Lethal Lawyers

by Dale E. Manolakas

  “You’re telling me! That horse felt no pain anywhere. The more I jerked the reins, the more he wanted to have a nice roll in the dirt with me.”

  “Sounds to me like this horse took the bit between its teeth. An old stable-nag trick. You needed to seesaw it back and forth to break it loose and give it four or five hard kicks to distract it. They’re single minded and easily distracted. It’s common knowledge that a horse can’t roll with you if you keep his head up.”

  “‘Common knowledge’,” Paul scoffed. “Look, it just hated me. And I hated it. That damn thing was a snail going out and then a racehorse going back to the stable. It whacked me into a tree branch and bent my glasses. I had to put my horse-smelly clothes in a plastic bag. And then I was too sore to dance that night. It sucked.”

  “I get it! I get it,” Sophia laughed.

  She didn’t want to relive or share the happiness or sadness of her last days owning a horse and what had happened to her friend.

  “I’ll go riding alone, party poopers.”

  “Speaking of party poopers. How’d you do with Detective Rutger yesterday, Sophia?” Paul asked. “He said he was looking for you.”

  ⌘

  Chapter 62

  Frankly, No One Really Gives a Damn

  Sophia carefully recounted an edited version of the detective’s attempt to make her his star witness. She liked Paul, but couldn’t be as candid as she would have wanted.

  “I told him no dice.”

  She made sure that everything she said to Paul could be told to Doug. She was still convinced Doug passed Paul’s stories on, and she wanted to make sure no one thought she was playing ball with the detective.

  “Does he think he can push us around?” Tricia asked.

  “Yes . . . but he can't.” Sophia became lost in her thoughts of the stairwell. Her body quivered as she sense-memoried the feel of his kiss, his strength, and his tenderness.

  “I would tell you to report those prosecution threats,” Paul said. “But that would just make him mad. He needs a witness, and he’s just going to keep coming after you until you stop him cold.”

  “I’m not going to be his witness.”

  Sophia lied, as was her habit now. At the moment, she actually didn’t know what she was going to do, since Roger had seen the stairway kiss. She needed to do anything necessary to be safe from Roger. Her thoughts drifted from Roger to the detective’s kiss and then to Taylor.

  * * *

  With that, a heavy silence rode with the three. There were too many “elephants in the room,” including Frank’s funeral.

  Finally, Paul broke the silence. “I do feel badly that Frank is gone.”

  “Me, too. He’s a big part of the reason I got hired here.” Sophia’s comparative analysis of Taylor and the detective ground to a halt.

  “I don’t wish ill on anyone,” Tricia joined in. “But I told you he kicked me off his team. A good legal secretary might have caught the technical error in those service papers.”

  “I thought it was two goofs?” Sophia asked.

  “So what? They were small.” Tricia defended herself.

  Paul mediated. “Frank just likes . . . liked, throwing his weight around, and it landed on Tricia.”

  “He threw his weight at Roger in San Francisco,” Sophia added.

  “It was hard to get another partner to trust me, too, after Frank spread the word around.” Tricia was stuck in justification and rationalization mode. “They’re like pack animals.”

  The analogy to pack animals scared Sophia. “I’m sick of this. I came here to have a great career and make money, and now I have to deal with all this mess, too. It’s costing me too much time, billable time. I even had to skip a dinner with my parents Sunday. Again. I thought I’d at least be able to see them more after law school.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Paul sympathized. “I miss my parents too, but since they are in New York, I see them when I get to New York on business. I talk to them every Sunday though, just like clock work.”

  Sophia asked, “Do you ever want to go back there and live?”

  “I have a lot of family in New York. But I like Los Angeles. And I wouldn't miss this mess for anything. Funerals . . . cops nosing around . . . people fighting!”

  “You’re nuts! Besides, it has to stop sometime,” Sophia countered.

  “I don’t think so. Now that Roger’s got his client back from Frank, he’s determined to get the rest back from the other partners,” Paul said. “Marvin’s determined, also. He got the one client back when Judith died, but Dante has his two biggest and a couple of Taylor’s I think.”

  “Really?” Sophia’s ears perked up.

  “I think they’re going to file the lawsuit. They actually asked for my support,” Paul boasted.

  “Are you giving it?” Tricia asked.

  “I said I’d think about it,” he answered, taking the freeway off-ramp. “I told them it might open up a can of worms.”

  “Worms?” Sophia repeated.

  “You know, billing worms . . . “value billing” worms. Overbilling worms. Skeletons in the closet like this Toak summary judgment motion and billing for it, if it’s dismissed. A can of worms that could lead to disbarment.”

  “I see.” Sophia thought of how she was being sucked into the practices of the firm.

  “That’s why I think they’ll never be able to file anything,” Tricia opined.

  “Who knows? Once a lawsuit starts, it’s like a pinball game. No one can predict where it will go,” Paul added. “We’ll be at the church in five minutes. Just in time.”

  “And why would Roger want to hand that detective a motive in writing by filing a complaint against the firm?” Tricia asked. “It’s a public record of their fight with the Management Committee. That’s dumb.”

