Single Jeopardy

by Gene Grossman

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  Chapter 16

  A popular comedian named Chris Rock says: “when a boss tells his secretary to go to bed with him or she’s fired, that’s sexual harassment. Anything else, is just trying to get laid.” Several important people disagree with Chris, and fortunately nine of them are on the United States Supreme Court.

  Another one is my new boat landlord, Stuart. Before living on his late uncle’s Grand Banks and having the luxury of a built-in law library, I was doing my research at the offices of Alfred Nieman, a local attorney who has built quite a reputation for himself by specializing in workplace Sexual and Age Harassment, types of Discrimination, and Wrongful Termination law. Spending so many hours over there and overhearing his conversations with some of the hundreds of callers his office hears from each month, I’ve absorbed some of that law by osmosis.

  I now have the luxury of being acquainted with two notable experts in those fields: Al and my friend Stuart, a non-lawyer who has discovered another way to exploit the law for his own profit. Being licensed to practice law in the State of California and the United States Supreme Court is only one of the two differences between Al and Stuart – the other being the fact that Al is a Harvard graduate and has spent more than twenty years honing his knowledge and experience, so that now he only accepts about one case a month out of the hundred or more calls he gets. Stuart, on the other hand, has been learning about his new ‘specialty’ for almost a month now – and he also accepts one case a month – the same amount of calls he gets.

  Not being a licensed attorney, Stuart can’t actually represent these ‘clients,’ but he can help them prove up their case so that a competent lawyer will at least have some ammunition to walk into court with.

  Most of the calls Al gets are people complaining that their boss sexually harassed them. When Al starts to ask them specific questions, he almost always discovers that their alleged case is too weak to prosecute for several of the common reasons: the actions complained of really are not technically sexual harassment, or, the complainant has some private agenda or motive against the boss, or there’s just no evidence to support the claim. And that’s where Stuart comes in. When he meets a female (and most of the sexual harassment complainants are), he helps them get the ‘goods’ on the alleged perpetrator by using a ‘wire’ on the victim, to record and often photograph the accused in action. As consideration for his efforts, Stuart will get a hefty ‘private investigator’s’ fee from any lawyer who successfully obtains a monetary reward for the client.

  The State of California prohibits any unlicensed person from acting as an investigator for the general public, but if the assignment is done for an attorney, then it’s okay. Stuart gets around this hurdle by having the lady call the attorney first and have him then authorize Stuart to ‘look into the matter.’ If the alleged facts actually turn into a case, Stuart gets paid an investigation fee. If there’s no case, then his efforts go unrewarded. This means that he has a financial motive to succeed.

  Actually, he’s walking the fine line of falling into the category of being what’s called a ‘capper,’ which is someone who collects money for referring people to an attorney. This type of practice can also get the attorney in trouble, because they’re not allowed to share their fees with any unlicensed people. Most cappers avoid problems by having more than one attorney to work for, and I have a feeling that Stuart would like to recruit me as one of his ‘specialists.’ It’s probably due to his knowing about my time spent at Al Nieman’s office and picking up some of the finer points of law involved in those types of cases.

  Logic tells me to pass on this lucrative offer of his; my ex-wife and her associates are busy enough as it is, and I’d rather not hand myself to them on a silver platter, as another case to prosecute. This is the right decision to make, but I still realize that a lot of what I have today is owed to Stuart. Settling his uncle’s wrongful death got me this Grand Banks, and settling his asbestos non-injury got me the Hummer and a savings account, but I still feel that his new business is too much like ‘bottom feeding,’ until he tells me that Maggie, his latest ‘client’ is an employee at a local restaurant - one of the several owned by none other than the mysterious Robert Palmer.

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  Maggie works two afternoons each week as a bookkeeper, and weekend evenings as a waitress in the Mexican place Palmer owns directly across the street from the Chinese restaurant where the parking lot murder took place. Her sexual harassment case sounds weak, but my ‘office manager’ says it’s okay for us to take Maggie on as a client as long as Stuart’s investigative services are paid for on an hourly basis and with absolutely no connection to our ultimate success or failure in handling the case.

  I look forward to interviewing Maggie, especially after my ‘office’ boss authorizes an open expense account to handle her alleged case. If everything works out as planned, her sexual harassment suit will probably be replaced by one for wrongful termination, but it doesn’t make any difference what the exact grounds are, as long as they open the door for us to do some civil discovery and depose the mysterious Mister Palmer.

  At first I thought it was strange that approval was given for us to spend money on this case, but I figure that the kid must have some reason for wanting us to take this case, so I might as well do my best on it.

  The big advantage that civil discovery has over criminal discovery is that in a civil case you can force the defendant to testify. He can ‘take the fifth’ in either a civil or criminal proceeding, but at least in the civil case you’re allowed to call him to the witness stand and are guaranteed a crack at questioning him. If a defendant refuses to answer questions claiming a right against self-incrimination during a civil trial, that fact alone can usually sway a jury against him. It doesn’t take a unanimous vote on a civil jury, so things like refusing to testify carry a lot of weight with them.

