The Common Lawyer

by Mark Gimenez

  In fact, Suzie.

  He propped himself up on his elbow and admired her. She was awesome. Perfect face, perfect body, perfect smell. She didn't snore. She was like a dream, lying there in his bed. He gently touched her bare bottom; she was real. The touch of his skin against hers, especially that particular patch of her skin, felt even better than that day when he had first run his hands over the new Stumpjumper. Suzie stirred and opened those blue eyes.

  "I had a great time last night, Andy."

  They had gone to Qua, the trendy lounge with a shark tank in the floor.

  "You were right," Andy said.

  "About what?"

  "About being an expensive date."

  An $800 date. Only two billable hours.

  "But I'm worth it."

  He rolled over on top of her.

  "Oh, yeah."

  Andy Prescott was the happiest man on the planet.

  The bedroom on the third level had a fabulous view of Lady Bird Lake. The bathroom had granite countertops, a Jacuzzi tub, a two-person, four-jet, walk-in steam shower, and a bidet. The kitchen and living room were on the second level, and the first level was a one-car garage half-sunk into the ground. The place had come fully furnished. All for only seven and a half billable hours per month. The owner was a friend of Tres; he had been temporarily relocated. Andy was renting month-to-month, but who knows-if the owner didn't come back, he might be able to buy the place. Living in a downtown loft was indeed sweet.

  An hour later, Suzie was gone and Andy was dressed in a stylish sports coat, a wrinkle-free button-down shirt, a tie that didn't clip on, slacks, and leather shoes and riding the Stumpjumper the two blocks to Whole Foods. He couldn't bring himself to buy a car because of the pollution and high gas prices, but he was wearing new clothes, riding a new trail bike, living in a new place, and dating a new girl. Andy Prescott was a new man. The man he had always dreamed of being.

  Thanks to Russell Reeves.

  He parked and locked the bike outside Whole Foods and went in for his breakfast tacos-Suzie couldn't make a bowl of Cheerios-but his journey to the taco bar was interrupted.

  "Hi, Andy."

  Bobbi. A senior brunette majoring in nightlife ("journalism" in the UT curriculum catalog). Another top-of-the-line fit-and-Spandexed Whole Foods girl.

  "Oh, hi, Bobbi. You're looking especially delicious this morning."

  She smiled and inched closer. Andy could feel movement south of the border.

  "Where's Suzie?"

  "Who? Oh, Suzie… yeah, she's, uh, somewhere."

  "I saw y'all at Qua last night. I'll be there tonight. If you come alone, maybe we could hang out… or whatever."

  Whatever sounded good. But there was Suzie. She would call him later about his plans for that night. He could just not answer his phone, but then she might unexpectedly stop by the loft. (Funny how territorial women were, which was a new and fascinating experience for Andy.) Or he could… Bobbi stepped closer to allow a woman pushing a cart past; her breast-covered only by a thin layer of Spandex-rubbed against Andy's chest and wiped his mind clean of all thoughts of Suzie as effectively as an eraser on a chalkboard.

  "I'll see you tonight, Bobbi."

  She squeezed his arm.

  "Tonight."

  She walked away. Andy stared after her. Bobbi had a bodacious body.

  You couldn't slap the smile off Andy Prescott's face.

  Andy was a new man, but he still got his coffee at Jo's.

  "Mr. GQ dude himself," Guillermo Garza said when Andy stepped up to his window for his coffee. "Looking sharp, bro. Large coffee and a muffin?"

  "Just the coffee. I ate at Whole Foods. But give me Floyd T.'s."

  Guillermo nodded at the trail bike.

  "That's an awesome ride, dude."

  "Stumpjumper."

  "What'd that set you back?"

  "Sixty-five hundred."

  "Living large now."

  "I'm still the same guy."

  Guillermo laughed. "If Russell Reeves hired me, I sure wouldn't be the same guy." He pointed past Andy. "You forget something?"

  "What?"

  "The Chronicle."

  "Nah."

  "Oh, don't need to look for love in the personals anymore, huh, Andy?"

