That La Jolla Lawyer

by Robert Rogers

  One site warned that the drug could become addictive. “Hmm, the drug is partly amphetamine. Is that the same as crystal meth? Meth sure as hell is addictive.” He read more and found some links that said amphetamine and meth were pretty much the same.

  “Be damned,” he said as he read. “Meth was synthesized in Germany in 1887 and used in the U.S. since 1927.” In World War II, the link said, amphetamine and dextroamphetamine, under the names benzedrine and dexedrine, were given to US soldiers and pilots to keep them alert.

  Some links suggested higher sexual activity from taking the

  drug. That might tie to Reid’s play on Sarah. But maybe not. Sarah

  found the note on Warner’s desk, not Reid’s. Was Warner on Adderall?

  Before going to bed, he searched the Internet for any hint of ADHD by Reid or Warner but found nothing. Neither did he find anything about Reid’s womanizing, past or present.

  Fortunately, he was a fast healer and was able to sleep without another pain pill.

  The next morning, he called the hospital for a report on Carter. The nurse said he was doing better and was somewhat ambulatory. Mid-afternoon, an administrator called and asked, “Can you pick Mr. Nelson up?”

  She suggested that they were tired of him pacing around the hospital, worrying the hell out of everybody. The administrator put it more tactfully than that, but Matt got the idea.

  “That’s Carter,” Matt told the caller. “He’ll be wiggling in his coffin for a few days after they bury him.”

  They brought Carter down in a wheelchair over his objections. Matt was waiting and heard him complaining. “I don’t need this damn thing. I’m not an invalid. I can damn well walk.”

  “It’s regulations, sir,” the nurse told him. Carter cursed.

  He saw Matt waiting and said, “What took you so long? Hell, I’m thirsty. I haven’t had anything decent to drink since I’ve been in this damn place. It’s like a prison.”

  “Come on,” Matt told him and offered a hand to pull him out of the chair. Carter refused and pushed out with his good arm. He grimaced at the pain but said nothing.

  They said very little during the drive away. Carter did ask if Matt had any cold beer at his place. “Broke my six pack when those guys started shooting.”

  “Insult to injury,” Matt said as he pulled into his yard. He rolled out and helped Carter who protested but not much.

  “Thanks. By the way, Triplett came by to see me.” .

  “He did?” Matt replied with a question as to why.

  “Yeah. He knows we’re working together. Said he didn’t just

  get off the turnip truck. He said he was glad you had decent help. You could use it.”

  Matt laughed and wagged his head to dismiss the disclosure. Once inside Matt’s house, Carter reached into the carry-on bag he had at the hospital and handed him something wrapped in white.

  “I promised. My old comrade brought it by the hospital for me. Took a chance smuggling it in.” It was a 38 caliber revolver. “Yours are the only prints on it. Use it in good health.”

  “Thanks. I feel healthier already.” Matt held the pistol in his right hand and aimed it at an imaginary target. “Feels good.”

  “It’s loaded,” Carter warned. “So, don’t squeeze the trigger.” Matt took it to his bedroom and slid it under his pillow.

  Carter wanted to sit outside, so Matt took a couple of beers and followed him out.

  After they’d had a couple of beers, Matt saw Carter’s eyes closing now and then.

  “Old buddy, I think you’d better bed down here tonight.

  Sarah’s old room is available.”

  Carter didn’t argue. “You know, Matt, I hate to be a bother, but I think I’m going to need some pain pills. Would you mind

  getting my prescription filled?” He rummaged around in his pockets for the prescription the doctor had given him at the hospital.

  By the time he returned, Carter was asleep and snoring.

  Fortunately Matt’s room was far enough away so the noise didn’t bother him.

  Chapter 27

  The next morning, when Matt came into the kitchen, Carter was already up and into his second cup. He had found the croissants.

  “Come in,” he said, a bit groggily. “I left you a couple.” He gestured at his empty plate.”

