The Wrong Lawyer
Authors: Donald W. Desaulniers
Tags: #Action, #Adventure, #Legal, #Thriller, #War, #Military, #Romance, #Mystery, #Suspense
THE WRONG LAWYER
Copyright 2014, Donald W. Desaulniers
All rights
reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopy, recording or any other, except for brief quotations, without the
prior permission of the author.
E-Book ISBN:
978-0-9937619-6-6
This is a work of
fiction. All characters, organizations, businesses and events are either a
product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
THE AUTHOR
Donald W.
Desaulniers is a retired lawyer from Belleville, Ontario, Canada, his beloved
hometown, where he operated his one-man law practice from 1973 until he retired
in 2009.
The author
graduated in 1968 with a B.A. (Majoring in Philosophy) from University of
Waterloo, and in 1971 received his LL.B. from University of Western Ontario Law
School. He was called to the legal bar in Ontario on March 23
rd
,
1973.
Still living in
the beautiful city of Belleville with his lovely wife, Jane and their cats, the
author has published 16 novels as E-Books on the Amazon website.
OTHER BOOKS
ABOUT LAWYERS BY THIS AUTHOR
LOVE SEDUCES A
FOOL
RICH LAWYER, POOR
PRIEST
BROKE, DISGRACED
AND ALONE (A ROMANCE)
THE LIPPY LAWYER’S
ROMANCE
TEMPTING THE GOOD
LAWYER
THE TWIN SHADOWS
A RETIRED LAWYER’S
DOOMED ROMANCE
FRUGAL LAWYER,
FLASHY LAWYER
FLASHY LAWYER
SLITHERS INTO THE OTHER REALM
ACTION BOOKS BY
THIS AUTHOR
TY WARD HITS
AMERICA
TY WARD’S HOLIDAY
FROM HELL
TY WARD’S NEXT WAR
DEADLY WITNESS
ESCAPE FROM
EVERYTHING
MARTY MARCOTTE’S
REVOLVING LIFE
NON-FICTION BY
THIS AUTHOR
WATCHING AMERICA
DECLINE
CHAPTER 4 (Instant Compatibility)
CHAPTER 6 (A Pleasant Surprise)
CHAPTER 7 (Two Happy Old Lawyers)
CHAPTER 10 (Coping With Rejection)
CHAPTER 13 (Intelligence Gone Berserk)
CHAPTER 15 (Planning My Escape)
CHAPTER 16 (The Hooker Solution)
CHAPTER 17 (Mandy the Arm Candy)
CHAPTER 19 (The Failed Burial)
CHAPTER 20 (Explanation and Release)
CHAPTER 21 (A Detour into Weirdsville)
CHAPTER 22 (More Dirty Tricks)
CHAPTER 24 (No One to Talk To)
CHAPTER 26 (Abhorrent Invasion of Privacy)
My name is Tom
Kennedy and I’m a retired attorney as is my best and only friend, Jim Corbett.
We had bickered like brothers for the past forty years.
Tonight was no
different.
“If I’d known that
I’d be spending this much time bored out of my mind and looking at your cheap
irritating mug, I’d never have sold my law practice,” Corbett moaned as he
poured another brandy into his expensive crystal goblet. “Retirement was
supposed to be the start of my golden carefree years, not some living Hell with
the likes of you stuck to my ass like an unwelcome hemorrhoid.”
“It serves you
right,” I retorted as I paused momentarily to drain the last drop of Old
Milwaukee beer from the can into my wide open mouth. “If you weren’t such a pompous
prick, I wouldn’t be the only guy in the world willing to tolerate your
continuous stream of bullshit.”
“That does it!
There’s no way I’m wasting another perfectly good Saturday night watching you pour
that cheap crap down your throat.”
With that
pronouncement, Corbett put down his snifter of expensive brandy, pulled himself
up from the recliner and marched into the lavish kitchen. A moment later he
returned clutching a newspaper and began rifling through it.
