Single Jeopardy (15 page)

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Back on the 3900 dock, things are getting interesting. Rita is stopping by every week, and now that the kid is living in the forward stateroom, I tell Rita that it wouldn’t be proper for her to stay over when the doc isn’t around. It hurts me to do that, but at least now I have a credible excuse to avoid getting caught and killed.

During the day there are a series of visits to the boat by a team of plain-clothes detectives. They never show me a badge, but they must be police, because no one in the Marina still wears polyester. I’m never told anything. After getting permission to come aboard, they go straight to the forward stateroom, pet the giant guard-dog and enter the little princess’ domain. In a little while they usually leave with a printout of some sort. To my surprise, Jack the mail clerk came to the boat a couple of times to pick up investigation assignments. He never told me what they were about. I get the feeling that I’m becoming irrelevant around here.

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The newspapers and local television can’t seem to get enough of my ex-wife. She’s good to look at, sounds good, and an obvious love affair immediately springs up between her and any news camera within fifty feet. The district attorney’s office has two Asian gang suspects in custody for the parking lot murder, and there are sound bites galore in the prosecutor’s usual campaign to poison the prospective jury pool. By the time this case goes to trial, the district attorney wants everyone in the county to already believe these guys are guilty.

Television isn’t all that she has working for her. As expected, the exchange of letters starts.

Dear Mr. Sharp:

This office has been retained to represent your former spouse, Ms. Myra Scot. She claims you have knowingly and intentionally perpetrated a fraud by inducing her to waive certain spousal rights in exchange for worthless consideration, namely a fire-destroyed, vessel.

It is the intention of this office to pursue these charges against you in the State Bar Court and with the criminal authorities, if you insist on perpetuating this fraud by your failure to voluntarily rescind her agreement and re-instate your original marital settlement terms, by allowing her to share in some portion of your income.

We understand that you have recently been involved in several lucrative matters and should have no difficulty in doing the right thing.

Very truly yours, Daniel Vincent, Esq.

Not a bad opening. His syntax could use a little work, but I get the message. They obviously know about the wrongful death cases and assume that I took a normal fee. Good. Responding too quickly is like calling back the girl you took out last night, the very first thing the next morning. You shouldn’t want to seem too eager. The proper etiquette is to make them wait at least a week for your response. That gives the client some time to call her lawyer and pester the hell out of him twice a day with the same question “well, did you hear anything? No? Well what are you going to do about it? Just let him get away with it?” This will bug the lawyer to no end, and possibly lower his aggression level towards the adversary - who he will then look to for a response, if for no reason other than to get his own client off of his back. I think I’ll do him a favor by sending a response in four days instead of five.

Stuart has been coming around recently and. he looks paler and slimmer each time I see him, so I finally get up the nerve to ask him about his health. Our office has already gotten his asbestosis case rolling, and as a friend, I want him to be around at least as long as it takes to conclude it. To my relief, he claims to be feeling great and credits his weight loss to a product that he’s distributing.

Stuart loves multi-level marketing. That’s where each person you sell is encouraged to find other people he can sell to, and then each one of them is supposed to sell to several people, establishing an ever-expanding base of customers who are also distributors. The only problem with this ‘pyramid’ type of organization is that it grows geometrically so that in a short period of time there are no more available customers. A good example of that type of progression is the old story of a man who does a tremendous favor for a rich person. When asked what reward he would like, the poor man replies “nothing much, just give me a penny the first day and double it every day for a month.” This doesn’t sound like much to the rich man, so he agrees. If you do the arithmetic, you’ll see that by the end of the month, the rich man is probably no longer rich, because the amount due on the 30
^th
day of that month would be $5,368,708.80, and the total amount paid during the month, over ten and a half million dollars.

In a pyramid scheme the numbers multiply in much the same way, but only the first few involved ever wind up reaping the rewards. All that those ‘downline’ of them ever wind up holding is ‘the bag,’ and a lot of unsold inventory. Stuart claims that this time it’s different, because the product really works, and he’s living proof of it. He gives me a bottle to try. The instructions are simple enough: all you do is take one spoonful each night after dinner and then not have anything more to eat or drink for at least three hours before going to sleep. I try it, but taking one teaspoonful of that god-awful stuff the first night makes me gag, so I give it up. I do like the idea that you’re to take the teaspoon each evening after dinner, and then not have anything else to eat or drink before going to bed.

Aside from the gag-inducing aspect of the product, the plan looks like a decent one, so I try it, but without taking the teaspoon of snake oil Stuart is selling. The most interesting part of the program is that it denies you the late nite snacking that so many of us do. After a month of having my dinner by seven P.M. and not having any snack between then and bedtime is starting to have some results. I lost almost four pounds the first month, and another four the next month.

Stuart notices my success, but doesn’t believe that I haven’t been using the product until I give him the unused bottle back. We both agree: what’s the difference? If the customers need the incentive of spending money and following a program that works, their weight loss is all that counts. And if they can incorporate the no-snacking routine into their permanent life-style, then they can probably keep the weight off forever, so there’s no harm done. Even though the product might make you gag, people are losing weight and Stuart is making money – and those are both good things.

Everything is finally going Stuart’s way, and it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.

*****

Chapter
12

The defense firm that was hired to represent the government and its asbestos suppliers are now considering offering just one mass settlement, so they start to make demands for illness documentation from all claimants. Part of any big defense firm’s strategy is to make you jump through a series of hoops that they hold up. This also gives them a chance to pretend to go over the documentation you provide so they can increase their billable hours. When I ask Stuart what doctor diagnosed him, he hems and haws for a while. After pinning him down, he confesses that he went to some holistic medical provider with a storefront office in the Valley. We can’t find this person listed in the phone book, so I send Jack Bibberman out there to check it out. His result confirms my thoughts about Stuart’s practices. The guy who diagnosed his death-threatening disease isn’t exactly a medical doctor. He isn’t even exactly a chiropractor. He isn’t a doctor of any kind. He’s a faith healer.

