Law and Addiction

by Mike Papantonio

  “It’s likely you’re depressed,” Jake said matter-of-factly. That was probably why Blake had sounded so low-energy in the months before he had died. “That’s another insidious aftereffect of opioid use. Your brain stops creating dopamine and endorphins—the drugs have essentially co-opted your brain into believing you can only experience feelings of pleasure through opiates.”

  “So I better get used to having the blues?”

  “It might be some time before you feel like your old cheerful self,” Jake admitted. “Your neurons have all been majorly trashed.”

  “I’m not sure if I have many of those little neurons left after these last few days,” she said, then sighed. “I just need to put my boxing gloves on and fight through it. But thanks for being in my corner.”

  Jake lifted the bag from the floor. “Tea and doughnuts will help you over the potholes. If that’s not in your rehab material, it should be.”

  Smiling, she asked, “So what kind of doughnuts did you bring?”

  vvv The hours passed. Anna apologized several times for not being better company and for feeling so lethargic. Several times she drifted off to sleep; that was fine with Jake. He knew recovery was a long process and hoped Anna had the patience and marathon mentality to successfully see it through.

  Sometimes it was too much effort for her to hold her half of a conversation, so Jake simply carried on both sides. Anna looked happy to listen, and neither of them found the occasional silence uncomfortable.

  Anna broke one of those silences by asking, “Do you still love Moon Pies?”

  Jake began laughing.

  “What is it?” she said, looking truly perplexed. “Once or twice a week you came by Daddy’s service station to get a Moon Pie.”

  Fowler’s Service Station had been a fixture in Oakley’s downtown while he and Blake were growing up. It was a garage with two service bays, and next to it was a small convenience store whose scant merchandise had consisted mostly of candy and snacks. Anna had worked there since she was a girl.

  “I’ve really never liked Moon Pies,” Jake admitted.

  Anna’s brow wrinkled, and she did a small double take. “But that’s what you always bought.”

  “The only reason I ever went into the Snack Shack was to see you,” he said with a shrug.

  She let out a disbelieving laugh, then said, “If you didn’t like Moon Pies, then why did you keep buying them?”

  “The first time I went in,” he said, “I think my plan was to get a pop, even though my real hope was to engage you in a scintillating conversation that would open your eyes to what a wonderful young man I was. Of course, the reality was that after you said hello, I’m pretty sure I forgot my own name. I guess I must have been pretending to look for something in one particular area of the store when you asked, ‘Do you want a Moon Pie, Jake?’ That seemed to me a most wonderful suggestion, so I said, ‘Yes, that’s what I was looking for.’ That probably would have been the end of it, except when I steeled up my nerve to come see you again, the first thing you said when I walked in was, ‘I bet you want a Moon Pie.’”

  “No!” said Anna.

  “Oh, yes,” he said, grinning. “For at least six years I stopped by on a weekly basis, except that month or two when it looked like you and Blake might become an item. I can tell you I wasn’t coming in for Moon Pies; I visited to get a chance to talk to you. I think I loved the way you said ‘Moon Pie.’ It just sounded magical to me.”

  “What did you do with all those Moon Pies?” asked Anna.

  “I gave them to my mother. They were a favorite treat of hers. She said as a girl her fondest memories of childhood were saving enough money to have a Moon Pie with a Royal Crown Cola, so it actually turned out to be a good thing. Mom was always so happy to get her Moon Pie, so I’m glad I ended up doing something for her, even though the truth of the matter is that for all that time, I was just trying to catch the eye of the cashier.”

  Jake was surprised to see Anna wiping away a tear. “That story was supposed to make you laugh, not cry.”

  “I feel stupid for forcing Moon Pies on you for all those years.”

  “Like I said, it all worked out.”

  “Would you believe me if I told you that your visits to the store were usually the highlight of my day?” asked Anna.

