by Mike Faricy
“Nancy, I’m a private investigator. I’m working on a case looking into the dealings an individual named Austin Hackett has had with a number of handicapped individuals.”
“Has he hired you?” she said making it sound more like an accusation than a simple question.
“No, to be honest, at this stage I don’t believe he’s even aware I’m looking into the situation. I can state for a fact he has not, and certainly will not be hiring me.”
“So you’re going after him?”
“I suppose that would be an accurate statement.”
“We should meet,” she said.
Chapter Twelve
Nancy Rilley was an attractive red-headed woman with an aura of someone who knew her way around. She reminded me an awful lot of Heidi. I was seated at the bar in Kincaid’s and waved. She was the only redhead looking around once she’d stepped in the door. She nodded the moment I caught her attention and headed in my direction.
“Nancy? Hi, I’m Dev Haskell. Thanks for taking the time to meet with me. Can I get you something?”
“Vodka martini, dirty,” she said to the bartender who’d watched her crossing the room and just happened to wash up on shore at the same time she did.
“Tough work day?” I asked
“No, I just came from my therapist. I always seem to need a little fortification after one of those sessions.”
“I hope everything’s okay.”
“What? Oh yeah, thanks, but no worries. It’s not like I’m going to go up into some tower and start screaming. Well, I’d love to scream at one person.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “It was part of my divorce settlement. Since Austin has to pay for the sessions as long as I need them, I guess I’ll just plan on needing them for a very long time.”
“You were divorced in December of twenty-fourteen?”
“Yeah, officially, but I’d moved out months before that, lived with a number of different friends.”
“Tough getting resettled, I suppose.”
“No, not really. I was glad to get away from him. God, was I glad. But I’m not sure how much you know about Austin. He can be, difficult. He was actually stalking me in the end and at one point I feared for my life.”
“What did he do?”
“He’d park outside my condo every night. He came to my office a couple times until my boss threatened to beat him up. He followed me, contacted people we knew and told them lies. According to him I was using drugs, was mentally ill, had a drinking problem, a secret lover, had drained his bank accounts, was infected with HIV, the list goes on and on. I filed a restraining order which sort of slowed him down. Then I got a conceal and carry permit, and that seemed to put a stop to his antics. In the end, he didn’t contest the divorce. We settled the financial aspects and with the exception of my therapist and an annual trip to Paris, he has no other financial obligations.”
“An annual trip to Paris?”
“Two of the lies he spread about me were that I was crazy and that I had a lover in Paris. So, as long as that was the case,” she sort of laughed. “I figured he could just pay for the privilege. I like to think of it as just a helpful little reminder to keep his big fat mouth shut. Anyway, you’re investigating his American’s with Disabilities lawsuits?”
I thought for a moment and debated about coming clean. “Actually, no. At least not in so many words. Here’s what I’m doing,” I said then went on to explain Heidi’s situation, my concerns, and my need to have accurate and strong information backing me up before I said anything to her.
“I wish I’d had a friend like you when he was sweeping me off my feet. How long has she been seeing him?”
“She told me it’s been about three weeks. I’m guessing it’s been a little longer than that.”
She nodded, then said, “He likes to strike while the iron’s hot. I’d guess there’s probably a diamond ring in her not too distant future.”
“A diamond ring?”
“Cubic zirconium, actually,” she laughed. “He’ll give her a set of falsified insurance papers for safe keeping so she won’t get it evaluated. The papers will list the value at ten, or maybe he’s moved it up a notch and now it’s closer to fifteen thousand.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. He’ll do some overly flamboyant thing like take her on a romantic getaway. He took me to Paris for three days, and popped the question beneath the Eiffel Tower. I mean right beneath it. Got down on his knees, had the ring in a box from Tiffany’s, if you can believe it. God only knows where he got the box. All sorts of tourists were taking cellphone pictures of us. God, I must be on half the cellphones in China and Japan,” she laughed.
“We were married a week later by some guy who got his license in a drug store or something. Austin moved in with me, said it would just be until he closed some sort of stock transaction. Next thing I know everything started going downhill. I think he really likes the romancing part, and to be honest, I loved it. Flowers sent to my office every three or four days, little gifts, running with the “in” crowd. Hey, I’m a farm girl from southern Iowa. Most of the girls I went to high school with never made it to college. They’re working twenty-four seven on a two-hundred-acre farm where they’ll never make any money or they’re a waitress at a twenty-four-hour truck stop somewhere on the Interstate. Sound anything like your friend?” she asked then took the first sip from her drink.
“No, not really, and I guess that’s the surprising thing. She’s not stupid, I mean not that you’re stupid. Actually, now that I think about it, the two of you seem to be very similar. Educated, successful in your field, hard working. She’s one sharp lady.”
She nodded, smiled, and said, “And her clock is ticking.”
I must have given a funny look, signaling I wasn’t following.
