“What can I get for you?” he asked.
“Lone Star. Coldest one you got.”
“They’re all cold, my friend. I still ice them down every morning. No refrigerated coolers in this place.”
Jack nodded his appreciation as he downed half the beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wow, that’s good. Can I ask you a question?”
“Fire away.”
“Who owns that lot next door?” Jack nodded in the direction of his pickup.
“Was owned by an investor who thought that the stockyards tourist area would eventually move this way, but I hear that the bank just foreclosed. You got any interest in it?”
“I might.” Jack finished his beer and put three dollars on the counter. As he rose, he stuck out his hand. “Name’s Jack Bryant.”
The bartender shook it and said, “Moe.”
Jack nodded, paused to watch the domino game and then went to his pickup. Now he had a plan.
24
A week later a small sign appeared on the vacant lot. “Sold,” it announced. The following week Jack arrived at his new property early, armed with a large Starbucks, the Fort Worth Star Telegram and the Wall Street Journal. He parked in Moe’s lot and waited until a contractor arrived. First his crew leveled the lot, and then started placing two by fours and laying re-bar. By afternoon an electrician had arrived. He ran 110 and 220 voltage lines from the main utility pole through metal tubing along the rebar to a place Jack designated for electrical boxes. The next day Jack watched as trucks lined up on North Main, awaiting their turn to pour concrete onto the lot. As they poured a section, finishers smoothed the concrete under the watchful eye of the contractor. At the end of the day the contractor walked around the lot and satisfied himself that the pitch was just enough to allow rainwater to flow to the street. Next he walked to Moe’s parking lot where Jack was leaning up against Lucille, confirmed that Jack was satisfied and climbed into his own pickup. About that time Moe walked out of his icehouse.
“Jack, my new neighbor, what the hell are you doing? You going into the used car business?”
Jack grinned. “You’ll know in a few days, Moe.”
Once the concrete was dry, the electrician returned to install flood lights around the perimeter on twenty foot poles. He was followed by a team from an alarm company. When Jack was satisfied that everything was done to his satisfaction, it was time for the RV. By then he and Santos, his handyman, had stripped the back of its bed, dresser and nightstands. They were replaced with a moderate-sized brown desk, executive chair and two guest chairs. There was just enough room along one wall for a small sofa. Now, Jack had an office.
The next morning he walked out the back door of his mansion, breathed in the morning air and greeted Santos. “Santos, I’ll drive the RV. You follow in Lucille.”
Jack pushed a button on the RV key ring to unlock it and climbed into the driver’s seat. After fastening his seat belt, he turned the key and the big diesel engine rumbled to life. With one last look at his mirrors, he slowly circled the house and headed downtown and out to his vacant lot. Once there, Santos stopped traffic momentarily for Jack to back the RV into the property. It took three tries before Jack was able to position the RV beside the electrical outlets with the front facing the street. Jack climbed from the RV, looked around and nodded his head in satisfaction. He and Santos were hooking up the electricity when the alarm company arrived to finish their job. Once they were gone, Jack took a piece of a cardboard box and, using a black marker, wrote, LAWYER, NO FEE! He placed it on the dashboard facing the windshield and told Santos, “Now, I’m open for business.”
The next day he arrived around ten, expecting to see clients lined up around the block. Finding no one, he started the engine to activate the air conditioning, made coffee and turned Bloomberg on the fifty inch flat screen TV. Figuring that he had not gotten the message out, he ripped another side from the cardboard box and wrote, OPEN on one side and CLOSED on the other.
Several hours later the door opened, and he expected to see his first client, only it was Colby.
“Jack! What the hell are you doing?”
Jack rose to greet her. “Just what you said. I’m offering my services for free. How’d you know where to find me?”
Colby plopped down on the couch. “I called the house, and Lisa said just to go out North Main until I spotted your RV. Jack, this is not what I meant. I assumed you’d go to the Tarrant County Bar and volunteer.”
“I did. Let’s just say that the director and I had a little disagreement on the first day.”
“But, but, don’t you know this part of town is dangerous?”
“Damn sure do. That’s why I’ve got this. He reached into a drawer and brought out a Magnum. You forget that I was Airborne? And I still go hunting four or five times a year.” He aimed the pistol out the front window. “I could put out a man’s eye at twenty-five yards with this peashooter.”
“Wait a minute,” Colby stuttered. ‘You can’t leave this RV here. It’ll be gone in a week.”
Jack motioned Colby to follow him as he stepped outside. He handed her his keys and said, “Push that button there on the right.”
Colby did so and watched in amazement as the RV was transformed. Quarter inch steel shutters silently slid down to cover every window as the flood lights came on.
“Now, step up and jiggle the door handle.”
When Colby did, a piercing, high decibel alarm erupted, forcing Colby to cover her ears until Jack grabbed the keys and pushed the button again.
“What if someone unplugs this thing?”
“Got battery backup for eight hours. I doubt if any bad guys can get away with it without the cops showing up in that length of time. Besides the cops have a station just down the street. I aim to befriend them in the next day or so.”
