Accidental Lawyer_A humorous peak into Baltimore's legal community, with a thread of mystery

by Kim Hamilton

  “Here’s our guy,” I said. We closed the box of doughnuts, wiped the sugar from our hands and faces, and waited for the driver to get out of the truck. I assumed the driver was Roger, the guy the cashier had told us about. He was a man of large proportions. He wore dark khaki shorts and a tan company T-shirt with an image that resembled the side of the truck. As he stepped from the driver’s seat, he paused, winced, readjusted his position, and then lowered his feet to the ground. His gait was slow and cautious as he moved toward the back of the truck and raised the rear door.

  “Looks like he has back pain,” Kari said.

  So as not to startle him, I closed my car door hard. He turned to face us as we approached.

  “Are you Roger?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  “I’m Jessica Snow. My associate and I are doing some research. I understand that you make deliveries here every other day?”

  “That’s right.” He turned back toward the truck and lowered a ramp. After conferring with a clipboard, he proceeded up the ramp, taking slow, small steps.

  “Do you recall when Brenner’s old lobster tank started to leak?” I had worked hard formulating this question on the way over here.

  “That’s a leading question. It assumes the tank was leaking.” It turned out Roger watched Law & Order, too. He began loading boxes onto a pull cart.

  “Well, was it leaking?” Kari asked.

  “Yeah, it was an old tank, and not a real quality one, either. I noticed a small leak months ago and told the guy who works behind the counter. Ben is his name.”

  Aha! Ben knew about the leak, and he knew that Roger knew about it, too. That’s all I needed to prove to Franco that Brenner’s was negligent. I could see the fifteen grand dancing before my eyes. I pulled my cell phone out and found the icon that records. “I’d like to get your statement recorded. It won’t take long.”

  “Oh no,” he said. “I already said too much. Do you know who owns this place?”

  I didn’t respond. Kari stayed quiet, too.

  “The Giovanni family owns this place. I’m dead if Franco finds out that I told you. I’ll deny it and won’t lose any sleep over it. Now I got work to do.”

  “You can’t ignore the fact that Brenner’s was negligent. I represent a young man who was injured when he slipped on the water that leaked from the tank. You’re my only witness. I need your help.”

  “You need to find another way, lady. I’m not getting on the wrong side of the Giovanni family.”

  I had to admit that I didn’t blame him. My dilemma was not life or death. It was money or no money; fee or no fee. I couldn’t ask this man to put himself in peril, perceived or otherwise.

  He wheeled the loaded cart down the ramp, grimacing with each step.

  “How long have you had the back problem?” Kari asked.

  “That obvious, huh? Since last week when my handcart broke and I had to make deliveries without it all day. Musta pulled something.”

  Kari pulled a business card out of her bag. “You’ve got a workers’ compensation claim. We can help. We can get you medical attention and paid time off work. You need to rest that back.” She took his clipboard and clipped my card to it.

  As we walked to the car, Kari said, “Tony’s case may be in the crapper, but we got ourselves a potential new client.”

  I felt defeated. I started to play a game with Franco and he out-played me. “Do you think I should have taken the $15,000 offer he made at the hospital?”

  “You can’t be second-guessing yourself like that. Think about it. Why did you turn down the offer in the first place? What was your reasoning?”

  “I was worried. Tony was in the hospital, the test results weren’t back, and he was in a great deal of pain. If his injuries were serious, fifteen grand wouldn’t cut it.”

  “You did the right the thing then, and you’ll do the right thing now.”

  “What is that?”

  “I thought you’d know. You’re the lawyer.”

  We brought the extra doughnuts and bananas into the office kitchen. Marty and Dawson were sitting at the table drinking coffee. Marty was dressed in his standard suit and tie, ready to head to court, and Dawson was wearing khakis and a golf shirt, which meant he would squeeze in a few holes later today.

  “Where have you two been?” Dawson asked.

  “Failing,” I said.