  Matt got a coffee, warmed a roll and sat down. “How do you feel?”

  “Like shit, but I found the pain pills and took one so I’m able

  to get about. Thanks for letting be crash here last night. Hate to admit it, but I don’t think I was in any shape to go home.”

  “Glad to do it. You took the shots on my watch so I figure I owe you.”

  Carter waved the comment away. “Hell no! When I take a job, it’s on my watch. I just got lazy and wasn’t watching. That won’t happen again. Give me a couple of days and I’ll be back behind the plow.”

  Matt laughed. “Well, I can’t say I don’t need you. We’ll see how you feel in a couple of days.”

  “I’ll be okay Monday.”

  “That reminds me. I’m taking Denise to some kind of art exhibition today. Will you be okay?”

  He shook his bottle of pain pills. “I’ll be okay and I have my cell phone if I need you. I have a friend, too.”

  “You’ve never told me about a friend.”

  “Well, hells bells, I don’t have to tell you everything.

  Margie’s her name.”

  Matt smiled and left for a quick jog along the beach. It limbered him up to the point that he no longer felt the effects of the shotgun pellets.

  *****

  For his day with Denise, he put on tennis casuals, shorts and pullover with tennis shoes – it was going to be hot. He gave them a sniff. They smelled okay.

  It felt a bit odd, going out for a lark with no purpose in mind but to have fun. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he had done that. His life had always been focused on solving one legal problem or another. Fun never entered into his equation for life.

  This time, damn it, I’m going to enjoy the day with Denise.

  “Hell, it might even be fun.”

  With that thought in mind, he got into his car and drove to Little Italy to pick her up. She was waiting at the curb in front of her building. She slid in with a smile. He could tell she was happy and smiled back.

  “Damn, if you don’t mind me saying, you look great. Nice outfit,” he said.

  “Wow!” It was an attractive, off-white mesh thing that he couldn’t begin to describe. But, it did look good.

  “Thank you.” Her face beamed. “It has been some time since I’ve felt like putting anything new on. You’ve pulled me out of my doldrums.”

  He gave her comments a smile and twist of his head. “Glad to do it. Being with you is always a pleasure.”

  She reached over and squeezed his arm.

  “I probably told you. I married Andre Marino, a co-reporter when I worked at the Union. We hit it off, had some unbelievable fun together. Got married too soon really. He got an offer from New York where he had lived. His family had roots in Italy. He wanted me to come with him, but I didn’t want to. Besides, by then, I knew him a little better and was seeing things I wasn’t sure I liked.”

  “You must have. I know about it.” He was reluctant to tell her about Carter’s snooping.

  “He said he’d send for me as soon as he got settled. Instead, he sent me a petition for a divorce. I didn’t take it well. And, when Sarah and I went to ANN, I ate my way through a depression and kind of let go. I’m better now, though. I’ve lost the weight I’d

  gained. You’ve helped me.”

  “I don’t mind saying, every minute has been ecstasy.” He looked at her and winked. Somewhere inside, it pleased him to see her happy.

  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Thanks,” he said. “That was lovely. I don’t get many of

  those.”

  “I don’t give man
y, Matt. They’re only for special people.” That bothered him, but he let it go. He knew he wasn’t ready

  for a serious relationship.

  “Sarah said you’d been married a couple of times,” she said.

  “Yeah. They weren’t serious. I was married to my practice and had little time for anything else. The divorces were my fault. Actually, I should have never married either one. Both were ego trips. They did okay in the divorce settlements. All of them ended up with good houses.”

  “Will you ever marry again? I’m not hinting. I understand our … relationship. We’re just friends, having a good time together. Good friends though.” She gave him a teasing smile.

  “We are that. To answer your question, I don’t know. Right now, I’ve just rejoined the human race. I resigned after the … trial. How about you? Any lucky guy on your horizon?”

  She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Allister called me … after our session on the mainframe the other night … wondered if I’d go to dinner with him. The Hard Rock Café in the Gaslamp District.”

