One Dead Lawyer (8 page)

Authors: Tony Lindsay

BOOK: One Dead Lawyer

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Chapter Eight

My office of five years was located on the corner of Eighty-seventh and Throop Street. When I first moved in, only a dentist occupied the whole building. The second floor was all storage. Three months ago, following Carol's advice, we bought the building. Within two months, she'd cleaned out, spruced up and rented the whole second floor.

We are now landlords to three rent-paying businesses, which covered the mortgage and left us with a hefty monthly profit. Carol sees her way to profit quickly. The woman counts money in her sleep, which is why I made her my partner.

When Daphne and I entered the office, we were greeted by the pleasant odor of tropical-blend potpourri. Carol had hidden a crock-pot half filled with simmering potpourri flakes, and it kept the office smelling fresh.

Carol walked up from the back of the office and met us with a smile and a nod. She was on the phone. In her right ear was the tiny headset she used to answer the phone.

She was dressed in her standard high-collared white lace blouse and a two-piece skirt suit. The rich purple color of the suit complemented her Hershey-brown skin.

Our office is divided in half. One half, I would say, is professionally chic. The other side, my area, needed a little work. Carol had her side flowing to a feng shuiâtype groove. She has a flat black tabletop desk, with no drawers and a slender black high-back leather chair that glided rather than rolled.

The office phone, fax and e-mail all are routed though her computer. Her computer screen is thinner than my 9 mm pistol. Everything on her side is aligned, from the plant in her corner to the rug under her thin desk. My side is a little different.

I started this business with a prayer, an unemployment check and a promise to pay my first month's rent. The first shopping I did was at the flea market. A guy there sold me an old-fashioned schoolteacher's desk made of pine, along with a tin wastebasket, a florescent desk lamp and a spring-cushioned high-back wicker office chair that rocked back and locked. My side ain't pretty, but it's comfortable.

After I paid to have the office phone lines installed and the lights cut on, it was ramen noodles and saltines for weeks. The desk served as a reminder of when things weren't prosperous and the sacrifice it took to get here. I have a tendency to forget how blessed I am and become ungrateful. My less-than-chic side of the office helps me keep it real.

After Carol disconnected from her call, I said, “Hey there, Ms. Carol Anne Cooper.”

“Hey there yourself, Mr. David Price.” Her thin, slanted eyes were smiling. Cat eyes, Ricky calls them. However, at that moment they reminded one more of kitten eyes, a happy kitten at that. Something had Carol delighted.

“Carol, this is Attorney Daphne Nelson. She has agreed to help with a situation that has developed.”

She extended her hand and a big smile to Daphne. “It's good to see you again! We met at the fall fashion show last weekend at the DuSable museum. Remember?”

“Oh, girl, yes, that was you!” Now both women were smiling like happy kittens. They hugged, giggled and damn near broke out in a cheer. “Oh, I haven't laughed at people like that since high school.”

My office is made up of two rooms and a hallway. The front area is the largest room, eighteen by sixteen feet. It's almost a perfect square. The women were standing in the middle of the square.

“The lady in the yellow, I swear I saw her two days later at the restaurant Nine, in that same chicken outfit.”

“Hush!”

“Mm, wearing it like Vera Wang christened it herself. She was just as Prada proud as she wanted to be in that knockoff.”

I had never heard Carol signifying on someone and wasn't aware that she frequented fashion shows. The women were leaning on each other shoulder to shoulder. They were close to the same height and complexion, with Carol being slightly shorter and darker. Ricky calls her a “Chocolate China Doll,” which usually gets him hissed at.

“Yesterday I received an invitation to a showing at Nordstrom. Interested?”

“Girl, I was confirming two seats as you and David were walking in. I was going to call my tired cousin and invite her, but I would much rather go with you. Meet you there three-thirty Sunday?”

“It's a date.”

“Don't be late.”

More giggles.

Carol was my first case after I got my license, and the first person to call in response to the ten thousand flyers Ricky and I distributed by hand. The flyers were Ricky's idea. Being that he had started up three successful businesses on his own, I valued Ricky's opinion. Besides, he paid to have them printed. Seventy percent of my first year's business came through those flyers.

Carol's call was in response to the flyers I'd passed out at the Jewel grocery store on Ninety-fourth and Ashland. When she called, she asked me was I serious and could I really protect her from someone trying to hurt her. Motivated by being broke, I told her I could protect her from Satan himself. She believed me.

Satan for her was Nicholas Baines, her abusive, unemployed and ignorant husband of three years. Carol wanted him out of her apartment and out of her life. Nicholas had beaten Carol into believing that if she called the police he would kill her.

When we actually met, Carol was under the misguided impression that my services were that of a hired killer. She wanted a contract on dude and didn't try to hide her disappointment when I explained what a security escort did.

Carol is maybe 105 pounds on her heavy days. Nicholas outweighed her by his ponytail; he couldn't have weighed more than 110 pounds. I went to her apartment, packed up his belongings and threw them and him out on the streets. I stayed with her for three days.

He came back once. I took off my belt and beat him, then slung him down two flights of stairs. He twisted his leg pretty bad on the bottom flight. I was going to help him up until Carol pushed past me with a cast-iron skillet in her hand. She went upside that man's head with a vengeance.

She broke his nose and his jaw. I had to restrain her so he could crawl out of the vestibule. I thought she had calmed herself, so I let her go. She broke out the front door, jumped in her daycare job's minivan and tried to run him down. If I had not jumped in front of him, she would have run him over.