“The biological clock. Whether she admits it or not, at least part of the time she’s thinking about settling down. She probably has times when she lowers her standards,” Nancy nodded toward me. “”And, of course that never seems to work. Then, out of nowhere comes this successful, decent looking guy who just sweeps you off your feet. God,” she said, and suddenly got this far away look in her eyes.
“You just want to eat him alive. Well actually, I pretty much did. All your friends are happy for you. It’s a whirlwind, and of course you know he’s the one, because, well, you’re you and you didn’t make a mistake, and you didn’t lower your standards and besides, look at all the gifts. Then one morning you wake up and suddenly you didn’t set the table quite right, the silverware isn’t straight, his three-minute egg took three minutes and ten seconds. Even though you’re working, you didn’t take his clothes to the dry cleaners or you forgot to pick them up. Or, you got sirloin instead of rib eye, shopped at the wrong store, said the wrong thing, wore an ugly outfit, looked fat, and by the way you’re lousy in bed. And no matter how hard you try, it just never gets any better. In fact, it goes in the opposite direction and just gets a hell of a lot worse.”
“But, I mean, you’re such a smart woman and…”
“And so is your friend. Without meeting her, I’d guess you would describe her as smart, strong, personable, those sorts of things? And she’s probably financially well off, right?
“Yeah, yes to everything.”
“Here’s the deal. Austin Hackett is sort of like a drug addiction. You know how they say the first high on cocaine is like an orgasm, only a thousand times more intense? Then you spend the rest of your addiction trying to reach that high again, but you never do, and very quickly everything goes to hell. That’s Austin. He sweeps you off your feet and then once that’s done, he proceeds to convince you that you’re just a piece of shit, and in the process, he takes all your money, or at least tries to,”
“Was he violent?”
“He can be, but he makes you believe it’s always your fault. Why did you make me hit you? Why did you make me lock you in the closet? Why did you make me tie you to the post in the basement?�
�
“He did that?”
“Yup, and you start to believe he’s right. It was the same with all of us. I was his third wife. At least that we know of.”
“You know Marcia Paxton and Constance Adams?”
“You have done your homework. Yeah, I know them. We sort of have a survivors group. Their stories pretty much mirror mine except they took the abuse longer. I think Connie left him after four years, Marcia hung in there for almost two.”
“I’d really like to talk to them. Could you give me their phone numbers? Maybe I could set something up and…”
“They both fled the state. I won’t give you their phone numbers, but I’ll pass yours on to them. Marcia’s doing okay, I guess. Connie’s pretty fragile.”
“There must be something someone could do.”
“Like I said, they fled the state, and I got a conceal and carry permit. That bastard comes anywhere near me I’ll shoot first and he knows it. The best thing you can do is get to your friend. If you want some help she and I can compare notes. He’s probably got her on a short leash already, but she just doesn’t realize it yet.”
Chapter Thirteen
I didn’t know either of the attorneys whose names were written on the bar napkin Louie had given me. After my uplifting meeting with Nancy Rilley I called their offices the following morning. Pat O’Leary was in a conference and Jack Griffith had a court appearance. I left a message for both. O’Leary called me back first.
“Haskell Investigations.”
There was a slight pause before he responded. “This is Pat O’Leary. I’m returning a phone call from Devlin Haskell.”
“You got him. Thanks for returning my call, Mr. O’Leary. May I call you Pat?”
“Depends on what this is about.”
“It’s regarding an attorney here in town, Austin Hackett.”
“Hackett? Humph and you’re working for him?” His tone had suddenly gone very hard.
“No, on the contrary. I’m looking into his details. I received your name as one of two individuals who battled him in court and won. The more I find out about him the less impressed I’m becoming.”
“Yeah, call me Pat. Hackett seems to have that effect on a lot of people. My case against him actually involved a shell company he operated called the Bunny Hutch. That’s spelled as one word online.”
I wrote that down as I spoke. “I’ve never heard that name before.”
“Probably because it was a rather specialized practice and it no longer exists.”
“No longer exists?”
“Hackett filed for bankruptcy the day before the judgement against him came down.”
“Would it be possible to meet?”
“To be honest, I’m really swamped. Is this is about Hackett?”
“Yes, but I think I can explain it a lot better in person. I’d be happy to meet you anywhere, anytime. It certainly doesn’t have to be in your office.”
“Tell you what, I’m in court all afternoon. If you can meet me at the courthouse, say twelve-thirty at the Kellogg Boulevard door, I can give you a few minutes.”
“I’ll see you there, twelve-thirty.”
Chapter Fourteen
I was ten minutes early, standing just outside the revolving door to the courthouse. A steady stream of people passed by on the wide sidewalk. It was a cloudless day and the heat from the sun bounced off the Indiana limestone of the courthouse exterior, easily raising the temperature where I stood by another ten degrees.
A guy in a dark suit with grey hair pulled back in a ponytail took a half dozen steps out of the revolving door, then eyed me and said, “Haskell?”
Just as I asked, “Pat O’Leary?”
He extended his hand and gave me a firm shake.
“Nice to meet you. I appreciate you making the time,” I said.