  “Seemed like a nice guy.”

  “He is. Young,” she said.

  “Could come in handy down the road,” Matt said with a

  smile.

  “Yeah. I imagine I’ll go out with him. I don’t know yet. I’m

  thinking about it.”

  “Once burned, twice shy,” Matt said.

  “That’s right.”

  They drove in silence the rest of the way. Matt wanted to go an enjoyable café, The Bread and Cie, a popular gathering place for the locals. It was in Hillcrest a community a few miles from downtown San Diego, near Balboa Park. He had promised her a cup of the great cappuccino they served, always with a small cookie. A bit of class, he thought. He also liked the porcelain cups they served it in, not paper.

  As always, The Bread and Cie was busy, but they found seats near the window and watched passersby while they drank their creamy cappuccinos.

  “The best I’ve ever had,” she said when they were on the way to the park.

  He agreed. “With you, it was even better than I remembered.”

  She beamed. “Be careful, Matt. I may forget you’re a lawyer and actually think you mean it.”

  He smiled. “I do.”

  Before they left, she asked for two cheese Danishes to go.

  She told Matt with a wink, “For breakfast.”

  He laughed. “Sounds exciting. Especially the part about breakfast.” He’d have to call Carter but figured it’d be okay.

  From there, they drove to Balboa Park, crossing the charming old Cabrillo Bridge which served as the entrance. It was filled with families strolling here and there. The buildings were, for the most part, built in the very ornate, Spanish Colonial Revival style with some influence from Spanish-Moorish architecture.

  Matt drove through the Plaza de Panama which fronted the San Diego Museum of Art, their destination. And from there to a parking lot partially shaded by ancient Moreton Bay fig trees.

  “What are we seeing?” Matt asked after they’d parked and

  were walking back. “A quilt exhibition. Quilts from all over but mostly from America.”

  “Quilts? We’re going to see quilts?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. They’re an art form these days.”

  Matt remembered quilts from when he was young, visiting his grandmother’s home. She had beautiful quilts on beds all over the house.

  She said, “That’s where my interest comes from. Stories my grandmother told my mother. The ladies would quilt when there was little else to do on the farm, usually in the wintertime. They called them quilting bees. A quilting bee would last all day. In the evenings, the ladies would pitch in and make dinner for the families. Sometimes they’d end the day with music and dancing.”

  “Yeah,” Matt said. “My grandmother threw her leftover remnants in a basket and once a year, she’d heat up her iron on the wood stove and press the remnants flat. Then, she’d cut the pieces into whatever pattern she designed, usually square patterns. She’d

  stitch the pieces together by hand to make a cover the size of a quilt. Later they used sewing machines.”

  “Most likely all of them had daughters who’d need covers for their beds when they got married,” Denise pointed out. “For their hope chests. I’d guess they also had fun, exchanging gossip, talking about their lives and their children.”

  Denise explained how the ladies stretched a cover on a frame over a layer of cotton and a bottom cloth layer. The frame was hung from the ceiling at chair height so the ladies could sit around

  the sides comfortably and hand stitch the covers to the cotton and the bottom layer.

  She said, “That was why this exhibit interested me. It’ll be a trip back into time. And we get to see all the quilts and their creative patterns.”

  Matt nodded.

  They went into the museum and strolled through exhibition rooms past the quilts hanging from the walls reading inscriptions as they did. Not only could they be used on beds, the cards said, they were also used to cover doors and windows and as floor mats for the children to play on. Sometimes, when things got hard, the women would pay bills with their quilts.

  They came upon a quilt identified as a “Double Wedding Ring” quilt. It was said to be the most popular pattern in quilting; interlocking rings made of colored scraps.

  “Andre’s mother gave us a double wedding ring quilt. It was one her mother had given to her. I still have it. I offered it back after the divorce, but he told me it was mine. I keep it in a trunk. It’s probably worth something.”

  “I imagine.”