  Andy smiled. "I found a better place."

  Now Guillermo smiled. "Whole Foods."

  "Amen, brother."

  They fist-punched through the open window.

  "Keep the faith, bro."

  Andy paid then pedaled to his office. He found Floyd T. on Ramon's stoop and gave him his breakfast; he put a $20 bill in Floyd T.'s cigar box. Floyd T. whistled.

  "A high-roller. Thanks, Andy."

  Andy Prescott was still the same guy, albeit better dressed and with better transportation. He still worked in the little office above Ramon's tattoo parlor, he still mooched off Ramon's Yahoo account, and he still went to traffic court.

  He was trapped by his own traffic ticket scheme.

  He had requested a jury trial on every ticket for every client; consequently, he had cases set for trial every Monday of every week for the next two years. If he didn't show up to contest, the city would win by default; and he would have to make good on his guarantees to his clients. At $500 a pop, the fines would add up fast. He had five cases set for that Monday morning, so he was looking at upwards of $2,500 out of pocket. His pocket. Out of which he had just paid $15,000 to the IRS for quarterly income taxes, social security taxes, and Medicaid taxes-an outrageous sum! Six weeks' hard work, and he had netted only $45,000 after taxes. Now he understood why rich people complained about the government taking so much of their money.

  He could not afford to pay his clients' fines.

  So just before nine, Andy Prescott walked into the Municipal Court Building. Arturo waved him through the security checkpoint without making him empty his pockets. Andy rode the elevator to the third floor and entered the courtroom. Judge Judith immediately motioned him forward. When he arrived at the bench, she smiled at him like a mother whose prodigal son had returned home-with a job. She put her hand over the microphone.

  "Andy, you're looking quite professional today. And your hair-very nice."

  "Thank you, Judge. You're looking as beautiful as ever."

  "I know you're busy with Mr. Reeves, so we'll call your cases first."

  "Why, thank you, Judge."

  Fifteen minutes later, his five cases were dismissed and Andy was walking out the door. Ms. Manning stopped him and handed him her business card. She leaned close and whispered.

  "Come by my office, Andy. We'll lock the door and bang out a plea bargain."

  She gave him a wicked wink. Ms. Prosecutor had a wild streak beneath that buttoned-up suit. Andy was smiling when he walked out the courtroom door.

  And he was still smiling when he arrived back at his office where he found Floyd T. sitting on the sidewalk with his back to the building writing in his notebook and a limo parked out front with an action-figure named Darrell leaning against the back door. Russell Reeves' driver/bodyguard jutted his square jaw toward Ramon's.

  "He's in the tattoo shop."

  Andy went inside and found Russell Reeves in deep conversation with Ramon Cabrera.

  "Does it hurt?"

  Ramon laughed. "Of course, it hurts, Russell. Pain is part of the experience."

  "I don't know, Ramon. I really like the idea of my son's face tattooed on my back, but I'm not big on physical pain."

  "Russell, my man, excruciating physical pain is the threshold a man must cross to get to the other side of life."

  "And what's on the other side?"

  "Enlightenment."

  "Have you been to the other side, Ramon?"

  Ramon pulled his sweat shirt over his head to reveal his painted upper body. He spread his arms and turned slowly.

  "Russell… I am the other side."

  Russell Reeves regarded the living mural that was Ramon Cabrera.

  "My God, you're
a work of art."

  "I am an artist and I am art."

  After a moment, Russell said, "I'll think about it."

  "You do that."

  "Later, Ramon."

  Ramon stuck his fist out; Russell gave him a fist-punch like he had done it before then turned and walked outside.

  "Tickets," Ramon said to Andy.

  "What are you doing in so early?"

  "Appointment." He checked his watch. "She's late."

  Andy grabbed the two tickets off the counter, then followed Russell outside where he found Darrell jabbing Floyd T. with his shoe.

  "Get out of my way, you stinkin' bum."

  Andy vaulted past Russell and pushed Darrell in the chest as hard as he could; the ape barely budged.

  "Leave him alone, you big jerk!"