  “Don’t be so melodramatic,” Kari said to me. She turned to the men. “We went looking for a witness, found one who told us what we wanted to hear, and then he clammed up because he’s afraid the mob will turn him into fish food if he cooperates with us.”

  “Let me guess,” Marty said. “You found a witness for the stripper’s case, but he won’t roll over on Franco Giovanni?”

  “First of all, he’s not a stripper. He’s a male dancer.” I said.

  “Yeah,” Kari said, “On account of he doesn’t show his junk.”

  “And second, yeah, you’re right. He won’t talk. He told us he knew the lobster tank was leaking. He even said he told Ben, the guy who runs the fish counter. But he’s afraid of upsetting Franco.” I poured myself some coffee. “And frankly, I don’t blame him.”

  “Why? Because Franco Giovanni is a tough businessman?” Dawson asked.

  “A tough businessman? No! It’s because he’s a modern-day Godfather.”

  “Rumors of Franco’s savagery are greatly exaggerated. I ran into him last week at the House of Hair. Now that Paulette’s got someone doing mani-pedis, that’s where I go for mine. Franco does, too. He’s the one who loaned Paulette the money. He’s a tough guy, no doubt. Very intimidating. I wouldn’t want to cross him, but he’s a businessman. He can be reasoned with.”

  I held my coffee cup in both hands and bowed my head toward it in defeat. “I’ve tried. It doesn’t work.”

  “So that’s it? You’re giving up?”

  I took a seat next to him as I contemplated my answer. My reflex response was to say, “Well, yeah, I’m giving up, what else can I do?” But as I rehearsed these words in my head, I realized they were words of defeat. In that moment, I decided I wasn’t giving up. I wasn’t a quitter. Tony deserved compensation, and I planned to get it for him. Maybe it was the sugar rush from the doughnuts kicking in, but I was determined to shake down Franco. I couldn’t let him win.

  “No, I'm not giving up. I’m going to talk to Franco again.”

  Dawson gave me an ‘attagirl’ chuck on the shoulder and said, “Better take Kari with you this time.”

  #

  My cell phone rang. It was my mother calling.

  “What is this I hear about you and exploding toilets? I was watching the Meredith Viera Show and saw your commercial.”

  “Hi, Mom. It’s like the commercial says. There are thousands of defective toilets out there. A recall has been issued, but it hasn’t been well publicized. People are getting hurt when their toilets explode. I already have two clients.”

  “You’re helping them fix their toilets?”

  “No, mom. I’m a lawyer, not a plumber. I’m helping them get compensation for their pain and suffering and money to fix their bathrooms.”

  “Good, because we didn’t send you to law school to end up doing plumbing. Now, how do I know if our toilets are defective?”

  There were three toilets in my parents’ house. My mother said she was in the powder room on the first floor. I told her to lift the lid off the tank and tell me what she saw.

  “I’m going to need both hands, so I’m putting the phone down and putting you on speaker.”

  “Let me know what you see when you look inside the tank.”

  “There’s a black box that says ‘Friendly Flush II’. Is that good?”

  “No, that’s not good. Don’t use that toilet, mom. Put a note on the door. Don’t let anybody use that toilet.”

  “Oh my god. Our house could explode. It’s a ticking time bomb!”

  “It’s fine. Nothing will happen unless you flu
sh the toilet. Just don’t use it. Now, let’s check on the other two.” It turned out that the toilet in my parents’ master bath was also a Friendly Flush II, but the one in the other bathroom on the second floor was not. That was the bathroom that my siblings and I used growing up. It still had the old five-gallon, super-flush, no-clog system that environmentalists hated. It was a great toilet.

  “I’m going to hang up now and call a plumber.”

