Rogue Divorce Lawyer

by Dale E. Manolakas

  Skip deserved life in prison. After all, he had done the beatings that led to the divorce that triggered Gary’s rage that day.

  Hell, Gary thought. He should be up for first-degree and the death penalty.

  The trial couldn’t come soon enough for Gary.

  * * *

  Gary coffeed, muffined, and billed until Vicky buzzed. “Mrs. Thurston is here.”

  “I’ll be out.”

  Gary popped a mint, smoothed his thinning hair, grabbed his unpressed gray suit coat, and tightened the sloppy, single Windsor knot on his polyester regimental tie.

  “Game on.” He smiled.

  “First, the financial assets and then her other ones.”

  He’d had enough trouble. He wanted a docile client with money to add to his female stable. He lifted his belt up over his paunchy stomach, tightened it a notch, and traded his smile for concern as he opened his door.

  * * *

  In walked Vicky, followed by a short, attractive, cherubic young woman. Gary’s senses inhaled her flowery scent, her soft features with no makeup, and long wavy brown hair tendriling over her shoulders. Her large, striking dark brown eyes were puffed and red from crying.

  “Eliana Thurston.” Vicky handed Gary Eliana’s documents and left shutting the door.

  “I’m so sorry you have to be here.”

  Gary took her small soft hand and smiled solicitously. His perfect teeth now bleached were his best feature—besides his blue eyes, they were the only parts of him devoid of the inevitable ravages of middle age.

  “Have a seat, Mrs. Thurston. Eliana. That’s an unusual name.”

  “It’s a family name. Greek. My maiden name was Andreas.”

  “Eliana Andreas. Has a nice ring.” Pleasantries dispatched, Gary sat with his legal pad.

  “Can I ask who referred you?”

  “The San Bernardino Bar Association. They said you were the head of it.”

  “I am … of the Family Law Section.” On balance, his investment there over the years had produced some, but too few clients.

  “Any children?”

  “Three … three boys.” Predictably, the tears brimmed.

  “That’s hard.” Gary set his ever-present and always-used tissue box near Eliana on his desk. “Here.”

  Gary was lucky—both money and brats to use for leverage. Dollar signs mounted in his brain. Custody and visitation issues were always inflammatory and good for billing. A twelve thousand retainer, he was thinking. That was over the small claims court limit. She’d need to hire an attorney to sue him in Superior Court if things got out of hand.

  Gary adopted his most sympathetic and comforting voice. “Tell me what happened.”

  * * *

  Eliana poured out a story Gary had heard a thousand times. He himself was almost the male lead in that same story once—but for his dread of splitting the marital assets and paying alimony to his non-working, long-term wife. In his avaricious mind, that exit had always been quantifiably closed to him personally.

  “William and I met at the University of Redlands. We got married the week we graduated. Eight years. We were happy eight years. Then … his secretary …”

  Gary listened with only half an ear to the tale of the proverbial invasion of the blond-bimbo, long-legged secretary with no pregnancies to loosen her vagina—the late nights—the weekend conferences for two—the yelling at the kids—the yelling at Eliana.

  As he listened he took notes to allay his boredom and doodled the nasty with stick figures in the margins.

  Finally, Gary paid full attention to Eliana’s complaints of sex with no romance—intercourse with no foreplay—forced sex—experimental sex—and, finally, no sex at all.

  “Nothing I did was right. I …” Eliana stopped.

  She was embarrassed by her intimate outpourings to the fatherly man before her. She finished quickly with the therapeutic climax of her revelations and accusations, the final fight, and then William’s flight.

  Gary was reeling the big fish in with sympathetic posturing.

  “That’s horrible.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t horrible. For Eliana’s husband or for him. It was as simple for her husband, as it had been for Gary once long ago, to leave for his secretary’s warm arms, tight cunt, and cute little apartment. The difference was that Gary, with ultimate regret to this day, returned to Mary after his “flight”—monetary advantage or not.

  He employed his automatic, practiced sympathetic interjections and singsong voice to quell Eliana’s usual anger, pain, helplessness, and bewilderment that were the wellsprings of Gary’s living.

  As Eliana bared her soul, he eyed her—her short athletic body—her plump lips—and her firm ass that did not spread in the chair. He liked it all. The one thing he didn’t like was her organized thoughts. That was the red-flag warning of intelligence to him. Intelligence always made him wary.

  But that bitch Kim had no IQ, he thought, and look what she made me do.

  * * *

  It was time to stop listening to this slop and get down to the assets—the assets that would assure his fee. He found it fascinating that these guileless women never saw his blatant self-interest.

  “What more could I do?” Eliana switched her crossed legs as she wiped her eyes.

  Gary caught a peek of her inner thighs—firm and white.

  “Nothing, my dear. But I can.”

  ⌘

  Copyrighted Material

  Chapter 7

  As Gary began his ritual evaluating how much money he could squeeze out of Eliana, her thighs strobed through his mind and then his groin. He pictured her naked, her titties teasing him. She would be his next conquest and Vicky had delivered her.

