by James Ross
“How did that play out?”
“You’ve heard the jokes. We chased ambulances. We’d get leads from the cops. Divorce traffic picked up. It was a race to see which law firm could get to the client first.” DeWitt held the cognac under his nose. “But all of that wasn’t what concerned me.”
“You don’t need us to prompt you.”
“It didn’t take long to find out that Cloaks and Gavel was simply a steppingstone to a more sinister secret society.”
“FOBS?”
DeWitt agreed. “The college club was a breeding ground for those that operated in the real world.”
“How so?”
“Let’s just say that law school didn’t prepare me for anything outside the ivy. Life on the streets earning a living is a tough proposition.” DeWitt eyed the snifter and belted down a drink. He rattled his head and gasped for fresh breath. “Agh! That stuff is lethal.” His focus returned. “FOBS wanted their cut.”
“For what?”
“Making our life easier. They provided the leads.” He weighed his words. “And the protection.”
“I don’t get it.”
“The big boys out of Chicago control the minions in the southern part of the state.” The orange flavor stuck to his lips. DeWitt rolled his tongue around his mouth. “These guys down here are nothing but little punks in the playground, but they think they’ve got elephant nuts in their shorts.”
“Why?”
“I just told you. The guys up north are taking care of them and making them immune from any trouble.”
“How does all that affect our lawsuit?” J Dub and Curt had two questions for every one answer it seemed.
“Look, they’re bringing in cash from a lot of industries. The business of law has fallen in their lap. It’s turned out to be more lucrative than a lot of the others combined.”
“How is that?”
“They get a law firm by the short hairs, i.e., they’re in FOBS. There are lots of lawyers that are trained to keep track of their billable hours. They are also paid to produce reams of paper in a case.”
“We’ve seen plenty of that.”
“The hours tick. The bill is padded. The big boys get their cut.” He tipped the snifter from side to side and watched the Grand Marnier slosh. “When you get drug into a lawsuit these guys are trained to file every motion imaginable. Some are real, others are made up. Of course whatever gets filed comes complete with a brief as thick as a casket.”
“Pudge has said that they are out-papering him.”
“Now you know what he’s referring to. He doesn’t have a chance, and neither do the clients he represents.” The brothers looked at each other.
“Groovy.” J Dub was sick to his stomach.
“These guys have the business of law down to a science. They’ll go to the court and file for hearings and extensions on top of the motions. The judge, who is also on the payroll by the way, grants delays and is sympathetic to their cause.”
“Once again you’re describing what we’ve been living.”
“Of course; I know that. Everett has told me who you’re dealing with on this thing.” It was time for another belt of brandy. “But you’ve got something else going against you.” DeWitt belched.
“Don’t light a match!”
“What else?”
“Everett told me that the guy involved is the business manager for the truckers union. Those guys can funnel all kinds of money to their legal team. Those boys don’t mess around. They will run you ragged, wear you down, and you know the rest—chew you up and spit you out.” DeWitt buried his lips on his forearm and slouched over. He raised his head after another internal hiccup. “I heard they want a golf course for their union members.”
“This is a fine time to find out.”
“You know what they say.”
“Better late than never?”
“Now you’ve been told. That’s who is behind all of this. Part of their team is hooked to the cloaks and gavel.”
“Secret society.”
“Which is now FOBS.”
“And it is on a much grander scale.” DeWitt looked into the Grand Marnier. “You guys might as well be fighting the United States military. The other side has weapons of mass destruction and you’re holding a pop gun and go to church to pray.”
“How did you know?”
“These guys are pros. They know how to confuse the issues, muddle the facts, control the judge and throw out any false theory to the jury that they want.”
J Dub felt like he would get physically sick. The golf course could go down the drain or at least be saddled with enough legal bills to put it out of business. “Pudge said he wanted to get the lawsuit dismissed or at least fast-tracked.”
“And you got neither,” DeWitt replied. “Tanner knew the filing clerks. He schmoozes with the best of them. It got assigned to Judge Porter.”
“Your ex-law partner.”
“Yeah, my piece-of-shit, ex-law partner,” DeWitt blurted. “I can hear him now. I bet he wanted to get involved in the settlement negotiations from day one. And I know his excuse. It would all be in an effort to streamline civil litigation.”
“Pudge mentioned that something like that could be arranged.”
DeWitt extended his arm toward J Dub for a refill. “After they paperwork you to death they will schedule a pre-trial conference or at least suggest some settlement negotiations. Then they will file their jury consultants through the door to keep the bill heading north and in the process get the jury they want.”
“What kind is that?”
“Probably one that is predominantly loaded with minorities and believes in punishing the wealthy. You know, one that will award punitive damages.”
“That’s why they’ve sued for a king’s ransom.” J Dub said as he got the picture. “One that’s a lot more than our insurance liability coverage.”
Once it all settled in Curt responded. “Why have you all of a sudden gotten religion?”
DeWitt looked to Doc. “Everett is a trusted friend. He said he had some friends that needed help.”