I’ve never made an attempt at stand-up comedy, unless you count my first few court appearances, but I’m pretty sure that if I try to settle Stuart’s case with a hand-scribbled report from a faith healer, I’ll get more laughs than Robin Williams’ two-hour HBO special. But what the hell, I’ve got nothing to lose, so I might as well give it a try. “Stuart, does your witch Doctor have a typewriter? It’s going to be tough enough to sell his report as it is, so please try to get him to at least type it.” Stuart promises me he’ll make sure that one way or the other the report will be in a presentable form, even if he has to re-do it himself. I don’t really want to hear that, but at this point it probably won’t make much difference.

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With all the things going on in my life recently I don’t have much time to think about it, but I realize that I really miss Rita, and that’s not a good thing. She’s with the doc and the doc’s a killer. This is a similar situation to the classic one Jack Benny found himself in when a robber said “your money or your life.” After a pause that seemed to last for an eternity, Jack, the ultimate stingy persona, came back with “I’m thinking it over.” In my case, it’s like the doc is saying to me: “your girlfriend or your life.”

Rita isn’t the only female on my mind. I waited the standard four or five days and sent a letter to Myra’s lawyer, but haven’t heard back from him yet. I can only assume that the long delay in getting back to me is caused by her being so busy trying to build a case against the wrong people in that Chinese parking lot murder.

To refresh my memory and see if I said anything that can back to bite me in the rear, I get out a copy of the letter sent to Myra’s lawyer and check it over.

Dear Mr. Vincent:

The vessel your client received was damaged due to matters entirely beyond my knowledge and control and I regret her disappointment, but she specifically acknowledged that she was accepting that consideration on an as-is, where-is” basis, so I feel that she should stick with her bargain.

A copy of her previous attorney’s agreement is enclosed, confirming that basis of the transfer.

The lucrative matters you refer to are therefore beyond the scope of any previous agreement, and I will vigorously defend my right to retain any and all fees received from their successful conclusions.

Due to the fact that your client was gainfully employed during my period of suspension, there is a possible liability on her part for retroactive spousal support during my temporary loss of income. We can discuss that at the appropriate time.

Very truly yours, Peter Sharp, Esq.

My veiled threat to seek alimony is total bunk and specifically intended to put her in a defensive mode and take her mind off of attacking me. It acts much like a person complaining about a headache and getting hit in the shin. The shin pain takes their mind off of the headache. Also, dangling my legal fees on the two wrongful death actions out of her reach is like teasing a dog by holding a bit of its favorite food up in the air and making it jump up and down trying to get at it. The hook has been baited, so now I’ll just wait to see what their next move is.

Under the category of ‘doing your homework,’ I send Jack Bibberman to the courthouse to get some conformed copies of the settlement agreements showing my fees. I always wanted to live out one of my favorite cartoons. And now I’m the
RoadRunner,
and she’s
Wylie
Coyote.

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Things on the dock are going on as usual, with nothing much new happening. I still haven’t seen George C., but I do happen to bump into the doc, and we chat for a while. He also had Don Paige install one of those wireless Internet antennas on his boat, and now he’s boasting about how good the deal was. He also mentions that he’ll be flying out of town for a few days to attend a funeral. Being the good neighbor that I am, I promise to watch his boat while he’s gone.

It was inevitable. Doc leaves town and Rita shows up. I’m glad to see her, but at the same time I’m afraid of what I know will probably happen with the doc out of town and Rita staying on his boat all alone. And it does happen. Doc’s forty-two foot Californian trawler has a nice feature: the aft stateroom opens to a small fishing deck at the stern, so that by leaving the back door open you can look out and see the stars from the queen-sized bed, if you aren’t otherwise too busy.

It‘s a lovely evening, and in between serious bouts of intimacy we lie there gazing out at the stars.

The doc’s Lexus SUV is a beautiful vehicle, but not the easiest to park in the cramped outdoor spaces reserved for the boat tenants, especially after you’ve had a few ‘for the road.’ Doc decided to come back a day early, and at this particular instant in time, both he and I are wrestling to get into better positions, and each one of us is also making several attempts at trying to fit something into its proper place. It will only be another couple of minutes before he finishes backing his vehicle into place and walking down to the boat. After a long drive, he’s probably worn out and surely will head directly for his bed, which unbeknownst to him, is presently occupied.

Neither Rita nor I have any idea that doc returned earlier than planned and was up there on the small access road trying to park his car. Suddenly there’s a strange sound on the boat and we both freeze as we hear what sounds like footsteps on the deck, and a slight rocking movement. Someone heavy has just come aboard. This is definitely not good. A large form appears on the aft fishing deck, looks in at us from the open back door and growls menacingly. My life flashes before my eyes. All I can see is a large silhouette, but can’t make it out. After a second of stark fear, I realize that it’s not doc, it’s Suzi’s huge Saint Bernard!

Seeing the big dog sends shivers down my spine. I’m not of afraid of it, I just don’t know what the hell it’s doing here. Rita immediately gets the idea that something might be wrong with Suzi, so at her request, I put my boat shorts on, jump off the boat’s stern and follow the dog back to the Grand Banks. While entering the wheelhouse of my boat I see a figure walking down the gangplank toward the boats. Because of the darkness I can’t make out the face, but as it gets closer, I see that it’s the doc walking towards his boat. From that day on, I’ll be looking at the dog in a different way. I have a sneaking suspicion how and why he got to me on doc’s boat, but I’ll probably never really know for sure.