  Step one of his routine—all business.

  “Is William represented?”

  “Huh?”

  “Does he have a lawyer?”

  “No.”

  Not good, Gary thought.

  An opposing lawyer was the key to instigating billable fights to drain the money and get at that body—as much and any way he wanted.

  * * *

  Eliana felt important and comfortable. She was being heard and not judged by this sympathetic, smart man—a lawyer. She rambled about her saintliness and William’s she-devil secretary.

  As she did, Gary studied the financials, occasionally glancing up at Eliana and nodding on cue. His comfort level rose in proportion to her large checking and savings accounts, varied and diversified investment portfolio, a sizable 401k, and, to his delight, over fifty percent equity in their house in The Oaks.

  “I cooked, cleaned, kept up the house and the quarter acre, raised the boys. With no help, either. Well, a gardener. It wasn’t easy. I was a good wife.”

  And you’ll be a good client, Gary thought.

  He finished the financials, pasted sympathy across his face, and then enjoyed Eliana’s diatribe as he undressed her piece by piece. Her tight small pale body reminded him of Carmella Addison’s from five years ago. She had exchanged her body for his services when she ran out of money. He recalled her stripping for the first time with streaming tears—tears he licked off her neck and breasts. He visualized her little titties bouncing as he flipped her over his desk and hammered her from behind. There was no seduction, just a naked, nasty quid pro quo. Carmella learned the score quickly.

  This one would take more finesse, Gary thought.

  But as far as he was concerned, everything was a go—a bar association referral with no cross-contamination from his stable, an innocent with assets, and a husband undoubtedly sophisticated enough to get a divorce lawyer and fight back when Gary threw the first punch.

  “I just …” Eliana sobbed.

  “You were very smart to come to me, the head of the Family Law Section here in the county. I’ll take care of everything.”

  * * *

  He would indeed take care of everything. Like most wives, Eliana had committed the number one error in a marriage
, ignoring the marital finances. Even his own wife, after all his war stories, had never stepped up there.

  Eliana’s assets were now Gary’s income stream. A twenty-thousand dollar retainer up front, he decided, not twelve. Then another quick chunk of money before William, who was really the one worthy of The Oaks, got a lawyer to freeze the accounts.

  “Is William around the house?”

  “No, he’s with her.”

  “But he comes over?”

  “To get the boys.”

  Gary had work to do to clear his path to Eliana, to exclude William from her life, her home, and any threat of his return. One outburst from William and a restraining order would do that.

  “Now, what is this fertilizer company? It looks like he’s an owner.”

  “Part owner.”

  “Good.” Good for Gary. Another expensive fight—business valuation. “The investment accounts? Your name’s missing on several of them.”

  “Is it?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll find out about it.” Hefty bills from his forensic accountant and a proportionate kickback would do the trick.

  “Do you work?”

  “No, never. I have a home and children.”

  “Of course.” The client was always right—until they weren’t.

  “Married eight happy years. This is the ninth?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not a long-term marriage for the purpose of getting permanent spousal support. But we’ll get you a nice chunk for at least half the length of the marriage.

  “Oh,” Eliana looked down and thought a moment. “My mom says I should go back to school anyway and get a teaching credential.”

  “Does your dad agree?”

  “He’s passed on.”

  “My condolences.” Gary preferred no male testosteroning from the home front second-guessing him.

  “Hold off on any professional plans until we get this settled. They could affect the length and amount the court orders for spousal support.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “That’s why you need a lawyer. I’d be happy to represent you.”

  “Really? Thank you. Thank you so much. My mom was so worried.”

  “Just read this engagement letter and sign it. A formality. It’s pretty standard.”

  * * *

  Gary wrote a twenty-five thousand dollar retainer in the blank space and handed it to Eliana with a pen.

  Why not an extra five thousand, he thought. If she signs it, she and her money are mine. L.A. firm big bucks without the L.A. overhead.

  Eliana scanned the document. The retainer amount? Eliana’s only thought was it must be standard.

  “Here.” She handed it back.

  “If you don’t have your checkbook here Vicky can help you wire the retainer.”

  “It’s alot, but I’ll transfer from the savings.” Eliana wrote the check with unquestioning obedience. “Besides, my mom said he’ll have to pay it later.”

  “In the end probably.”

  “So, it’s fine.”

  Very fine—and so was she—my next special client, Gary thought.

  He took the check. The law required him to put into a client trust account. But the minute the money hit the account, his billing would begin. He would withdraw chunk after chunk for his personal use, of course after recording billing time.

  Gary had no intention of informing her that she would get no child support checks if there was fifty-fifty custody. No use hitting her with that reality too soon.

  “I have one more thing for you to fill out for me.” He smiled at the idiotic young wife.

  “Sure.” Eliana was relaxed and happy.

