Mr. Hatch

Carlita served drinks from a wooden tray—diet sodas for Lacy and Hugo, a bottle of beer for Mix.  She was a pretty Hispanic lady, at least twenty years his junior, and she seemed pleased to have guests, especially another woman.

Lacy made a note on her legal pad and said, “A quick question. The phone you used fifteen minutes ago had a different number than the phone you used last week.”

“Is that a question?” Mix replied.

“It’s close enough.”

“Okay. I use a lot of prepaid phones. And I move around all the time. I’m assuming the number I have for you is a cell phone issued by your employer, correct?”

“That’s right. We don’t use personal phones for state business, so my number is not likely to change.”

“That’ll make it simpler, I guess. My phones change by the month, sometimes by the week.”

So far, their first five minutes together, everything Mix said had only opened the door for more questions. Lacy was still miffed at being stood up for lunch, and she didn’t like the first impression he made. She said, “Okay, Mr. Mix, at this point Hugo and I go silent. You start talking. Tell us your story, and if it has huge gaps that require us to fish around and stumble in the dark, then we’ll get bored and go home. You were coy enough on the phone to lure me here. Start talking.”

Mix looked at Hugo with a smile and asked, “She always this blunt?”

Hugo, unsmiling, nodded yes. He folded his hands on the table and waited. Lacy put down her pen.

Mix swallowed a mouthful of beer and began: “I practiced law for thirty years in Pensacola. Small firm—we usually had five or six lawyers. Back in the day we did well and life was good. One of my early clients was a developer, a real high roller who built condos, subdivisons, hotels strip malls, the typical Florida stuff that goes up overnight. I never trusted the guy but he was making so much money I finally took the bait. He got me in some deals, small slices here and there, and for a while it all worked. I started dreaming of getting rich, which, in Florida anyway, can lead to serious trouble. My friend was cooking the books and taking on way too much debt, stuff I didn’t know about. Turns out there were some bogus loans, bogus everything, really, and the FBI came in with one of its patented RICO cluster bombs and indicted half of Pensacola, me included. A lot of folks got burned—developers, bankers, realtors, lawyers, and other shysters. You probably didn’t hear about it because you investigate judges, not lawyers. Anyway, I flipped, sang like a choirboy, got a deal, pled to one count of mail fraud, and spent sixteen months in a federal camp. Lost my license and made a lot of enemies. Now I lie low. I applied for reinstatement, and got my license back. I have one client these days, and he’s the guy we’ll talk about from now on. Questions?” From the empty chair, he retrieved an umarked file and handed it to Lacy. “Here’s the scoop on me. Newspaper articles, plea agreement, all the stuff you might need. I’m legit, or as legit as any ex-con can be, and every word I’m saying is true.”

“What’s your address now?” Hugo asked.

“I have a brother up in Myrtle Beach and I use his address for legal purposes. Carlita has a place in Tampa and I get some mail there. Basically, though, I live on this boat. I have phones, fax, Wi-Fi, a small shower, cold beer, and a nice lady. I’m a happy guy. We bounce around Florida, the Keys, the Bahamas. Not a bad retirement, thanks to Uncle Sam.”

“Why do you have a client?” Lacy asked, ignoring the file.

“He’s the friend of an old friend who knows my shady past and figures I’ll roll the dice for a fat fee. He’s right. My friend looked me up, then convinced me to take this case. Don’t ask for the client’s name, because I don’t have it. My friend is the intermediary.”

“You don’t know the name of your client?” Lacy asked.

“No, nor do I want to.”

“Are we supposed to ask why or just accept this?” Hugo asked.

“Gap number one, Mr. Mix,” Lacy said. “And we don’t do gaps. You tell us everything or we’ll leave and take nothing with us.”

“Just relax, okay?” Mix said as he chugged some beer. “This is a long story that will take some time to unfold. It involves a ton of money, corruption that is astonishing, and some really nasty guys who wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet or two between my eyes, yours, my client’s, anyone who asks too many questions.”

There was a long pause as Lacy and Hugo allowed this to sink in. Finally, she asked, “Then why are you in the game?”

“Money. My client wants to pursue a claim under the Florida Whistleblower Statute. He dreams of collecting millions. Me, I’ll take a nice cut, and if all goes well, I’ll never need clients.”

“I know the law, Ms. Stoltz. You have a demanding job, I don’t. I have plenty of time to pore over the code sections and case law. Yes, my client is employed by the State of Florida. No, his identity cannot be revealed; not now, anyway. Perhaps, way down the road, if money is on the table, then maybe we can convince a judge to maintain a closed file. But, to kick things off, my client is far too frightened to sign a formal complaint with Judicial Conduct.”

“We cannot proceed without a signed, formal complaint,’ Lacy said. “The statute, as you know, is very clear.”

“Indeed I do. I’ll sign the complaint.”

“Under oath?” Hugo asked.

“Yes, as reqjuired. I believe my client is telling the truth and I’m willing to sign my name.”

“And you’re not afraid?”

