The Rooster Bar (19 page)

L
ate on a Saturday morning, Todd woke up in the bed of Hadley Caviness, for the second night in a row, and realized she was missing. He rubbed his eyes, tried to remember how much he'd drunk, and decided it wasn't much at all. He felt great and enjoyed the extra hour of sleep. She returned, in nothing but a large T-shirt, with two cups of coffee. They propped up pillows and sat in the darkness.

There was movement in the next room, a rattling sound as if a bed was shaking. Then the muted groans of pleasure.

“Who's that?” he whispered.

“My roommate. She came in late last night.”

“Who's her buddy?”

“Don't know. Probably just some random guy.”

“So she's into the random stuff as well?”

“Oh yes. We're sort of having a contest. A numbers game.”

“I like it. Do you count me once or twice?”

Hadley took a sip of coffee, and they listened as things intensified. “I get one point for you, one for your partner.”

“Oh, so Mark's been here?”

“Nice try. I saw you guys talking in court the other day while you looked me over. I could almost read your lips. Sure enough, you walked in the next day all smiles.”

“I confess. Mark said you're great in bed.”

“Is that all?”

“Great body, very aggressive. Now I know why. You and your roomie are keeping score.”

“We're both twenty-six years old, single with no desire to try the monogamy thing, and we're free and loose in a city with about a million young professional men. It's become a sport.” The male partner reached the summit as the floor shook, then the bed stopped rattling.

“That was too fast,” Hadley said. Todd cracked up and said, “So you compare notes?”

“Absolutely. We have a ball debriefing, especially after she's been out of town all week and sleeping with all kinds of men.”

“I don't want to know my scouting report.”

“I have an idea. There's a bagel shop just around the corner. Let's get out of here and find something to eat. I have far better taste in men than she does and I really don't want to meet her latest stranger.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Let's go.”

They dressed quickly and eased out of her apartment without confronting the other pair. The bagel shop was packed with the weekend crowd. They found a table by the door and wedged themselves into the chairs. As they crunched on toasted bagels, Todd said, “You know, you're too cute to be sleeping with half the town.”

She looked around. “Not so loud, okay?”

“I'm practically whispering.”

“What, you want to settle down and get married or something?”

“Not quite ready for that. It just seems odd that a knockout like you is so into the random game.”

“That's chauvinistic. It's okay for you to hook up every night, but if a cute girl does it then she's nothing but a slut.”

“I didn't call you a slut.”

A guy at the next table glanced over. Hadley took a sip of coffee and said, “Let's talk about something else. I'm intrigued by your little law firm. I've met you and Mark Upshaw. Who is Zola Parker?”

“A friend.”

“Okay. Does she hustle the criminal courts like you and Mark?”

“Oh no. She does personal injury.” Todd kept his answers short and wanted to change the topic.

“Does she have a license to practice law?”

Todd chewed on his bagel and studied her beautiful eyes. “Of course.”

“Well, I got curious and checked with the Bar Council. Seems they haven't heard of you, Mark, or Ms. Parker. You guys need to sign up. And the bar numbers you're using are not in their data bank.”

“Their records are notoriously sloppy.”

“Oh really. Never heard that.”

“Why are you so curious?”

“My nature. You say you went to law school at Cincinnati. Mark studied at Delaware. I checked with both schools and they've never heard of you. Zola claims to have a law degree from Rutgers but somehow she slipped through the cracks of their alumni association.” Hadley was talking with a nasty, know-it-all smile.

Todd managed to eat with an unconcerned air. “You are quite the stalker, aren't you?”

“Not really. It's none of my business. Just seems odd.”

Todd smiled while at the same time wanting to slap the smile off her face. “Well, we're hiring if you ever get tired of the prosecutor's routine.”

“I'm not sure we'd get much work done around the office. You do have an office, don't you? I know you have an address, but anybody can claim a street number.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Nothing. Just curious.”

“Have you shared your curiosity with anyone else?”

“No. I doubt if anyone else has noticed. You've picked the perfect place to practice, with or without a license. It's a zoo and no one cares. However, just a bit of advice, I'd stay away from old Witherspoon in Division 7. He's nosier than most judges.”

“Thanks. Anyone else to avoid?”

“Not really. Just don't avoid me. Now that I'm onto your little scam, I'll help when I can.”

“You're a doll.”

“That's what they all say.”

MARK WAS SERVING
drinks at The Rooster Bar when Todd rolled in at noon. Todd punched the clock, put on his official red apron, and filled a few mugs. At the first opportunity, he pulled his partner aside and said, “Houston, we have a problem.”

