by Reason of Sanity

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously or with permission. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or any events is entirely coincidental.

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author. For written permission, contact: Magic Lamp Press, P.O. Box 9547, Marina del Rey, CA 90295.

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here’s nothing worse than a reformed smoker. I know, because I’m one. I can smell something being smoked from a car pulling up next to me in
traffic with its windows open. I can smell it from
someone walking upwind of me a half block away.
I’m insulted by the fact that some schmuck is
polluting my air.
So here I am at thirty thousand feet above the
Pacific Ocean, flying back from Maui, and the fat
guy sitting next to me must have smoked two packs
before boarding time. It’s a good thing there’s no
smoke detector above us because his entire huge
body and clothing reek of smoke. Every time he
coughs, some smoke comes out of his liver-lipped
mouth. He’s been sleeping for the past two hours…
probably tired from all that suction.
Sitting next to this guy reminds me of a long
time ago, when I was going to Chicago’s Roosevelt
University days, and working nights playing piano
downtown on Rush Street. After working from nine
in the evening to three in the morning in a smokefilled saloon, I would return to my parents’ second
floor north Kedzie Ave. apartment, where by my
mother’s orders, I’d get undressed in the hallway and
leave my smoke-drenched suit hanging on the
banister.
But other than the odors getting to me on this flight back, this vacation was a success.
With all of the book-time spent under Lahaina’s Banyan tree, in my hotel room at the Pioneer Inn and on the flights both ways, I’ve been able to catch up on my reading with one by Robert K. Tannenbaum, one by John Lescroart, two by William Bernhardt and then John Grisham’s
The Summons,
which I think he probably phoned in. Reading books by these burnt out lawyers gives me an idea: if reformed hackers can get hired by the government as computer specialists and reformed burglars can get jobs as security experts, why can’t a reformed personal injury lawyer become a defense attorney? I’ve certainly got the credentials. In the past year alone I settled a huge asbestosis case with nothing more than a faith healer’s report… and there was the two million life insurance settlement I got for that doctor who was accused of murdering his wife. I also successfully defended my friend Stuart when a lady using his weight-loss formula sued him claiming it turned her into a nymphomaniac.
Following up on that possibility, our office sent out some inquiry letters to a couple of insurance companies I bagged last year to see if there’re any hard feelings. Knowing those corporate types, they don’t have feelings. To them, all that counts is the bottom line. If Hitler came back as a winning defense lawyer, he’d be on their payroll.
When checking in from Maui, I was told that one of the insurance company’s defense firms might have an assignment for me.
As promised, Stuart picks me up at the flight arrival area and I get in his car, only to be bawled out during the entire ride to the Marina. He doesn’t let up, obviously having heard I was thinking of changing sides. “How can you do this? You’re not one of those insurance defense guys who wanna cheat injured people out of a fair settlement. Those guys ruin the lives of people who’re really hurt.” “You mean like you were with that faith healer’s diagnosis of fatal mesothelioma? And if I remember correctly, you didn’t complain when I acted as defense attorney for you with that crazy broad who sued you for negligent nymphomania, as a result of taking that weight-loss snake oil you sell. That saved your ass and made you even richer so what’s the beef?” I had him there.
“Listen Stu, I know how you feel, but if you stop to think about it, a fair defense lawyer can do more good than a plaintiff’s lawyer.”
“Yeah, sure. You gonna just give away your client’s money?”
“No, I wouldn’t do that, but if a person really is entitled to a fair settlement I can advise my client to pay it, instead of helping them interpret their policy provisions into some perverted reason not to pay.”
The discussion comes to a temporary conclusion as we pull up to the C-4200 dock, where the forty-two foot Californian motor yacht I live on is docked. This isn’t exactly my dreamboat, but it’ll have to do until the fifty-foot Grand Banks I covet becomes affordable. We’re on the same dock as George Clooney’s mega yacht and I still have some hope of bumping into him and starting a friendship. Nothing’s changed while I was gone. Being close to dusk, the electric cart driven by Suzi, an adorable little Chinese girl that I inherited, is parked in its spot near the boats. That means that she and her huge Saint Bernard are on the boat waiting for me, hopefully with a gourmet meal – and some word about new clients.
Suzi runs my life as well as the practice, but she hardly ever talks to me. I still haven’t figured out why, but in the last year, about the only time she addressed me was to bawl me out for getting arrested. I didn’t mind that conversation because it was just after she bailed me out. Fortunately, my doctor client and I beat that bad rap, ergo the boat we’re now living on… it used to be his.
Suzi’s a star at the Chinese restaurant around the corner where her late mother used to work, and where the food comes from many evenings. It gets delivered by the ‘Asian boys,’ a polite group of four young men who do everything from bus the restaurant tables at night, to cleaning and varnishing the boats on our dock during the day.

I still can’t believe how smooth it’s been going for the past few months. The kid’s really been through a lot. Her mother died in a car crash when she was only three, leaving her to live with her stepfather, my old law school chum Melvin Braunstein. When she finally got used to that situation, Melvin perished in a plane crash while vacationing in Thailand - and now she’s stuck on a boat in the Marina living with me, her legal guardian. Living on a boat some day used to be my dream when I was a kid, so maybe she’ll learn to appreciate the lifestyle too. I certainly hope so, because until she’s eighteen or goes away to school, this is it.

In addition to her office routine, she also volunteers at the local hospital. They have a children’s ward there, so Suzi brings her Saint Bernard in once a week to visit the children.

Her computer skills are top-notch, she runs our law practice, and has two one hundred eighty pound animals to boss around… the Saint Bernard and me.