  “I don’t think they see it that way,” Paul explained. “I’m sure Roger thinks filing the action will show he didn’t need to kill anyone, or with a bunch of people complaining it will spread the motive around and make it harder to focus on one person. That’s how I would analyze it.”

  “Smart,” Tricia said.

  “Speaking of smart,” Sophia interjected. “Guess what I found out?”

  “I’ll bite. What?” Paul asked.

  “They are putting surveillance cameras in the stairwells and the garage today.”

  “Spending money on the building’s stairwells and the building’s garage. They must be worried about something . . . something immediate,” Tricia speculated.

  “Naw. They always have to act,” Paul said. “That’s how they are. When 9/11 happened, they put in the card readers on the stairwell doors. And there were no terrorists hovering around.”

  “How do you find this stuff out, Sophia?” Tricia asked.

  “Simple. I saw the installers go into Carlisle’s office, and Violet has a big mouth.”

  “I already know Violet has a big mouth, thank you very much,” Tricia remarked.

  “Yeah.” Sophia remembered Tricia’s secretarial problem, spurred by Violet’s vendetta.

  “We’re here. And so is the news,” Paul announced, pulling up at the church.

  “At least there are barriers and cops,” Tricia said.

  “Put on your best funeral faces, they have telephoto lenses,” Sophia warned, thinking of Ben and all his calls.

  “I’ll drop you guys off and park. Save me a seat. And stay at the back for a quick exit.”

  “You got it.” Sophia hopped out of the car and Tricia followed.

  They both headed for the church, as planned, just before the services began. There were stragglers on the steps, some getting their last nicotine fix, some on their cell phones, and others, like them, were hurrying to get seats at the back. This last-minute rush was also populated with people just approaching who wanted to be seen, but did not want to tip-toe through the minefield of Frank’s life; did not want to commune with people who knew Frank—for better or for worse—in hatred or in love—or just
for plain old financial, parasitic, symbiotic zeal.

  ⌘

  Chapter 63

  A Funeral, But Not an Ending

  Tricia and Sophia found end seats near the back of the church. Two of the stinky smokers followed behind them and mercifully went to sit on the other side of the church.

  Sophia had been to many extended Greek family funerals and knew that populating the pews was important. A full church to the Greeks signified a worthwhile life. Greeks all filled churches for each other’s families. It was an unwritten contract, and the quid pro quo was great food and drink. It didn’t matter if the people filling the pews knew the deceased, knew of them, or just knew about the funeral.

  Sophia sat quietly. The organ music was low and somber. The full church choir sang from the back balcony. That meant a hefty donation.

  The family was in the front pews to the left. Frank’s death was unexpected. They were openly wounded. And why wouldn’t they be? Frank was taken suddenly and in his prime. They sat still, subdued and weeping.

  “The redhead is Frank’s wife,” Tricia followed Sophia’s gaze and whispered. “The girl she’s hugging is Frank’s daughter. Those are the grandchildren. The rest are friends. I met most of them at Frank’s Christmas party.”

  “They all look devastated,” Sophia said. “I wonder if they believe he was murdered.”

  “I don’t know, but I do know, office politics aside, his family loved him.”

  “I hadn’t thought of him as a family man.” She was touched by the grief and felt for Frank because he had to leave such a loving family.

  The firm was present in force. Up near the front were Toak, Carlisle, and Chet. Thorne & Chase partners and associates were intermingled with an array of men and women in suits and well-dressed civilians. James Tang and Anne Whitfield were two rows in front of Sophia and Tricia.

  “Standing room only,” Sophia whispered to Tricia.

  “What did you expect?”

  “I don’t see Dante.”

  “No, I don’t, either.”

  “Huh,” Sophia thought of Dante’s wife dying.

  Paul came and sat next to her. “You missed the New York training week for first years, but the big wigs from the New York office are here.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “Sitting around Carlisle and Chet.”

  Sophia studied the New York contingent and then also saw Taylor several rows up with Roger, Marvin, and Joe. She looked around for Detective Rutger. Even seeing Taylor did not negate her sense memory of the stairwell kiss. She hated that she had liked it.

  * * *

  The music and choir stopped. The priest spoke first. He gave a moving account of Frank’s good deeds and his devotion to the church and his family. Sophia reflected on the fact that if everyone who died were as good as they were described at funerals, then where were all the bad people? Still alive, she guessed. A testimony for bad!

  Carlisle then spoke in his beautiful Southern accent about Frank’s family and his life. He described Frank’s childhood from his blue-collar beginnings in Chicago. Frank served in Korea, G.I. Billed his way through Northwestern University and graduated high in his class from the University of Chicago Law School. His whole life, Frank had supported his parents and siblings and married late because of it. He had one daughter and five grandchildren. He was a great philanthropist. Most surprisingly, he was a very good oil painter. It was hard for Carlisle to finish speaking. He was moved and leaned on the pulpit for support.

  Sophia now understood that Frank was more like her than not. He had been a kindred spirit, and she didn’t know it. He had seen something in her. She hated that he had likely been deemed a disposable human being in Roger’s eyes. She began to hate herself for being a coward. In her heart, she believed Roger had caused Frank’s death, whether premeditated or opportunistic. But the fact was she had witnessed nothing of real consequence.

