A Class Action

by Gene Grossman

  There aren’t many adults on the dock who request a Flowbee trim, but when people in the adjoining apartment buildings see her start to trim Bernie, they all send their kids down for a Flowbee freebie. The kids love it because not only do they get their locks trimmed, they also get to hang onto Bernie.

  *****

  Chapter 16

  The messenger service is here again and this time it’s with attorney Larkin’s answer to the Interrogs I sent to his office. Opening the package disappoints me. Not only did they answer every question without objection, they dotted each i and crossed each t. Damn them. Now I have no reason to drag them into court with objections and I’ve lost a good stall tactic.

  Our office already filed my Answer with the court, so they have no chance at a default judgment. I’m going to have to think of some way to stall this case until Myra’s people grab Rosenbaum. I guess the best way is to schedule a deposition, so I instruct our office to start the subpoena process.

  The phone rings. It’s Socrates Gutsue and he’s not happy. The Probate Court is moving ahead and pretty soon it’s going to be judgment day, when we have to appear and Mister Berland will have to deposit a huge some of money with the court so that they can distribute it per the instructions in his late wife’s will. Eaton will become wealthy and disappear, and Berland will be out several million dollars. I can’t let this happen, but until Rosenbaum is caught, there’s not much I can do.

  The kid comes out of her domain and picks up Eaton’s Interrog answers. I don’t have the slightest idea what she wants with them, but since they didn’t give me any information that would help me, I don’t care what happens to that pile of paper. She’ll probably go through every answer, in an attempt to build up her billable hours.

  Myra’s office sends an email putting me on notice that the Grand Jury murder indictment they have against Rosenbaum is not a perpetual thing, and that if they don’t apprehend him before this Grand Jury’s term expires, they’ll have to pick up Joe Morgan again. They obviously don’t want to be without someone to blame the murders on.

  From the looks of things, the clock is now ticking again. If I don’t come up with something soon, Eaton will get away with murder, and a lot of money.

  It’s not over yet. Another messenger is knocking on the hull with a thick package from Larkin’s office. Opening it up, I see the most extensive set of Interrogatories and Request for Admissions I’ve ever seen. If I don’t figure out some way to end this mess soon, I’ll be forced to hire the kid for the better part of a full week to organize the answers this jerk wants. I see that a lot of those questions pertain to the value of our boat, so he’s obviously going for punitive damages and wants to know everything I’ve got so he can go after it. I’m sure that when the kid sees that they’ve got their eyes on the boat, she’ll become more motivated to do them in.

  I think we’ll be having a big dinner tonight. Of course nobody’s said anything to me yet, but the crowd is growing by the hour. First it was Jack, who spent some time with the princess in a counseling session, probably due to his loss of consortium with Miss Piggy. Then it was Vinnie and Olive, probably here for marriage therapy. Now Stuart is in there, no doubt getting helped with his correspondence law school homework. I wish there was some way that I could make an appointment to get in there and be told how to find Alan Rosenbaum.

  There’s another knock at the hull. Vinnie goes to see who it is and invites our new visitor aboard. It’s Victor, and while he’s here to pick something up from Suzi, he gets invited to stay for dinner too.

  As long as it’s going to be a party, I might as well have a date, so I send a dogmail message to Laverne, inviting her to join us and bring a large can of her favorite wine. After a strenuous evening of conversation I’ll probably spend the night on her houseboat, so she might as well be here to walk back with me. I intend to have an extra few drinks with dinner and Laverne will be my guide back to her place.

  The phone rings. It’s Mister Berland calling to see if there are any new developments on the case. After I make my no-news report, he asks about the noise he hears in the background. I tell him that there are about nine or ten of us getting ready to have dinner in an hour or so. He asks if he can join us.

  “Sure, Mister Berland, it would be our pleasure to have you here with us, but you’re supposed to be a full-time babysitter with your guest. Remember? The D.A. doesn’t want him left alone.”

