Accidental Lawyer: A humorous peak into Baltimore's legal community, with a thread of mystery

by Kim Hamilton

  “Bitch.”

  Then I heard Sharlyn’s voice. “Don’t call her that. She’s my attorney. Why would you want to piss her off?” This was followed by the sound of an open palm against a cheek, a sharp intake of air, and a cry of pain. I heard the phone drop to the floor.

  “I’m tired of you mouthin’ back at me,” I heard Darnell say. Footsteps retreated and a door slammed. Sharlyn was back on the phone. “Jess?”

  “Are you okay? Did he hit you?”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice was shaky and her breathing was quick and shallow. “Can I come see you tomorrow?”

  She hadn’t responded to my second question, but she didn’t have to. I knew he had slapped her. I wondered how often that happened.

  “Are you safe there?” I had to ask.

  “I’ll be alright.”

  “Are you working at Hal’s tomorrow morning? I can come by first thing.”

  “Yeah, I start at nine. Give me time to get things started and come by around ten if you can.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  She disconnected.

  Sharlyn was a year older than me, but I felt protective of her like she was my little sister. She was in a bad place and I wanted to help her get away from Darnell whether he liked it or not.

  #

  I took a call from my mother. She called me a few times a week to make sure I hadn’t become a Baltimore crime statistic. She imagined that all strange men who wandered within my personal space were armed with duct tape and chloroform. When I moved to Fells Point, she gave me a can of mace which doubled as a key chain and a fake lipstick that concealed a two-inch, double-sided blade. And a whistle. My parents, happily married for 45 years, still live in historic Mount Washington, the northernmost part of Baltimore City. Even though the area is safer than downtown, most homes, including ours, had a security system, a large dog, and a baseball bat at the ready.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Jessica, I heard on the news last night that a Red Sox fan at the Orioles’ game was hit in the face by a foil-wrapped hot dog thrown into the stands by the Orioles’ mascot. He wants to sue the Orioles for public humiliation and foil-induced abrasions. It’s upset your father. It could cost the team millions.” She took a deep breath as if trying to steel herself. “You’re not representing that Red Sox fan are you?”

  Good grief.

  It turns out my parents’ biggest fear was not my imminent abduction or assault. It was that their own daughter might have a hand in suing their favorite baseball team. They’d have to pack up the old minivan and leave town in the cloak of darkness. There was reason for concern though. Kari had taken a call earlier. She’d repeated the words “hot dog” and “Orioles,” then passed the call to Marty. So, more than likely, Marty had agreed to represent the unfortunate Red Sox fan, but Mom was asking if I represented him.

  “No, Mom. I wouldn’t represent anyone against the Orioles.”

  “Good, because your father would stop speaking to you.”

  Since taking the job, I was always on the brink of disappointing my parents. They loved me, yet they couldn’t help but compare me to my sister, Julia. Julia was 28, two years older than me. She was a registered nurse at Union Memorial Hospital and a rising star in the medical community, bright, successful, and compassionate. She spent her days healing the sick and spreading good health throughout the city. If she weren’t such a lovely person, I’d hate her.

  “So how’s your job search going?”

  “Mom. I have a job.”

  I could hear her disappointment.

  We chatted for a while, agreed to try to get together for a family dinner soon, and disconnected.

  Kari appeared in my doorway. “Jess, you want to stop by Brenner’s with me on the way home? They’re having a sale on tuna steaks. I thought I’d pick some up for dinner.”

  “Sure, I’ll tag along.”

  “Let me give Dawson his messages. Then we can head out.”

  I followed Kari into Dawson’s office. He was standing near the window wearing boxer shorts and hovering over an ironing board, pressing his khakis. The soundtrack from Mamma Mia played on his Bose system. He sang along to “Money, Money, Money” under his breath.

  “Dawson,” Kari said, “how many times have I told you not to stand in front of the window with your pants off? It’s not professional.”

  “No one’s looking. Besides, natural light is great for finding Bailiff’s hair.” He reached for a lint roller and started to roll the next section of his khakis before taking the hot iron to it.

  Dawson was a brilliant business man with a few quirks. One of them was his penchant for neatly pressed clothing. It was not unusual to see him like this. He claimed to find the rhythm of ironing mentally soothing. He’d been ironing a lot lately.

  “Any word from the detectives about the murder?” I asked.