“That’s a crock of crap,” Curt challenged. “You want something out of this too.”
DeWitt’s shrug suggested that might be the case.
“We needed to have you involved in this from the beginning,” J Dub admitted.
“I’m retired.” Another swig went down the hatch. “And yes, there’s more to the story.” He gasped for some cooler air that would soothe his chest. “The law process will keep dragging. I’ll be around to help a little and we’ll save the rest of it for another day.”
CHAPTER 70
January moved into February. The weather provide a warm day on occasion. The snowpack was thawing and the frozen ground was turning into mud. Once in a while the sun would peek through the cloud cover and brighten everyone’s mood. Water runoff would chase road salt to lower ground. Wiper fluid would take care of the front car window but the back spray coated the headlights. It wouldn’t be long before the guys would be back on the golf course on a regular basis.
“Your nine o’clock appointment is here,” Abbie said after buzzing Tanner’s desk. Frankie “Booby Tat” Mastralacci sat in the waiting room of Atkins, Blum & Charles. It was time for the business manager of HUG to get an update on the lawsuit for the higher-ups. The droopy left side of his mouth, five o’clock shadow and slick-backed hair had not been altered. He looked dapper in dress slacks and collared shirt.
“I wish I had a head of hair like yours,” Tanner said as he led the client into his office.
“It looks like you did at one time,” Frankie said as he eyed the younger version of the lawyer that was positioned on the walls shaking hands with sports celebrities.
“That seems like yesterday. All the kids were babies. Now they’re teenagers.” Tanner brushed a hand carefully through his weave.
“It seems like yesterday I played my last round of golf for the season.”
Tanner too
k the hint which was fine. Neither one wanted to mess around. They knew the purpose of the meeting. “Which brings us to why you’re here.”
“Yeah, what’s goin’ on?”
“All the preliminary paperwork has been submitted. We’ve filed motions, responses,” Tanner shrugged, “you know, the standard things in a civil case. We’ve begun our own investigation and we’re getting our own documentation in line.”
“Where’s it getting us?”
“Hopefully we’ll wear them out.” Tanner laughed. “The insurance company is already crying uncle. They want to write us a check but it’s not nearly what we want. The guys that own the golf course sound as if they would rather pay the lawyers and fight us. They’ll learn the hard way.”
“Can we win against them?”
“Are you kidding? The juries down here always side with the plaintiffs. I’ll get our consultants on it and we’ll find as many minorities or single mothers that we can to serve on the jury.”
“That shouldn’t pose a problem?”
“Are you kidding? On the east side of St. Louis?” Tanner laughed out loud. “On this side of the river they’re as plentiful as flies in a pig sty.”
Frankie chuckled. “Sweet music.”
“Plus we will get favorable rulings from the judge.”
“More good news. What kind of time frame?”
“There’s no hurry. Time is on our side. I’ll give them enough to respond to and they’ll wish that they never considered putting up a fight.”
“That’s the strategy?”
The question brought a jovial response. “Works every time. At three and four hundred bucks an hour they’ll be facing some hefty fees. We’ll be the pesky gnats that won’t go away; you know, just like the ones that were on a dog’s balls before they buzzed your face.”
The analogy struck Frankie’s funny bone. He got up and extended his hand. “Nice job. Do what you do best. I’m out of here before my bill gets too high.”
“How’s your neck.”
“Fine. Why?”
“The doctor’s report said the injuries might be permanent.” Tanner seemed to get a kick out of himself. “Let them get their experts in to challenge that.” He shook Frankie’s hand.
Booby Tat smiled. “I get where you’re goin’.”
Tanner flashed the thumbs-up sign. He sat down at his desk as Frankie exited. Thirty seconds later he was having a conversation with his wife. “Hey, Hon, bad news.”
Janet Atkins sighed. At forty-two she had heard all the excuses. Her job was to raise five teenagers. Even though she stood five eleven and carried herself well, it was as if she was an afterthought in Tanner’s life. A three million dollar home and a Mercedes convertible to drive when she wasn’t shuttling the children around eased the pain. But the fact of the matter was they were growing apart. She stayed married to him because of the kids. He wouldn’t divorce her because of the money. If she protested too much his legal prowess would leave her with a standard of living well below what she was used to. “What now?”
“I got in and looked at my calendar. Something is scheduled that I had forgotten about.”
She knew what was coming. “Remember the boys have the hockey playoffs tonight. You promised them you’d be there.”
“I know, but I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to make it.”
“The girls are playing soccer at the same time. I can’t be both places.”
“I have to be in Springfield at one.”
“And you just remembered?”
“It’s a state ethics matter.”
Janet was pissed. “I don’t understand how you can do that to the boys.”
“I’ll make it up to them, you know, take them to Florida or something.”
“That’s not what they want, Tanner! They want their dad to be in the stands for a playoff game.”
“You’ll have to tell them I’m sorry.”
“Why can’t you go up there and come back in time for the faceoff?”