  “Well, Peter, then why don’t you all come out here? My chef can whip up a gourmet meal for all of us. And if it makes matters any easier, I’ll send two stretch limos for all of you, so no designated driver will be necessary. And I’ll bet my wine cellar is better than yours.”

  I tell the group about Berland’s invitation and they all think it would be fun to go out there in the limos. Laverne, having been informed that she may be going to a location where there’s a genuine wine cellar, makes the final decision for all of us. I tell Berland to send the limos and Suzi calls to cancel the Asian boys’ delivery. She also calls Myra to invite her along, but being the pro that she is, Myra respectfully declines, explaining to the kid that it really wouldn’t be proper for her to be at a dinner party with a person who she has a current file against. Too bad, but she’s right.

  The evening is a success. July is a hot month in most of the country, and especially so in the west San Fernando Valley where Hidden Hills is situated. By the time that the limos get us all there, the sun has already set, so the stifling heat is gone, and we decide to dine outdoors between the huge swimming pool and the large brick barbeque, where Berland’s chef is preparing charcoal broiled swordfish and spare ribs. There’s also no shortage of side dishes.

  The food is great, the conversation is interesting, and Berland has two large German shepherd guard dogs, so Bernie has some new friends. They’re are on their best behavior with everyone at the dinner party, but I’m sure they can be a force to reckon with for any uninvited guest.

  The limos bring us all back to the Marina, Suzi has a large doggie bag, and I’m going for a backrub and whatever other options are available at casa Laverne.

  The sun is shining and I’m finishing up my last slice of greasy French toast. The houseboat rocks a little as the dogmail carrier steps aboard with a note for me. It’s a message that came in from Socrates Gutsue’s office, putting us on notice that we only have another day or two to either get the goods on Eaton or let him have his inheritance.

  I’ve always hated working against a ticking clock, but this time there’s nothing I can do about it. I make my usual morning call to Myra’s office to learn whether or not there’s any progress in finding Rosenbaum. The probate court date is rapidly approaching and I can already feel those huge checks slipping out of my hand.

  Indovine calls to let me know that Uniman can’t stall any more. The death benefit on Eaton’s wife must be paid soon, because it if isn’t, the insurance company will be exposing itself to a large bad-faith lawsuit from Eaton. I tell him that we’ll try to wrap it up soon. I don’t even believe it myself as I say the words.

  I make the usual round of calls to Victor, Jack B., Vaughn, our photo guy and our sound guy. The audio expert has some news. He’s completed the comparison analysis between the two tapes and he’s prepared to testify that the anonymous tipster is none other than Ralph Eaton. I thank him very much and call Myra with the news. She’s glad to hear that another part of my theory has been confirmed, but correctly states our position as still being the same. Without Rosenbaum, we’ve got nothing… nada, zip, zilch, zero, gournisht. I’m glad to hear that her international thesaurus is still working.

  Only one more day until Larkin and Eaton are triumphant. I hate to lose, especially to a jerk attorney and a murderer. The only upside will be that once Eaton has the money and leaves the country, he won’t want to continue with his groundless defamation suit against me.

  I make the usual calls to everyone concerned and for once I know what it must feel like for a candidate to ma
ke a concession speech after seeing that the election didn’t go his way.

  The other line rings. This is private line reserved for Suzi’s incoming calls. I see it’s Victor calling for some reason or another, probably to ask the kid for autopsy advice. Why not? She obviously knows everything there is to know in this world.

  Mister Berland won’t be hurt too much because he wouldn’t have gotten his wife’s share of the estate anyway – it was earmarked for charities. He’s really not happy that Eaton will get it all, and he’s even more depressed that his new friend and houseguest will be taken back to jail. Berland makes a very nice gesture, but I have to tactfully explain that spiriting Joe Morgan out of the country and to some safe place with no extradition laws is not the right thing to do. I hope he takes my advice.