“Only one?”

“I was with Miss Hadley again last night.”

“You dog. I was out looking for her.”

“I found her first. Had a little chat this morning over breakfast. She's onto our scam, knows we're not licensed, checked with the Bar Council. She knows where we didn't go to law school.”

“Damn it.”

“My first reaction too. However, she might be cool, says she hasn't told anyone and likes to keep secrets. Even offered to help when possible.”

“What does she want?”

“More of the same, I think. She and her roommate are really into the random hookup game. It's all about numbers.”

Mark managed a laugh, but it wasn't because of anything humorous. “Wonder if they're busy tonight.”

“I'll bet they are, with someone else.”

Mark said, “Shit!” and walked away to take an order. Todd was drying beer mugs when he brushed by and said, “This feels like the beginning of the end.”

LATE SUNDAY NIGHT,
Ramon Taper was arrested for driving under the influence. He was taken to Central Jail, where he spent the night in the drunk tank. Monday morning, his girlfriend arrived to check on him. As she waited, she met one Darrell Cromley, a friendly lawyer who seemed right at home in the waiting room at Central. In short order, Cromley arranged for Ramon to be released on a recognition bond. Outside the jail, as Darrell was going through his standard routine of explaining what was next, Ramon said, “Say, man, I got a lawyer but he's trying to dodge me.”

“A lawyer for what?” Darrell said, pouncing.

“I got a big case down in Virginia, medical malpractice. My little baby died at the hospital a couple of years back and I hired this crook named Mark Upshaw. Ever hear of him?”

“No, but there's a lot of lawyers around here you can't trust.”

“He ain't much, I tell you. I need to fire him but I can't find him. You do medical malpractice?”

“It's one of my specialties. Tell me about the case.”

T
wo days later, Mark was sitting in the courtroom of the Honorable Fiona Dalrymple, waiting for a client who would plead guilty to shoplifting. As usual, he pretended to review an important document while watching the lawyers come and go as their cases were called. It was a zoo all right, with the monkeys firmly in control. Some of the faces were familiar, others he'd never seen before, and once again he marveled at the number of lawyers it took to keep the wheels of justice churning along. A blast from the past appeared in a hideous suit and scanned the courtroom, the way all lawyers did when they wanted to be seen. He walked through the bar, chatted with an assistant prosecutor who looked around, saw Mark, and nodded.

Darrell Cromley walked over and sat down next to Mark. He thrust over a business card and said softly, “I'm Darrell Cromley, and you're Mark Upshaw, right?”

We've met before, Mark thought, and this cannot be good. “That's right.”

“I've been hired by Ramon Taper. Let's step outside and talk.”

Mark glanced at his business card. Darrell Cromley, Personal Injury. He specifically remembered that his other card was for Darrell Cromley, DUI Specialist. Darrell must be a man of many talents.

In the hallway, Darrell was all business as he delivered the dreaded news. “My firm has been hired by Mr. Taper, who had the misfortune of getting picked up while driving under the influence.”

So that's the connection. Cromley froze and looked at Mark closely. “Have we met before? You sure look familiar.”

“Haven't had the pleasure. There are a lot of lawyers around here.”

“I guess so,” Darrell said, still not convinced. He whipped out some paperwork from his battered briefcase and handed it to Mark. “Here's a copy of our contract with Mr. Taper, along with a letter from him terminating your representation. We've spent the last two days investigating his med mal case down in Virginia, and it seems as though the statute of limitations has expired. You're aware of that, right?”

“Sure. We looked at the case and had it reviewed by a doctor. He said there's no negligence. It's a dead end.” Mark felt a slight weakness in his knees as his heart pounded away.

“Well, it's certainly dead now that the statute has run. Did you guys file a quickie lawsuit to toll the statute?”

“Of course not. There's no liability. A lawsuit is a waste of time.”

Darrell shook his head, frustrated, as if he were dealing with an idiot. Mark wanted to hit him but thought better of it. A veteran street hustler like Cromley was probably a pretty fair brawler himself.

“We'll see about that,” Cromley said like a real tough guy. “First, I want the medical records. I'll have them reviewed by a real expert, and if there's even a hint of liability, then your goose is cooked, pal.”

“It's a dead end, Darrell.”

“If I were you, I'd put my errors-and-omissions carrier on notice.”

“So you'd sue another lawyer?”

“Damned right, if the facts are there. I've done it before and I'll do it again.”

“I'm sure you would.”

“Send the records over, okay?”

At that moment, a frightened young woman approached them and asked, “Say, are you guys lawyers?”

