Time Off for Good Behavior (6 page)

The phone rang. I let it ring three more times befo
re rolling over and grabbing the cordless from under the sofa.

“
Leave me alone.
”

“
You fucking bitch.
”
George
’
s voice was rough.
Bitch
came out slurred.

You were right, Dad. Some days definitely call for Scotch.

“
George. So good to hear from you.
”
Glancing
at the calendar, I confirmed my suspicion. Payday. The only predictable thing about George was a hostile call every other Thursday.

“
You and your cunt lawyer can fucking kiss my ass.
”
He slurred on
lawyer
and
ass.
I downed a gulp of the Scotch, and after a
few moments of choking on flaming burrs, I felt warm and floaty. Nice.

“
I only got half my goddamn paycheck,
”
he continued. His voice dropped to a rabid whisper, which I could barely hear over the sounds of the bar in the background. I was pretty sure it
was some sort of death threat. It wouldn
’
t be the first.

“
George, no one forced you to represent yourself in court.
”
I could hardly feel sorry for him. He fired three lawyers before stumbling into court drunk and representing himself. I hadn
’
t even asked f
or alimony. The judge was so pissed off at him that she ordered it on her own.

He coughed. A long, hacking cough. I was reminded of the doctor who, ten years ago, told George he
’
d be dead in eight if he didn
’
t quit smoking. Friggin
’
quack. At the rate Geor
ge was going, he was going to outlive us all, cough or no cough.

“
How ya feeling there, George?
”
I asked, swallowing a minor stab of guilt at my fervent wish that he
’
d drop dead right that minute. I could live with phantom music if God would just take Geor
ge out. Easy trade.

“
I
’
m gonna come down there, slit your fucking throat, and get my money back.
”
This from the guy who was too lazy to pull the remote control out from under his own ass. Despite the knowledge that my safety thrived in his sloth, my heart
still clenched up in fear. Just like old times.

I got up, walked over to the wall unit, and hit the red button on my phone.
“
Care to say that again, George?
”

His behavior in court had been the setup, but the recorded threats were the slam dunk. George caug
ht my drift, added a string of profanities to his greatest hits, and hung up. I poured myself another drink and lay down on the living room floor, thinking about Walter Briggs and his business card and wondering if I
’
d ever get to like the taste of Scotch.

***

“
So... so what you
’
re saying is, you
’
d like for me to sue... who, exactly?
”
Walter loosened his tie and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table. I
’
d called him after waking up on the floor the morning after Blaine Dowd had fire
d me. I told him I wanted to pursue legal action and asked him to meet me at the Fireside Diner. Surprisingly, he agreed.

The Fireside was drastically misnamed, as there was no fire to be found in the place, save the flaming embers on the ends of the cigar
ettes the waitresses smoked out back by the dumpsters. It was a cheap little dive with linoleum tables and a rotating dessert cylinder so huge it partially blocked the entrance, but it was within walking distance of my place and I thought the fresh air wo
u
ld do me some good.

I was right. By the time I got there, I felt like I could take on the world. Or at least Walter Briggs.

“
I want to sue the city of Hastings, Hastings General Hospital, and Channel 8. Oh, and my ex-husband.
”

Walter
’
s eyebrows lifted.
“
Yo
ur ex-husband? What did he do?
”

“
He
’
s alive. I want you to sue him for not being dead yet.
”

Walter sat back, his white dress shirt sticking a bit to his skin. It
’
s possible the Fireside had been named for the fact that it was always hot as hell in there.
“
You can
’
t sue for that.
”

“
Why not? He
’
s supposed to be dead by now. Doctor
’
s orders.
”

Walter laughed, a cue for me to join in and say I was joking. I kept quiet. He stopped laughing.
“
We can
’
t sue a guy for not being dead.
”

“
Can we sue the doctor who told
me he
’
d croak, then?
”

He stared at me for a moment, sizing me up, an unsure smile tugging at his face.
“
You
’
re serious?
”

“
Dead serious.
”

He tapped his pencil on his legal pad. I looked at my watch, raised my hand, and summoned the waitress.