“Aha, I knew I’d
seen this ad. There’s a charity dance at one of the downtown hotels tonight.
Let’s get dressed up and check it out.”
“Are you nuts?
We’re retired attorneys, not a couple of horny university brats.”
“Come on, Tom, it
might be fun. We both need to get out more and meet new people. You can’t
honestly tell me that you’re happy with your life right now.”
“I suppose not.
When’s the last time you went to any dance?”
“Not since I was
married but then I’ve never been this desperate before,” Corbett replied.
“Well, don’t
expect me to know what they’re like. Are you sure the guys will be wearing
suits?”
“Of course they
will. Nothing impresses the ladies like the look of success.”
“You’ve already
had a snootful of brandy and I’ve polished off three beer. Neither of us can
drive, especially since we’ll be having more drinks. We may as well walk to the
hotel.”
“I guess you’re
right about driving.”
“How much are the
tickets?” I asked dubiously.
“It’ll cost us
forty bucks each to get in.”
“The whole thing sounds
like a colossal waste of money,” I shot back.
“Don’t be so
bloody cheap. It’s time you opened that dusty wallet and let a few bills out into
the fresh air. There’s absolutely no reason for you to accumulate any more
money. Free those slaves, Kennedy. They’ve been imprisoned in your pocket long
enough.”
“Fine, what time
does this thing start?”
“The ad says it
goes from nine until one in the morning. That gives us an hour to get ready.
Meet me back here around nine o’clock and we’ll head out. There’s no point
being the first men to arrive. We want to portray the scent of affluence, not
desperation.”
“You’re pathetic,
Corbett,” I barked as I headed for his condo door. “This sounds like a total
fiasco about to unravel. I don’t want to hear you ever complaining again that
we never do anything you suggest.”
“Duly noted,
Kennedy; just don’t let the ladies discover how insanely miserly you are. The
last thing I need is to be stuck at a table with you while all the women avoid
us because their ‘cheapskate alert’ warning got passed around the room.”
I took the
elevator down to my second floor condo apartment.
This is as good a
time as any to tell you a bit more about myself.
As I said earlier,
my name was Tom Kennedy. I was 61 years old and my buddy Jim Corbett was 62. We
were both reasonably wealthy retired lawyers, but I disliked spending money
whereas Corbett loved to show off how successful he was.
He lived in an
opulent three-bedroom condominium on the top floor and his unit was filled with
expensive furniture and assorted trinkets.
On the other hand,
I resided in a one-bedroom apartment in the same building. All my furniture was
basic and there wasn’t a single sign in my place indicating that I was rich.
Who can truly
understand the reasons why we do what we do?
For me, looking
poor comforted me into believing that I was just like any other ordinary bloke.
Hiding my wealth bought me some measure of public acceptance, at least in my
own mind. My parents were frugal and that was one lesson I appear to have
absorbed from them.
I drove a 2002
Chevrolet Cavalier with no extras whatsoever other than a basic radio and
automatic transmission. I purchased the car new in February of that year when
my previous vehicle, a 1986 Dodge Aries K-Car, finally bit the dust after over
15 years of trusty use.
Corbett had two
vehicles, a 2014 Cadillac XTS and a 2013 Cadillac Escalade. He rarely kept a
car more than two years, and detested having to drive in my Chevy, which he
referred to as “The Little Shit-Box”.
We’ve been good
friends since law school and remained close through our respective marriages
and divorces.
Despite the vast
differences in our lifestyles, in some ways our lives had been like two peas in
a pod. Each of us got married in 1984, divorced in 1999 and had remained
unattached since then. To complete our sometimes parallel worlds, Jim and I
both retired from our law practices on September 13
th
, 2013.
I had always been
a sole practitioner whereas Jim headed up a medium-sized law firm here in
Kingston, Ontario.