After I stopped her from running him over I was convinced he was gone for good, so a brother went home. The next day I was watching the news and saw Carol and Nicholas on the screen. She'd run him down with the day care's minivan and backed over him twice, killing him. The police found the .380 pistol in his hand that he used to shoot three bullet holes through her windshield.

The police kept Carol for a week because of mixed reports from eyewitnesses. Some said he was running from her and firing back at the van. Others said he stood in front of the van and fired on her when she got in it. The majority of the witnesses said Nicholas was running for his life.

After getting to know Carol, I personally believe she saw him walking down her block, possibly heading to her place, and she ran him down. Once she saw he wasn't Satan on Earth, she wanted some of that ass.

In the end she was cleared of all charges. To pay for my services, she wrote me a checkâwhich bounced because the day care she was working for fired her due to the incident and ensuing bad press. She brought me a proposition that said, “Since I owe you and since you really do need some help, why don't I work here?”

Truthfully, it was guilt that initially made me say yes. I felt like it was my fault Nicholas returned, but hiring her turned out to be the best business decision I have ever made.

The two chatty women walked over and stood in front of Carol's desk. Daphne asked, “Is that your gold Benz parked on the side street?”

“Yes. You like?”

“Girl, I drive one just like it!”

“No!”

“I do. I do!”

“Girl, we are too much alike.”

“Stylish minds think on time!”

“Similar taste, don't wait.”

Then they both cut their eyes to me.

“Tall and thick,” Carol said, whispering with a little laugh.

What was wrong with Carol? She'd never made such a comment before, at least not to my knowledge. Why all of a sudden was she looking at me like she wanted to put a dollar in my briefs? We had a good working relationship with no hanky-panky or hints of hanky-panky.

“Long and thick is more like it,” Daphne said, barely audible.

“Pardon!” Carol was no longer giggling, nor was she whispering.

All laughter stopped, and the giggling, cheerful mood of the room changed. The women locked eyes and then they rolled them at each other. Each looked at me as if I was supposed to say something.

Just a few moments before they were all private with their stuff, now they wanted to involve me, but it wasn't happening. I acted like I didn't hear or see anything and left. I walked to the back of the office under the pretense of fixing espresso.

The back room is the smaller of the two rooms of my office. Ten by twelve, it's sort of the kitchen/ storeroom. We've got a sink, a microwave, a counter and an espresso machine. Walking to the back I heard Carol ask, “So where did you meet David?”

“I've known him for years. He was my neighbor in Harvey, and he was married to one of my best friends, Regina.”

“I see. Well what brings you to our office today?”

“David and I are working on something.”

“Really? Is it related to Epsilon Security Service?”

“He's helping me with my son.”

“Is he protecting your son?”

“Yes.”

“Great! I love new business. Please have a seat and I'll pull together the necessary papers.”

There was only one word to describe my actions: cowardly. I stayed in the back while they ironed out whatever was going on between them. I turned on the espresso machine so they would think I couldn't hear them talking, and it was noisy enough to stop either of them from calling me.

I had all intentions of telling Carol this case was to be a trade-out, involving only my time and limiting the use of Epsilon man-hours. I was expecting her to balk a little, but once I explained how my son was involved, I figured she'd go along. The change in her tone of voice told me a trade would be a problem. She wanted money from Daphne.

Last night, Daphne did agree to pay for my service. However, that was before her confession of “togetherness.” I could pull senior partner rank and demand a trade, but the price of that type of move wouldn't be paid for months. I have learned to pick my battles with Carol.

Standing there listening to the espresso machine gurgle, it occurred to me that Daphne would be collecting a fee as well, since I was her first client. After all, she needed billing hours. She'd pay me and I would pay her. With a workable solution in mind, I returned to the front.

“What, no espresso?” That was Carol, commenting on the fact that I came back empty-handed. She sat behind her desk, smiling, not the happy kitten smile of before, but a satisfied cat-that-ate-the-mouse smile. Atop the agreement papers on her desk was a pastel-colored check.

“Ms. Nelson has secured protection for one Stanley Nelson for seven days. She has informed me that you extended services last night and this morning. The contract starts today; last night's service will not be billed.”

The amount of the check indicated that Carol charged the higher of our two rates. We have the standard rate that's printed on all our marketing material and we have what I like to call our âhood' rate which is not printed anywhere. It's the rate for folks in a lot of need with only a little cash.

“Did Daphne inform you that she is the attorney representing me in a matter that developed last night?” I slid behind my monstrosity of a desk and looked across to the two very good-looking women. The dark brown skin colors with the purple and silver was striking. They kind of looked like models sitting over there, slim, petite models.

“No, we only spoke of Epsilon Security Service business. What occurred last night that caused you to need a lawyer?” Carol clicked the cap back on her own Mont Blanc ink pen, which I bought her for Christmas.

“Regina is planning to marry and wants her prospective husband to adopt Chester.”

“No! Why would she want that?” Carol asked honestly shocked.

“I'm not certain.”

“She's under Randolph's influence,” Daphne offered while sliding her checkbook inside her purse. Daphne crossed her legs and bobbed her foot.

“Randolph?”

“He's the white attorney she's thinking of marrying.”

“Do you mean white as in Caucasian?”

“Yes,” I answered.