Unfit to Practice (14 page)

He pulled the big box out of the truck and they ran up the steps. Paul gestured toward the mailbox. “Mind explaining the box? And those balloons?”

“You're crashing a baby shower.”

Inside the house, they found Matt and Andrea holding court in front of the fireplace, a fire burning, a dozen other people floating like confetti around the room along with wrapping paper, paper plates, and yellow-cake debris.

“Sorry we're late,” Nina said, helping Paul to arrange the box within Andrea's reach.

Her younger brother, Matt, and his wife, Andrea, were expecting a third child. Andrea had been married once before and had a child during that marriage, so this would be Matt's second biological child. Since they already had Troy and Brianna, they didn't require one sex or the other, feeling free to root for a different sex each day depending on where whim led them, although Nina imagined Matt probably wanted a son of his own. Wasn't that hardwired, wanting a child of your own sex? When dreaming about another universe, Nina occasionally imagined a sister for Bob, a daughter for herself.

Matt ran a tow business in winter and took tourists parasailing in summer. Nina made sure he carried heavy insurance. He made sure his equipment met tip top safety standards and groaned about the bureaucracy.

Andrea worked part time at the local women's shelter. Matt and Andrea were Nina's best friends. Complicated, loving, loyal people, they had built a true marriage. Matt disapproved of Nina's profession even more than her father did, but most of the time he kept his mouth shut about it.

Matt put a beer in Paul's hand. Paul sat beside him and drank thirstily.

Andrea pointed at Nina's large box. “What did you bring baby?”

“This is more for the parents.”

Andrea pushed her curly red hair back from her face and went at the present with a pair of scissors. “I know I should save pretty paper but screw it,” she said. “Oh, Nina! Wow! Wonderful! You remembered how I used to rave about these things.” She went over to Nina and gave her a kiss.

“I remembered it was the most-used present I ever got.”

Someone turned on some music, Burl Ives singing “The Little White Duck.” Someone popped champagne and someone else sang along in a pleasing baritone. Children shouted, marauding through the room in bursts.

While Paul, Andrea, and Matt took turns making a mess out of assembling the automatic rocking baby chair, Nina squatted on the floor, remembering baby Bobby swinging away in the dead of night all those years before, his bright eyes wide open, his soft-spun hair, silent as long as the rocker moved. During those long nights of his infancy, she had sat up with him, looking out her window, at peace.

Her mother had given her the baby chair. Funny she had forgotten that. She thought more often of her mother lately, maybe because lately there was always that idea about moving to Carmel with Paul oscillating like static in the background of her mind. The thought came: She would be closer to her aging father if she lived with Paul in Carmel. She would be closer to her mother's grave.

Later, Paul headed for his hotel room at Caesars alone and Nina and Bob drove home at eleven o'clock, beat. “Uh oh,” Bob said as they swung onto Pioneer Trail. “I forgot something.”

“What?”

“I have an essay due tomorrow.”

“Oh, Bob, no. You shouldn't have gone to the party.”

“A bunch of kids were gonna be there, Mom. Aunt Andrea asked me and Troy to play games with them and keep them out of the living room.”

“I'll write you a note.”

“Ha, ha. Make me laugh. ‘Bob had to go to a party.' How long since you were in school, Mom? I'm dead. Forget it.”

They argued about this until Nina gave in. Back at the cabin, they dialed into the Internet and looked for anything they could find about Thomas Dewing, a nineteenth-century artist.

“He paints women to look like pieces of furniture, Mom.”

“How insightful of him. I feel like a broken-down footstool at this very moment. Can we go to bed now?”

But Bob's research had woken him up. He had other ideas. “Mom? Sometimes I miss my dad. I wonder what it would be like. To have two parents in the same place. I mean, that party. A new baby and everything and all of them together.”

Instantly, a gap opened in her heart. She thought of the men in her life. Kevin Cruz, the father about to lose his children. Jack, Bob's absent ex-stepfather, and Kurt, his biological father, so far away in Germany. How confusing it must seem to him. How lonely. “Call Kurt,” she urged. “It's morning in Wiesbaden by now. You'll probably catch him at home. But make it short, it's late.”

Bob made the call, spending nearly an hour on the phone. He would be so tired in the morning. She would set her alarm early to make sure he had enough time to wake up and get rolling. Listening from her bedroom to his pauses and happy laughs, she reminded herself that rates after eleven were the best they would be.

When she heard the thunk of the phone returning to its cradle, she went into Bob's room to say good night to him and kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks for letting me call him,” he said, his voice thick with fatigue. “Sometimes I get low.”