  “Or your money?” Kari added.

  “Not a word. O’Mallory and Jones are working the murder. There’s a forensic unit trying to trace the money trail. I don’t expect they’ll find much.”

  “Jess and I are heading out. I have two messages for you. Do you want to hear them, or should I leave them on your desk?”

  “Can you read them to me? I’d like to finish these pants.”

  “Sure,” Kari said, reading from the top pink slip. “Sal said to tell you, ‘everything’s a go.’ He said you’d know what that means.”

  I knew what it meant. It meant the commercial was a go. It was happening. A quiet dread rose around me.

  Kari continued. “And the starter at your country club called. He said they were able to get your pitching wedge out of the tree, but your putter’s still up there.”

  Dawson put on his pants. “Darn, that was my favorite putter. Maybe a good wind will knock it loose.”

  #

  Brenner’s Market was a small grocery store located around the corner from our office. We often picked up lunch there from the deli counter and stopped by for dinner items on the way home.

  It was a warm evening. The setting sun produced shadows that provided some comfort from the heat as we strolled down Charles Street past the row houses and retail spaces that were all fairly well kept in this part of town. Baltimore had its seedier sections, but our block and the few surrounding blocks were well maintained and had an old Baltimore, traditional feel. Polished brass plates identified street numbers, brick was crisply pointed, windows had thick panes with leaded glass, and roof lines were adorned with deep and detailed molding. The occasional boarded-up building and scurrying rat were sad reminders that our city had its flaws.

  We arrived at Brenner’s and grabbed a couple of handbaskets. I walked through the produce section and picked up some salad mix, bananas, and apples. Kari chose some tomatoes and lime for the salsa to go along with her tuna steaks. Together, we headed toward the seafood section. There was no line at the counter. A nice-looking guy in skin-tight jeans was walking ahead of us, also heading toward the seafood counter. As he passed in front of the lobster tank, his legs went out from under him. His feet flew up in the air. His right arm reached up to grasp at anything to stop his fall. He found the front of the lobster tank, grabbed the top, and hung on to the rim, until, slowly, the rim bent and the Plexiglas tank split open.

  He hit the cold, tiled floor and was laid out flat. Water erupted from the tank like a tsunami. Lobsters scurried for freedom with their giant rubber-band clad claws in the air. Several of them ran right on top of the tight-jeans guy who laid, unmoving, on the cold tile floor.

  Kari and I tiptoed forward, aware of the stream of water and swarming lobsters. Other shoppers were staring on from a safe distance. Dodging lobsters, I reached the man’s side and bent down to help. He was not moving. I reached for his neck and checked for his pulse like you see in the movies, but I couldn’t find it.

  I looked around for help. Kari was angling for pictures of the scene and gathering a water sample.

  “Let me take a look,”
said a familiar voice. I looked up and saw my sister, Julia. She sprung into emergency-response mode, dropping to her knees beside the young man’s head.

  “I can’t find his pulse. Hurry.” I told her.

  She placed her trained fingertips onto his neck, and said, “He’s alive but unconscious. Has someone called for an ambulance?”

  “I did,” Kari said. “They’re on their way.”

  “We need to keep him still until they arrive.”

  I looked at Julia. “He’s lucky you showed up when you did.”

  “They’ve got a great deal on tuna steaks today. I’m picking some up for dinner.”

  Tight-jeans guy started to move and flicked his eyes open.

  “You are one lucky guy,” Kari said. “You’ve got both a trained nurse and a brilliant lawyer by your side in your moment of need. This here,” she said, pointing to me, “is attorney Jessica Snow. She can turn this unfortunate and arguably embarrassing incident into big dollars for you.”

  “Kari, not now,” I said. “He’s hurt.”

  “That’s the whole point, Jess, right?”

  “I understand, but let’s get him to the hospital first.”

  “Hey, what’s your name?” my sister asked.

  “Anthony. My name is Anthony. What the hell happened? Why is there a lobster in your lap?” he asked.

  Sure enough, I looked down and there was a two-pound lobster in my lap. One of his rubber-band shackles was missing. His giant claw clamped onto my skirt hem. I jumped up in alarm and then froze. The giant puddle of lobster water impeded my panicked escape.

  “Kari, help me. Get him off me.”

