Unclean Hands, page 2
"Your Honor, this is my motion to withdraw as counsel for Mr. Blevins. I represent him in a series of lawsuits against his business partner. He's trying to regain control of the company and filed a lawsuit claiming breach of contract. His partner filed suit against him for tortious interference. I'm seeking an injunction on behalf of Mr. Blevins and he's also pursuing a federal court claim."
"Your hands are full, Mr. Waterston, what's the problem? Is Mr. Blevins stiffing you?"
Rick shuffled his feet. "No, sir, Mr. Blevins always settles my bills timely."
The judge cocked his head up to the ceiling and then back at Rick. "So you're getting paid. There's got to be some basis for your motion. Why do you need to withdraw?"
"We have some issues with communication," Rick said with a bit of a stammer. He paused and turned to his client. "We don't view the world the same way and this interferes with me representing him to the best of my capabilities."
The judge stared down with bemusement. "I'm not sure what you're saying, but so far I haven't heard any legitimate reason to let you withdraw."
At counsel table three feet behind him, Billy Blevins stood and halfway raised his hand. "Mr. Judge, I think I can explain some of what my attorney is trying to say."
"Go ahead, I think I will find your explanation rather elucidating."
Blevins moved next to Rick and placed a stubby hand on his back. He was at least six inches shorter and tilted his head up at him as he spoke.
"The problem is, we get along really well. He's a talented attorney and he's winning all the cases he's handling for me. I love talking with him and I'm confident he'll obtain the best results possible for me."
"So, what's the issue?"
"I'm getting there." Blevins removed his arm and placed it on the lectern.
Rick rolled his eyes.
"Unfortunately, the last time we were together, I told Rick I thought I was in love with him."
The judge held up his hand and Blevins stopped talking. "You told him you loved him. What was his response?"
"Mr. Waterston made clear he did not share the same feelings."
The judge leaned back in his high leather seat with his hands behind his head, gazing at the cracks running along the ceiling of his courtroom. After pondering the situation, he returned to an upright position, directing his gaze at Rick. "Did you give any indication you shared your client's feelings?"
Rick let out a deliberate huff of air. "No, Your Honor, I did not."
"Did you do anything to suggest to him at any time you might want a different type of relationship?"
"No." He let the word drag out a little too long, and he knew it sounded a bit too defensive.
"Counsel, was there any intimate physical contact between you and your client?"
He shook his head. "Of course not."
Judge Markum scanned his papers, attempting to cover any looming snicker.
Rick had appeared before him many times in the past three years since opening his own practice. Markum was the only sitting judge in their small county forcing all lawyers to try to figure out a way not to offend him. All civil and criminal matters came before him. Indifferent facial expressions hid the deep well of feelings Markum held for many of the attorneys and litigants. Rick had always maintained a professional demeanor, but still had managed to irk the judge. Having him sweat a little might make him act with a bit more humility the next time he appeared in his courtroom.
Markum turned his attention back to Rick.
"You appear to maintain a positive working relationship. Nobody's stepped over any lines. Mr. Blevins, do you want to hire a different attorney?"
"No, sir, Mr. Waterston is a fantastic lawyer. I'm sorry I made him uncomfortable. I won't act like that again.
"Counselor, what are your thoughts?"
Images of his desolate office and infrequent calendar appointments popped into Rick's head. It's not as if he was swimming in clients, and this one paid his bills. More so, the tiger litigation was a respite from the red car/blue car cases he typically handled. Plus, the thought of playing with exotic cats was alluring.
"Your Honor," Rick began, "Mr. Blevins understands I am his lawyer which will be the only relationship we will ever have. He also knows if he attempts to cross the line again, I will renew my motion to withdraw as counsel and I suspect the court will grant it."
"You assume correctly," Markum interjected.
"If Mr. Blevins affirmatively agrees my only role is acting as his attorney, I will be happy to represent him and use my legal skills to the best of my abilities to assist him."
