Thomas looked at Gretchen and Evelyn, the edges of his mouth turning up, then inclined his head toward Phillip. “Thanks for your assistance, Officer. Rest assured that The Law Office of Thomas Brock is on the case.”
Chapter 4.3
Judge Gordon N. Knott tilted his head down and peered at Evelyn over the top of his spectacles. “How many weeks ago did I admit you to practice, Miss Love?”
“Three, Your Honor.”
“After being licensed for three weeks, Miss Love, most attorneys are still figuring out how to use the copy machine at the law firm where they are working on document production for some big antitrust action or piece of commercial litigation. Some may still even be looking for a job. But you, Miss Love, you are asking, no doubt with the assistance of your ghostly employer, who I can see hovering in the back of the courtroom, to be appointed as guardian ad litem on behalf of … what is it … all breeds and sub-breeds of bull terriers in the City and County of San Francisco.”
“Yes, Your Honor. That is correct.”
“I’m a cat person myself, but I bear no ill will against our canine friends. And, as you know, I am not afraid to take on the trickiest and most difficult cases in my courtroom. But a guardian ad litem is generally an appointment made for someone who is incapacitated or of tender years and not able to look after their own legal interests.”
“That is true, Your Honor. My … clients … are similarly afflicted. They are not able to speak … uh … our language and few, if any, ever live to the age of legal majority under the laws of the State of California.”
Judge Knott stared at Evelyn for a full minute, before continuing. “Thank you for not asking this esteemed Court to interrogate your clients in their native tongue. We will stipulate that dogs can neither converse with the Court effectively, nor are most of legal age, if such a concept were applied to animals and other lower beasts. But, the primary function of a guardian ad litem is to protect the legal rights of his or her client. What legal rights do you intend to enforce?”
“I seek to become guardian ad litem, Your Honor, so I may bring a class action before the Court claiming that Ordinance 4.8889 of the Board of Supervisors for the City and County of San Francisco violates the Constitution of the United States and the Constitution of the State of California by discriminating against them on the basis of race.”
Judge Knott shook himself, as if trying to awake from a deep sleep. “Dog race?”
“Breed, Your Honor. Dog breeds are the equivalent of racial classifications for these purposes.”
“You want to bring a constitutional class action for racial discrimination on behalf of a breed of dog? And you want to do that in my courtroom?”
“Basically, yes, Your Honor. Dogs are protected under various anti-cruelty laws and ordinances.”
“None of which gives them the power to sue as third-party beneficiaries of such provisions.”
“The law may infer a right of private action if necessary to enforce the legal rights granted. Much like disenfranchised voters in the—”
“Stop. Just stop right there,” intoned the Judge in a weary voice, “before you analogize to this country’s sad history on civil rights. It dismays this Court that the United States Constitution did not even consider all humans to have legal rights when it was founded, but I doubt even the current Supreme Court would opine that the founding fathers intended such rights for animals. If you were with one of the more politically-connected law firms and I were up for judicial retention this year, I might think you had conjured up this bizarre request for an order appointing you as The Dog Whisperer in an effort to rile up the dog-owners of this fair land against me. As it is, I will simply deny your motion for lack of your client having any legal rights under the law, for a failure to show proper cause that any such rights are not adequately protected under the current law, and for utter preposterousness. Motion denied. Clerk to set an order.”
“Thank you for your time, Your Honor.”
“Please try not to waste any more of it, Miss Love.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
O O O
Evelyn sat in the empty courtroom. Thomas sat with her. More accurately, he bent himself into a sitting position and hovered as if actually sitting on the bench—he couldn’t actually touch anything, including Evelyn. He missed many things about being alive. The smells of cooking food and the salt air on the breeze, the taste of fine wine as the sun set over the ocean, the bracing feel of a cool shower on a hot day, or even just a hot day. But one of the things he missed most of all was being able to touch things. And right now, he wanted to touch Evelyn, to push back the loose strand of hair blocking her face and brush away the tears in her eyes. It saddened him not to be able to do so. Just because he couldn’t feel didn’t mean he didn’t have feelings.