Colby offered her last lame argument. “They could steal your tires and mirrors.”
Jack smiled. “If they can find a jack big enough to lift this monster, they can have the tires. Besides, I had Santos buy a set of old used tires. The good ones are back at the house. I’m going to take the mirrors off this afternoon. Come back in. Coffee’s made.”
Colby sat on the couch while Jack poured her a cup of coffee. “When did you do all of this stuff to the RV?”
“I had a case down in the valley a few years ago. It was gonna last for a couple of months. I bought this as my office and home. Those counties along the Rio Grande are among the most lawless in the country these days. So, I had all the armor and alarms installed for that trial. Worked out well. I didn’t have to rent an office or a motel room and got a verdict north of a hundred million. Let me show you around.”
Jack pointed out the features of the RV. It was the biggest and most luxurious available. It came with a full kitchen, dining room, sitting room, one and a half baths and a bedroom in the back.
“This was the bedroom. I stripped it, and now it’s my office. I can have clients wait out here in the front if I’m busy in the office.”
Colby sighed. “Well, it looks like you’re sure about this. I just hope you don’t have to use that peashooter, as you call it.”
“Rob in town?” Jack changed the subject.
“He just left. Had a few unexpected days off. That’s the reason you haven’t heard from me,” Colby responded.
Jack ignored what was surely a lie. Something was keeping Colby from opening up to him. He figured his best plan was just to wait until she was ready to talk about it. In the meantime he would just enjoy her company. “Now, let me take you next door to meet Moe and some of my friends. I spent my life around refinery workers and longshoremen. I’m a whole lot more comfortable with these guys than the Rivercrest crowd. They’re even teaching me how to play dominos. One of these days I’m going to win a game.”
25
Johnny looked at the big wall clock, advertising Purina and noted the time was eight a.m. Where was Victor? His starting time at the feed store in Br
ownwood was always seven-thirty. Victor was never late. When it got to be eight-thirty, he hollered at Don that he was going to drive out to check on Victor.
Don walked in from the loading dock, wiping his face with a bandanna. “You think there’s a problem?”
“Don’t know. Maybe he’s sick. He lives alone and doesn’t have a phone, not even a cell. He’s a good hand. Just checking. That’s all. I’ll be back in an hour.”
Johnny got in his red Ford pickup and turned onto the highway. He turned toward Lake Brownwood and crossed over a bridge spanning a finger of the lake. Two hundred yards past the bridge he turned onto a dirt driveway and parked in front of the small frame house that Victor rented. Victor’s Harley was parked in the driveway beside the house. Johnny climbed out of his truck, and knocked on the front door. No answer. He walked around to the back where he knew Victor always left the door open. Victor’s garden tools were neatly arranged, leaning up against the porch rail.
Johnny knocked and got no answer. As he opened the door, he hollered, “Victor, you home?” Silence.
He walked into the kitchen. Johnny knew Victor was obsessively neat. The kitchen table and counter were as clean as an operating room in a hospital. Johnny looked into the bedroom. The bed was made, which wouldn’t be a surprise except that Victor’s Harley was parked at the house.
Johnny went out the back door and walked around the house before he called the sheriff’s office to report that Victor was missing. Then he drove back to the feed store to report what he found to Don.
Three hours later a sheriff’s car parked in front. Johnny and Don met Luke Simpson, a friend and regular customer, as he exited the vehicle.
“Well, we found him. He’s dead. Body was under the bridge.”
“He drown?” Don asked.
“Doesn’t look like it. We found bruises on his neck. He have any enemies?”
Johnny shook his head. “Not that we know of. Showed up about three years ago. Said he had been a counterman at a Ford dealer that closed in Abilene. He was a loner. Did his job and kept to himself. Did go to the Baptist church down the road here. If he was under the bridge, why was his Harley parked back at the house?”
Simpson took off his cap and scratched his head. “Damned if I know. Key was in it. I started it and it ran just fine. We may never solve this one.”
26
It had been a week, and Jack still was awaiting his first client. A few cars had driven slowly by the RV. A couple had parked in the lot while the occupants talked before driving off. Each evening about four Jack would lock the RV and go next door. He took his own bourbon and just ordered a glass of ice which he filled to the brim with Wild Turkey, his favorite whiskey since college days. Of course, he always left Moe a tip as if he had drunk at least a six pack of beer. And he enjoyed playing dominos. The domino table could hold eight comfortably and was ethnically mixed among Hispanics, African Americans and Anglos. For each game the players would ante a quarter apiece, winner take all.
One morning Jack had just unlocked the RV and put on coffee when he heard a loud knocking. He opened the door to find a black woman, large and of indeterminate age, dressed in a pink muumuu, a purple scarf around her head and carrying a large imitation leather beige purse. She stood at the bottom of the steps.
“What kinda scam you running? You trying to take advantage of us poor folks?”
“No ma’am.” He grinned at the apparition in front of him. “I’m a retired lawyer and just want to help out folks who can’t afford one.”
“You sure you’re not gonna scam me?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die, if I do.”
The woman sized him up one more time. “All right. Help me up these steps.”