  “I’d be surprised,” Jake admitted. “I always assumed your friendliness was a pity thing on your part. My take on it was that you forever designated the Rutledge brothers as friend material, and nothing else.”

  She shook her head. “It was that way with me and Blake,” Anna admitted, “but that wasn’t how I felt about the other Rutledge brother.”

  Opening up to each other wasn’t easy, but they were finding a way. “Being visited by the boy I knew would one day be the valedictorian,” Anna said, “always made me feel special.”

  “You hid it well.”

  “Did I?” she said, sounding surprised. “One thing I can tell you is that I always made sure the vendor brought plenty of Moon Pies so that you would never be disappointed.”

  They both laughed at that.

  “Daddy never really liked the idea of the convenience store,” said Anna. “It came about out of necessity. People would be waiting for their cars and would want something to eat. I kept telling him we needed to expand that part of the business, but he resisted. He never seemed to understand that without the store, the garage would never have turned a profit. After I went away to become a dental hygienist, he tried to operate the store with a series of parttime cashiers, but none of them really worked out. And then when Momma got sick and Papa started working haphazardly, the business had no chance of surviving.”

  “End of an era when Fowler’s Service Station closed down,” Jake said. He thought about that and added, “Feels like the end of Oakley.”

  “It was supposed to be a temporary closing,” Anna said. “It’s only recently that Daddy finally realized he won’t be going back to work. I guess all that blight-and-condemnation paperwork has finally killed his wishful thinking.”

  “I’m not following what you’re saying,” said Jake.

  “The city says we’re in arrears for violation notices they sent out. Daddy says he never received the notices, but I’m not sure whether to believe him or not. He’s never been good about dealing with bad news; brushing it under the carpet has always been his way. I should have intervened, but I was dealing with my own problems.”

  “Tell me about the condemnation paperwork,” Jake said, sitting forward in the chair.

  “It surfaced about a month or two ago,” she said. “A deputy came to the door hand-delivering paperwork that said Final Notice.”

  Jake frowned. “And this deputy told your father that previous notices had been sent out for violations at the business property?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Which deputy brought you this final notice?”

  She thought for a moment: “The deputy everyone calls Paint.”

  And whom I call Whitewash, thought Jake. “Edward Dunn?” he asked.

  Anna nodded.

  “Something doesn’t sound right,” Jake said. “Condemnation proceedings, even in areas designated as blight, have to go through due process, which means a hearing has to take place. I’d like to look into this, if it’s all right with you.”

  “I wouldn’t presume to involve you in our family’s business matters,” said Anna.

  “Why not? I’m a family friend, aren’t I? And I’m a lawyer.”

  “It’s not that I wouldn’t be grateful, Jake.” Then, in a voice not much louder than a whisper, she added, “It’s just that we couldn’t afford to pay you.”

  He raised one brow. “You haven’t heard my payment plan.”

  She looked at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

  “Put me on a Moon Pie payment program.”

  “But you just finished telling me you don’t even like Moon Pies.”

  “I don’t,” he said, “bu
t I’m beginning to think I’m a sucker for nostalgia if it involves you.”

  When Anna smiled, Jake felt a soaring in his chest. But then she shook her head and said, “I can’t. You’re already doing way too much for me.”

  “Quid pro quo, then,” he said. “You can work off my legal bill.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You’ll see tomorrow.”

  Before leaving, Jake stopped in the living room to talk with Gary Fowler. Anna’s father seemed to be in a more receptive mood than he had been earlier that day, but that might have had to do with the two or three beers that he’d already consumed.

  “Have a beer with an old man?” Fowler asked.

  “I’d rather have a few words with you, if you don’t mind,” said Jake.

  Fowler motioned to the sofa, and Jake sat down. “I don’t know if Anna mentioned to you that I’m a lawyer, Mr. Fowler.”

  “She said something about that.”

  Jake nodded. “Anna said there was a legal matter that had to do with your business. I might be able to offer some help.”