  The basis of Maggie’s sexual harassment complaint is a series of uninvited and unwelcome advances and sexual suggestions made by a guy named Vito Renzi, who is a manager of the car-parking valet service that services both of the restaurants near the Chinese place. This car-parking business is one of the companies that my Sacramento research shows as being owned by Mister Palmer. Maggie was also curious why the boss was authorizing her to make out several large checks to the valet company harasser; checks that were much more than the usual bimonthly checks she had been issuing to him over the past three years that she was employed there.

  My plan is to have her complain to Palmer and question the wisdom of paying so much money to Renzi. These questions can be justified from any bookkeeper, in view of the fact that Renzi was getting paid far more than the entire car parking business was bringing in. If everything goes according to plan, she’ll probably get fired and then I’ll have my big chance to depose Palmer and subpoena his books; there might be some interesting things to be found there. More interesting however, are the visits that all those Culver City Police detectives are making almost on a daily basis now to the little princess’ forward stateroom by.

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  It’s finally my Thursday big-date night and promptly at seven I’m sitting here at our reserved table in Pollo Meshuga, our favorite Mexican restaurant, while Myra and I were still together. The place is well known for its food, and the fact that they’ve got at least four large screen television sets hanging from the ceiling, strategically placed so that no matter where you’re sitting or standing, you will have your dinner conversation distracted by one of the screens. Most of the time all the sets are playing a soccer game that’s being broadcast in Spanish, but during the early dinner hours they usually tune to an English speaking CNN channel for us few gringo customers.

  Another reason we both like the place is because notwithstanding its not-quite-classy family type of décor, it uses what we consider the best margarita ingredients in the world, including Patron Añejo Tequila.

  Myra arrives right on time, but it still seems lik
e I was sitting and waiting for a while. That’s probably because I’ve been here since six thirty, making sure not to be late for my free dinner. Since she’s offered to pick up this check, I’ve already had two Margaritas. I need a little extra support. She looks as beautiful as ever, but in a sort of reserved way. Her formerly bright red hair is now a reserved dark brown, no doubt to not distract jurors; her formerly open blouse is now covered with a reserved business suit, no doubt to not distract me. I made sure to have her Patrón margarita waiting on the table. If she doesn’t drink it, then I’ll know for sure she’s here on business and I’ll make every effort to help her out by speaking directly into the flowerpot.

  I might as well start with a compliment. “Hi, you look nice tonight. I like what you’ve done with your hair.” That’s a safe opening. You can’t go wrong with a compliment unless you fail to make it sound sincere enough. God, she looked so much better with that wild red head of hair. It really used to drive me crazy and she knew it. She is a true redhead. I’m waiting to hear the tone of her voice when she talks to me. You can tell a lot by the tone of a woman’s voice. The lower it is, the more trouble you’re in. This time, it’s in the medium range.

  “Nice to see you Petey… and thanks for having my drink waiting.” Good… she’s drinking it, and there’s no tape-recorder-in-a-briefcase on the table for me to worry about. Maybe this really is a social event. We were always pretty compatible, so maybe she’d like a little more of Petey’s Petey. Now that Rita is probably history, I’d sure hate to just have Laverne as my only backup. It can’t hurt to talk about something I know she’s interested in.

  “How’s your Asian gang murder case going?”

  “Not too bad, there’ve been some court delays during the jury selection process and the judge was out having some surgery for a while, but it’s going along nicely now.” Damn. They’re still going ahead with that case. What’s wrong with them?

  “Still convinced you’ve got the right guys?”

  “Well to be honest, at several times during the investigation I had some doubts, but Bill assured me that he’d come through with the final evidence for me, so I’m not worried.” That clinches it. Her boss is setting her up to shoulder the full responsibility when this case of theirs goes down the tubes. I want to warn her to be careful, but I know I’m walking on eggshells here.

  “You know, if this case goes into the toilet, it’ll be you taking the fall, not Mister Bill Miller. He can write it off as the failing of an incompetent deputy trial attorney.” That must have been a bad button for me to press. If she wasn’t on her second drink, I’m sure the response would be much stronger.

  “Can’t you get off of it? Bill Miller is not that kind of person. He cares about my career and would never put me in a position like that.” I think it best to drop the matter lest she have a change of heart when the check arrives, so I quickly switch the conversation to catching up on what some past mutual friends of ours are doing.

  The strange thing about this dinner chat is that it’s probably the longest conversation I’ve had with her since our third year of marriage. Thinking back, the best times we had together were when she was going to evening law school and we would spend most of our time together discussing the landmark cases she had to brief for class participation. We really had something in common then, a common ground we could share.

  Most people think that the definition of ‘intimacy’ is having a ‘sexual relationship,’ but sex is only one part of it. It’s sharing an interest, communicating, trust, and the freedom to say whatever’s on your mind knowing that you’ll get some support in return. Helping her study law started to get us closer to that, but never really got us all the way there. This evening’s chitchat makes me think of our old conversations. Any verbal exchange between spouses that can go on for at least ten minutes without an argument starting is a good sign, almost as enjoyable as watching a long volley between professional tennis players.