  I’m sitting here in the boat’s dining area drowning in my own self-pity when I hear two sounds of pitter-patter. They’re both on their way to her stateroom, and as she passes by me I hear her mutter something. At first, it doesn’t register, so I call out to her just as she’s about to close her door. “What did you say?”

  She answers quickly as she slams her door shut. “I know where Rosenbaum is.”

  *****

  Chapter 17

  This is the last straw. I can’t take it any more. She can’t possibly know where Rosenbaum is. Who does she think she is, Nero Wolfe? She hasn’t done any investigation. All she’s done is listen to my conversations with everyone else. If there’s anything she knows, I must know it too, but I just don’t know that I know it.

  I also know there’s no use trying to get the information out of her unless she’s willing to part with it, so I decide to send her a message. To attract the messenger I shake the box of his dog biscuits. Getting in his way while he’s heading for the box is probably as dangerous as trying to stop a guy like Shaquille O’Neal while he’s running at full speed toward the backboard.

  Once the drooling messenger has arrived, I neatly place a biscuit in his mouth and a note in his collar. My message to her contains only four words, which are no doubt the only ones she wants to hear. “What do you want?”

  The messenger returns to her domain and if I know this kid at all, she’s got a whole laundry list of demands prepared, on top of which is the law firm’s taking jurisdiction of my reward fees. I knew she would come up with some way to get a piece of me on this one.

  My answer comes in the form of another e-mail from her. First, she wants our law firm to share in all the fees and rewards earned for stopping Eaton from collecting on the insurance and the inheritance. Second, she wants to personally arrange to have Rosenbaum in the probate courtroom on judgment day, so that the whole cast of characters is assembled. As much as I don’t care for the first two demands, her next ones are even tougher. She wants to be the one who fingers Rosenbaum, because she claims to be the only person involved in this case who knows what he actually looks like now.

  The last demand is the real deal-buster. She wants to bring the dog to court with her.

  I don’t have a very good track record when it comes to dealing with this kid, so figuring that anyone else in the world would have a better chance with her, I fax the demand letter to Myra, with only one added comment. “This message was mistakenly sent to my inbox. Obviously it’s meant for you.”

  I can’t ignore the coincidence. Victor called her on the private line just before she made that remark to me and sent the demand letter.

  I call Victor. He hasn’t the slightest idea of what I could possibly be talking about. I knew it. She bought him off. Now she’s in complete control.

  Myra calls me. It took a few minutes longer than I expected. I answer with a complete absence of small talk

  “Yeah I know, she’s out of her mind. Are you going to take care of this, or not? I don’t care one way or the other. I’ve put a lot of energy into this case, and I think that since you’re the District Attorney, the top law officer in this county, it’s your job to interrogate her. Personally, I suggest a thumbscrew, but if your department is out of them, maybe a stretching rack would do the trick.”

  “Calm down, Peter. She’s obviously cracked the case and wants to help us, but we have to help her too.”

  “Help her? Help her? She’s holding us all captive unless she gets a ransom payment, and it’s coming out of my pocket! And we both know there’s no way we can allow her to bring that small horse into court with her, and that’s to say nothing of the possible danger of the situation. If she’s right, there’s going to be a killer in that courtroom. No way. I won’t allow it.”

  “Okay Peter, just chill. If you really know her as well as you think you do, then you’ll have to agree that there’s no way she’ll lose a share of the bonus fees by letting that money go to Eaton, and she’s working you like a slot machine. Can’t you see that?”

  “Sure I see that. So what makes this day different from other days of the year? She’s always playing me like a jukebox, but this time she’s got something that we all need very badly. Hell, the People of the State of California need her information. There’s a murderer on the loose out there and this may be our only chance to get him. Myra, you’ve got to talk some sense into her.”

  “Okay, Peter, I’ll give it a shot, but I can’t make any promises. You know she’s got a mind of her own.”

