* * * * *
As soon as Ernie left, I got in my car and drove to Sandy Milton’s office. I pulled into his parking lot and noted with satisfaction his Jaguar was already parked in its reserved space. I parked beside it, got out and walked quickly to the front door. Without hesitation, I threw it open and strode in. The receptionist, Miss Saunders, was at first startled, but she quickly regained her composure.
“Sir, if you can’t enter our workplace with some decorum, I suggest you leave.”
I was having none of it. Partly out of show and partly out of genuine anger, I snarled, “Shut up. Where’s Milton?”
“Sir, I insist you leave, or I'll call the police.”
“You better check with your boss to see if he wants the police involved with this. I betcha he doesn’t.”
With that, I turned and walked towards Milton’s private office. With the receptionist yelling behind me, I kicked his door open. Inside a somewhat pale Sandy Milton sat behind his desk, looking up at me with a mixture of fear and contempt.
“I don’t know what you want Dafoe, but you better get out of my office, or I’ll have Miss Saunders call the police. We have nothing to talk about.”
“Screw you.”
Milton looked over my shoulder at his receptionist.
“Marsha, please call the police. We’re going to have to show Mr. Dafoe we aren’t to be trifled with.”
I got to admit Sandy Milton was a cool one. With a look of petty triumph, Miss Saunders glared at me, then rapidly reached for the phone on Sandy’s desk. Before she’d dialed the first number, I played my trump card.
“Lake Norman, Tamara Whippy, pictures.”
It was all I needed to say. Milton almost fell over himself stopping Miss Saunders from making the call to police.
After he got her to hang up the phone he looked at me a second or two.
“Marsha, perhaps I overreacted. I think I might still need some of Mr. Dafoe’s expertise. I need to speak to him in private, so go on back to your desk, and I’ll call you if I need anything.”
“But Mr. Milton, what about the police?” cried Marsha, pointing at me. “He looks dangerous.”
“Nonsense. Mr. Dafoe is a valued associate.”
Damn, he was smooth. He quickly escorted her out of the office and shut the door behind her. He spun around and looked at me.
“So I was sleeping with her,” he stated flatly. “Don’t kid yourself. I’m not the first lawyer to do it, and I won’t be the last. In the long run, no one will give a damn. You have nothing.”
He walked behind his desk and stood there.
It was time to ruffle this bastard’s feathers. I stared at him and then slowly walked over to the front of his desk. With deliberate calm I leaned over and shoved him into his chair. Not too roughly mind you, just enough to get his attention. When you need to get someone to work for you, you want to intimidate, not humiliate. That’s what Ernie taught me.
“Nothing? Oh, believe me, Sandy, I got something. You see I had a very illuminating conversation with Larry Whippy last Friday night. I know everything.”
I stood over him, glowering. With no small amount of satisfaction, I saw some nervous fear in his eyes. I kept on the pressure.
“You knew about his little secret. You introduced him and Tamara. You arranged the sham marriage. You were banging this alleged dyke on the side. You knew that he was getting ready to invoke the pre-nuptial.”
I casually sauntered back over to one of his overstuffed chairs and settled in one before continuing.
“How do you think the Whippy family will react to all this? Do you think they'll let it slide? How do you think they'll react when I tell them that you hired me under false pretenses? That you knew he was a faggot all along, and you were just using me to get blackmail photos?”
I leaned forward to emphasize my next words.
“You know how they'll react, don’t you Sandy? They will be out for blood and who knows, maybe they will get the cops to start looking into all your past activities. Maybe you have other deals that you’re trying to hide.”
This last sentence was a wild stab on my part, but it made him look at me with a start. I’d hit a nerve there. It was then that I knew that I had him.
“No matter how you look at it, you stand a better than even chance of being ruined.”
I leaned back in the chair and waited.
“What do you want?” he finally croaked.
I’d made this slick SOB sweat. To this day, I remember the rush it gave me. Better than booze or sex. Now, just like Ernie taught me, it was time to give him the lifeline and let him desperately clutch at it. Then I would own him.
I got up and walked back behind his desk and leaned over him, my face only inches from his.
“Want? Me?—Nothing. Hell, Sandy—I want to hire you.”
Abruptly, I straightened up, turned and walked back to the chair in front of his desk and sat down. Milton stared at me, dumbfounded.
Finally, he managed to stammer out, “Hire me? What for?”
“I got pictures of Lawrence Whippy engaged in sex with a man. I bet his family will pay plenty to keep them from seeing the light of day.”
I got to give him credit. Unlike Ernie, he didn’t immediately call me crazy. He just looked at me a second, then asked, “How do we go about it?”
We—it was music to my ears.
“According to Whippy, Tamara had family in Atlanta, right?”
He nodded his head.
“Her parents are dead, but she has an older brother there. Name of Ron Wheaton. Tamara and he hadn’t spoken to each other for over ten years. He has a bit of a drinking problem. Last she heard he was working as a real estate agent.”
Real estate agent! I was leading a charmed life. A real estate agent has the morals of a lawyer but not half as slick. And a drunken one at that! He was perfect for my plan.
I looked at Milton and smiled. And by then, that damn shyster was smiling back at me.
He understood.
“50/50?” he said.
“Fine, but a straight, flat cut. No lawyer fees or other bullshit,” I shot back.
He nodded in assent.
“You got his phone number?” I asked.
“No, but I can get it easily enough. I’ll call you when the deal is finalized.”
I snorted, “No way. I’m going to stick with you until this thing is set up, and then you’re going to accompany me to the Gaston County Sheriff’s Department as my attorney.”
He started to protest, but I raised my hand to stop him.
“Non-negotiable. I don’t trust you, at least not yet. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you out of my story. And by the way, either Ernie or myself will sit in on any meetings that you have with the Whippys or their lawyers. Is that clear?”
He shrugged and said okay. Now that he knew his chestnuts were out of the fire, he was starting to act like his old, smug self. He buzzed for Miss Saunders and got to work.
Scrambled Hard-Boiled Page 17