Our condominium
building overlooked Lake Ontario although the water was not visible from my
unit which faced Ontario Street. Jim’s southeast corner penthouse apartment
allowed him to gaze out over Lake Ontario from his south windows or to see both
the downtown area and Wolfe Island from his eastern view.
We had purchased
our units in 2001 when the building was first erected. Jim’s apartment cost
four times as much as mine, a fact he consistently took pleasure in reminding
me.
Neither of us had
dated much after our divorces although Jim was regularly pursued by women. The
enjoyment and responsibility of running our law practices had consumed both our
time and energies. Another factor was our costly divorces. There was nothing
like wasting scads of money extricating oneself from a deteriorated marriage to
make a fellow reluctant to get back in the saddle.
Although
occasionally this past year we had hit a downtown bar on a Friday after the
rest of the world was let out of work, normally we wound up chatting only with
other lawyers. It still amazed us how quickly we had lost touch with the legal
community once we retired.
Romance had been a
definite no-show lately in both our lives.
Perhaps tonight
would be different.
2 (Dance Time)
I happened to
notice on my kitchen calendar that it was Saturday, September 6
th
,
2014. That meant that Corbett and I would have been retired for a full year
next Saturday.
The romantic in me
speculated that if I met someone interesting tonight, then it might be nice to
take her to dinner next Saturday to celebrate the end of my first year of boring
sloth.
I chose to wear an
older light grey pinstripe suit which seemed somewhat more casual than the
standard black lawyer’s uniform.
When I knocked on
Corbett’s door at nine o’clock, he was dressed in one of his $2,000 made-to-measure
Italian suits, black pinstripe of course.
“I thought we were
going to a dance, not a funeral,” I commented wryly.
“As usual, I’ll be
ashamed to be seen with you,” he shot back. “Did you get that monstrosity at
Giant Tiger? I thought they stopped selling men’s suits for $29.99.”
“They did, but I
picked up this beauty back in 2002 when they had a great sale on. It has really
stood the test of time.”
“Are you out of
your mind?” Corbett contradicted. “The knees are so worn out that they make it look
like you’ve spent the past twelve years in the blow-job business.”
I ignored the
insult. Corbett has always had a foul mouth.
Proud that he had
effectively shut me up, Corbett whipped out his cell phone and said, “There’s
no way I’m hoofing it. I’ll call for a limo.”
“Screw that
nonsense. I’m not paying for a fucking limo. Call a regular taxi if you must.
Don’t worry about your precious reputation. We’re not going to the Academy
Awards. Nobody is going to be standing outside the hotel entrance gawking for
celebrities.”
Corbett’s brow
furled in disgust but at least he took my advice and called a cab.
We went down to
the main foyer and waited.
“I just know this
is going to be a horror show,” I complained. “I must be going senile to let you
talk me into this foolishness.”
“You’ve been
senile for the past twenty years, Kennedy. Stop bitching.”
The cab arrived
quickly and five minutes later we were walking into the hotel and up to the Park
Ballroom where the dance was being held.
Two middle-aged
women were at a table selling admission tickets.
“Are you gentlemen
members of the charity?”
“No,” we replied
in unison.
“In that case,
we’ll need you to fill out application forms first.”
One of the ladies
handed us each a form.
Jim and I glanced
at each other in exasperation.
“Is this really
necessary?” Jim moaned. “We don’t want to join a cult. We just want to check
out the ladies.”
“I’m sorry, sir,
but the dance is restricted to members only. The admission fee includes the
cost of membership.”
“It didn’t say
that in the newspaper advertisement,” Jim responded. “I’m not falling for any
bait and switch scam.”
I quickly scanned
the piece of paper and immediately threw in my own objection to the whole
process.
“These questions
are far too personal,” I complained. “There’s no way I’m providing you with
this information.”
“I understand,
sir. In that case it’s acceptable if you simply provide your names and
addresses.”
That appeased us
and a moment later we walked into the Park Ballroom.
The place was
almost full.
