Our next move is to set the case for trial as soon as possible and to also request a pre-trial settlement conference in chambers, at the court’s earliest convenience.
The soonest available date that the judge can see us will be in a week, so it’s time for me to get back to other things on my plate. I check on the parking lot situation to see how it’s going and see that Vito Renzi is once again running the valet service for Palmer’s restaurants and the Chinese restaurant is being as generous as it can be with the parking spaces. They now provide a ‘drive-up’ service, so that the take-out customers don’t have to park. After calling in their Chinese food order and pre-paying by credit card, all they have to do is pull up in front of the restaurant and give their name and order number to the curbside guy, who goes inside the restaurant and then brings their order out to the car. Another problem solved.
--------------
Once the insurance defense firm had an opportunity to evaluate how their defendants would come across as witnesses, they realized how futile a trial would be, and Maggie’s case settled easily for forty thousand dollars. I only took a twenty five percent fee, but with what was left over from Stuart’s faith-healer case, the Peter Sharp bank account is looking good enough for me to hop over to Maui for a week or so.
There’ll be nothing going on with doc’s lawsuits against the insurance company for a while. Myra is busy building up a private civil law practice and contemplating running for district attorney, so I think I’ll take some time off to get a little reading done under the Banyan tree. This trip is an extremely successful one. My completed reading list includes: on the flight there, In Her Defense, by Stephen Horn; under the tree, Hard Evidence by John Lescroart and The Judge by Steve Martini; in my room, Material Witness by Robert Tannenbaum, and on the flight back, Extreme Justice by Michael C. Eberhardt. This only leaves me with about thirty more to read by guys like Bernhardt, Freedman, Siegel, Turow and other guys who really know how to write and create characters I could use as roll models. I have a strange habit: every time I pass by the book section in Ralph’s market, if there’s a new legal thriller in paperback, I buy it. The actual reading might not take place for a year or so, but sooner or later I try to get around to most of them. To avoid buying the same one twice, I have a document in Microsoft Word saved as ‘Books’ that I update, print, and keep a copy with whenever I go shopping. After a book is read, I use a Sharpie to mark the completion date on the bottom, so I don’t re-purchase it by mistake.
I really feel a sense of accomplishment when finishing a book. A friend of mine once suggested that I take a course in speed-reading, so I could get through my backlog of titles quicker. That thought revolted me. Not only do I not want to read these books faster, I wish I could read them slower. Very few things upset me more than reaching the end of a book I’ve enjoyed and being forced to say goodbye to those characters I’ve gotten to know. Where do they go when I finish the book? I want to know. I want to go with them.
The plane touches down at LAX, our Los Angeles International Airport, and I take the ten-mile taxi ride back to the Marina. I’d rather not fly at night because there’s no sun shining in the window to read by, so arrangements are always made for me to get back home before dusk. When the cab drops me off at the gate to our dock, I look down and notice some activity going on. The Grand Banks is being towed away. When the taxi pulls out it has to stop by the underground parking exit to let a tow truck come up out the exit ramp. It’s towing my yellow Hummer away. Leaving my luggage by the dock gate, I walk down to the now empty slip and am greeted by a throng of people that include Suzi and company, the Asian boat boys, Stuart, Jack Bibberman, and some guy with a clipboard in his hand. I hate people with clipboards; they never have good news for you and they always ask questions. They’re all a bunch of little people who think those clipboards make them important. This particular twit is from a local organization known as the I.R.S. As he’s leaving, Stuart is shouting out at him “you’ll hear from my attorney.”
People are too busy to explain anything to me. Suzi is acting like a drill sergeant, giving out orders in a foreign language. The Asian boys are running around carrying things. One runs up to the dock gate and fetches my luggage. Their spokesman comes up to me and gives me a line I’ve heard before. He points at doc’s boat and says, “You live here now.”
At this point, everything in my life is just a movie that I’m allowed to watch. My bills are paid, I have a place to sleep, there’s always something to eat, and if I just stay out of the way of anyone who has a Saint Bernard, my life may go along just fine.