  #

  The phone call with my mother made me realize how important it was to get the word out and encourage people to check their toilets. My earlier research had focused on the companies involved and the liability issue. I had skimmed over the practical aspects of the recall. It had been mandated by the Consumer Product Safety Commission. In response, the manufacturer of The Friendly Flush II established a system whereby consumers could call the 1-800 number or register at their website. Once the serial number on the unit was verified, a replacement part would be mailed to the consumer. The removal of the defective unit and the installation of the new unit was said to take about twenty minutes and could be done by the consumer. No need to call a plumber. The company recommended turning off the water supply to the toilet. For households with only one toilet, they suggest dumping two gallons of water into the bowl to generate a “gravity-style flush.”

  This was quite useful information that had not been widely publicized, resulting in injuries that otherwise could have been prevented. I thought the public should be made aware of these specifics so they could check for themselves before their toilets exploded.

  I called my mother, told her to turn off the water supply to each of the defective toilets, and gave her the 1-800-number and request the replacement kits. Then I went in to see Dawson.

  “I think our exploding toilet commercial is too general and self-serving. We should put more emphasis on encouraging the audience to check their toilets before they explode. We could include the 1-800 number for the recall. There are a lot of safety tips online. People should be informed about this stuff.”

  Dawson paused. “Hmmm.”

  “Dawson?”

  “I’m struggling with a moral dilemma.”

  “What’s that?”

  “By notifying the public about the danger and warning them before any more injuries occur, we are effectively eliminating potential new business.”

  These were the words of a focused businessman. Do the right thing and you may lose money. Politicians face a similar dilemma—do the right thing and you may lose votes.

  “Damn it, Dawson, stop thinking with your wallet. You know it’s the moral thing to do. We can help people. It’s that simple.”

  He lowered his head. “I know.”

  “Look. If it makes you feel any better, here’s how it will go down. DGA will be getting the word out about toilet explosions. There must be many more Marshalls and Trudys out there who were injured and are either too embarrassed to come forward. We’ll nail down all those victims. Plus, we will be helping save others who may have been injured. You will be a hero. Your name will be golden. The next time any of them need a lawyer for anything, they’ll call DGA because they know they can trust us. After all, we saved them from an exploding toilet.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

  “Think big picture, Dawson. This thing has legs.”

  “You’re right!” He walked behind his desk and picked up the phone. “I’ll call Sal right now and have him revamp that thirty-second spot again. Send him what you have on the specifics of inspecting and fixing the toilets.”

  #

  I called Franco and asked if he could meet Kari and me at Aldo’s to discuss resolving Tony’s claim.

  “You must have found a witness. What did that cost you?” He laughed.

  “I don’t bribe witnesses. That’s not how I do business.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “You’ll learn.”

  It bothered me that he assumed I’d get sucked into debased and unethical tactics to hustle a fee. There’s a lot that I would do for a client, but I would never fabricate a witness. Even Marty wouldn’t fabricate a witness. Maybe Stuart Milligan would, but even he wouldn’t try to pull that on the likes of Franco Giovanni.

  We agreed to meet at three o’clock. Kari came with me this time.

  When we arrived, I expected Franco would be occupying his usual spot with Elvis and Paulie seated in the booth across from him, like the last time we met. But he wasn’t there. I told the bartender we were meeting with Franco and asked if it was okay if we sat in that same booth.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you. Franco don’t like to come in to find someone in his booth.”

  We took a seat at the bar and ordered two ginger ales.

  “Guess it’s too early for margaritas,” Kari said.

  “Yes. Plus, we need to stay sharp to get what we want out of Franco.” I said his name and Franco walked through the door, Elvis in front of him and Paulie trailing behind. Kari sat up a little straighter in her chair and patted her hair.

  “Hello, counselor,” Franco said. “And Kari.” He gave her a nod.

  “I’m a little surprised you remembered my name,” Kari said.

  “I make it a habit to learn the names of the people I do business with. Come back to my booth.”

  We grabbed our drinks and slid into the booth across from him. Elvis and Paulie took the booth adjacent to us.

  “I had planned on getting here early to order you a large water with lemon.” He laughed. Elvis and Paulie joined in. Kari laughed along with them. I kicked her under the table.

