was doing his thing for Maji, and Jamal did his thing for me, because I understood them.  Our hosts grinned to each other, and were satisfied with the outcome of their choice of restaurants to entertain their new, rich clients.

During the course of the meal, I asked Mark and Evan how they met.

“We met at a Falcons’ game,” Marc offered.  “My brother was on the team and I had a ticket in the Club Box when I wanted it ….”

“And a cousin of mine was on the team that year also, so I came to the Falcons – Cowboys game.”

“That was a disaster, if I remember correctly – 28 to 13, wasn’t it?” I interjected.

“Don’t get us started.”

“Anyway, we met at the bar in the Club Box and hit it off there.  Then we had dinner with Bill and Scott, and afterwards went our separate ways,” Marc said.

“An hour later, I decided to hit one of the clubs in town, so who should be at the bar when I got there?” Evan asked.

“I was,” Marc answered.

“We took our drinks to a booth and got to know each other better.  Relative privacy and just the two of us ….”

“And the multiple rounds of Vodka Collins …,” Marc interjected.

“We talked until the bartender gave the ‘final call.’”

“We exchanged addresses and phone numbers, and stayed in touch,” Marc continued.  “After I passed the Georgia state bar exam and Evan the Texas bar exam, we were each looking for a law firm to get started.  We each had interned as paralegals at firms and for judges to get as much experience as possible,”

“Marc and I had spent a lot of money traveling between Atlanta and Austin to see each other.  I applied for a position with a firm here in Atlanta as a real estate specialist,” Evan said. “We got an apartment, and a couple of years ago opened our own firm.  We’ve done well and have become a major player in real estate law.” 

“Next thing we have going is a television series called ‘Laying Down the Law.”  It’s about two lawyers screwing their clients in bed every night,” Marc joked. 

Maji spoke up, asking, “You don’t care if they’re female or male clients?  You’re equal opportunity shysters?”

The two lawyers lost it with that comment, and I nearly choked on my Turkish coffee.  We went back to their office, after Evan paid the tab, to complete our work.  They cancelled the rest of their appointments for the day, referring them to others in the firm, and we got down to the nitty-gritty details before getting ready to leave. 

 “Do y’all have plans for this evening?” Marc asked us.

“Nothing that can’t be ignored,” I replied.

“Have supper with us at our place.  Y’all can spend the night if you have problems getting your flight changed.”

“We would need to let our family know we’ll be late, but we can leave any time since we have a charter.  We’ll make the arrangements now,” I told them.

Maji walked over to the corner of the conference room and called the house, leaving a message which would be transcribed for Greta.  Then ‘our pilots’ told Hassan and Dildar we would be late and to have fun until we get home.

Evan asked what we would like for supper – steaks, Italian, or Chinese carry-out.  We opted for Italian.  We rode with them to their condo, and man, was it incredible!  Two levels, living room on one side of a double fireplace with a full dining room on the other side, a nice size kitchen and an open den on the lower level that they had set up as an office/library.  Three bedrooms and two baths on the second level.  Oh, man!  Now I have a nice home in Chevy Chase, but it’s nothing like this!  And I make millions every week!  

Marc told us to use one of the guest rooms to get comfortable while they did the same.  He tossed us some shorts and T’s to change into.  Next time we saw them, they were in shorts and barefoot; Marc had on a stringer tank-top and Evan had a Y-back muscle-shirt.  They were two smokin’ studs!  Marc’s about 6’ 2” and 230 pounds of solid muscle; Evan slightly shorter but just as beefy. 

 “Anyone looking for a ‘Dream Team’ of musclemen?  I wonder what the delivery guy is going to think when he brings our supper,” Evan commented as he and Marc flexed for us.

Maji replied, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he asked to use the bathroom to clean himself up!”

Big laugh!  Then the door buzzer sounded.  Evan buzzed the deliveryman in the main entrance – but it turned out to be a delivery girl, probably a college co-ed in her early twenties, although she looked like an athlete who could take care of herself.  She nearly dropped her thermal bags of food when she saw the four of us standing around, looking at her, and I’m sure she wet herself from the way she blushed and clamped her legs together.  Evan had charged the food on his card, but he gave her a very generous tip.  They unloaded the bags on the dining room table; lasagna, spaghetti with meat sauce, manicotti and a large supreme pizza.  Marc brought out a six-pack of ice cold Bud Lite and another of Coke.  {Does everyone in Atlanta drink Coca-Cola?  I do because of a childhood experience with ‘the other brand’ — but that’s another story.}

To be continued... 

Posted: 11/01/18