“Well, I haven’t got much. Come on we can talk on the way,” he said then took off down the street. We walked a half block toward a red wagon sitting at the curb advertising Chicago Hot Dogs. There was a line, maybe ten deep, waiting to order.
“You mentioned something called the Bunny Hutch,” I said as we stepped to the back of the line.
“Actually, it was a shell organization Hackett had set up. I suppose you’re looking into the disabilities suits. Bunny Hutch was his scam prior to that, or one of them. He supposedly made millions. He set up some offshore companies, purchased the rights to a couple hundred porn movies, put the things out there hoping people would download them, and then sued when they did.”
“He made money doing this?”
“Yeah, he brought a bunch of John Doe lawsuits under copyright infringement, then during the discovery process got access to the email accounts that downloaded the porn. That gave him access to individual emails and then he just basically practiced extortion, threatening a lawsuit if they didn’t settle.”
“And that worked?” There were only about five folks ahead of us now and the two guys in the wagon were dishing up hot dogs as fast as they could go.
“Almost always. Anyone who put up a fight usually had their case dropped. But thousands, we figure close to five hundred thousand, half a million folks, if you can believe it, settled for somewhere around two to four grand.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, honest to God truth. Chances are the legal costs would run anyone at least as much, and even if they won the case, their name would be out there as having downloaded porn. The titles Hackett had the rights to, how should I say, were rather explicit. Nothing left to the imagination.”
“And the few who did fight it?”
“Like I said, that’s the ironic part. If the case actually went to court Hackett would be losing money so he’d just drop the lawsuit. But, if you were a minister, a school teacher, maybe an elected official or a public employee, would you want to take that chance and maybe lose your job for just a couple of grand? Do the math. Five hundred thousand people multiplied by two to four grand makes for a pretty nice income.”
“Give me two, Tommy,” O’Leary said stepping to the window, then looked at me. “You gonna order anything?”
“I’ll just have one,” I said.
The guy took three buns and opened each in a separate cardboard tray. He placed a hot dog on the bun, then squirted a wiggly line of yellow mustard down the length of each dog, heaped on chopped white onions, tomato wedges, some peppers, pickle relish and added a pickle spear. It took him about thirty seconds to make the things. I paid for all three.
O’Leary said, “Thanks Tommy.” He headed for a knee-high wall running around the annex building and sat down. I followed.
“But he’s not working that scam anymore?” I said and took a bite out of my Chicago Dog.
“No, the OLPR finally got wind of his scam, that’s the Office of Lawyers Professional Responsibility. They went after him out in L.A., Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals. Anyway, the bastard declared bankruptcy to dodge court fines and the rest, as they say, is history.” He took another large bite finishing his first dog, licked his fingertips, then placed the empty cardboard tray beneath the second dog and started in.
“The more I find out about this guy, the more I’m amazed he’s still out there walking around,” I said.
“That may finally be coming to an end. I know the Minnesota Bar is looking at disbarment. He owes legal fees, penalties, payments to insurance companies, God only knows what else. I’d say look for him to try something big, and pretty soon. Word is he needs the cash.”
I remembered Nancy Reilly’s words, “He likes to strike while the iron’s hot. There’s probably a diamond ring in her not too distant future.”
“You know anything about his personal life?”
O’Leary stared at me out of the corner of his eye for a brief moment. “Not first hand. He’s been married more than once. Just a smaller version of his other scams. Seems to find a woman who believes him and has some income. He drains her bank accounts and in the end, she just wants to
get away. Say, I had better get moving. Anything else I can help you with?”
“Yeah, how can you eat two of those things? I mean they’re good, in fact they’re great, but two?”
He smiled. “A little guerrilla combat. I’m in court in about fifteen minutes, nothing like breathing onion breath all over the guy on the opposite side,” he said then chuckled.
Chapter Fifteen
I was back in the office just a little after one. Louie was gone and Morton was asleep. It didn’t look like Morton had done any damage to the place while I was away. There were two messages waiting for me on the phone. One was from Jack Griffith, returning my call. The other was from AJ, her curt message didn’t sound all that promising. “Returning your call,” she’d said then hung up. I thought the better choice might be to call Griffith back.
I was on hold for a couple of minutes before he came on the line, “Griffith.”
“Hello, Mr. Griffith, this is Dev Haskell. I’d left a message earlier and you were kind enough to return my call. I apologize for not being in the office.”
“You’re a PI?” he asked
“Yes, I am,” I said hoping I’d disguised the surprise in my voice.
“Don’t really have a need for that sort of thing, I’ll keep you in mind, but…”
“Hold on Mr. Griffith, I just wondered if I could have a little of your time. I’m working on an investigation that seems to be growing by the minute and your name came up.”
“Is someone suing me?”
“No sir, actually it’s in regard to a case you were involved in some time ago. I believe the defendant was a gentleman by the name of Austin Hackett.”
“Hackett, for Christ’s sake. First of all, that bastard’s no gentleman.”
“That would seem to be the common perception.”
“What’s he involved in now?”
“He’s suing people under the Americans with Disabilities Act.”