Tables of varying
sizes were interspersed surrounding a central dance floor. A disc jockey was
handling the music and a small sigh of disappointment escaped my lips when it
registered that the song was far too modern for my retarded tastes. An evening
of loud irritating noise seemed inevitable.
It was a
self-serve bar so we went up to purchase our drinks before selecting a spot to
sit.
“Courvoisier,
straight up,” Corbett ordered.
The chap behind
the bar replied, “We don’t have that. Will standard bar brandy be acceptable?”
“It’ll have to
do,” Jim answered. Then, just as the fellow was about to pour the drink, Jim interrupted
him.
“Surely you’ve got
something better to serve it in than a plastic cup.”
“Sorry, sir; for
liability reasons the charity isn’t permitted to use glassware. Do you still
want brandy?”
“Fine, but make it
a double.”
I ordered a beer
which the gentleman insisted also had to be served in a plastic cup. I prefer
my beer straight from the can or bottle.
Already I
regretted being here. The beer had cost six bucks including the tip. At the
beer store six bucks would get me at least four bottles and I wouldn’t feel
like a fish out of water when I paid for them.
Corbett’s double
shot of brandy had set him back $17.
There were only a
few empty tables.
I pointed out a
nearby table with two chairs and suggested that we sit there.
“Are you demented,
Kennedy? We’ll look like a couple of queers sitting at that cozy little table
for two.”
“We already look
odd,” I shot back. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re about the only guys in
here wearing suits. You look like a bloody funeral director.”
“That’s a damn sight
better than looking like some desperate used car salesman.”
Those arrows
having been loosed from our unlimited verbal arsenal, I followed the undertaker
like a lost puppy until he found a table that suited him, a larger table which
seated four.
Fortunately it
wasn’t too far from the exit in case we decided to slink away unobtrusively
after we had finished our drinks.
“Now what
happens?” I asked. “Do we wait for women to approach us or are we supposed to
go ask someone to dance?”
“For once,
Kennedy, I admit to knowing as little about something as you. I have no idea
how these charity dances work. We’ll have to observe how other guys target
their victims.”
“This isn’t some
form of guerilla warfare,” I responded in resignation. “Besides, most of the
guests appear to be couples. What made you think eligible women might be here
tonight?”
“It was just an
assumption. Stop with the negative comments. This still beats our normal
Saturday evenings getting pissed and insulting one another.”
Simultaneously we
glanced around this section of the room in that age old male tradition of
checking out the action.
“We’re about the
oldest people in the place,” I snapped. “I haven’t seen a single woman yet who
couldn’t be my daughter or granddaughter.”
“As usual you’re
exaggerating. Just exercise a bit of patience. Some suitable candidates might
surface in due course.”
The music was
grating on my nerves and I threw back the beer in short order. Corbett was
still working on his double so I got up and went over to get another rip-off
drink.
Two women, a
blonde and a brunette, were placing their orders and the blonde smiled at me
and said hello while her friend was paying for their drinks.
“My sister and I
haven’t been to a public dance in a long time,” she shouted over the insanely
loud music. “Are we supposed to find our own seats?”
“That’s what my
buddy and I did,” I answered. “It’s the first time either of us has been to a
dance like this. Actually we’re sitting alone at a table for four. You’re
perfectly welcome to join us. I apologize for being overdressed but we just
assumed that everyone would be wearing a suit.”
The lady smiled
and then whispered something in her sister’s ear. The brunette turned around
and evaluated me like a piece of meat.
Both women were
quite attractive and somewhat older than the other patrons at the dance. The
brunette was actually a real stunner and it was immediately obvious that I
wasn’t her cup of tea as she took in my suit from top to bottom. I had the
disquieting thought that perhaps Corbett had been right for once.
I felt like
mentioning that I could get them a great deal on a used car.
I must have failed
their loser alert test because the brunette shook her head and the blonde, who
appeared embarrassed, delivered the bad news.
“Thank you so much
for the invitation, but I guess my sister wants to sit alone with me. I’m so
sorry.”