Doc’s 42-foot Californian trawler is a nice boat, but nothing compared to the Grand Banks. I’ve had some experience in the aft stateroom, so it isn’t a completely new environment to me.
Stuart finally confesses that he’s been so busy for the past few years he never got around to filing either state or federal tax returns. He was also too busy to pay attention to their very nice invitations to join them at their office in the nearby Federal Building on Wilshire and Sepulveda. And, because of his deposits of the large settlement checks from his uncle’s death and the faith-healing incident, some bells must have gone off at the I.R.S. center and they decided it was their turn to take a bite of the apple.
Unfortunately, the apple includes the Grand Banks that was still in Stuart’s name, as well as the Hummer, which he bought for me after the faith-healing case settled, but put the title in his name to protect if from my ex-wife’s lawyer. Well, as the Elvis song says, Easy Come, Easy Go. I don’t have either the energy or the knowledge to help him get his things back. To tell the truth, it’s partly my fault that they were taken away from me. If I weren’t trying to hide my assets from a then-angry wife, or trying to invent some way to avoid paying income tax on my earnings, I would have taken regular fees, paid my taxes and purchased the boat out of probate from L Martin’s estate - and bought the Hummer on my own. Now, as a result of my own greed and stupidity, I’m off to the Hertz Rent-a-car re-sale lot to buy a one-year old rental return Mazda 626, and it’ll have to do for a while.
Fortunately, Suzi was able to contact doc somewhere on a cruise ship and he graciously offered us his boat to stay on. It looks like he’s not coming back for another year or two, and when his insurance case finally settles up, he’ll be able to afford to buy George C.’s boat.
Not having a hell of a lot to do, I decide to turn full attention to clearing up Stuart’s negligent nymphomania case. Maybe that way I can get him out of my life. He’s really a nice guy and quite harmless, but every time I get involved with him I wind up getting screwed one way or another.
Stuart’s pre-trial settlement conference is scheduled later during the week, so I get together with Jack Bibberman to go over the results of his research assignments. If things line up the way I plan, I hope to be able to ‘thrust ho’ that nymphomaniac right out of court. Stuart complies with my request. When we all pile into my like-new Mazda, I see that he brought along the box I asked for.
This time there are no reporters on the courthouse steps. Nymphomaniacs aren’t that important to them if it’s not ‘sweeps’ week on television. During the rest of the year, strange sexual habits aren’t big local new in Los Angeles.
The clerk leads Stuart and I into the judge’s chambers, and at my request, the court reporter joins us. I notice that the tall well-dressed lawyer-like man has once again accompanied Nancy Cook, the nymphomaniac Plaintiff. Once we get into chambers and introduce ourselves to the judge, he signals the reporter to start the record, and then makes some remarks to indicate the name of the case and our purpose for being here. At this point, I make my first move “Your honor, for the record, we would request that all parties in the room identify themselves and state what their connection to this case is.” I go on to set a good example by stating my full name and State Bar number, and then add that I represent the Defendant, saying that he is present, and spell his name out too. Then I look over to the well-dressed ma
n. “Your turn, sport.” He looks more like a judge than the judge does, so no one ever stopped to question his identity.
“My name is Duane Hendricks and I am with the new West Los Angeles Center For Justice.” I can’t resist this one. It’s too good to let go by.
“Excuse me Mister Hendricks, but I didn’t hear you say what your California State Bar card number is. Perhaps the judge would like to hear that; I know I would.” The judge nods and looks at him.
“I don’t need a license to practice law. I am a sovereign state citizen and we are not compelled to comply with any of your petty unconstitutional judicial rules. I am here to assist this injured woman and to see that she isn’t brutalized by this corrupt system.” With that, he sits down and glares at everyone in the room. The last time I was glared at like that was this morning by the cat.