  Fowler tilted his Budweiser and took a gulp. “I told that sheriff he’d made a mistake,” he said. “He told me he’d look into it.”

  “Did you sign anything he brought?”

  Fowler nodded. “There was some legal gobbledygook that he said was to acknowledge receipt of his notice.”

  “Did he leave you a copy of what you signed?”

  Fowler gestured with his beer. “He left some paperwork on the table over there.” Then he took another gulp.

  “Do you mind if I take a look?”

  “Beat yourself up.”

  Jake walked over to the table and thumbed through the small pile. Among the pages were a notice of delinquency and a posted sales date. From what Jake could see, the Fowler business was to go to public auction in five days.

  “Have you read this paperwork?” asked Jake.

  “Like I said, I told that sheriff I never received no previous notices, and that I know I’m up to date with the taxes.”

  “Did Deputy Dunn mention a lien having been put on the property? Or an imminent public auction?”

  “I don’t recall him talking about nothing like that.”

  “If you don’t mind, Mr. Fowler, I’d like to make copies of this paperwork. After that, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to talk to Deputy Dunn.”

  “You trying to drum up some business?” Fowler asked, scowling.

  “No, sir,” said Jake. “As I told Anna, I won’t be taking any payment for this, just acting as a family friend.”

  Fowler shrugged. “Fine with me, then.”

  “Since I’ll be dealing with county authorities,” Jake said, “do you mind if I write up something that says I’m acting as your legal representative?”

  “You mean like a contract?”

  “Technically, yes. But it will be short and sweet. Without it, county officials might refuse to discuss your business matters with me.”

  “Pretty soon you’re going to need a contract to go take a leak,” Fowler said. “What’s the world come to?”

  Jake couldn’t help but grin at the old man’s surliness. “I wish I knew,” he said.

  Fowler took a last swallow of his beer and then placed it next to the other empties.

  “There’s a pad of paper and a pen under the telephone in the kitchen,” he said. “While you’re doing your retrieving, you can get me a cold beer out of the icebox.”

  17

  THE PINKIE PROMISE

  One of the great things about being a lawyer, Jake was discovering, was that certain cases gave you the legal right to be nosy. You could ask questions on behalf of your client and shine light in those places where certain people preferred darkness. Jake knew what the typical knee-jerk response to lawyers was—it was an image that corporate propagandists had been portraying for years. Lawyers were depicted as parasites sucking the blood of hardworking individuals. What was rarely acknowledged was the unofficial oversight role that was increasingly filled by lawyers. Without the potential threat of legal action, important checks and balances wouldn’t exist, especially in light of increasingly lax government oversight. It was often only the fear of a lawsuit that made individuals and businesses do the right thing.

  Jake found Deputy Edward “Whitewash” Dunn sitting at his desk inside the cramped and worn county sheriff’s office in Melton. In his hand was a hunting knife that he was using to peel an apple. The blade must have been honed to a fine sharpness; Dunn was having no problem skinning the apple.

  Dunn’s brown eyes narrowed at Jake’s approach; they offered no welcome.

  145 “Deputy Dunn?” Jake said. “I’m Jake Rutledge. The two of us talked after the death of my brother, Blake.”

  The deputy nodded his acknowledgment but continued his knife work without comment.

  “Anyway,” said Jake, “you might recall that I was graduating from law school at the time of my brother’s death. Nowadays I’m a lawyer, and one of my clients has asked me to look into the potential condemnation of his business. In fact, after studying the paperwork you left him, it appears that my client is in imminent danger of losing that business. If I’m connecting the dots correctly, it seems that this coming weekend there is to be a public auction, and his business and the property it sits on will be up for sale.”

  Dunn took a bite of his apple, chewed it a few times, and swallowed. “Is that so?” he said.

  “My client is Gary Fowler of Fowler’s Service Station in Oakley,” said Jake. “Do you remember serving him papers recently?”