“It’s a two-day thing. The first part is later this afternoon and we have to stay overnight to wrap the process up tomorrow morning.”
“It doesn’t do me any good to give you my two cents, does it?”
“I’m afraid not, Hon. This is business and it concerns my license to operate in the state of Illinois.” Tanner winced, clenched his jaw, looked at the ceiling and held the receiver six inches from his ear. Silence followed. “I knew you’d understand.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Wish the boys well for me and give the girls my love.” Tanner only felt half bad. He had something else occupying his mind. “Look, I’m running late. I’ve got to go.”
Click. Janet’s reply was evident.
“Abbie, I’ll be in sometime tomorrow. It’s the Springfield Q and A. Hold my calls.” With that the lawyer was out the door and into his black BMW.
He wasn’t two blocks down the street when he texted a message from his mobile phone.
Kitty, we still on for tonight?
CHAPTER 71
The alert ringtone was distinct. Tanner had downloaded “Light My Fire” by the Doors to signal when Kitty responded with a text message. He was easing his Beamer into traffic on 1-255 which skirted the east side of St. Louis when Jim Morrison blasted away
Tee hee. Of course.
Tanner swerved as his car crossed over the white line that signaled the beginning of the shoulder. He licked his lips. With his right hand on the phone he took his left hand off the steering wheel and rearranged the nuggets behind his zipper. Two seconds later his left hand was back on the wheel. His right thumb hit the reply button.
8 at the Aqua Mermaid?
He fiddled with the satellite radio settings. The volume controls were on the steering wheel as well as the station selections. His speed increased until he placed the car on cruise control. From the Illinois side the prettiest view of the Gateway Arch faded away along with the St. Louis skyline.
Stud can’t wait. We’ll be there
Before he had time to respond Morrison informed him that more information was forthcoming.
I’ll text the room number to you after we check in
The speedometer was stuck on seventy-seven. That didn’t deter Tanner from engaging in conversation.
I’m available for the next hour. Driving
U shouldn’t text and drive
Just passed an I-DOT sign that said the same thing. Don’t preach.
Tanner yanked the wheel to the left as his tires hit rough pavement.
I know a way to keep you awake. Stud took pics of me
I’m not tired but I’ll look. R u naked?
Mmmmm. In some. Garters and a corset.
My favorite.
The BMW swerved again.
Tonight I’m going to wear my schoolgirl outfit. Stud picked it out
What is that?
Plaid skirt, knee high socks, pigtails and black rimmed glasses.
I may have a new favorite.
I’ll talk Stud into letting u take pics of me
No sooner than Tanner read the text The Doors played again.
jpg attached You like?
Tanner opened the picture. Partially nude body parts were displayed.
Yes. Any more?
Lots. But not now. Gives u something to look forward to
Don’t stop now
Have things to do
Tanner struggled to keep his eyes on the road as he glanced continually down to the keyboard.
Keep me awake!
I will tonight. See u later
NO! Keep me awake now!
One song played on satellite radio. Jim Morrison and The Doors did not interrupt. Tanner continued to glance periodically at his text message screen. It would remain blank. The drive was a straight shot up 1-55 from St. Louis. He would be in Springfield in forty-five minutes.
After opening and re-opening the attached picture Tanner put his fingers back to work. He was compelled to k
eep kitty informed.
I’ll be back in STL by 7.
It mattered little to Tanner that Janet Atkins would be hustling triplets to hockey and twins to soccer. Now it didn’t matter at all.
CHAPTER 72
J Dub knew that this day would arrive. Doyle O’Callahan pulled up in a squad car and parked out front. If there was anything he admired about the chief of police it was that the guy was man enough to say something to your face instead of giving you a cheap phone call. He watched out the window as the bald Irishman exited his car, took the cigar out of his mouth and extinguished the flame on the bottom of his shoe. The chief then placed the stub back into his mouth. O’Callahan walked through the door.
“What’s it been, six months or so?” Doyle wasn’t a golfer. He usually saw J Dub twice a year. Once to schedule the fundraiser and once to show up for it. The only other time their paths would cross was if the police chief was called out to the course to settle a dispute.
“You book it in February and play it in September.” J Dub looked at the calendar. “I knew that you would be in one of these days.”
“What does the second Monday in September look like?” J Dub really wanted to tell the chief to take an ear of corn and stick it where the texture could be examined and place it sideways for good measure. But he exercised tact. It seemed like the longer he lived the more he realized that the guys with guns in holsters on their hips and men that wore cloaks and pounded gavels had the same complex. They weren’t all that important, but their accessories distinguished them.
“I could say that we’re booked and that I need a personal favor to schedule the event.”
“For what?” O’Callahan must have been born with the knack to play stupid and ask questions.
J Dub kept his head down while looking up at the chief. “You guys come around asking for them. Once in a while we need them too.” The pro would always block the course off for a day, provide a discounted daily fee to the department, let the cops get out-of-control drunk on the property and then take the risk that none of them would get in a wreck on the way home exposing the golf proprietors to possible liability.