I’ve got to hand it to the judge. He keeps his cool and picks up his phone: “no more calls please, we’ve got a winner.” Shortly after the phone hits the hook, two large bailiffs appear and, to Mister Hendricks’ dismay and objections, they rather strongly insist that he follow them back out to the courtroom. Just before he leaves the room, the judge gives him a break. “Mister Hendricks, I didn’t see you practice any law in here, so I’m not turning this matter over to our City Attorney’s office for misdemeanor prosecution, but let’s leave it at my letting you know that I’m not looking forward to ever seeing you in my courtroom again unless you confine yourself to the peanut gallery. And if you don’t believe in drivers’ licenses either, please take a cab back to wherever you came from today.
“Now, Miss Cook, would you like a continuance of this settlement conference so that you can get a real attorney? Or would you like to continue representing yourself, keeping in mind the old adage about having a fool for a lawyer?” The judge’s reference to representing one’s self is obviously lost on her. She wants to get on with the case right here and now, probably feeling that the sooner it’s over, the sooner she will be declared the victor, and get some money for a new trailer.
Unfortunately, I have something else in mind for her. As easy as it is going to be, it bothers me that I don’t have a real opponent. It’s like a professional baseball team playing the Cubs. Is it really a victory when you win? This dame’s not unlike a lot of other people who are only interested in using our system of justice like a slot machine, not too unlike my own client. I smile at her. “Miss Cook, I have nothing against you personally, but I’d like to point out some things to the court and give you a chance to respond. First of all, the name you filed this suit under, Nancy Cook, is not the same name you’ve always used in the past, on other lawsuits. We have affidavits here from people who have identified you from your photograph as being Nanette Cook, Norma Cook and several other people, all having filed lawsuits in pro per, representing yourself, with the assistance of Mister Hendricks’ make-believe factory. Due to the fact that you’ve acted as your own attorney in all of these matters, I’m going to invoke my client’s rights under section 391b of the California Code of Civil Procedure, which provides that if a person has brought at least five actions other than small claims court suits within the past seven years that can be considered frivolous or unmeritorious by the court, that person can be declared to be a vexatious litigant and be barred from bringing further court actions without procuring the representation of a licensed attorney.
“Like the courts in general, I don’t like to see matters bounced out without a proper hearing, but you push the limit. These copies of the cases you’ve filed were so far out of touch with reality, that you should be ashamed of yourself. The mere fact that you wound up with settlements as nuisance claims and don’t have any defeats on your record doesn’t really make that much of a difference. I resent the fraudulent way you kept changing your name on the cases, which were no doubt done for the sole purpose of avoiding what we’ve caught you doing. I suggest that you forget about this ridiculous claim of yours and head for the door, and just so there are no hard feelings, I’ve convinced my client to allow you to leave with a small gift.” On cue, Stuart opens the box on his lap and displays a dozen bottles of his weight-loss-nymphomaniac juice. “This stuff must be doing a great job for your weight loss, because if you don’t mind my saying, you really look nice, so why don’t you just take this peace offering and let’s call the matter closed.” She looks at the judge, hoping for some help. None is forthcoming. He is even apologetic.
“I’m sorry Miss Cook, but there’s nothing I can do for you this time. You’ve pushed your luck a little too far. I don’t see anything criminal that you’ve done, but I sure don’t appreciate you bringing that trained monkey in here with you. I was thinking he wasn’t a real lawyer because his suit fit so well. Please, take the box of love juice and don’t let the doorknob hit you in the rear as you leave.”
She isn’t too happy, but even as those shirtless guys on the “Cops” shows indicate, they can tell when it’s over. They just lie down and wait to get handcuffed. She knew it was over for her when I exposed Mister Hendricks and had him thrown out of the room. The judge is happy, I’m happy, and Stuart is happy. On the way back to the Marina we stop at Pollo Meshuga for some vegetarian burritos and topless Patrón Margaritas.