“The Judge hates me,” muttered Evelyn.
“Old Gordy?” replied Thomas. “He doesn’t hate you. He just doesn’t want to risk a high profile reversal. They say he’s bucking for the Governor to appoint him to the Supreme Court of California.”
“Corporations have legal rights. Maybe we could incorporate Barney and all of the other pit bulls.”
Thomas shook his head slowly. “I can’t see Gordy extending the parameters of that decision.”
“What are we going to do?”
Thomas thought for a moment. “Phillip said the Board of Supervisors passed this ordinance because they couldn’t find and shut down the floating dog-fighting ring in town, right?”
“Well, sure, but I don’t see how that helps.”
Thomas shrugged. “If there’s no more dog-fighting ring, the law won’t be needed. Maybe we can get the Board of Supervisors to repeal it.”
Evelyn smiled. Thomas loved it when she smiled. “But if the police can’t find the dog-fighting ring, how can we?”
Thomas floated up from his “seated” position and drifted around the room a few times, gathering speed as he went, then stopped and stood in front of Evelyn. “I can go places the police can’t.” He grinned. “And I don’t need a warrant or a lock-pick to get in.”
“That helps. You definitely have an advantage. But you can’t go everywhere, be everywhere.”
“We’ve got one more advantage you’re not thinking of.”
“What’s that?”
“Dagger MacKenzie.”
“I should have thought of that.” She laughed. He loved it when she laughed. “That’s a big advantage.”
He laughed with her. “At six foot five, none bigger.”
Chapter 4.4
Dagger rolled over and grabbed his cell phone before it vibrated its way off the nightstand as it pulsed out the strains of “Carry On My Wayward Son” as a ringtone. He held the tiny thing in his beefy paw and turned the screen toward his sharp eyes. Even at arm’s length he could see the caller I.D. read: “Thomas Brock Law Offices.” Sure, it could be Thomas, if Pete had dialed for him and was holding the phone, but it might just be Gretchen giving him some hassle for the incidental expenses he claimed on his last bill for “services rendered.” Or it could be Evey. In trouble. Again. He had a soft spot for the girl. He’d taught her some self-defense. Moves he liked to think helped her escape from that near-death fracas at that restaurant some months back. But he didn’t want to be at anyone’s constant beck and call. After all, even he had the right to relax some of the time, even if it was in the middle of the afternoon.
It’s not like he kept regular hours.
But … it could be Evey. In trouble.
He punched the “Talk” button with his massive thumb.
“Dagger. Make it good.”
“Dagger, Thomas … Thomas Brock.”
He felt his lip curl reflexively. He preferred to talk with Evey. “Business or charity?” he growled.
“Er, business. Just a small project, actually.”
He sat up on the bed. “Small things somehow turn into big things when OTs are involved. Hasn’t that been the case on every pro
ject I’ve worked for you? OTs are your specialty, not mine. I do have other clients.”
“I understand, Dagger. I’m sure with your knowledge and expertise that you have a great many clients I know nothing about.”
“Just like they know nothing about you, Tommy-boy.”
“Of course. You’re the best. That’s why I call you.”
“I charge double for time wasted flattering me.” He got up and wandered toward the bathroom as the call continued. “What kind of OT are we dealing with this time? I don’t do imps. Imps creep me out.”
“No imps. No OTs at all, actually. Evelyn and I, we just need your help finding and bringing down a dog-fighting ring.”
“Sickos. Every single one of ’em.” Dagger had hated the concept of dog-fights even before he had become a lycanthrope. Now the whole gratuitous canine cruelty thing made his fangs grow.
“So, I can count on you?” Thomas asked.
“When haven’t you?” Dagger paused as he arrived at the bathroom door. “But I need to set you straight on one thing right away.”
“What’s that?”
“This one isn’t business. It’s personal.”
