Desperate Justice

by Dennis Carstens

“Bruce Dolan knew the names of judges Leo had in his pocket?” Marc asked and looked at McReady who stared at Butch.

  “Interesting if you can prove it. If you can’t, don’t even bring the subject up,” McReady said.

  “Yeah,” Butch sighed, “I know. I think that may be why the asshole hosed me the way he did.”

  “Back to your case,” Marc continued. “Do you understand now why I have to hand this off? I can’t hardly go before an appeals court and argue your plea should be withdrawn because I’m an idiot.”

  “Would be amusing,” McReady said.

  “Yeah except once the laughter died down, they’d throw my ass out in the street.”

  “What about getting me moved? Apparently Leo is pissed about me testifying and he can get to me here even in the joint.”

  “We’re working on it,” McReady answered. “In, fact, it shouldn’t be a problem. They do this stuff all the time. You’re probably looking at going to Indiana. The prison in Michigan City. You should be okay there.”

  The three men talked for about another half-hour while McReady went over the process with Butch. He signed a Representation Agreement and they parted company with Marc promising Butch to keep an eye on the appeal and both lawyers promising to do their best.

  Just as Butch was shuffling toward the door which the same deputy held open, he turned to Chuck McReady and asked, “What are my chances?”

  McReady looked at Marc, shrugged his shoulders, turned back to Butch and said, “We’ll see, I’ve honest to God seen stranger things than this. Keep your hopes up.”

  NINETEEN

  That same afternoon Marc was at his desk reading through a divorce settlement he had negotiated for a client. This particular one had been extremely acrimonious which obviously always made things much more difficult and expensive than they had to be. These two, especially the wife, made this one more ridiculous than most.

  The husband Marc’s client, was a salesman whose job required him to do a lot of traveling and he was gone almost every week, usually for three or four days. He earned a good living that allowed the wife to stay at home and raise their two school-age children. The divorce started because, while the husband was away doing his job to provide for his family, his wife became involved with the older, single man living next door. This affair went on for several months until one day the husband came back from an out-of-town sales trip to find that while he was gone his wife had packed up herself, the two kids and almost all of the personal property they had and moved next door.

  The husband despite being totally devastated by this betrayal, managed to keep his cool and let things settle down. All the while the woman he loved with their two children was living with another man next door to their family home. A few weeks later the wife retained an attorney, filed for divorce and obtained a court order requiring him to pay her child support.

  It was at this point that Marc became involved. Marc had represented a friend of the husband in the friend’s divorce and he recommended Marc to the husband. The husband one of the nicest guys Marc had represented, by this time had become resigned to what had happened and wanted it over as painlessly as possible. The case was making its way through the process despite the wife being a little uncooperative. It had almost reached a settlement when the whole thing exploded and it looked like it would have to go to trial.

  Due to the financial strain the house payment, child support and attorney fees put on him, the husband got a roommate to help with the cost. Unknown to Marc, the roommate turned out to be an attractive young woman going through her own divorce who worked with the husband. He insisted that at first, the arrangement was totally platonic and they were just friends. Nature, being what it is, took over and before long they became romantically involved.

  In the meantime, the wife was finding out that the grass truly is not greener on the other side of the fence. The boyfriend and she were not getting along and she decided she wanted to reconcile with Marc’s client. Of course, at this point, the husband had no interest in getting back together with her. Amazingly the wife, whose behavior had caused all of this in the first place, draped herself with the mantle of a woman scorned and decided she was going to fight over everything, significant, trivial or imaginary, just to make him pay.

  They then spent several months and thousands of dollars in fees for both lawyers trying to get her to act like an adult. Marc reflected back to the day they all attended a court-mandated settlement conference when the two of them stood in the middle of the courtroom yelling at each other over a one hundred dollar bed for one of the kids. Marc even offered to buy the kid a bed himself just to calm them down.

  Fortunately for all concerned, but especially the two children who were caught in the middle of this fiasco, the two lawyers got along and kept things in perspective. Thankfully because of that, Marc was reading through the settlement agreement to bring it to an end. Marc signed his name to the document approving it as the agreement they reached, and as he was placing it back into his file, Chris Grafton knocked once on his door, opened it, stuck his head in and said, “Hey, you got a minute to talk to one of my clients?”

  “Sure,” Marc replied, “what do you have?”

  As Marc followed him across the reception area toward Grafton’s office, he turned to Marc and said, “A litigation problem for one of my clients.”

  Chris Grafton handled corporate law for businesses. He was quite good at it and had built up a nice, growing practice of small business clients. Grafton was not a litigator and did not want to be. Whenever one of his business clients had a litigation matter Grafton would get Marc or Barry Cline to take the case.

  On the way into Grafton’s office, Marc grabbed one of the chairs from the reception area and carried it in to have something to sit on. When the two lawyers were seated introductions were made then Grafton said, “Okay Marc, these two have a small internet company that handles online advertising for small businesses. The State Attorney General has brought suit against them claiming they are defrauding their customers…”

  “Which is total bullshit,” the younger man said. “The way our system works, we set up a website and social networking for our customers to try to drive business to them. We also, for a fee, will manage the advertising for them. We have a contract that spells out all of this.”