“I’ve lived with fear for a long time. I guess I’m accustomed to it, though things could get worse.” Mix reached for another file and withdrew some papers, which he placed on the table. He continued. “Six months ago, I went to court up in Myrtle Beach and changed my name. I’m now Greg Myers, the name I’ll use on the complaint.”

Lacy read the court order from South Carolina and, for the first time, doubted the wisdom of traveling to St. Augustine to meet this guy. A state employee too frightened to come forward. A reformed lawyer so spooked that he went to court in another state and changed his name. An ex-con with no real address.

Hugo read the court order and, for the first time in years, wished he could carry a gun. He asked, “Do you consider yourself to be in hiding at this moment?”

“Let’s say I’m just real cautious, Mr. Hatch. I’m an experienced boat captain who knows the water, the seas, the currents and cays and keys and remote beaches and hideways far better than anyone looking for me, if, in fact anyone is back there.”

(The Whistler, John Grisham, pages 9-12)

FOR THE RECORD.  Orrin Hatch—one of the most evil men in the world, pictured here wearing a mask, makeup caked on his face—was not born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.  cc all Mormon barristers!
Orrin Hatch
Orrin Hatch, official portrait, 112th Congress.jpg
United States Senator
from Utah

Orrin Grant Hatch (born March 22, 1934) is an American attorney, politician, and author who has been the President pro tempore of the United States Senate, since January 2015.

A member of the Republican Party, he serves as the senior United States Senator for Utah. In office since 1977, Hatch is the most senior Republican Senator, the second-most senior Senator overall, after Democrat Patrick Leahy of Vermont, who has served since 1975. Having served for 40 years, 247 days, Hatch is the longest-serving Republican Senator in U.S. history.

Hatch served as either the chairman or ranking minority member of the Senate Judiciary Committee from 1993 to 2005. He previously served as chairman of the Senate Committee on Health, Education, Labor, and Pensions from 1981 to 1987 and currently serves as Chairman of the Senate Finance Committee as well as serving on the Board of Directors for the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum.

After the Republicans won control of the Senate during the 2014 midterms, Hatch became president pro tempore on January 6, 2015, after the 114th United States Congress was sworn in.[1]

Early life and education

Orrin Grant Hatch was born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and raised in the suburb of Baldwin.[2] He is the son of Jesse Hatch and his wife Helen Frances Hatch. His older brother Jesse, a U.S. Army Air Forces nose turret gunner with the 725th Bombardment Squadron was killed on February 7, 1945 when the B-24 he was aboard was shot down over Austria.[3][4][5]

Hatch, the first in his family to attend college, attended Brigham Young University and in 1959 received a B.A. degree in history. In 1962, he received a J.D. degree from the University of Pittsburgh School of Law. Hatch worked as an attorney in Pittsburgh and in Utah. [emphasis added]


The modern-day organization of Jehovah’s Witnesses began at the end of the 19th century. At that time, a small group of Bible students who lived near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, in the United States, began a systematic analysis of the Bible. They compared the doctrines taught by the churches with what the Bible really teaches. They began publishing what they learned in books, newspapers, and the journal that is now called The Watchtower—Announcing Jehovah’s Kingdom.

Among that group of sincere Bible students was a man named Charles Taze Russell. While Russell took the lead in the Bible education work at that time and was the first editor of The Watchtower, he was not the founder of a new religion. The goal of Russell and the other Bible Students, as the group was then known, was to promote the teachings of Jesus Christ and to follow the practices of the first-century Christian congregation. Since Jesus is the Founder of Christianity, we view him as the founder of our organization.—Colossians 1:18-20.
(Who Was the Founder of Jehovah’s Witnesses?, God’s visible organization’s Watchtower Online Library, posted here at my website with permission from some of the CIA-DIA-FBI agents who’re pretending to be Jehovah’s Witnesses,


Isaiah chapter 59

5 The eggs of a poisonous snake are what they have hatched, and they kept weaving the mere cobweb of a spider.+ Anyone eating some of their eggs would die, and the [egg] that was smashed would be hatched into a viper.+ 
6 Their mere cobweb will not serve as a garment, nor will they cover themselves with their works.+ Their works are hurtful works, and the activity of violence is in their palms.+ 

7 Their own feet keep running to sheer badness,+ and they are in a hurry to shed innocent blood.Their thoughts are hurtful thoughts;+ despoiling and breakdown are in their highways.*+ 

8 The way of peace+ they have ignored, and there is no justice in their tracks.+ Their roadways they have made crooked for themselves.+ No one at all treading in them*will actually know peace.+

9 That is why justice has come to be far away from us, and righteousness does not catch up with us. We keep hoping for light, but, look! darkness; for brightness, [but] in continuous gloom we kept walking.+
10 We keep groping for the wall just like blind men, and like those without eyes we keep groping.+ We have stumbled at high noon just as in evening darkness; among the stout ones [we are] just like dead people.+
11 We keep groaning, all of us, just like bears; and like doves we mournfully keep cooing.+ We kept hoping for justice,+ but there was none; for salvation, [but] it has stayed far away from us.+
[Additional Translations:]