The words struck like a whip. She said, “Everyone does, honey. You know that, don't you?”

“Sometimes I feel alone. You work so hard.”

“Is there anything special you want to talk about?” She thought of Nikki. She hadn't had time to think about Nikki and Bob. “Is everything all right at school?”

“Same as usual.”

“Are your friends doing all right? Taylor? Nikki?”

“Screwed up, as usual.”

“Then what do you feel low about?”

“Don't worry about it.”

“Paul and me? Is that bothering you? Do you want to—”

“Things were easier before. It's more tangled up now. I want to get to know my dad better, but he's so far away and I live here with you. I want to stay on your good side, but you don't like my friends. You need me, so does he.”

“I do need you, Bob.”

“But he needs me in a different way. You need me to stay your little kid.”

“But, Bob, you
are
still a kid.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes I'm a man.”

“What?” Nina said. She was too tired to deal with that one.

“G'night.” He closed his eyes.

“Good night, honey.”

She managed to brush her teeth and throw water on her face before climbing into bed. Could it possibly still be Monday? She checked her watch, the modern curse, again.

No. Tuesday had arrived. Maybe she'd get a chance to breathe.

But then she remembered what T-Bone Walker said about Stormy Monday:

. . . Tuesday's just as bad . . .

11

P
AUL PROPELLED A LEG
from the Mustang and then a small Styrofoam cup full of espresso he was holding, lid askew. Then the rest of him slid out and straightened up. Not one drop spilled, not that the asphalt of the Starlake Building parking lot would have suffered. The air had that peculiar late-summer Sierra quality of being both crisp and warm at the same time. He checked his watch, saw that it was one minute to nine, and leaned back against the car, planning to spend the entirety of that minute with his face turned to the sun and his eyes closed.

A large indeterminate-model brown car—who made brown cars and why did anyone buy them?—pulled up sedately beside him. Wish Whitefeather was in the driver's seat and Sandy sat in the passenger's seat, spine straight, purse in her lap. Paul saw with a small start that both Wish and his mother had the same profile, strong brow ridge and nose, beetling brows. As Wish turned off the ignition, they both turned toward him. Sandy said, “It's you.”

Paul bowed and opened the door for her. “And how is my favorite Washoe maiden?” he said.

“Don't think that's gonna gain you any points.” Sandy gathered her coat around her. Paul had noticed that she often wore her coat outdoors, even on warm summer days. Heaving herself out of the car, she brushed out the coat crinkles and adjusted herself while Paul shut the door. “Well, speak up,” Sandy demanded. “How was the drive?”

“Long. I wish a big earthquake would come and cram the coast against the mountains so I wouldn't have to drive so far.”

“You could always move here,” Sandy said. Paul smiled and thought he detected a faint thawing of her expression in return.

“How you doin', buddy?” he said to Wish, who had carefully locked up and was following them toward Nina's office. Wish was still a sloucher, too tall for the rest of the world and trying to blend in. He wore his straight hair longer these days and a loose black sweater contributed an illusion of broad shoulders. At age twenty, he was starting to settle into himself without any of the jaded irony of his fellow MTVers. Paul liked that, liked his straight-up enthusiasm and naiveté, but had to stay watchful when Wish rode with him.

“Real good. Been hiking a lot. Goin' to school. Gave the van a paint job.”

“You did? What color?” The van had once been Paul's.

“Brown.”

“Hmm.”

“Then you don't have to wash it so much.”

“So Nina talked you into helping out for a few days?”

“I only have three classes this semester, and a pretty flexible schedule. I wouldn't miss out for anything. Mom says Nina needs help.”

“I never said a thing,” Sandy said.

“You don't have to say it, Mom. I knew it the minute you told me to get up early and come to the office with you. Don't worry, Paul, you got backup now.”

“I feel better already,” Paul said.

They went into Nina's office and Nina called from the conference room, “In here.” She shut the law book she had been reading when she saw him, looking relieved. New strain lurked in her eyes and she'd forgotten the mascara that morning, a sure sign that the night had not gone smoothly.

She got up. Paul came around the table to give her a hug and a kiss while Sandy and Wish hovered back in the outer office. Nina's soft brown hair swung around her face, smelling like a rain forest, and he rubbed her back through the silk blouse and inwardly cursed her high IQ. Once in a guilty while, a dull-normal version of Nina who didn't have any significant problems or complexity held real appeal. He was not proud of these thoughts; they were as involuntary as the sexual response she aroused when she brushed her hair against his cheek. Lucky for him, she couldn't see into the dull-normal corner of his mind or she wouldn't be looking at him so kindly.