  “We get paid by credit card,” the older man, the younger one’s father, interjected. “We charge their credit card at the beginning of the month just like the contract says. About a half dozen of our customers in Minnesota disputed the charges with their credit card companies claiming they canceled before the charge. We submitted our contract to the card companies to present our side of the dispute. Our contract clearly requires a written cancellation which none of them did and their credit card company found in our favor. They then whined to the AG and she is suing us for them.”

  “Let me see if I have this right,” Marc said. “You have a business to business contract that not unreasonably, requires your business customer to cancel in writing. They didn’t do that so now the Minnesota Attorney General is suing you for them. Is that about it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it,” The father replied.

  “What the hell’s the matter with that woman?” Marc asked Grafton.

  “She’s the most anti-business, do-gooder this state has ever had. I’m surprised she’s doing this though because it’s not a big enough case so it won’t get her picture in the paper.”

  “What is she asking for?” Marc asked.

  “The Complaint doesn’t really say, exactly other than she wants to shut us down from doing business in Minnesota,” the father answered as he handed Marc a stack of documents. “Can you help us?”

  “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do. How much money were these people trying to get back from you?”

  “Maybe ten grand at most,” the son said. “But the Complaint wants to put us out of business. It’s bullshit.”

  Looking at Grafton, Marc asked, “Why does the AG�
�s office even get involved in this? Why don’t they tell these people to sue it themselves?”

  “Because this is her crusade. She’s a liberal do-gooder that thinks everything should be regulated by her. No one’s an adult. A contract means nothing and never mind how many thousands of jobs she has driven out of this state. Wisconsin and North and South Dakota love her. She’s been great for their economy. Not so much for Minnesota.”

  “Tell you what,” Marc said turning back to the two clients. “I’ll need a twenty-five hundred dollar retainer. I’ll respond to the Complaint, I’ll send them a formal Answer denying everything and then see what we can do to settle this. But if we have to go to trial, you’d be better off filing bankruptcy and move to Wisconsin and just stop doing business in Minnesota.”

  “Okay, we’ll write a check and go from there. Do what you can,” the father replied.

  Twenty minutes after his new clients left Carolyn buzzed him on the office intercom. She informed him that Tom Pender, his client with the divorce settlement he had read, was in the office. Marc opened his door and the man stood up from one of the reception area chairs.

  “Hey, Tom. Come in. I read over the settlement agreement,” Marc said as his client passed through the doorway, “and it looks good,” he continued as both men took their seats.

  “Do I have to read this thing? You’ve read it, right? Look okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’ve been over it and it looks good. It would be best if you read it too.”

  “Shit. Just give me the thing. I can’t wait to get this over,” he said as Marc withdrew the document from the case file on his desk. Tom continued by saying, “Did I tell you? She’s finally moving out this weekend.”

  “I didn’t know she was still living there,” Marc said as he opened the agreement to the signature page and pointed to the place where Tom was to sign.

  “Yeah she’s still next door. By the sound of things, there’s trouble in paradise.”

  Tom’s was the last signature needed on the document and when Tom finished signing it Marc yelled through the door for Carolyn. She came in, stood in the doorway scowling at him and said, “That’s why we have an intercom.”

  “That’s me using the intercom. Will you get me two copies of this please?” he asked handing her the document.

  “You’re lucky I like you,” she said as she left for the copy machine.

  “Anyway, now she’s moving out and getting her own place,” Tom continued. “Two bedrooms so the boys will have to share, but they’re okay. It amazes me how much she screwed up her life.”

  They went into the reception area; Carolyn brought him his copy and Marc’s client left. Marc looked at the clock, almost 5:00, and decided to call it a day. He went back into his office, closed the door and called Margaret Tennant. As he was leaving, Marc said good night to Carolyn, who was the only one still in the office, hurried to his car and drove straight to Margaret’s.

  TWENTY

  While Margaret Tennant busied herself in the kitchen preparing their dinner, silently delighted to have a man in her life to cook for and share things with, feminism be damned, Marc sipped a Killian’s Red while seated at the kitchen’s breakfast bar. The television set on one of the kitchen counters was tuned to the local Fox affiliate showing the evening news. He paid mild attention to it and Margaret while drinking his beer and thinking about his day.

  Marc looked at Margaret who was rapidly becoming the love of his life, as she paused to take a sip of her chardonnay and she said, “Goddamn she’s gorgeous.”

  “Who”? Marc asked.

  “Her,” Margaret said pointing at the TV.

  “Yeah, she is,” Marc replied. “Who is she?”

  “Her name’s on the screen. Gabriella Shriqui. At least I think that’s how it’s pronounced.”

  “Sure-e-key,” Marc said. “Wait, turn it up,” he quickly added, which Margaret did.

  “Again, City Councilman Carlton Bishop, a prominent lawyer and well-known community activist, has been arrested in a drug and prostitution sting,” they heard the reporter say as the station went to a split screen to show both the reporter and a video of the councilman being led into the jail in handcuffs.

  “Is there any more information at this time, Gabriella?” the anchorman asked her.