“That’s quite all
right. I didn’t mean to be pushy. Have a great time tonight.”
I turned around to
face the bar and ordered my beer.
When I got back to
the table, thankfully the music stopped and the disc jockey announced that he
was taking a short break.
“I’ve been shot
down already,” I moaned to Corbett and I proceeded to tell him about my offer
and the subsequent rejection.
He broke out
laughing and poured salt on my wound by remarking, “It’s a tough call trying to
figure out whether it was the suit that sealed the deal or your homely mug.”
I glanced up and
noticed that the two sisters were still strolling around looking for a place to
sit. I kicked Corbett under the table and said, “The brunette over there is the
one who judged me unworthy.”
Jim swung around
to get a better look and gushed, “Wow, she’s a real knockout and that dress
must have cost a thousand bucks. Cheer up, loser; it was definitely your
clothes. That girl obviously has an eye for quality. To put it in words that
even you can understand, we simply sent the wrong lawyer out on reconnaissance.
Let’s see if my suit meets her taste test.”
Corbett stood up
and purposely walked near the sisters on his way to the bar.
The blonde totally
ignored him but I watched the brunette scan Corbett and then drink him in as he
strode past her. He did have the knack of exuding success.
The women stood in
place while Jim fetched his fresh drink and returned. When the brunette
realized that Jim was with me, she whispered to her sister and a moment later
they made a beeline to our table.
“Is the offer
still open to join you distinguished gentlemen?” the brunette inquired.
I looked up as if
in surprise and replied, “Of course, ladies; welcome to our table. I’m Tom
Kennedy and this is Jim Corbett.”
“So nice to meet
you,” the brunette answered. “I’m Lynne Wright and this is my sister, Linda
Page.”
That was the only
time that Lynne even acknowledged my presence. From the moment she sat down,
she was focused on Corbett. Although it was a bit insulting, I had an aversion
to high maintenance women anyway, and I began chatting with Linda.
“What made you
decide to come out dancing tonight?” she inquired.
“It was Jim’s
idea. We were having drinks at his place when he decided that retirement was
boring and dredged up the ad for this dance in today’s newspaper. Are you a
member of the charity board or something?”
“No, we had to
join the charity at the entrance. Lynne broke off with her latest short-term boyfriend
a couple of weeks ago and dragged me here to keep her company. She isn’t used
to being alone. The music is awful, though.”
“It sure is, and
obnoxiously loud. I’ve never been a great dancer anyway, but I don’t think I’d
even know how to dance to any of the songs I’ve heard so far.”
“I probably
shouldn’t be here in the first place,” Linda admitted. “My husband passed away
four months ago and I’d be mortified if any of my friends or family saw me here
sitting with a man, but when Lynne wants to do something, there’s no way to
persuade her otherwise. You mentioned that you were retired. Where did you
work?”
“I ran my own one-man
law practice here in town. Jim and I were classmates in law school and have
been best friends ever since then. He was the senior partner in the law firm
Corbett & Kaufmann over on Johnson Street just behind the Court House. We
both retired last September. Do you work here in town?”
“No, I just moved back
to Kingston last month from Ottawa. I grew up here and my parents still live in
town in the house we grew up in. My sister only moved back to Kingston in April
from Toronto and I felt a need to be close to my family after Paul died. I was
a public school teacher for 20 years but for the past several years I had
worked for Paul doing his books and acting as receptionist.”
“What sort of
business did he have?”
“Paul was a
private investigator in Ottawa and often dealt with lawyers. What type of law
did you practice?”
“I handled real
estate transactions, Wills and estates mainly. Family law and criminal work
held no interest for me. Jim did a lot of court work and occasionally required
the services of a private investigator. Did you ever help Paul with his cases?”
“Only in an
indirect way, like giving him a ride somewhere when he didn’t want his own
vehicle to be seen in the area. I never sat with him on stakeouts or anything
like that, but he had a tendency to tell me all about his work.”