I get back to the Marina while it ’s still light and notice that Sally the sign painting girl is working on the back of doc’s boat. She’s doing some lettering. I walk back up to the street and down the next dock to see what she’s painting. It’s a new name for doc’s boat. It has now become “the Suzi B.” Just like I was trained, I don’t say anything until a day or so later.
I casually mention to Suzi that it’s not nice to paint your name on other people’s boats without getting their permission. She has her argument all prepared. I feel like I’ve created a monster. She only asks one question: “Would you mind if I painted it on your boat?”
“That’s a different story. Of course I wouldn’t mind if it was my boat, because then it would be your boat too. But this isn’t my boat, it’s the doc’s boat.” At that point she does her own little ‘thrust ho,’ by handing me a note from the doc.
Peter, you’ve done a great job for us. My sister-in-law Judy and I have become really close and have decided to keep on going around the world on this cruise ship. Rita will be flying in from time to time to visit with us whenever we’re at a place with an airport large enough for one of her planes to land. In the meantime, Suzi’s e-mails make it look like you need a place to stay, so I’ve instructed my business manager to transfer title of my boat over to you and her. It’s the least I can do, and you’ve certainly got it coming as a fee for helping us get the first part of the insurance company’s money. Enjoy.
On the way to her stateroom she gives me a closing remark. “That Grand Banks you blew by not exercising your option to buy it from Stuart was our fee for settling the wrongful death case of his uncle, so it actually belonged to the firm.” I couldn’t argue with that. She is Melvin’s only heir and entitled to his portion of that fee, and the other fees that may be due from Stuart. She’s right again. I’ll never win with this kid, but at least she talked to me again.
--------------
There’s a new collection of locked-room mysteries I’m going to check out of the Marina Library, so I’ve decided to make it a long afternoon walk over there. I estimate that it’s about a mile from the boat and a very scenic trip past the Marina City Club Towers, the Ritz Carlton, some restaurants and the fire station.
My cell phone is securely clipped onto my belt and I’m about half way to my destination and feel a vibration. I must have inadvertently activated the vibrator function on my cell phone, and it’s a good thing that I did, because with the traffic passing by I probably wouldn’t have heard it ringing.
Looking down at the screen I see that it signals a ‘text message’ has been received and can’t help but marvel at this technology. The cell phone, just like the computer and satellite dish were some technical developments that I fought against
availing myself of for as long as possible. But once purchased, became part of my existence and it’s now hard to believe how I survived so long without them.
Checking the text message feature, a note from Suzi appears. I scroll through it.
An older grayish-haired man from the big boat on our end tie was here. He left something for you on your bed.
The end tie? That’s where George Clooney’s boat is docked. Is this possible? Could George have actually come to visit me on my boat? The famous George Clooney coming to see prominent attorney Peter Sharp? This is what I’ve been waiting for. Forget about the library, I’m jogging back to the boat. I knew it. He must have appreciated that DVD I left for him to watch and stopped by to thank me in person.
My breath is getting short now. It’s been too long since my last jog. I see our dock now. Ah, here we are. I’m really out of breath, but I made it back and am now going to see what gift George left for me. There it is… a small package on my bed with a note attached. It’s the DVD I left with his skipper. Stuck on the front of the package is a post-it note that says please stay away from my boat. G.C.
--------------
At least I got his autograph.
********
The Peter Sharp Legal Mystery Series
#1: Single Jeopardy
Attorney Peter Sharp has been wrongfully suspended from the practice of law and thrown out of the house by his soon-to-be ex-wife, a newly appointed deputy district attorney. As a result of the eviction, he’s forced to live in their back yard on an old, poorly wired, 40-foot Chris Craft cabin cruiser he’s restoring, that is in danger of burning up at any time.
To make matters worse, as the result of trying to help someone fill out some claim forms, he gets arrested for conspiracy to defraud an insurance company. His alleged co-conspirator, a man charged with murdering his own wife to be with a beautiful flight attendant, is about to discover that Peter is also sleeping with her while the man is out of town.
Single Jeopardy Page 24