  “Not at this time. The mayor’s office did say they would have a statement later today.”

  The screen went to the anchor desk where the female anchor looked at the camera and said, “To summarize, Minneapolis City Councilman Carlton Bishop was arrested earlier today allegedly trying to buy crack cocaine and procure the services of a prostitute who was, in fact, an undercover police officer. We’ll have an update on our late edition at 10:00.”

  “Carlton Bishop, I hope they cut his nuts off,” Margaret said.

  “Why is it, whenever a man gets into trouble like this, women immediately want to cut off vital body parts?”

  “Because this guy is a sleazy, phony, hypocrite asshole,” she replied.

  “Yeah, you have a point. I went to law school with him.”

  “You know him?”

  “Enough to say hello. Even back then everything was race, politics and racial politics.”

  “I heard he wanted to run for Congress. This little episode should kill that, thank God,” Margaret said.

  “Why don’t you like this guy? Has he been in your courtroom?”

  “A couple of times. It’s disgusting. It’s all grandstanding, bluster and bullshit with this phony. He doesn’t go anywhere without making sure the press will be there to cover him.”

  “Well,” Marc said as he finished his beer and set the bottle on the counter, “don’t bet that this will hurt him politically. This is Minneapolis and he’s a little left of the Castro brothers. Before this is done, the liberals in the city will be painting him as the victim and the cops as fascist gangsters out to get him because of his race.”

  “That’s a good point,” she said.

  The next morning, after leaving Margaret’s suburban home, Marc drove to his apartment to change clothes. After changing and while driving to his office he again pondered Margaret’s suggestion that he move in with her. He was tempted, but the little tiff they had the night before about it caused him to pause yet again. Marc was simply not ready to make that kind of commitment. His divorce had only recently become final and he needed some time on his own.

  Before they went to bed Margaret brought the subject up and he brushed it off with a look that should have told her, once again, to leave it alone. After they made love she took another shot at it, teasing him about the sexual benefits to be had. This time he told her flat out he wasn’t ready, at which point, in a faux pout, she rolled over and turned her bare back to him.

  He kissed her lightly on the shoulder and whispered in her ear, “It won’t work.”

  “It won’t?” she said with a smile he couldn’t see.

  “Sorry, nope. Nice try.”

  Marc thought about it after he parked his car in the small lot behind the Reardon Building which housed the offices he shared. He knew he was right and he wasn’t going to let Margaret guilt him into it, a thought that caused him a little concern. Are all women genetically predisposed to manipulate men, especially with sex, or is it something that is passed on from generation to generation Marc wondered?

  He walked up the creaky, wooden stairs at the back of the building to the second-floor suite of offices, went in the main door, said hello to the staff and heard his landlord, Connie Mickelson, yell out, “Is that Marc? C’mon in here for a minute.”

  “What’s up?” Marc asked as he closed her office door.

  Connie had become a lawyer in the late sixties, before it became either acceptable or fashionable for women to go to law school. She had been an oddity for the times and not just because of her professional ambitions. Despite growing up in the sixties, she was not a feminist liberal, whom she derisively referred to as whiny, lazy, entitlement junkies. She was
all for women’s equality but she considered herself an excellent example of a woman who didn’t wait for the government to give her something. Her attitude was always that if you want something, get off your lazy ass and go get it. Stop waiting for the government to give it to you. Connie just believed if a former Jewish Princess could do it, then you can too.

  “Have you heard about Carlton Bishop?” she asked as Marc sat down in one of her client chairs.

  “Sure, saw it on TV last night, why?”

  “Word is already out, he’s looking to make a deal. Some politicians around town are worried. Like he has some dope on some people that he could trade for a walk on the charges.”

  “Why would he throw away a political career over this chickenshit? It’s chump change for a guy like Bishop.”

  “He’s had other problems in the past. Especially with drugs. Been busted a couple of times before he got on the city council. The Dems kept it quiet and the media played along or at least that’s how the story goes.”

  “Still, why would he care? This won’t hurt him in his district. Hell, it will probably help him.”

  “The word is that he’s going to run for Congress in a couple years. Mayor Gillette can’t win another term. Two terms for a Republican in this city, even a woman, is a miracle. And Congressman Rison wants to be mayor so that would open his seat for Bishop.

  “Plus, he would likely get disbarred over this latest mess he’s gotten himself into. That could be a problem if he runs for higher office. City Council, no one would care, but Congress is a different deal.”

  There was a soft knock on Connie’s door and without waiting for a reply, Carolyn stuck her head in and with a puzzled look said, “Marc, there‘s a Carlton Bishop on the phone for you.”

  “You know him?” a clearly surprised Connie asked.

  “A little. We were in law school together. This is a surprise,” he said as he stood to leave to take the call in his own office.

  Marc spent the next ten minutes on the phone with the councilman who did almost all of the talking. He raged on and on about how he had been entrapped by a racist police department. Marc calmly listened wondering how racist the department could be since the Chief and several high-ranking officers were African-American. Bishop finally had to pause for breath which gave Marc the opening to ask the obvious question of why he was calling.