"Mr. Blevins, do you understand the parameters of Mr. Waterston's relationship with you?"
"I do."
"Glad you see the big picture. I will deny counsel's motion with the understanding he can present it again if circumstances change. Is there anything else I can assist you with, gentlemen?"
"No," both men said at the same time.
They turned to shake hands and Rick said, "Let's meet next week to discuss strategy. Get in touch with Audrey and she will set something up."
They parted to leave out the back of the courtroom.
As Rick reached the hallway, his phone buzzed. He smiled seeing the name on the caller ID.
"Arnie McBride. Why do you grace me with a call?"
"Rickie boy. We haven't talked for a long time," came the raspy voice on the other end. "I wanted to work something through with you. Can you get lunch?'
Rick glanced at the time. "Sure. How about we talk at Tusk's? I'm right across the street. I can be there in five minutes."
"Perfect. I will meet you there."
Rick placed his cell phone back in the pocket of his suit. He hadn't talked to his former best friend for months. He hoped this would go better than the last time they had seen each other.
Chapter Five
The steady din of the few patrons in the soon-to-be crowded restaurant hovered in the air. The thin woman with ultra-sheened, blonde hair and a form fitting white blouse, led Rick to a booth at the back of the eating area. As they walked past the bar, he snuck a wistful glance at the people sipping from their rocks glasses.
Alone at the table, he played for a few minutes with the salt shaker before a smack on the shoulder drew his attention to the white-tooth grin of Arnie McBride hovering above him.
McBride slid into the opposite side of the booth and gave Rick a playful whack on the arm with the menu.
"Dude, what's new? It's been a while. Thanks for taking my call."
Rick waved his hand in the air. "I'm glad you called. How’s life at WOMS?"
"Give me a minute. Tell me how you're doing. How’s being a solo practitioner been treating you?"
Rick wanted to lie and say everything was awesome–how his practice was overflowing with clients, and he was getting along in his personal life. He also realized he could never pull it off because Arnie was one of few people who would call out his BS.
"It's been the same since Molly walked out. I'm on my own personally and professionally. Not like when we roamed the hallways at Wilson, O'Malley and Sanders. I miss those days."
The left side of McBride's mouth curled up. "So long ago. We thought we were so cool when we started at WOMS. It was hard work, but we learned how to blow off steam."
"Come to think about it–that might have been what got me into trouble." Rick raised his eyebrows.
"They railroaded you. Nothing fair about what happened to you."
Rick pursed his lips, remembering how a security guard had perp-walked him out of the swanky suite, not allowing him to say goodbye. Most people avoided his gaze as he slunk away. It felt like the elevator doors took five minutes to open. The whole time his co-workers stared bullets into his back.
The waiter interrupted to take their order. Both requested a sandwich, more concerned with speed than quality.
Rick turned his attention back to his companion. "I try not to think about what happened much. The day they cut me loose, I thought it would be the worst of my life. I’d dedicated years to the firm and without any notice, they booted me out."
Arnie laughed. "They gave you some warning. How many times did the partners talk to you about your drinking?"
Rick nodded. "A few I guess, but I never let my boozing affect my work, and they accepted it. Weekends were rough, and we participated in our share of late night partying after work, but I was at my desk the next day. Every time."
"You were a competent lawyer. The firm lost an asset."
"Thanks, man. Unlike my other buddies, you supported me."
A few minutes later their food arrived. They dove in. As Rick took another bite, he recognized a hint of forlorn in his friend's eyes. "How are things going for you?"
Arnie bit his lower lip. "Funny you should ask. It's why I wanted to talk."
Rick directed his attention squarely on Arnie. "Go ahead."
"Let me tell you–I've been with the firm nine years. We started together and I've lasted four years since you left. I'm working like a dog every day. My billings are ridiculous. They're making boatloads off of me."
"So what's the problem?'
