A Wake of Vultures

by Patrick Kansoer

  “ Well, young man, are you Bobby Langley?”

  Bobby looked at Gunn before he answered and Gunn nodded his head.

  “Yes officer, I am.” Bobby said.

  “Well, Bobby, we had a call from Mr. Leopold who complained that you had been rummaging through his recycling without his permission. He’s pretty upset about it and if he decides to sign a complaint you could be in big trouble. There are laws against theft.”

  Gunn interrupted; “Hang on just a second officer. I need to clarify a few things for you. First off, there have been any number of cases where the court has decided that there was no reasonable expectation of privacy regarding refuse or recycling. So there is no issue of theft here. Secondly, Bobby was invited onto the premises by the Leopold daughter Myra so therefore there is no issue of even a misdemeanor trespassing charge. I would suggest that you might want to rethink where you seem to be going with this line of conversation. Mr. Leopold has clearly overreacted to the situation by bringing your department into it. So far your investigation has not crossed any legal boundaries. You have been within the purview of your office by making the inquiry based on the complaint you received. Up to this point this could be considered a “Terry Stop” under the law. But you have been given information that should clear up any thought that there might be probable cause for an arrest. Under the circumstances with this explanation you do not, in my opinion as the Langley’s attorney have probable cause here for an arrest. That is not to say that if you choose to arrest Bobby and transport him to the lockup that there would be any resistance on his part. However, I must inform you that based upon the circumstances I would counsel him to remain silent and have no further conversation with you until I could get the proper paperwork from the court to affect his release. I am also advising you that as his attorney I would further counsel him to commence an action for relief regarding illegal detention.”

  “There’s no reason to go all Perry Mason on my Mr. Gunn. I’m just trying to get the facts based on a citizens’ complaint.”

  “And I can understand that officer Kyle. So at this point you have ascertained what happened from Mr. Langley’s standpoint. Do you have any further questions on this matter?

  “Uh, no Mr. Gunn, I guess that’s all the questions I have.”

  “That’s good officer, may I then assume that barring any further unforeseen developments that this interview is concluded and Mr. Langley is free to go about his business?”

  “That will be all for now, but he will need to make himself available should anything more come up about this.”

  “Mr. Langley will certainly cooperate with any legal investigation into any criminal matter but rest assured that as his attorney I will be vigilant in protecting his rights as a citizen. Good day, officer Kyle.” Gunn closed the door on a rather perplexed and disgruntled cop and as he turned around he saw Bobby grinning like a fool.

  “Boy, you sure told him Mr. Gunn. You really put that cop in his place.”

  “Wipe that silly-assed grin off your face Bobby Langley and pay attention. You have no idea what kind of a shit storm you just managed to dodge here. I don’t know what kind of a game you and your buddy Sherman Jacob thought you were playing but I can tell you that it was just dumb luck that Myra invited into the family home. Trespassing might not seem like a big deal to you but the fact that you were doing your snooping at the behest of your buddy Jacob could, and most likely would, be looked at as a conspiracy in a court of law. I need to have a talk with Sherman Jacob and set him straight so maybe I can keep your pimply teenaged ass out of jail.”

  “Geez Mr. Gunn, it didn’t seem like it was a big deal. Sherman just wanted to see if there was some embarrassing stuff I could find to put in his blog. He was just trying to have me help him punk that old stuffed shirt Leopold. It was just some harmless fun and could have gotten be a new computer game. No biggie.”

  “Bobby, I don’t think you have the good sense that God gave to a goose. What you see as harmless fun is, at least, a set up for blackmail or extortion. That’s the way that the law would look at it. You could end up truly screwing up your entire life for the chance of a fifty buck video game.”

  Bobby finally seemed to get the message that Gunn was sending and contacted Sherman Jacob on the computer which led to a meeting between Jacob and Gunn at the law office on Wells street in downtown Chicago.