“Thanks a lot for coming,” she said. “I know it isn't easy for you to get away.”

“Couldn't let you down.”

“Hey, Wish. It's good to see you.”

“At your service,” Wish said, stopping just short of a courtly bow. “I can't wait.”

When they were all settled around the long table with their notepads, instead of launching into discussion, Nina did a strange thing. She picked up the cordless phone and punched numbers, a finger touching her lips.

“Dr. Mai?” she said a moment later. They could only hear her side of the conversation. “How are you? Uh huh. Yes, I have some news. We are settling the insurance amount at two hundred ten thousand as Kao instructed through you. Yes.” She paused, then said, “That's why I'm calling. Right. I'll have the check this afternoon. But there's a problem.

“A problem, right. I can only turn the money over to Kao Vang and his wife. I'm sorry, but you'll just have to find him and bring them up here. Well, you'll just have to. No, I won't turn the money over to you. I know you have the power of attorney. I can't accept it. I regret that I am unable to accept it.”

Her pause this time lasted quite a while. Then she said, “I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. I am not going to go into my reasoning at this time. I'm going to hold the check until my clients are available. Dr. Mai? Dr. Mai, listen to me. Where is Kao?”

She raised her eyebrows and set down the phone. “He hung up. He's angry. I wanted you all to hear me withhold that check,” she said. “It may be legal malpractice, but I had to do it. Now let me back up and tell you about the Vang insurance case. Then I would like to know if you think I just did the right thing.”

She told a succinct story of Kao Vang in five minutes. For once, she had not prepared the usual written case summaries for them, she just laid things out, ending with, “And that's the first file that's missing. I have two hundred ten thousand dollars that belongs to Kao Vang that I am picking up from the insurance company this afternoon, and I am not going to go through an intermediary like Dr. Mai no matter how many powers of attorney are thrown at me. So. I'd like to hear your thoughts.”

“I don't get why,” Wish said immediately. “Dr. Mai wouldn't steal the file, would he? He already knew everything because he was there with your client all the time. So why don't you trust him?”

“Good question. I only know one thing. Over the weekend, I lost touch with my clients and that doesn't feel right. I have to know the Vangs are all right. I have to see that for myself, not take anyone else's word for it. And once I hand that check over to Dr. Mai, I will never see him or the Vangs again.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because they never wanted to come to a lawyer in the first place, Wish. They aren't comfortable with this system and they don't particularly trust me, I would guess. They want to fade into the woodwork, maybe leave the country. That's fine, but with the file missing and Kao unwilling or unable to talk to me, I have reached a degree of discomfort or concern that is going to prevent me from handing over that check even to an authorized represen- tative.”

Wish scratched his head. “You mean you have a gut feeling things aren't right?”

Nina said, “You got it, cowboy. Did someone call someone else with information that was in my file? The guy who robbed his store, the one Kao shot dead—did someone in his family steal my file to get at Kao? Is Kao in danger? Is Dr. Mai legit?”

“What do you think is wrong?”

“I don't know. I've been doing some reading about the Hmong. They've had a hard time adapting to this country, and with California cutting off welfare benefits after two years, Hmong people are going hungry. The violence in their own country left many of them with depression and post-traumatic stress disorder. Hmong men sometimes just die in their sleep for no known reason. It's called sudden adult death syndrome, and the medical guess is that severe and unremitting stress causes it. The women have their own set of problems. They usually take care of big families and do the whole second-class citizen thing, walking five steps behind the men. That doesn't work too well when there's no man to walk behind, for instance.”

Sandy said, “But they need that money. And withholding a client's money is an absolute no-no, isn't it? I thought Dr. Mai was all right.”

“Maybe he is all right,” Nina said. “Maybe he's trying to help the Vangs. Maybe I'm causing them a big problem. I can't help that if they won't talk to me directly.” She firmed up her jaw.

Paul said, “I hark back two days to our talk with Jack. Remember? He said the state bar problems usually have to do with money disputes. Have you talked to him about this? You could just pass on the check, avoid any question of malpractice, and flourish the power of attorney if Dr. Mai steals the money. You would be protected.”

Nina waved her hand. “True, the power of attorney seems to be legitimate. Paul, would you pay out the money in these circumstances? Did I do the right thing morally? Totally aside from the fact that I'm exposing my own rear end.”

Paul sighed and said, “Of course you did, honey. You have Mai's address in Fresno? I'll follow up for you.” She smiled and gave it to him. Paul went on, “I need to look at this large claim you put together. Maybe there's some information hidden in a receipt or supplier's note about where the Vangs live.”