“That’s great, Dagger, but I don’t want to take advantage—”
“I’m not the one being taken advantage of here. Look, if it makes you feel any better, you can donate what my fee would’ve been to Rocket Dog Rescue. They do good work there.”
Dagger thumbed the phone off without waiting for a response. He looked back toward the bed, where his companion was stirring. “Sleep as long as you like. Lock up when you let yourself out.”
“I thought you had the whole day free.”
Dagger shrugged. “Things change. Being self-employed has its downside.”
His companion sat up. “Where are you going?”
Dagger chuckled as he entered the bathroom. “Believe it or not, I’ve got to see a man about a dog.”
O O O
Thomas was relieved to hear that Dagger would assist and that he would be doing so pro bono publico, but having to ask for help also frustrated him. There were so many things he simply couldn’t do as a ghost. To even call Dagger, Thomas had been forced to pry Pete away from Gretchen’s computer, where the building gargoyle was busily playing World of Warcraft while Gretchen was out at the local OfficeMax restocking supplies. The store was all the way up on Geary Boulevard, at Arguello, but the prices were good and the office was definitely on a budget.
It grated on him to be dependent on others. Sure, he knew other ghosts went through the same thing, missing taste and smell and having to deal with the indignities, not only of being incorporeal but also of having people be afraid of you for being so. Not everyone, though, shared his particular frustration of not being able to effectively practice law. Why, he couldn’t turn a page of a legal treatise without Gretchen or Pete’s help. He couldn’t pull a file, Google a suspect, or MapQuest a location without assistance. It was nice that everyone in the office was willing to help, especially Evelyn, who depended on the office staying open as her path to a successful career as an attorney, especially in these over-lawyered times. Still, it hardly seemed fair to burden her with his infirmities … an apt word for his condition in the afterlife … when she should be stretching her wings as an attorney.
On the bright side, Evelyn got more court time than any associate of similar vintage. The bad news was that most all of it would have been his court time. Many judges were not enamored with the notion of a ghost appearing before them, especially in a professional capacity. Thomas wasn’t sure if it was because of simple prejudice against OTs, the complicated bureaucratic and ethical issues involved because of the special abilities and limitations of ghosts and other OTs, or that they simply didn’t want anyone to appear in their court who couldn’t effectively be jailed for contempt if they got out of line.
His reverie was interrupted by Evelyn’s return to the office. She had gone out for a few minutes to report in to Sad Sadie on the day’s events at court and to pet Barney’s belly for a few minutes. “That Barney’s one smart dog,” she said with a bright smile. “He even knows how to play dead. Flat on his back, with all four paws in the air. Sadie said she taught him just last night. Said it was a survival skill for anyone sleeping on the streets.”
If only playing dead was so simple. Thomas shoved the negative thought away and smiled back at Evelyn, but he guessed she could tell his heart wasn’t in it, because her brow furrowed.
“Anything else you need me to do before Dagger gets here?” she asked.
“Nah,” he replied, then shook himself and made a deliberate effort to will away his gloom. “It’s getting close to closing time. Why don’t you put a note on the door for Dagger to meet us up on the roof? We’ll have an impromptu beer or two to drown the sorrows of today’s adverse ruling and launch our investigative quest.” As soon as he said the words, he realized they were not wholly accurate. “Er … that is you and Pete can have a beer or two … and Dagger when he gets here.” Thomas wondered if heavy drinkers who became ghosts spent eternity going through withdrawal. Maybe that was why Val was always going from person to person and bar to bar nearby, trying to catch a high off of someone else’s buzz.
“C’mon, Pete,” he said to the gargoyle, who was fussing with a controller and muttering something about putting an orc on a hook to bait a troll. “Stop slaying orcs and have a beer on the rooftop. If you ask nicely, I bet Evelyn will bring up a six-pack of Gubna’s Oskar Blues along with the Miller Lite.”
The mention of his favorite micro-brew got the gargoyle to turn his head around so fast Thomas could hear the stone sinews of his neck muscles pop and grind. “Oskar Blues? That’s good stuff.” He gave a gravelly shrug. “Miller Lite’s okay, too. I mean, it tastes great. But it’s less filling, you know?”