  That was the end of Bobby acting as a snoop for Sherman Jacob but the beginning of a lucrative association for Gunn since Jacob had a tendency to skate right at the edge of legal. It was a relationship that kept Gunn’s paralegal and investigator Noble Petris extremely busy and Gunn’s checking account quite healthy.

  It was about six months later when the telephone rang in Keren’s law office. The intercom buzzed and the receptionist told Keren that there was a Mr. Jacob on the line for Douglas Gunn.

  “Mandy, you know that Douglas is no longer associated with our office. Did you tell that to Mr. Jacob?”

  “I told him Ms. Odensdotter but he insists that as a client of this office he needs to speak to someone about a matter of utmost importance.”

  “O.K. Mandy, put him through. I guess I can spare a couple of minutes to find out what is so earth shaking, Keren heard the connection being made as the call was transferred to her phone. “Keren Odensdotter here, how may I help you?”

  “Ms. Odensdotter, my name is Sherman Melvin Jacob, I am a client of Douglas Gunn’s. What’s this about him no longer being with the firm?”

  “That’s right Mr. Jacob. Mr. Gunn ran afoul of the Attorneys Registration and Disciplinary Committee and he is no longer licensed to practice law in the State of Illinois.”

  “That’s terrible counselor. I have a rather sticky legal problem and I was hoping that Douglas could assist me with it. Is there any chance that you could help me?”

  “I don’t have any of Mr. Gunn’s files Mr. Jacob, so if it is in reference to some matter he had handled for you in the past, I’m not sure I could be of any help whatsoever.”

  “No, this is a new matter that I need some advice on. Thing is, Douglas would always meet me up here in Skokie since I have Asperger’s syndrome and have a real problem coming down to the loop office. Would it be possible for you to meet me at a restaurant? I would be happy to buy you dinner and explain the situation to you. There’s a really nice old fashioned place in Skokie on Golf road called the “Little Club” where the food is very good. Could we do this please?”

  “I live in a suburb right near Skokie and I’ve heard of the “Little Club” Mr. Jacob. Never have had the chance to eat there though. I guess since I have to eat anyway I could make it a working dinner. But I want you to understand that my method of practicing law is considerably different than Mr. Gunn’s. I will meet you for dinner. I will listen to your problem. I “may” offer some advice, but in no way does this imply an attorney-client relationship unless and until I agree to it.”

  “That’s great Ms. Odensdotter. Could we do this tomorrow evening, say around seven o’clock?”

  “Seven o’clock tomorrow it is then Mr. Jacob. I’ll see you then.”

  “Thank you counselor. I truly appreciate it. By the way, is Noble Petris still your paralegal and investigator?”

  “You’re welcome Mr. Jacob. No, unfortunately Noble Petris has left the firm and has moved out of the area as far as I know.”

  “That’s a shame Ms. Odensdotter. He was very helpful on some things that Mr. Gunn handled and I believe that this would be something that would interest him. Oh, well. I’ll see you tomorrow evening then.”

  “I’ll be there Mr. Jacob. Good bye.”

  “Good bye,” and the connection was broken.

  The Little Club had been a Skokie tradition since 1947 when George Papadopoulos had returned from the service and used the money he had put aside to buy the supper club that he had waited tables at while he was attending Northwestern University in neighboring Evanston.

  The place was a throwback to
a time when going out for dinner was a special occasion that folks got dressed up for. The décor was 1940’s retro with white tablecloths set with heavy service plates real silver ware that had the heft that would appeal to those who might remember the tradition, or those who aspired to it. The dark green leather banquettes and comfortable zebra skin upholstered chairs and the subdued lighting bespoke a promise of a true old-time Chicago chop house. The menu hadn’t changed too much in seventy-one years with the exception of the prices. Fresh fish, Greek chicken, lamb chops and two-inch thick steaks were the regular bill of fare served with house made soups and salad dressings made lovingly for the last thirty-two years by Georges wife, Sonja with whatever vegetables were in season and available fresh from the market that day.