  The big jerk grabbed Andy by the shoulders and squeezed; the pressure of Darrell's stubby fingers pressing deep into his bones made Andy's knees buckle. He thought he would faint when he heard Russell's calm voice.

  "Let him go, Darrell."

  Darrell's dark eyes moved off Andy and onto his billionaire boss.

  "Now."

  Darrell released his grip. Andy almost fell to the pavement.

  "Apologize."

  Darrell sighed and turned to Andy.

  "Sorry for grabbing you and-"

  "Not him. Floyd T."

  " What? "

  "Apologize to Floyd T."

  Darrell pointed down at Floyd T. "To a homeless bum?"

  "To a war hero."

  "A war hero?"

  "Yes. Floyd T. is a decorated war hero, Darrell. He gave his leg for his country. You should respect that."

  Darrell's face softened; he looked down at Floyd T.

  "Hey, man, I'm sorry. For calling you a bum."

  Floyd T. turned an expressionless face up to Darrell and said, "Asshole."

  Russell laughed. "Touche, Darrell."

  Darrell shook his head and returned to his position by the limo. Russell handed a $100 bill to Floyd T.

  "Sorry, Floyd T."

  Floyd T. took the bill.

  "Thanks, Russell. But you shouldn't employ assholes. You can't trust them."

  "You're probably right."

  Andy and his client climbed the stairs to the little office. Andy propped open the window and checked to make sure that Darrell wasn't bullying Floyd T. again.

  "That was nice, what you did for Floyd T."

  "Just a hundred bucks."

  "No, making Darrell apologize."

  "Floyd T. earned it."

  "I didn't know you two had met."

  "First time I stopped by, when you weren't here. We visited a while. He's a human being, Andy. And an interesting one."

  "Darrell's lucky Floyd T. was sitting down. If he was standing, he might've taken his leg off and beaten the hell out of Darrell with it."

  Russell sighed. "Darrell is… Darrell."

  "Why do you have a guy like him working for you?"

  "Because it's hard to find a compassionate bodyguard, Andy." He shook his head. "It's the world we live in. I'm worth fifteen billion dollars, so I'm vulnerable to kidnapping. So is my wife. So I need a bodyguard. Being wealthy has its benefits, but there are burdens, too."

  They sat across the card table from each other.

  "I just drove by the development sites."

  " Renovation sites."

  "Construction is progressing well. I knew you were the right lawyer for that job, Andy."

  "Thanks."

  "And I think you're the right lawyer for this job."

  "What job?"

  Russell leaned back.

  "Andy, I want to make amends."

  "For what?"

  "The past. I've reexamined my life and found it wanting."

  "Wanting for what? You're a billionaire."

  "For what money can't buy. Peace. I'm not proud of everything I've done, Andy. I deeply regret certain of my actions."

  He sounded like that senator who had gotten caught with his pants down in an airport bathroom. Andy nodded.

  "I know what you mean, Russell. Fortunately, my mind has blocked out the memories."

  "Because of the psychic pain?"

  "Because of the Coronas."

  "Oh. Well, what I've done is a bit more serious than getting drunk and making a fool of myself."

  He didn't know about making a fool of himself.

  "Andy, I-"

  Andy had tried to lighten the moment, but Russell was having none of it. He remained deadly serious. Andy was sure his client was about to confess to murder.

  — "I didn't treat the women in my life well."

  Andy realized he had been holding his breath; he exhaled. That's it? But then he thought, Maybe he had abused them, although any womyn in SoCo could kick Russell Reeves' ass into next week. He didn't have the body mass to abuse women.

  "Your wife?"

  "My girlfriends."

  "What happened?"

  The billionaire across the card table sighed.

  "I loved them and left them."

  "You mean, you broke up with your girlfriends?"

  Russell nodded.

  "But you didn't hurt them… physically?"

  "Oh, no. I just left them without concern for their emotional pain. I thought only about myself."

  "So you're feeling guilty about your ex-girlfriends, from what, fifteen, twenty years ago?"

  Russell nodded again.

  "How many are we talking-one, two?"