Thomas and Evelyn both laughed, causing the gargoyle considerable consternation. “What’s so funny? What did I say?”
Thomas simply started floating to the doorway and up the stairs. He made it a practice never to float through Evelyn’s apartment on the floor above. It would be creepy to do so—she deserved her privacy. “C’mon, Pete. Evelyn will grab the beer. “I’ll race you to the roof.”
Pete grumbled as he hopped down from the chair of Gretchen’s desk. “You know that’s not fair, boss. These stubby little wings I got, they don’t let me fly.”
Chapter 4.5
Evelyn looked up from her Miller Lite to see Pete finish a third can of Oskar Blues, crumple the can flat with a simple clench of his fist and toss the can down the narrow opening between his building and the one next door.
“Hey!” she shouted. “That’s littering!”
Pete scrunched up his stone countenance. “Nah. Sad Sadie collects the cans from there real regular. With an extra mouth to feed, I figure she can use the extra cash. If we drink the whole six-pack, she might be able to trade up from them tiny tins of cat food to a big honkin’ hunk of canned dog food.”
Evelyn had to admit the green granite gargoyle had a point, but she didn’t want him to get into any bad habits. “As long as she’s collecting them, okay, but you need to keep track. Litter around the building doesn’t exactly attract the best clientele for the office.”
“Hmmmph,” replied Pete. “You could say the same thing about Sad Sadie.”
Thomas turned back from looking down at Sad Sadie’s alleyway from the corner of the rooftop. “No bad-mouthing our client or I’ll cut off the beer.”
“Well, it’s true,” grumped Pete.
“I can also cut off your World of Warcraft privileges.”
“That’s not fair. I earn them minutes turning pages and makin’ calls and stuff. It’s quid pro quo.”
Evelyn was shocked. “You know Latin? You know legal Latin?”
“Of course,” gruffed Pete. “Most of my brothers spend their lives hanging to the tops of churches. Can’t help but learn a few things. Besides, in case you didn’t realize it, turning pages for someone
ain’t exactly the most engaging job in the world. If you didn’t read what was on the pages, you’d go stir crazy. More boring than watching pigeons roost and you can’t break the monotony by killing the damn rats with wings.”
Evelyn noticed how distressed Thomas looked as Pete described his “work.” The last thing Thomas needed was to worry about the job satisfaction of a beer-swilling, pigeon murdering gargoyle. “The office rent keeps the building going,” she reminded her stone friend, “and that keeps you alive. Our clientele, and thus, our appearance are keys to your survival.”
“Shush,” whispered Pete. “If the pigeons ever figure that out, they’ll flock from all over the city just to leave droppings here. I’ve got quite a reputation with the bird brains.” He cracked open another Oskar Blues, as if worried that he had to drink fast before the beer was taken away. “Besides, since when did your clientele care about the … ambience … of the neighborhood?”
Any other response was cut off as Dagger strode from the access doorway to the roof. The big man pointed at Pete. “Any pigeon unloads his droppings on me, Pete, and I’m blaming you.”
Evelyn reached down to the dwindling six-pack and tossed an Oskar Blues to the private detective, ignoring the dismay on Pete’s face as she did so.
Dagger caught the can with a relaxed flick of the wrist. He turned it almost sideways, bit into the middle of the aluminum cylinder, tilted his head back, and used a fingernail to pop the top. The open top let air into the can, allowing the contents to drain through the bite holes in an instant. He crushed the can and tossed it lazily towards Pete’s feet, as the gargoyle looked at him in shock.
“It’s called ‘shooting’ a beer,” he said to the gargoyle. “It’s the fastest way to drink a beer, and … well, I was thirsty.”
Evelyn marveled, not for the first time, at the bizarre things you could learn in the legal profession, while Pete inspected the can.
Dagger licked a speck of foam off his lips and turned to Thomas. “So what’s the plan?”
The Love-Haight Case Files Page 28