  Sherman Jacob had made a reservation for two at seven o’clock but made certain that he was fifteen minutes early. He didn’t want to have Keren waiting and he wanted to have a quick word with George to make sure that everything would be perfect. Sherman wasn’t a frequent patron of the Club, but he was still considered a regular since he made an appearance for dinner about every six weeks or so.

  “Hi George,” Sherman greeted the owner as he came through the door. “How is business?”

  “Business is good but a little slow Mr. Jacob. It’s good to see you again. I notice you made a reservation for two. Usually you dine alone. Is tonight a special occasion?”

  “Not so much special as possibly important George. It’s a business dinner and I’m meeting a lady I have only spoken with over the phone. Could we have the booth over in the far corner away from the kitchen door, if possible?”

  “Sure thing Mr. Jacob. Allow me to seat you there. Can I get you something from the bar while you wait for your party?”

  “Just a Club Soda with a twist of lemon please. That will be just fine.”

  George scurried away to the bar and fetched Sherman’s club soda retuning in a few seconds.

  At exactly seven o’clock Keren walked through the door into the darkened interior.

  Keren Sigrun Odinsdotter is the kind of woman that causes men to look twice and then at least twice more.

  About thirty-three or four, her face seems a little older than that. It has that stern look you see in old pictures of the plains Indians. At her best, it is a forceful and striking face, redolent of strength and dignity.

  At worst it sometimes would seem to be the face of a Harvard boy dressed for the farcical chorus line. But her body is mercilessly female, deep and glossy, rounded—under the tidy little fatty layer of girl pneumatics—with useful muscle, a legacy of her hockey-playing days that she maintains with a regular workout regimen.

  She is a well-toned 5'11'' and can take care of herself, thank-you-very-much. She packs a gun in her purse, and she'll use it if she has to. She's willing to open a can of whoop-ass if the occasion calls for it, and she doesn't take any bullshit, from anybody. She kicks ass, usually not bothering to take names.

  Keren's greatest ability was to let her see into the souls of those around her, and over the past months she'd been seeing people for who they truly were. What she saw didn't make her particularly happy

  Keren, as her horoscope says, is impatient and restless; she doesn’t stay home long enough to keep house.

  As she approached the host desk she smiled at George. “I’m here to meet Mr. Jacob for dinner. I believe he has a reservation.”

  “Yes ma’am he is already here. Please follow me and I will show you to his table.”

  Sherman had never met Keren when he was a client of Douglas Gunn’s and he was quite overwhelmed by the sight of the woman following George over to the table. His Asperger’s kicked into high gear as he stood as she approached and extended her hand toward him.

  “Hello Mr. Jacob. I’m Keren Odensdotter. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  “Hello Ms. Odensdotter. It’s my pleasure. Please, have a seat.”

  George held the chair for her as she slid into it.

  “Can I get you anything from the bar ma’am?, George asked.

  “I’ll just have what Mr. Jacob is having,” Keren answered.

  “I’m just having club soda with a twist of lemon. Perhaps you would like something different?”

  “Club soda will be fine, thank you.”

  George returned in a couple of minutes with Keren’s club soda and two menus.

  “ We have everything you see on the menu folks, but the two house specials today are braised lamb shanks and Greek chicken. Our soup is sour sorrel. Take your time. I’ll be right back with a basket of our house made bread and some whipped butter.”

  Keren likes good food but she often eats on the run, spilling chili down her favorite silk blouses because she eats while driving. She drinks Johnnie Walker Black Label and loves red wine, especially from the Italian hill country where her mother grew up but this evening she has decided to forego any alcohol.

  “Do you see anything that appeals to you Ms. Odensdotter?” Sherman asked. “I’ve had most of the dishes on the menu and they all have been excellent. I believe that I’m going to have the lamb shanks special myself. It comes with chef’s choice of vegetable and a salad. Their Greek vinegar and oil salad dressing should pair well with that.”