  "Seventeen."

  " Seventeen? You had seventeen girlfriends? Before you were rich?"

  He shrugged. "I have a great personality."

  "You must also have the biggest…" Andy shook his head. "Seventeen. Wow. That's impressive, Russell."

  "Andy, haven't you thought about your old girlfriends? Wondered where they're at, how they're doing?"

  "I've only had one girlfriend, back in fourth grade. Mary Margaret McDermott. She's married to a doctor, got four kids."

  "You're twenty-nine and your last girlfriend was in fourth grade?"

  "Until now. Thanks to you."

  "Me?"

  "You pay me well."

  Russell Reeves smiled. "Yes, I suppose a Whole Foods girl doesn't come cheap."

  "You know about Suzie?"

  Or Bobbi.

  "I stopped in one day for a smoothie and saw you talking to a young woman. A blonde."

  Suzie.

  "I assumed she was your girlfriend. She's quite lovely."

  "She is sweet."

  Andy's thoughts drifted back to that morning in bed… Suzie's awesome naked body… and they "Andy?"

  "What? Oh, yeah, your ex-girlfriends."

  "I want to make it up to them."

  "How?"

  "The only way I can-money."

  "You want to give your old girlfriends money because you broke up with them a long time ago?"

  "Because I used them as sexual objects for my own pleasure."

  "Russell, that's what men do. Women, too. Down here in SoCo, we just ask that they do it inside." He shook his head. "Was it consensual?"

  "Of course."

  "Then what's the problem?"

  "Guilt."

  "Are you Catholic, too?"

  "No."

  Andy grunted. "So what's the job?"

  "Find them. Give them money. Make their lives better."

  "You want me to find your old girlfriends and give them money? As simple as that?"

  "As simple as that."

  "I just hand each woman a check and say, 'Russell Reeves says hi'?"

  "No. I want to do this anonymously."

  "Why?"

  "Seventeen women, one might go to the press. Can you imagine that in the tabloids? They'd have a field day."

  "I guess that would make the papers."

  "Andy, I want you to find my old girlfriends. If they're in debt, I'm going to pay off their debts. If they're sick, I'm going to pay for their medical care. If t
hey're homeless, I'm going to buy them a home. I'm going to make things right by making their lives better. But this assignment must remain absolutely secret. You must not reveal this to anyone-not even Suzie."

  "Why don't you just hire a PI?"

  "PIs talk. They sell information. And they can testify. You can't."

  Andy leaned back in his chair.

  "The privilege."

  Russell Reeves nodded.

  "The attorney-client privilege," Andy said. "I can't disclose anything to anyone. I can't even be compelled to testify about this in a court of law."

  "Exactly. And if you did tell your girlfriend and it ended up in the papers?"

  "I'd be disbarred."

  His billionaire client nodded again.

  "Absolute secrecy, Andy."

  Russell handed a document to Andy across the desk. It was two pages of names and addresses.

  "That's all you have?"

  "Their names and last-known addresses."

  "Russell, I don't even know where to start."

  Russell gestured at the document.

  "Bottom of the last page, there's a name. Hollis McCloskey. He's a private investigator downtown, ex-FBI. Upper-echelon type. My lawyers have used him on corporate investigations. He doesn't usually hunt people down, but he will for the right price."

  "I thought you didn't want to hire a PI?"

  "I don't. I want you to hire him. Give him the list, nothing more. Don't mention my name. Tell him to find them, learn everything about them-their assets, debts, husbands, children-and compile a dossier on each. But his job ends there. He is not to make contact with the women. That's your job. Figure out what they need and how I can help them. Then bring it to me."

  "How will I know if I've got the right women?"

  "Take photos. I'll know."

  "I don't have a camera."

  "Buy one. My tab."

  "This big-time PI, he's not going to be cheap, Russell."

  "I wired fifty thousand to your trust account this morning, while you were in traffic court. Pay him whatever it takes."

  "Russell, why me for this job? I mean, I understand the SoCo deals, but your downtown lawyers can do this. They can hire this McCloskey dude."