He leaned forwa
rd.
“
Look, you
’
re upset, and I understand, but you asked me for advice and here it is. You can
’
t sue four people at the same time.
”

“
Why not? Is there a law against it?
”

He shrugged reluctant acquiescence.
“
No, but...
”

“
Then I can do it.
”

He sighed.
“
Let m
e rephrase. It
’
s not in your best interest to sue four people at the same time. And I
’
m also pretty sure that your ex-husband
’
s being alive is not an infringement of your basic civil rights.
”

I crossed my arms and leaned back in my seat, sizing Walter up.

“
I don
’
t get you,
”
I said finally.
“
You
’
re a lawyer. The more people I sue, the more money you make. So what
’
s your problem?
”

“
Maybe I
’
m not about the money
”

“
Everybody
’
s about the money,
”
I said, raising a cynical eyebrow at him.
“
Especially lawyers.
”

His
face darkened a bit.
“
Don
’
t get me wrong. I cash my checks like everybody else. But sometimes...
”
He leaned forward and smiled slightly, though the gesture didn
’
t mask the irritation behind his eyes.
“
Sometimes it
’
s about undoing things that were done wro
ng. And there are one or two lawyers left who still believe that.
”

He sat back, looking a little too self-satisfied for my taste. I jerked my chin toward him, careful to maintain the smirk on my face lest he think his little speech got to me.
“
And I take i
t you
’
re the one or two, Mr. Do-Right?
”

“
I
’
ll let you figure that on your own,
”
he said.
“
You seem the type who likes to do her own thinking.
”

I raised my eyebrows at him.
“
You weren
’
t this tough when we first met, Mr. Briggs.
”

“
I adapt to my surroundings,
Ms. Lane.
”
His eyes were smiling now, sending me the clear message that he had my number. He didn
’
t seem like your standard ambulance chaser, and I had to admit I was intrigued. I felt a lurch in my gut that had historically led to nothing but trouble, an
d in an instant I found myself smiling at Walter Briggs.

The waitress arrived, her hip jutted out as though she
’
d been born waiting on tables. Her hair was so thick with Aqua Net that if a nuclear bomb were to hit Hastings, Tennessee, there would be nothin
g left but the militia shelters and a floating platinum-blonde tumbleweed. Grateful for the distraction from the enigmatic Walter Briggs, I turned my smile on her.

“
Could you get me a Scotch and water on ice, please? Need a little hair of the dog, if you k
now what I mean.
”

She smiled. She knew.
“
I would, honey,
”
she said, her drawl lingering,
“
but we don
’
t serve alcohol before noon.
”

I grinned and held up my watch for her. She glanced at it, then looked up and squinted at the clock.
“
Well, I
’
ll be damned.
”
She turned and headed to the bar, hips jutting all over the place.

“
I like her,
”
I said, turning back to Walter.
“
If they get air-conditioning here, I might even come back. So what do you say, Counselor?
”

“
About the diner?
”
he asked, looking around.
“
It
’
s
okay.
”

“
No, about my lawsuits.
”

“
Ah. Yes.
”
He sat back in his seat and looked at me. There was a long moment of silence, and a slight smile on his lips that projected an air of confidence and security despite his sticky dress shirt. I was beginning to feel
like the playground bully who
’
d just met her match.
“
I think you might have a case. Maybe two.
”

“
Okay. Where do we start?
”

“
You
’
ve got a decent complaint against Channel 8 for wrongful termination, but the payoff isn
’
t great for all the time and money tha
t go into it. My understanding is the station isn
’
t doing all that well.
”
The waitress brought my drink and I took it, but my eyes never left Walter. He glanced up briefly to ensure that he had my attention, and continued.

“
I think suing the city of Hastin
gs for negligence is your best bet. It
’
s a lot of work, but it
’
s likely they
’
ll settle just to keep it out of the papers.
”
He scribbled on his legal pad. He was left-handed. It may be dextrist of me, but I think left-handed people are more trustworthy. I m
yself am right-handed.
“
As for Hastings General Hospital... what
’
s wrong with you exactly?
”

“
I hear music.
”

He gave that bobbing nod people gave you when they had no idea what you were talking about.
“
You hear music.
”

“
Phantom music. Ever since the injury.
”
I held my hands up, requesting silence. Walter leaned forward, as though he were listening for the music in my head. I sat back.
“
I can
’
t hear it at the moment. It comes and goes.
”

He sat back as well.
“
Okay.
”