  Yeah, I know she’s got a mind of her own. The thing that really gets to me is that it’s so much better than mine. She can’t possibly know any more about this case than I do, so how can she figure it out when I can’t? Myra’s no dummy either, and the kid’s beat her to the solution too. Maybe my fate is to just follow her around and chronicle her cases, like Doctor John Watson did for Sherlock Holmes. Please, just shoot me now.

  The day has arrived. I’m on my way to the probate court. I’ve had no luck with the kid and neither has Myra. I can’t believe I’m going down in flames like this today. I’ve let everyone down, from Indovine and Uniman, to Joe Morgan and Mister Berland. Everyone looked to me for a miracle. I was supposed to pull a rabbit out of my hat. Even Myra was hoping I could pull it off and give her a really good convictable person. It’s all going down the tubes. In another hour or so, Larkin will be sneering at me, Mister Berland will be poorer, Joe Morgan will be back in jail, and Eaton will be a multi-millionaire.

  Losing the bonus fees and getting embarrassed isn’t the worse though, it’ll be seeing Joe Morgan, an innocent guy, get thrown back into County Jail and forced to stand trial for two murders that I know he didn’t commit.

  For some strange reason Suzi refuses to ride to court with me. She says she has something else planned. I’m afraid to ask what it is, so I leave the boat and meet Jack at the Hummer for our drive downtown.

  Entering the courtroom, I see that it’s packed. There’s a full house, including attorney Socrates Gutsue, Charles Indovine, Mister Uniman, Mister Berland, Victor, Stuart, Vinnie and Olive, Myra, some reporters, and about six uniforms. Something’s going on here and I wish I knew what it is. I’ll bet the kid invited everyone so she can have a big audience for whatever bone-headed stunt she intends to pull off.

  I keep looking around the courtroom, but don’t see any faces I haven’t seen before. If the kid’s running this show properly, then Rosenbaum should be here too.

  The courtroom doors swing open and everyone inside watches as Eaton and Larkin strut in. Their coming in reminds me of how I once watched Hulk Hogan and the Rock make grand entrances to those ridiculous wrestling matches drawing millions on pay-per-view. It’s all showbiz, and now Eaton’s part of it. He and Larkin take their sweet time getting to the counsel table. They turn around and smirk at the crowd, letting everyone know that they’ve won and the rest of us are all losers.

  Unlike the Federal Courtrooms, State Court time runs on the judge’s watch. When he feels like coming out, the court session begins. If he doesn’t come out, it’s just a room full of nervous people sitting and looking at each other.

  The courtroom doors open again
and this time it’s Special Agent Snell and his flunkies coming in. I can’t figure out why he’s here, but what the hell, everyone else is, so why shouldn’t the FBI come and watch me being made a fool of?

  It’s an afternoon session, and the clock on the wall shows just another minute or two before court is normally scheduled to begin. The court clerk makes an announcement that the judge will be a little late, so we should all just stick around until he arrives.

  This isn’t the normal course of events. As clever as the kid is, I can’t possibly believe that her powers are so far-reaching as to make a judge come to court late.

  What seems like an hour passes by, but the clock on the wall says it was only two minutes. The double courtroom doors open again and I sit in complete disbelief at what I see starting to come in. It’s the kid, and she’s wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, walking very slowly into the room and is accompanied by the Saint Bernard, who’s wearing one of those harnesses that seeing-eye dogs wear. This can’t be happening. She’s actually trying to pass herself off as a blind person with a Saint Bernard seeing-eye dog.

  I lean forward on the counsel table and want to hide my head in my hands until this whole thing is over. I’d much rather prefer finding a loose piece of carpet to crawl under, but hiding my head in my hands will just have to do for now. But, like a car wreck on the freeway or a car chase on the local news, I’m drawn to what’s happening and can’t turn away.

  I look over towards Eaton. He obviously recognizes her as the little kid that was in the back seat of the Hummer that day we spoke. He must remember having made some incriminating remarks while in the car with us, and for an instant I think I see some apprehension on his face. Both he and Larkin realize that what’s happening right now in this courtroom has probably never happened before and will never happen again, and nothing good will come of it.