  To keep the conversation going I consider bringing up Stuart’s adventures, but she never cared for him, so that topic is avoided. Several other topics are also being avoided and I get that old feeling like I’m walking on eggshells around her. If I say the wrong thing, she’ll get mad again. This isn’t fun anymore. Come to think of it, if we weren’t discussing the law, it rarely was fun. I guess if you’re not talking about something she’s really into, you’re just not a very interesting person. Maybe that’s why she’s so enamored with her boss and the job, because it’s law, law, law, all day long. That reminds me of a line that William Shatner delivered in a Saturday Nite Live skit that featured him talking to a bunch of attendees at a Star Trek convention, all clad in Star Trek costumes - from crew members to Klingons. He looked down at them and said “people, get a life!” I think someone should say something like that to the people in her office.

  At this point I’m already starting to sneak glances at the clock on the wall opposite where I’m sitting, hoping that this forced polite evening will end. I don’t want to miss the eleven thirty P.M. Charlie Rose show on our local PBS station. He really knows how to ask questions. I’d like to see him cross-examine a witness in court.

  After we’ve had another round of drinks or two and a couple of gourmet meals, the drinks are catching up on me so I excuse myself to make a pit stop. On the way to the men’s room I notice that the local nine o’clock news is being broadcast, in English. With four screens in a relatively small restaurant, about the only time you can’t watch one is when you’re in a bathroom, but you can still hear it in there, and I did. The newsreader drones on. “Culver City Police have announced that they are zeroing in on a suspect for the parking lot murder that took place several months ago in Marina del Rey. This local department took over the investigation, so as not to cause a conflict between the Los Angeles Police Department and the local district attorney’s office, currently finishing up jury selection on the same case, but with different defendants. We’ve never seen this happen before: another person being investigated for the same crime in which a trial with other defendants is taking place.”

  Almost breaking my zipper, I make a mad dash to finish up and get back to my table. Just as I exit the men’s room, I see the newscaster wrapping up: “the police spokesman stated that most of their new information was provided to them by a private attorney who was formerly married to the deputy district attorney now prosecuting those other defendants in the downtown Los Angeles trial.” When I get back to the table Myra is gone, but our dinner check isn’t, so it looks there really is ‘no free lunch.’ I can’t help it. No matter how hard I try, everything I do winds up hurting her in some way.

  I wonder what little girl could have been leaking information to the press. It looks like behind the scenes there were some people working for me that I didn’t know about. Culver City Police had accountants going through Palmer’s restaurant books, so it looks like he might also be a suspect soon. Another expected development is the phone call that I get from Stuart telling me that Maggie has been fired.

  Her cases for sexual harassment and wrongful dismissal are temporarily being put on hold. She agrees that it would be best to wait until the criminal investigation ends. In the meantime, I have my other problem to worry about. After that disastrous dinner, Myra will probably do anything to get me back behind bars, so from this moment on I’d better act as if I was under a microscope, because I’m sure that the entire district attorney’s staff, the LAPD, and the local press are watching my every move. And the moves they can’t see might just get leaked to them anyway. At least one almost decent thing has happened: later this evening when I stop in at the Chinese restaurant to pick up a local throwaway magazine I see Maggie waiting on tables.

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  Chapter 17

  The television newscasters are having a field day with this new turn of events. Defense attorneys for the Asian gang members were successful in getting the trial continued until after the Culver City Police finish their investigation. Distric
t Attorney Bill Miller has suddenly become the Invisible Man, leaving poor Myra dangling in the wind, facing the news cameras and trying to explain away what is going on, and why two different police agencies are investigating the same case, with the focus of their interests going in different directions.

  It was only a matter of time before Bill Miller finally would come out from under his rock. It only took him a few days to concoct some way to save his own face, so he scheduled a press conference. I see him on the early evening news while enjoying my guacamole at Pollo Meshuga, when he shows up on the TV screen. It looks like he’s outside on the Criminal Court building steps and surrounded by alleged journalists, all shoving microphones into his face. After posing long enough for the still camera guys to get their shots, he starts his oratory. “This office has the highest regard for one of our finest trial deputy district attorneys, Mizzzz Myra Scot. It is therefore with deep regret that earlier today we have accepted her letter of resignation from our office. She has been under extreme stress for the past few months and wants to take some time off to consider pursuing other matters.” Questions are being shouted out to him by the wolf pack of reporters.

  “Mister Miller, is it true that she was fired for mishandling the Asian gang murder trial?”

  “Mister district attorney, will the Asian gang trial continue soon?” It doesn’t stop until Miller does exactly what I warned Myra he would do.

  “This office is currently revisiting all of the preparation work that Mizz Scot did for this trial. If we find any inconsistencies, we will then re-think our trial strategy.”

  Damn, I’m sorry it had to happen this way, but it’s just like I tried to warn her. He blames it all on her, and he just walks away. It hit the fan and not one piece landed on him. And the whole world, including Myra, believes that it was entirely my fault. I guess the police weren’t about to admit that they’re working with a pre-teen kid on a homicide case, so I get stuck with taking the credit.