"You remember Spencer and Crotec?"
"Of course. Three years ahead of us. Joined at the hip. Thought their shit didn't stink. A couple of douche bags. I never trusted them–always more concerned about moving up than being part of a team."
"Your memory is perfect. About three years ago after an unrelenting campaign of ass kissing the partners and undermining the associates, they made partner early. A year later, while continuing to destroy the careers of those in their path, they took over as co-managing directors of the firm."
Rick leaned forward in his chair. "Not surprising. So how are they handling being in charge?"
"They suck. Everybody is running scared. People are billing more hours, yet bonuses shrunk this year. I keep my head down and service my clients."
"Sounds noble," Rick said with a note of sarcasm.
"It's not. I'm trying to protect my hide, but it's not working. Those two ass clowns gave me my review last week. They should’ve made me a partner last time, but they put me off with promises for this year. I didn't complain, at least not to them, and given my billables and productivity, they should hand me the keys to the partners' restroom."
"Is there really such a place?"
"No, but not the point. Instead of becoming a partner, Frick and Frack removed me from the partnership track. I can stay as an associate, but with no chance of sharing in the profits. Bastards."
Rick shook his head. "Damn, that sucks. At least they had an excuse when they got rid of me. You’re much better at keeping your partying under wraps. It's all a pretense not offering you partnership. They don't want to split the pie any more than necessary. What are you planning to do?"
Arnie examined his hands and rubbed his fingers together. "I'm not sure. This hit me like a load of bricks. I spent the weekend feeling bad for myself, but now I'm trying to develop an action plan. I can't stay at the firm. No way. If they don't think I'm skilled enough to be their partner, screw them. It's why I got a hold of you. I'm putting out feelers to find out if anybody is hiring. I don't want to put you on the spot, but can you tell me of anyone looking for an experienced litigator?"
Rick pulled back in his seat and placed his hands in his lap. He sighed. "I wish I could. Openings at most firms don't exist. It's tight everywhere, so not a lot of jobs are available. The kids graduating from law school are having no luck. My firm? I'm lucky I can keep paying my secretary."
"I understand, man." Arnie shook his head. "I'm talking to as many people as I can. No pressure, but let me know if you find out about any open positions. I'm still getting a paycheck, so I'm not handing in my resignation until I get something on the other end. There's no way they get twenty-four-hundred hours out of me like last year. I'm putting in enough time to keep up with my cases, but nothing extra."
The waiter approached with the bill. Arnie grabbed it before Rick had a chance to protest. He handed over a credit card. Arnie smirked and pointed. "Firm account. I'm billing our meeting to 'client development.'"
Rick chuckled at the irony. "Fine by me. Thanks for the meal. Let's make sure we keep in touch and I will let you know if I hear anything."
Arnie rose from the booth and smacked Rick on the shoulder. "I love hanging with you. I'll call you." He walked away leaving Rick alone, trying to figure out how bad things were for Arnie at his old firm.
Chapter Six
Emily Hawkins closed the front door of the house and threw the mail on the small wooden table. Nothing in her cursory review of the five items grabbed her attention. The electric bill would join the others in the unpaid pile.
She sighed.
Her vision of how her life would play out did not line up with the reality of her marriage with Jerry. Her thoughts often drifted to changes she would impose if only he could alter his view of what they could accomplish. Unfortunately, he didn't have enough imagination to dream of interesting friends or exotic travels, or of new ways to satisfy his wife.
The dishes in the sink and the food remaining on the counter from lunch grabbed her attention. She needed to straighten up before Jerry returned from shopping or risk another prolonged lecture on their division of labor The drudgery of the tasks she needed to complete before his return overwhelmed any lingering enjoyment from the past few hours.