  She paused and looked off in space, then turned and said, “I’ll tell you something funny. Well strange.”

  When she didn’t say anything, Matt asked, “What?”

  “After Andre went back to New York, Nico called and told me the resort his company managed was offering me a free weekend, everything covered, including airfare and limo pick up. I was depressed so I took it, hoping it’d cheer me up.”

  “So, what was so strange about that?”

  She waved a hand for him to wait. “Nico picked me up and took me to dinner. We went to shows, had the best seats. He told me how sorry he was that Andre left me. He thought it was a stupid thing to do.”

  “He told me that the night of the wake party,” Matt said and just about figured out what was coming next.

  “Anyway, that night, when he took me to my hotel, he wanted to come inside for a drink. I told him no. He said he loved me and had always loved me. He and Andre’s mother were also divorced. He said he’d marry me in a minute.”

  “Wow! Must have been a shocker.”

  “It was. I told him he was sweet to offer, but I wasn’t ready for a relationship with anybody just then. He looked like somebody had stepped on his face, but he took it well. Said if I ever needed anything, anything at all, I should call him. He would always love me.”

  “Son of a gun,” Matt said. “I believe you owned him.”

  “I suppose. I didn’t want to, though. Hitting me cold like

  that, I just couldn’t get into it. I suppose you could say we’re friends but he hasn’t said any more about loving me or anything like that. I went back for another weekend a couple of months ago. All expenses paid. He took me around, kissed me on the cheek but didn’t push things.”

  “Could have gotten nasty.”

  “Could have. I consider him a friend. We talk a lot. He calls now and then on the phone. We talk about what I’m doing, my problems, that sort of thing.”

  “Hope springs eternal.” Matt said. She shrugged.

  They turned their attention back to the quilt exhibition. They saw them all and, as the common quip goes, exited through the gift shop. They strolled through that as well, picking up books and art objects but bought nothing.

  “Thank you for taking me,” she told Matt as they walked back to his car.

  “Actually, I enjoyed it. It w
as useful art and very beautiful. I could imagine the hours the ladies took stitching away while the men were in the woods hunting game for their suppers.”

  “Part of a culture long gone,” Denise said with a wistful tone.

  He agreed. “Well, now that we’ve had our cultural appetizer,

  what do you want to do for dinner?” She hesitated. “You pick.”

  He picked the old El Indio Mexican restaurant on India

  Avenue, just south of Old Town. And that’s where they ended their day enjoying frozen margaritas while they waited for El Indio’s great tasting tacos and refried beans.

  Matt called Carter to make sure he was okay. He’d told Denise Carter was staying with him for a couple of days until he recovered enough from the gun shots to go home.

  “Hell, Matt,” Carter said.” I’ve been taking care of myself for years since my wife died. A couple of gunshots won’t slow me down much. I’ve rummaged around your kitchen and found a can of soup. You have crackers, well, had a box. I’ll be fine.”

  “Uh, I may be home late … in the morning.”

  Carter laughed. “Go for it. I’ll be here. If anybody tries to break in, I’ll sic your cat on ’em.”

  Matt laughed at the suggestion.

  Dinner over, he drove to Denise’s condo and didn’t reject her invitation to spend the night. He enjoyed it, even more than the first night he’d spent with her.

  The morning with coffee and cheese pastry was a relaxing moment for both.

  “Last night … yesterday as well,” Matt told her over coffee, “was like watching the sunrise after a long storm.” Lyrics from a Roger Miller song popped into his thoughts. ‘I'm glad the sunshine found me, I know I've been hard to find.’

  “I know what you mean, Matt. I woke up feeling like a woman for the first time in a long time. I could get used to it. This too.” She waved an arm over the table in his direction. “What a way to start the day. I think I know why people get married.” She smiled. “Aside from the obvious.”

  “This is as close as I’ve ever come to actually enjoying myself. In the past, I always let myself be distracted by a trial or some other legal problem. I never took the time to actually enjoy anything.”