  “What? That was funny.” More laughter.

  I knew I should let it go and laugh along with them, but I was too uptight about the business at hand.

  “I’m glad you all could share a laugh together at my expense.” A server came by and sat a mug of coffee in front of Franco and two Cokes in front of his associates. When she retreated to the front room, we began our meeting.

  It turned out to be a short one. I explained to him, without naming names, that we had spoken to two employees and one vendor who both said with certainty that the lobster tank was leaking, that it had been brought to at least one of the managers’ attention, and he took ineffective steps to remedy the problem. I further explained that none of these people would come forward to make a formal statement for fear of losing their jobs or facing other unsavory repercussions should they disappoint Mr. Giovanni.

  As I concluded my statement, he was nodding and smiling. “Such loyalty from my people. It warms my heart.” He pressed both hands together over his heart in mocked gratification, quite pleased with himself. “So you see why your dancer has no claim.”

  Anger pressed its heat against my cheeks. “Mr. Giovanni, I don’t think you play fair.”

  “Of course I don’t play fair. This isn’t a game of Monopoly. This is business. Still a game, yes, but we’re playing with real money.”

  He was right about one thing—this was a game involving real money. But he was wrong about not playing fair. I didn’t think you had to cheat to win. This kind of game was won by strategizing and outmaneuvering your opponent. I had lost this round because I had been naive enough to think that he would want to do the right thing.

  At the same time, it was clear that Franco was amused by me.

  “Don’t quit on me now, counselor. It’s your move.”

  #

  Mrs. Bianco was standing on a stepladder cleaning her front windows with a bottle of Windex and a wad of newspaper when I arrived home.

  “Mrs. B, you should wait and have me help you with that. You shouldn’t be standing on a ladder by yourself.”

  “I can handle a stepladder. Look,” she said, climbing down. “I’m done.” She stood back and admired her work. I looked from her windows to mine and realized they needed cleaning, too.

  “Sit. Let’s have a glass of port together, and you can tell me about your day. I’ll be right back with glasses.” She took the old newspapers a
nd Windex inside and returned with two glasses and a bottle.

  “Tell me about work. How is your stripper case going?”

  “It’s not going well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember I told you that Franco made an offer of $15,000, but I had to turn it down?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “Well, now he refuses to pay anything.”

  “How can he refuse?”

  “He wants evidence even though he admits the tank was leaking.”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  “That’s my dilemma. I have witnesses, but they’re afraid to come forward, and Franco knows it. I can tell he’s having fun with this.”

  “That’s not right. He’s intimidating witnesses. He’s acting like bully.” She slammed her glass down on the table, stood up, and stamped her foot. “I’m telling his mama. When I see her tonight, I tell her what you told me. She’ll set Franco straight.”

  Now I was amused. Was it possible that Franco’s own mother could shame him into settling with me? I quickly assessed this plan. It had some potential, but something was bothering me. If Franco knew that I complained about him to Mrs. Bianco and got his mother involved, he’d be furious with me. I’d seem childish and unprofessional, and it would upset his mother. Even if he settled to appease Cecelia, he’d be pissed at me for involving her. I’d be a fool to piss him off.

  “Here’s the problem,” I said to Mrs. Bianco. “You can’t say anything to Cecelia. It will upset Franco. I’ll lose any respect he may still have for me.

  She sat for a moment staring into her empty glass of port. A sly smile played at the corners of her lips.

  “This is what we do. You drive me to bingo tonight. Franco always drives Cecelia there. Once he drops her off, you confront him about the whole stripper thing and I happen to overhear the conversation. I be waiting around corner and sneak up from behind. Then I’ll scold Franco and threaten to tell his mama unless he offers you good money to settle.”

  I let this plan settle in for a few moments, looking for flaws. I couldn’t find one. I called Kari to run it by her. “That’s an excellent plan. Let me tag along.”