Mark was too paralyzed to speak. Darrell, though, was quick on the draw. With his frown, he said, “Sure, what's the problem?”

Mark backed away and left them to their business.

AT THE ROOSTER BAR,
the partners huddled in a booth, as far away as possible from the late afternoon crowd. Mark had just finished his Cromley story and they were deflated. Zola asked, “So what happens next?”

Mark said, “Let's assume the worst. The likeliest scenario is that Cromley looks at the medical records, which I can delay for a few days but he's not going away, and then he has them reviewed by another expert. If liability is as clear as Koonce says it is, Cromley will know before long that Ramon and his ex-wife had a damned good case. Since he can't sue the doctors and the hospital, he'll have no one to come after but us. So he'll file a $10 million lawsuit against our little firm and then the fix is in. At some point, and we can't predict exactly when, we'll be exposed. He'll check with the Bar Council and learn the truth. The Bar Council will then notify the courts and start an investigation. Our names are on dozens of court orders, so it won't take long to piece things together.”

“And this will be a criminal investigation?” Zola said.

“Yes, we knew when we started that unauthorized practice is a crime. Not a serious one, but a crime nonetheless.”

“But a felony, as opposed to a misdemeanor.”

“A felony.”

Todd said, “There's something else, Zola. We were going to tell you but just didn't get the chance.”

She said, “Can't wait. Let's hear it.”

Mark and Todd exchanged looks, and Todd began, “Well, there's this cute little prosecutor in Division 10, name of Hadley Caviness. Mark met her in a bar a few weeks back and they hooked up. Evidently, she hooks up a lot and likes variety. I met her in court one day, one thing led to another, and we had some fun. Twice. Over a bagel the morning after she lets me know that she's onto our little fake firm. She says she's cool, thinks it's funny, likes to keep secrets, and so on, but in this business you can't trust anyone.”

“Especially fake lawyers,” Zola said. “I thought we agreed to limit our contact with others.”

“I tried,” Mark said.

“She's very cute,” Todd added.

“Why haven't you told me before now?”

“It just happened last weekend,” Mark said. “We think she's harmless.”

“Harmless?” Zola said, rolling her eyes. “So, we have cute little Hadley to think about and Darrell Cromley to actually worry about.”

“And don't forget Mossberg down in Charleston,” Mark said. “He's an ass and he'd love nothing more than to burn us.”

“Brilliant,” she said. “After three months in business, Upshaw, Parker & Lane is going under.” She took a sip of her soft drink and looked around the bar. Nothing was said for a long time as the three licked their wounds and pondered their next moves. Finally, she said, “Signing up the med mal case was a bad move, wasn't it? We had no idea what to do with it, and we really screwed it up. A disaster for us, but think about Ramon and his ex-wife. They get nothing because of us.”

“They sat on the case for two years, Zola,” Mark said.

Todd said, “We can rehash this forever and get nowhere. We need to focus on tomorrow.”

Another long gap in the conversation. Todd walked to the bar, got two more beers, and returned with them to the table. He said, “Think about this. When Cromley sues us for legal malpractice, the named defendants will be Todd Lane, Mark Upshaw, and Zola Parker. Three people who do not exist. How can he discover our true identities?”

Zola said, “And we're assuming cute little Hadley does not know our real names either, right?”

“Of course not,” Mark said.

“And Mossberg?”

“He has no clue.”

“So, we have to either hide or run,” she said.

“We're already hiding,” Todd said. “But they'll find us. Hell, if Ramon can get this close, I'm sure professional investigators can track us down. Our address is on at least a million of those business cards we've been throwing at people.”

“Nothing will happen fast,” Mark said. “It'll take Cromley a month or so to file a lawsuit. We'll know when he does because we'll be watching the dockets. Then he'll realize he's sued some people who don't exist, and that'll screw him up for even longer. The Bar Council will chase its tail looking for three phantom lawyers.”

Todd said, “I guess we need to stay away from the criminal courts.”

“Oh, yes. Those days are over. No more hustling the poor and oppressed.”

“What about our pending cases? We can't just drop these people.”

Mark said, “That's exactly what we'll do. We can't close these cases because we can't risk going back to court. Again, those days are over. Starting now, don't take any phone calls from a client or anyone else for that matter. Let's use prepaid cell phones to keep in touch and ignore all other calls.”

Zola said, “I'm already carrying two phones. Now a third?”

“Yes, and we have to monitor all of them to see who's looking for us,” Mark said.

“And my days as a hospital vulture are over?” she asked and managed a smile.

“Afraid so.”

“You weren't very good at it,” Todd said.