  “It’s against department regulations to discuss the police business of our citizens,” Dunn said. “That would violate our public trust.”

  Jake was glad he’d anticipated the deputy’s stonewalling. “As I said, I represent Mr. Fowler, and I have a document stipulating such.”

  He extended the power-of-attorney memo, and Dunn reluctantly put down his apple and knife before taking it from him. After reading what was written, he asked, “Is it all right if I make a copy?”

  “That’s fine,” said Jake.

  Dunn took the document with him and disappeared behind a cubicle in the back of the room. When he returned, he handed Jake the original.

  “Yes, I served Mr. Fowler papers,” said Dunn.

  “Mr. Fowler said that he told you there had to be some kind of a mistake,” said Jake. “According to him, you were told he was up to date on his taxes.”

  “Lots of people say lots of things,” said the deputy. “I have no idea if what they’re saying is true or not. And I don’t need you explaining the law to me, son. I’ve been doing this job since before you could walk on two legs.”

  Jake was unfazed by the man’s commentary. “If that’s the case,” he said, “then you know that in order to condemn a property, or to have an area designated as blight, due process has to be observed. Mr. Fowler says he received no notices of condemnation prior to your visit. In accordance with the law, he should have received at least one registered letter, and there should be written confirmation that he received it.”

  “You took him at his word that he didn’t get that letter?” asked the deputy.

  “If the letter was sent,” said Jake, “there should be a record of that. That burden of proof falls on the city or county, not Mr. Fowler. Of course, I know you were aware of that, Deputy, before I was even crawling, right?”

  Dunn scoffed. “Consider the source,” he said. “The man has had a stroke that slowed him physically, and I suspect mentally. From what I observed, he’s not firing on all cylinders. In addition to that, when I went and visited him, it was obvious that he’s in the habit of hitting the sauce long and hard.”

  “His stroke and drinking notwithstanding, Mr. Fowler told me that he made it clear to you that no one had contacted him about the proposed condemnation until you showed up. Did you look into his claim?”

  “When people get squeezed, they start making up all sorts of
stories.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” said Jake.

  The deputy didn’t hide his displeasure at being forced into a corner. “No, I have not yet had the opportunity to see if Mr. Fowler was notified by local government in writing prior to my talking to him.”

  “You haven’t had the opportunity? The auction is four days from now. Mr. Fowler told you that he is sure a mistake was made, and he was under the impression that you would be looking into that situation.”

  “I never promised him anything. He’s lying if he claims that I did.”

  “Let’s just say he assumed incorrectly, then,” said Jake. “Still, I don’t imagine it will take more than a phone call, or an email, to determine if a certified letter was ever sent to the Fowler residence.”

  The two men stared at each other. Deputy Dunn’s jaw was set, and his teeth were clenched. He clearly didn’t like anyone telling him his job.

  “Okay,” said Dunn.

  “Okay, as in you’ll look into it?” asked Jake.

  The deputy nodded.

  “Regardless of what you find,” Jake said, “I’ll be filing paperwork to remove the Fowler property from this week’s auction listing.”

  “All you’ll be doing is delaying the inevitable.”

  Jake’s brows rose. “You seem pretty sure of that.”

  Dunn shrugged.

  “While I’m checking out Mr. Fowler’s situation, you think maybe I should take a look at the rest of the properties on the auction block to make sure that no additional mistakes have been made regarding their disposition?”

  “You’re welcome to waste your time,” Dunn said. “Or is business that slow that you’re just trying to stir up a little work?” Instead of responding, Jake merely said, “Have yourself a nice day.”

  The deputy reached for his knife, and in one motion impaled his apple. “You, too.”

  vvv Jake was surprised that it was Anna who answered his knock at the door, and not her father. That duty had fallen to her dad while she was recovering from “the flu.” It was clear that she was feeling better. He’d gotten used to seeing her in flannel nightgowns. Now she had on jeans and a button-down shirt.