  * * *

  Gary unlocked and opened his top drawer exposing three neat piles of forms and the tip of a gun barrel. It had slid out of its wrapping—an old white towel from a set Mary had thrown away a decade ago. He covered his gun and shoved it to the back of the drawer again.

  Divorce lawyers were not strangers to trouble from enraged spouses. Most had some form of protection. Even Superior Court judges who handled family law cases were known to keep weapons with them. One infamous Los Angeles judge wore a gun in a pink ankle holster under her robes.

  He handed a three-page blank form to Eliana with a pen.

  It asked about the intimate details of her sexual life—all her dirty little sexual secrets. Its purpose? To feed his voyeurism and take the first step in grooming her to take Kim’s place.

  Eliana looked up. “But these are about … about … sex?”

  “Leverage. Leverage is what it’s all about. You’d be surprised what helps us win a case. Trust me. We’re going for custody of those boys of yours.”

  “But, I can’t … it’s sex … it’s details.” Eliana blushed pink down to her décolletage.

  “You have to think of your children, Mrs. Thurston … may I call you Eliana?”

  “I … sure. I’ll do this at home.”

  “No. It has to stay here.” Gary knew the threat to his legal license if the form got out.

  As he shut the drawer, he eyed the three stacks of forms arranged by decades. They were mementos of his compartmentalized life, for his eyes alone. Each one memorialized his sexual lusts—perversions imposed on unwilling women or the very few who had escaped his appetites and the fear in their eyes as they had. His pleasure with them came from knowing that fear would be with the fools forever, along with a failed and impoverishing divorce because he had deserted them.

  “But …”

  “I’m your lawyer now. Believe me, as long as I’ve been handling divorces, there’s nothing new for me to hear or read. This is important. Be detailed. You never know what we can do with good facts. Remember, leverage.”

  Eliana wrote—silently and hesitantly—as Gary calculated the couple’s net worth.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, she slid the form over to him.

  “Perfect.” Gary seized the form.

  “I’ll have to see you tomorrow to get our ducks in a row. Vicky has a client-intake form. Make your appointment for eleven.”

  Eleven would let him segue into lunch—step two in his ritual for the special ones.

  Gary opened the door. As Eliana passed by, Gary took a long deep smell of her and his crotch pulsed.

  “I’ll get started on discovery. We’ll focus on the temporary support and visitation order.”

  “Thank you.”

  Gary had learned to use the word temporary and not to mention anything about the final divorce. With these young women, there was always the specter of hope—even for the most hopeless. He didn’t want to scare off this cute little thing or her money.

  As Gary shut the door, as he heard Vicky explaining the new client intake packet and the list of financial documents.

  Vicky concluded with, “Call me with any questions. We’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.”

  As Eliana left Vicky buzzed Gary. “I’m taking lunch.”

  * * *

  Gary put the check in his wallet to cash that day. Then, he read the intimate details of Eliana’s sexual life with the now-defunct William. His erection bulged below his zipper. He had sized her up and decided to tame her. That was his forte. It would be a wonderful chess game—he craved subjugating an intelligent one.

  Finally, he unzipped his bursting pants and masturbated to a mental image of Eliana’s soft round face, gorgeous eyes, full lips, and soft inner thighs.

  After cleaning up with a tissue, he locked her form in his top drawer with the others. The three stacks were his trophies from desperate women, some more precious than others. All embellished with his dirty doodles and nasty notes. More than forty of them. All collected since he began practicing thirty years ago in this hot dirty town—each enticing ass still stirring his juices, like a good piece of music.

  On a quiet afternoon, he liked locking his office door and reliving one as he masturbated—some were orchestral in their depth, some were out-of-tune aco
ustic guitar pieces. All were arousing memories.

  The two conquests from his first-year in practice had been the most fun. Such dangerous, uncharted territory, such salty, lovely tears. After he had to pay for an abortion, he switched to fellatio, not his first choice—but cheaper.

  The ones he began on—the ones he rode with training wheels at the start of his practice—were long gone—all used, but none forgotten.

  Maybe I’ll risk another bareback with Eliana. Gary thought of the few he’d deemed worthy of that risk through the years.

  He smiled to himself.

  He’d grown more skilled, able to balance several women at a time to pleasure him over his many years of practice—his stable, his harem.

  Some, like Zaida, the oldest, were lonely and let him do more with less effort. They were predictable and regular. Her menopausal smell was revolting, but it was a break from getting off by himself.

  A few had serviced him even after their divorces were done. He never understood that—but horny and willing was fine with him. Others still cried when he forced them to submit. He liked them most of all. But Zaida was a given—a horny given. This particular evening, a horny given was not Gary’s priority.

  He locked up and went straight to Eliana’s bank to cash her check.

  ⌘

  Copyrighted Material

  Chapter 8

  The next morning Eliana called Vicky. “I have the financial documents, but I haven’t finished answering all the questions.”

  “Hold for Mr. Stockton.” Vicky, as per office policy, explained the problem to Gary and transferred the call.

  “Eliana, good morning. You can forget most of those questions. Just come on in.”