She grabbed a toothpick from the drawer and began digging it into the crevices around the warped, wooden cabinets and drawers to wedge out any accumulated grime. An immaculate kitchen was beyond hope, but each time she nabbed a small hunk of grease it provided her with a modicum of satisfaction. She pushed any thoughts of Jerry taking her for a lavish meal at a fancy restaurant out of her head, latching onto each victory achieved with the toothpick.
She got off her knees and thought about fixing dinner, but realized she needed Jerry to return from shopping before she made any decisions because the fridge was nearly empty.
With her hands on her hips, she sauntered over to the refrigerator. The dirt sports on the shelves and produce bin could stand a good wiping down. The ancient white appliance towered above her 5' 1" frame, but she remained undaunted. She grabbed the rag on the counter and reached under the sink to find the new bottle of Spic-and-Span purchased two days earlier at the dollar store.
The front doorbell buzzed as she was about to spray some solution on the shelf. She shook her head, wiped her hands on a paper towel and headed down the small hallway.
Through the peephole she spied a muscular cop with his hat in his hands. His face bore no expression. The door squeaked as she yanked it open and pushed the screen door away.
"Hello, officer," she said in a pleasant tone.
"Ma'am, Peter Mitinger from the seventh avenue station," he said with a raspy voice. "Are you the wife of Jerry Hawkins?"
"I am." Emily rubbed her hands together.
The officer looked at his feet. "Sometimes we have to inform people of difficult news. I guess this is one of those times." He paused for a moment. "I'm sorry to report your husband has died."
Emily's hand involuntarily rose to cover her lips. She tried to respond, but nothing came out of her mouth.
He continued, "He was in the parking lot of the B & D store. The paramedics came, but weren't able to revive him."
Emily took a deep breath. Her entire body quivered. "Was it a heart attack?"
"No, ma'am."
"Oh my god, what the hell happened?"
The officer swiped at his brow. "We’re not sure, but we arrested an assistant manager at the store and are beginning a murder investigation."
The suddenness of receiving this information made her stomach ache. The bitterness of bile rose in her throat, leaving her needing to vomit. She dropped to her knees and placed her head on the ground.
Chapter Seven
The lawn was small, but maintained with extreme care. The hue of the shutters offered a perfect contrast to the trim colors of the windows. Two peach trees out front were budding, offering a promise of renewal. They cast long shadows on the grass as the early evening sun dropped in the sky.
Rick was not feeling the seasonal vibe and stared at Molly's house in a detached wonderment. The house morphed in his imagination to the tiny bungalow they lived in after getting married. It was small, but it was their home, until she threw him to the curb. “Get your damn drinking under control,” Molly had said, pushing their small daughter back into the house as Rick left.
Ultimately, he found an apartment while Molly moved into the smaller house in which she now lived. How did she make everything look so easy? She moved in here a year ago and somehow it's like she'd been overseeing the maintenance of her place for years. Mentally he compared it to his apartment. He had done little to make his place more livable, or in any way inviting. He didn't care much because most visitors were after hours hook-ups where his décor choices weren't a significant issue.
An hour earlier, Rick had texted Molly "I’m free to talk. Can you?"
She responded within seconds, "Yes, but you're going to have to come here." Surprising given he almost never got invited in the house, usually only standing on the stoop waiting to pick up Sammie for his scheduled visitation. He couldn't remember the last time she allowed him past the front door, but this time Molly grabbed his arm and led him to the sofa in the living room.
"Thanks for getting back to me," she began without giving Rick a chance to acclimate. He sensed an anxious pitch to her tone.
"No problem. Your texts last night disturbed me."
She paced for a moment before plopping into the oversized reading chair across from the couch. "Sorry. Rough night. Not for you to worry."
His eyes narrowed and he squeezed his knees together. "She's our kid. Of course, I'm worried. Where is she?"
"My mom's watching her. She's staying for dinner so you'll miss her."
Again, no surprise. He presumed she called her mom to take Sammie once he told her he was coming over. Perhaps not manipulative, but an attempt to keep their conversation short and focused.