“Very little of the supporting documentation is in English.”

“Can we have it translated?”

“That'll take too much time, Paul. I can't hold the check for very long. Here are the police reports that detail the original robbery and shooting, the second attempt when Kao killed the robber, and the arson. These reports will tell you all I know about Kao Vang's enemies. But first, obviously, you need to try to talk to Dr. Mai.”

“Okay. We begin with Mai, who you just jump-started. He's sitting in Fresno right now looking at the phone and realizing that if he doesn't cooperate, nobody will see that money. He ought to talk to us. What else?”

“The man Kao killed in self-defense. His name and address are in the police reports. The name was”—she flipped to one of the exhibits on the claim—“Song Thoj, age eighteen, a known gang member in Fresno.”

“That brings up a new set of concerns.”

“Exactly.”

“I have to agree that I don't think we understand enough about this situation,” Paul said.

“So I'll keep the check safe and you and Wish make sure I put it into the right hands, Paul.”

“I realize that the main question right now is, where is Kao? But there is that other question hanging fire,” Paul said. “Are the bad guys who torched the Vangs' convenience store also the ones who stole the files out of your truck?”

“I hope not,” Nina said. She rubbed her forehead and went on, “But
if
they followed the Vangs to my office,
if
they followed me home,
if
they saw files and took them opportunistically, then they would know where the Vangs live. They would know about the settlement money. Which would make an extortion attempt possible.”

Sandy stirred at this. “You're suggesting they kidnapped the Vangs because of the files? Then they call Dr. Mai and say, get the money to us and we'll let them go.”

“Oh, my gosh,” Wish said.

“It's the kind of thought that strikes at three
A
.
M
., yes, Sandy,” Nina said. “Let's hope it's just another bad dream.”

“But who
are
these ‘bad guys'?” Wish asked.

“Let me know when you find out.”

They took a break so Nina could deal with a couple of phone calls in her office. Wish walked outside.

Sandy sat down behind her desk, slammed an offending open drawer shut smartly, and looked at Paul, saying, “And that's only one file out of three. Now look. Why does she have to dredge so deep? How does a simple insurance claim turn into this? Is it her?”

“In a way, it is,” Paul said. “Another lawyer would give Mai the money, make rapid washing motions with her hands, and move on.”

“What about if these enemies stole the files?”

“Another lawyer would say, ‘Let the police find the files.' And move on.”

“She feels responsible,” Sandy said.

“Yeah. The advice Jack gave her was, try to prevent harm to the clients. He was thinking about her. But you know, she's thinking about the clients. She does want to prevent harm. Reminds me of another lawyer I worked for once, a big-shot personal-injury lawyer. He'd work the claim for years, never give an inch, throw a thousand curves, wear down the other side until even the big insurance companies gave in and handed him the big recovery. Of course, by then, the client wouldn't need the money anymore, because the client would have gone insane from the endless delay.”

“I get you. He won the case but he didn't do right by the client.”

“You notice that she talked to Mai first, then asked us what we thought,” Paul said.

“She didn't want us to feel like we had responsibility in making that decision not to pay out the money?”

“Yeah.”

“Hmph.”

Nina came out of her office. “Ready for the next round?” she said. “What are you looking at?”

“A pretty good lawyer,” Sandy said.

“Let that be my epitaph,” Nina said.

Five minutes later, back in the conference room with a half-dozen doughnuts piled on a plate in the middle of the table, Nina said, “And now we discuss the second file—the Cruz custody case. The players are Kevin Cruz, his soon–to–be–ex-wife, Lisa Cruz, and his ex-girlfriend, Ali Peck.” She went through the background and summarized the hearing.

“Ali may be the best lead we have on the lost files,” she finished. “How did Riesner hear about her? Did she contact him directly?” She wiggled a chocolate doughnut out of the middle of the pile and took a bite. As she talked, she had been doodling ducks and snakes all over the page in front of her.

“Check,” Wish said. He made another note. He had pages full of notes by now.

“We have an address on this girl?” Paul said.

Sandy passed it over, studied the doughnuts, and picked out a glazed one, which she set neatly on a napkin beside her coffee. “Watch out. Alexandra Peck still lives with her parents,” she said.

“But Kevin Cruz already lost custody,” Wish said. “Aren't his problems too late to fix?”

“At the hearing last week, he only lost temporary custody,” Nina told him. “I agree, now that Ali has been outed, the temporary-custody order isn't likely to change, and there's still the possibility of further damaging charges hanging over him. But let's speculate with what we know. Let's think further. How did Ali get outed?”