  The choir sang Amazing Grace. Tears laced down Sophia’s cheeks, tears for her own frustration and anger. She wiped them away.

  The attendants organized the front pews to file by the open casket and then out. Sophia usually slipped out before this ritual, even when she was at a Greek Orthodox funeral. She would not get by doing that here. This was her career.

  The choir sang song after song about the joys of life, God, and heaven. The slow moving ribbon of suits filed past the open casket one by one and nodded at the family. Then the ribbon turned into a moving mass of mourners and business-getters whispering, mumbling, and exiting down the center isle. Sophia saw handshakes and cards changing hands once the line was out of the family’s sight.

  Paul, Tricia, and Sophia were at the end of the procession.

  In the coffin, Frank looked like a painted mask of himself, as all dead versions of human life do. Sophia remembered his face in the gutter. The moment the magnificent machine that was Frank had come to a halt, Frank’s rare and genius gray matter oozing out before her. The three were halted in front of the coffin because the tail end always got backed up at these things.

  Finally, Sophia nodded her respects to the family. Up close, she saw their faces were tired and their eyes red from crying. She was not a curiosity seeker and averted her gaze.

  ⌘

  Chapter 64

  One Step Too Far

  Outside the church, the reporters were chomping at their bits with their camera sidekicks.

  Paul, Tricia, and Sophia stood on the steps and shook hands with a few associates. Paul introduced Sophia to two New York partners. The mayor of Los Angeles separated from the crowd quickly, stopped briefly with the gaggle of reporters, and left in his town car at the curb. Sophia recognized several city council members from television news programs who also availed themselves of the publicity opportunity and then left shortly after the mayor.

  Sophia had never experienced anything like this before. Frank lived his life not only well but expansively, worthy of the cast of characters who attended his funeral. She looked around and thought she should start planning her cast of funeral characters now. She wanted more than meandering Greeks and family. A funeral was a reflection of a person’s life. She knew her parents would have only extended Greek family and friends at theirs. Sophia knew that would not be enough for her. She liked Frank’s funeral. She liked Frank and wanted justice for him, but she was afraid.

  “Come on,” Paul urged, elbowing her away from her thoughts. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The three went down the steps and toward the back of the crowd for an inconspicuous exit before the casket was rolled out to the hearse. Detective Rutger intercepted them.

  “Nice family. Good life.”

  “Yes,” Paul interceded. “We were just going.”

  “Sophia,” the detective said. “I need to talk to you.”

  Paul and Tricia stoically bookended her.

  “Alone.”

  “Now is not the time.” Sophia looked around because she didn’t want to be seen with Detective Rutger, especially by Roger.

  “It’ll just take a minute.”

  Sophia took a step away from Paul and Tricia.

  “Not now,” she demanded.

  “I saw you at the casket. I know you don’t think Frank’s family deserves this.”

  Sophia didn’t answer.

  “They need justice and I need . . . want to see you.”

  “This is not the time.”

  “When?”

  Sophia turned and saw Taylor and Roger with Joe and Marvin watching her. That was all she needed, for them to think she was working with this guy.

  She stepped away. “I can’t help you. I have to go.”

  She started to leave and the detective grabbed her arm.

  “Wait.”

  Taylor shot down the steps and stood by Sophia. “What’s going on here, Detective?”

  The detective dropped her arm.

  Paul and Tricia stepped over to Sophia also.

  Detective Rutger looked at the circle around
him and beyond at the scrutinizing eyes. He had overstepped out of zeal and desire.

  Sophia’s kind, her new rarefied club, had closed ranks.

  “Nothing.” The detective retreated.

  “Are you all right?” Taylor asked.

  “Yes. Thank you. He’s a jerk.”

  “If he won’t leave you alone, we can take care of that,” Taylor volunteered.

  “Yeah,” Paul joined. “He can’t harass you and touch you.”

  Sophia glanced up at the steps. Joe and Marvin and Roger were still looking over. Tricia saw her uneasiness

  Tricia interceded. “Let’s go. Sophia’s fine.”

  “Yes. I’m fine.”

  She turned to Taylor and looked up at him. “Taylor, thank you.”

  He touched her arm gently. “I’ll call later. About dinner.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Sophia liked the feeling of protection and belonging. Her friends were powerful and strong. They would be there until the end. She was assembling her cast of characters for a good life, like Frank’s displayed here today. She was happy and looked only to the future. She couldn’t help with the past and had to put it behind her. She forgot the detective’s kiss.

  Tricia, Paul, and Sophia left.

  “That detective better be careful,” Tricia said. “He doesn’t know what trouble is until he comes after attorneys at Thorne & Chase. We know the law and our rights.”

  “The problem is he has the rubber stamp of the Management Committee, or what’s left of it,” Paul responded. “But we associates and the junior partners can use the law, too. He can’t harass you.”

  As they walked down the street, the three of them abreast, Sophia again felt the strength and comradeship of The Three Musketeers, but she knew she was a Musketeer with a secret, an enjoyable kiss with the enemy that lingered with her.

  “I parked the car over here.” Paul led the way. “Are we going to the interment?”