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Don\\u2019t Need Your Stinkin\\u2019 License! 

Yuri Gasparov was 19 years old when he entered the United States from  the old Soviet Republic of Georgia. Although still a teenager he was  strong of will and body. In the old Soviet Georgia he had made his mark  as a thief, extortionist and enforcer. Yuri was 13 years old when he  first killed a man who refused to pay half his earnings to the group  Gasparov joined when he was 11.  

When the Soviet Union fell, he emigrated to the U.S. He saw the U.S.,  unlike the new Georgian Republic, as a place of opportunity for his  criminal skills.  Gasparov arrived at Los Angeles International Airport on an immigrant\\u2019s  Visa claiming to be a persecuted Russian Jew. He was unusual as an  immigrant. There were gold bars weighing ten Kilograms and 30 carats of  \\u201cD\\u201d to \\u201cH\\u201d color diamonds in his luggage. Yuri stepped off an Al Italia  jet from the First Class Cabin wearing an English suit cut by a Saville  Row tailor, a Gold Rolex President watch and Italian alligator leather  shoes.

As he waited in the \\u201cNothing to Declare\\u201d line at the Bradley  International Terminal women in the line openly stared. They saw a  handsome young man with long black hair, green eyes, an aquiline nose  and a neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard. They assumed he was an Italian  Actor come to try his hand at Hollywood.  A limousine was waiting to pick him up at the curb. The chauffeur held  the door for him as he entered the long, white, stretched Lincoln Town  Car welcoming him to the U.S. in Russian.  

Yuri Gasparov had convinced the boss in Georgia that it was necessary to  use the American system to make profit and leave the violent tried and  true methods of making a criminal profit perfected in the old Republic  of Georgia. The American system of civil justice was open to the  devious, the criminal and the unethical for instant wealth.  What he did not know, basking in all the accouterments of immediate  success, that knowledge of the law or how to practice law, was  irrelevant to his success. All that was required of Casparian was to  hang his license on the wall and wait for the profits to roll in.