  Keren studied the menu for a moment and then answered; “ I’m pretty hungry tonight. I think I’ll start with a cup of the sorrel soup, a twelve ounce bone-in ribeye, Pittsburgh rare with a side of Greek potatoes and a house salad with Roquefort dressing”

  Once George had seen that they made their choices, he approached the table and took their order. “I’ll be right back with the lady’s soup and your salads,” he said and left for the kitchen while they each tore a piece of bread from the loaf and began to butter it.

  “O.K. Sherman tell me about this serious legal matter that you need advice on,” Keren said, her voice somewhat muffled by the bread she was chewing.

  “Well, you see, it’s like this, I have come into possession of some information that may or may not involve some illegal activity on the part of this guy. It has to do with gun-running and might have something to do with a foreign national. I’m trying to figure out whether having this in my position puts me in legal jeopardy and also if there is a chance that I might make a couple of bucks in a finder’s fee by returning it to the person it was originally supposed to go to.”

  “Sherman, I think we are about to get off on the wrong foot here.

  Douglas Gunn was the kind of an attorney who reveled in skating right up to the edge of what was legal and what was ethical. I suspect that in his dealings with your situations that his behavior was consistent with that mindset. I’m a different kind of cat, boring, straight-arrow, by the book. I spent too much time and effort to get my law degree and build my practice to put any of it in jeopardy for what sounds like a half-baked, risky and possibly unethical shakedown scheme. The fact that you’re skating around the edges of the story without giving me specifics tells me there is a great likelihood that we will not have an attorney-client relationship. I have made a career of taking particular delight in going after fat cats, fakers and frauds and pompous asses. Which one are you Sherman?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m just looking for some advice to keep me out of trouble. Douglas Gunn told me that before you went into private practice you were in the Public Defender’s Office, you stood up for the underdog, the little guy.”

  “That I did Sherman, but I’m not a delicate flower, a push-over, a bleeding heart or a starry-eyed little girl. I take care of business and kick ass when necessary. I think you need to take your problem to one of the ambulance chasers. You can find them advertising in the yellow pages. Now, why don’t we just enjoy our meal? I’ll be happy to pay for my own dinner.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way Ms. Odensdotter. I really just wanted some advice.

  There are some things about this situation that have me afraid and I just wanted some assurances that someone else would cover my back. I wonder, are you still able
to contact Noble Petris, the guy who did investigations and research for Mr. Gunn?”

  “I suppose I could Sherman. I know he moved south someplace in the Ozark mountains, somewhere in Missouri or Arkansas I believe. Why do you ask? Petris is not an attorney so he can’t give you legal advice.”

  “It’s like this ma’am. I have this envelope with information regarding the situation I was telling you about. I was going to ask you to hold on to it and only open it if something bad were to happen to me. Since you don’t want to be my attorney, would it be possible for you to take the envelope and send it to Mr. Petris with the instructions that should I meet with something bad, end up in the hospital or something, that he would investigate. I look at it kind of like an insurance policy of sorts. Would you do that please? I would be happy to trade that favor for tonight’s dinner. Please Ms. Odensdotter, please.”

  Keren could see that the little man was trembling like a puppy who had just messed on the carpet. He looked scared and pitiful and against her better judgement her latent mothering instinct took over.

  “All right Mr. Jacob. As long as you realize that this does not create an attorney-client relationship between us. I will take your envelope, leave it sealed and put it into another envelope which I will send off to Noble Petris with a note informing him of what has transpired here.

  I don’t want you to share any more information with me regarding this nor do I want you telling anyone with whom you are in contact that I am your legal counsel. Is that understood?”

  “Yes ma’am. I understand perfectly. Just please, make sure that this ends up in Mr. Petris’ possession.” As he said this, Sherman slid the Manilla envelope across the table to Keren who folded it and placed it into her purse.