Jack did and invited her to take a seat on the bench at the dining room table.
The woman looked around the interior and settled on the flat screen TV. “You be careful with that. Somebody steals it, they can sell it for five hundred or so.”
“Can I ask your name?”
‘Mona. Mona Thomas Lee.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Jackson Bryant. How can I help you?”
Mona rummaged through her purse and pulled out a citation. “This damn credit card company is trying to bankrupt me. I fell for their gimmick. Signed up for a credit card with a five hundred dollar limit. Times are tough, you know? Got a little behind on my payments. Next thing I know they’ve upped the interest to thirty-five percent and now they’re penalizing me every month. On top of that they’re calling me at all hours of the day and night. Can you believe that?”
Jack nodded solemnly. “Yes ma’am. I can. The government lets credit card companies get away with murder. How much do you owe now?”
Mona pitched the court papers on the table. “They say I owe twenty-nine hundred dollars and they want another thousand in attorney’s fees. What’s going wrong with this country? Can you do anything about it?”
Jack looked over the documents. “Yes, ma’am. While I can’t do much about the country, I believe I can help you with the credit card company. I may even file a counterclaim and get you a few bucks.”
Mona looked at Jack, suspicion in her eyes. “How much you gonna charge?”
“Not a thing, Mona. Didn’t you see that sign in my window? My services are free.” Jack pulled a document from a drawer and scribbled in a few blanks. “I’ll need you to sign this to make it official.”
Mona looked over the contract and back at Jack. “You sure, now?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sure. Now, tell me a little more about these calls, particularly the ones late at night.”
27
Jack appeared in the County Court at Law, accompanied by his client, Mona Thomas Lee. Jack chose not to dress as a rich lawyer, not for this case. He found an old pair of brown trousers and an equally old brown tweed jacket. He carried a plain, wooden cane. He talked Mona into wearing her Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, a black dress that was a little too tight around the middle and black pumps. She took Jack’s arm as they entered the courtroom. Among her kind nothing good ever came out of setting foot in court.
County courts in Texas rarely handled big litigation. Their bread and butter was an assortment of fender-benders, foreclosures, homeowner disputes about loud neighbors and barking dogs, and these days credit card litigation where the bank usually just went through the motions to get a default judgment and then accelerated its harassment of the cardholder. The courtroom itself had seen better days. The walls were scratched. Before the days of metal detectors some enterprising young men had carved initials and occasional profanity on the benches as they waited. Clifford Smith, the judge, had been on the bench for thirty years, not because he deserved it, but because no other lawyer in the county wanted the job.
The courtroom was packed as the judge monotoned his way through the docket, accepting agreements and entering default judgments. When he got to Cowtown Financial Corporation v. Lee, he called for announcements. A young lawyer from one of the major law firms rose and said he represented the plaintiff. They were ready for trial. Jack pushed himself up with his cane like he was a cripple and made the same announcement.
“What?” the judge asked. “You’re going to try this case. Mr. Bryant, I don’t believe I’ve seen you in my court before. You’ve asked for a jury trial. You really believe there’s a fact issue?”
“Yes, Your Honor. We believe as a matter of law that the bank’s claim is frivolous and should be dismissed. However, we have a counterclaim that we believe a jury will find most interesting.”
“Very well. You two lawyers go into the jury room and discuss this. Maybe you can find some middle ground, and we can avoid having to waste the time of six jurors for the afternoon.”
Jack told Mona to remain where she was and limped toward the jury room with the young lawyer for the plaintiff not far behind. When the door was closed, Jack eased into a chair and laid his cane on the table. “Sorry, my lumbago is acting up. I didn’t get your name.�
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The young lawyer sized up his opponent and figured that he occasionally found his way out of a bottle long enough to make a court appearance. “Name’s Alfred, Alfred P. Goldenberg.”
“Well, Alfred, what do you propose we do? I’m ready to go to trial.”
“So am I, Mr. Bryant,” Goldenberg said with a solemn face as if he tried cases every day instead of being sent to the courthouse to take defaults or cut the best deal he could. “I could waive my attorney’s fees if we could work out a deal, maybe even a payment plan.”
“Not interested,” Jack said as he took his cane from the table and rose to his feet. “I’ve got a counterclaim that’s pretty near a sure thing. Your bill collectors knew it was wrong to harass my client in the middle of the night. That’s a violation of federal law.”
Goldenberg’s shoulders slumped slightly, but Jack noticed. “Come on, Mr. Bryant. Even if you get a verdict, you’ll never make that stand up on appeal. My client says it didn’t happen. You’ve sued for $10,000. I don’t think you can prove Ms. Lee is out of pocket one red cent.”
“As to the $10,000, you know I’ve also pled mental anguish and treble damages. That means that the jury can award my client the $10,000, treble it and then listen to what your client has put her through and treble those anguish damages. Fortunately for you, I can’t get more than a hundred thousand in county court.”
Alfred gulped. “So what do you want, Mr. Bryant?”
“Drop your case and pay my client $25,000, and I’ll waive my attorney’s fees.”
Dead Peasants Page 7