“Thanks. I hated every minute of it.”

A manager walked over and said, “Hey, Todd, you're on tonight. We're shorthanded and need you now.”

“Be there in a sec,” Todd said and waved the guy off. When he was gone, Todd asked, “So, gang, what's next?”

“We go after Swift Bank,” Mark said.

“And dig a deeper hole,” Zola replied, but it was not a question.

MORGANA NASH AT
NowAssist sent Mark an e-mail that read,

Dear Mark: I have just been informed by the administration at Foggy Bottom Law School that you have been placed on withdrawal status. I called the law school and was informed that you have not been to class this semester. This is very troubling. Please contact me immediately.

Last installment Jan. 13, 2014: $32,500; total principal/interest: $266,000.

Sincerely, Morgana Nash, Public Sector Representative

Late that night, and after several more beers, Mark responded,

Dear Ms. Nash: Last week my therapist had me admitted to a private psychiatric hospital in rural Maryland. I'm not supposed to use the Internet but these clowns around here are not too sharp. Would you please stop hounding me? According to one shrink here I'm borderline suicidal. A bit more abuse from you and I could go over the edge. Please, please, leave me alone!!

Love, Mark Frazier

Rex Wagner of Scholar Support Partners e-mailed Todd:

Dear Mr. Lucero: I have been informed by your law school that you are now officially considered “Withdrawn.” I called the law school and was told that you have not attended a single class this semester, your last before graduation. Why would any sane student drop out of law school during his last semester? If you are not in school I can only assume you are working somewhere, probably in a bar. Employment of any nature while not enrolled in school triggers either the need for a repayment plan or, in the absence of one, default. Default, as I'm sure you know, means a lawsuit filed against you by the Department of Education. Please contact me immediately.

Last installment: $32,500, Jan. 13, 2014; total due: $195,000

Sincerely, Rex Wagner, Senior Loan Counselor

While Mark was typing his response to Morgana Nash, Todd fired off one to his loan counselor.

Dear SS Counselor Wagner: You hit the nail on the head with that sanity question. Nothing is sane about my world these days, most especially my insurmountable debts. Okay, the fix is in. Jig's up. I dropped out because I hate the law school, hate the law, etc. I'm currently earning about $200 a week, cash, tending bar. So let's say that's $800 a month, tax-free because I haven't filled out those forms yet. To maintain my impoverished lifestyle, I need about $500 a month for food, rent, things like that. And you should see where I'm living and what I'm eating. Analyzing these figures, I suppose I could agree to a repayment plan of something like $200 a month, beginning in six months. I know you'll hit the “Interest” button as soon as possible and kick in the 5 percent per annum. Five percent of $195,000 is about $9,750 a year. Let's just round it to $10,000 in interest. Under my proposed repayment scheme, I can swing about a fourth of that each year. You loan sharks will then add the interest in arrears to the ballooning principal, and hit that with another 5 percent per year. The math gets a bit bewildering, but my spreadsheet says that in ten years I will owe almost $400,000. And this does not include all the little secret fees and add-ons and other illegalities that SSP has been caught padding onto the student loans it handles. (I've read the lawsuits and, boy, would I love to file one myself. You and your company should be ashamed—piling hidden fees onto the backs of students already drowning in debt.)

So, are you willing to accept my offer of $200 a month? Beginning in six months, of course.

Your pal, Todd Lucero

Evidently, Mr. Wagner was working late, or, as Todd imagined, was sitting in his recliner, in nothing but his boxers, watching porn and monitoring his e-mails. Within minutes he replied,

Dear Todd: The answer is no. Your offer is ridiculous. I find it hard to believe that a person as clever as you will spend the next ten years mixing drinks. There are plenty of good jobs out there, law related and otherwise, and if you'll get off your butt you can find one. Then we can have a serious conversation about repayment.

Sincerely, Rex Wagner, Senior Loan Counselor

To which Todd immediately replied,

Dear SS: Great. I withdraw my offer. T.L.

Zola's correspondence was slightly more professional. Tildy Carver at LoanAid wrote,

Dear Zola Maal: I have been informed that you have withdrawn from law school. Such a dramatic action presents several issues and we must discuss them at once. Please call or e-mail me as soon as possible.

Tildy Carver, Senior Loan Adviser

Last installment, January 13, 2014: $32,500; total principal and interest: $191,000

Zola was almost asleep. She responded,

Dear Ms. Carver: After the suicide of my friend in January, I found it impossible to continue with my studies. So I decided to take a gap semester instead, with the possible plan of resuming law school in a year or so. I will contact you later.

Sincerely, Zola Maal