  By now the store manager had arrived. He addressed the crowd with a loud, firm voice. “Everyone must move away slowly and be mindful of the slippery floor. I repeat, be mindful of the slippery floor. The floor is slippery. You’ve been warned. Should anyone else fall, it will be solely because of your own negligence. I repeat, if you fall, you will be negligent, not me, because I have warned you of the dangerous condition.”

  It was clear to me that this manager had been slapped with a few slip-and-fall lawsuits and had learned the value of issuing warnings. He was no dummy.

  He instructed two employees to start gathering lobsters, a third to bring several large pots of water to a boil, and all the others to grab mops and buckets and start cleaning. I stood over Anthony with the lobster hanging off my hem while Kari tried to remove it with the compassionate tone of her voice.

  “Okay, little guy, let go of Jess’s hem. Go join your buddies in aisle twelve.”

  The manager reached toward my lobster, smacked it with a ballpoint pen, and threw him into a bucket.

  “I suppose you’ve called 911,” the manager said to Julia as he continued to survey the damage. There was a distinct lack of concern in his voice.

  “They’re on their way.”

  “Thank you,” Anthony said. “My head hurts. So do my butt and my back.”

  “Of course you’re hurting,” said Kari. “You took a hell of a fall. Real nasty fall and you’re hurt. Hurt real bad. You’re entitled to compensation, you know. Ever heard of Dawson Garner & Associates?”

  “DGA? Yeah, I’ve seen their ads all over the city.”

  “Darn right you have. And this here is one of their best personal injury lawyers.” She pointed to me again and handed him my card.

  “Anthony,” I said, “I’m Jess. This is my very efficient and enthusiastic assistant, Kari. “The most important thing right now is for you to get proper medical care. This incident does have legal implications. You may be entitled to compensation, but that can wait until after you’re feeling better.”

  Sirens came from the front of the store. Brenner’s staff mopped up the water and put up caution signs. It looked like most of the lobsters had been recovered. Two EMTs assessed the scene and approached Anthony, who still had Julia by his side. Julia briefed them while Kari and I stood out of earshot. Anthony was in good hands. It was time for us to leave. “Take care, Anthony. Hope you feel better soon,” I said. “Call us tomorrow. We open at 8:30 a.m.,” Kari said.

  She grabbed some prepackaged tuna steaks from the fish section and we proceeded through the checkout. As we exited through the automatic doors, the store announced a new special:

  “Attention shoppers. We have fresh steamed lobster for sale. For a limited time only $3.99 per pound.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next morning, I dashed around the corner to Hal’s Bar and Grill to meet up with Sharlyn. The place was empty except for a table of two sitting by the window. The owner, Hal, was behind the bar rooting through some papers.

  “Hi, Hal.” Hal Horton was an old friend of Dawson’s. They had gone to high school together. As a favor to Dawson, he agreed to take a chance on Sharlyn and hired her with no experience. Hal was a good man. “How’s business?”

  “Same old, same old. Can’t complain.”

  “Mind if I sneak back to the kitchen to talk to Sharlyn? I won’t keep her long.”

  “Sure. Go on back.”

  I found Sharlyn sitting on a metal bar stool, elbow deep in a mountain of cooked chicken breast. She was shredding it with a pair of forks. The tranquil smile on her face suggested she was at peace in this kitchen. Her smile widened when she saw me. “Thanks for coming by.”

  “Want a hand with that?” I pointed to the mountain of chicken.

  “Sure. Pull up a seat. I need to shred all this before we open.” While I scooted a bar stool next to her, she grabbed a box of disposable gloves and two forks and handed them to me. I put on the gloves and took the forks. “Pull it apart and put the shredded pieces in that bin.” She pointed to a stainless steel tub.

  I snapped the gloves on and commenced shredding. “What’s the chicken for?”

  Her eyes brightened. “Lots of things: chicken salad, chicken fajitas, hot chicken dip. And Hal is going to let me experiment on him. Later, when we’re slow, I’m going to make him my twice baked potato with barbecue chicken and coleslaw!” She was animated, confident and happier than I’d ever seen her.

  “Sounds yummy. Maybe Hal will make it a special.”

  “He’s been so kind to me.” Her hands stopped mauling the chicken, and she looked up at me. “You’ve been kind to me, too. You helped me get this job. You’re taking care of my case. It’s like I can trust you.”

  “Of course you can trust me. I’m a lawyer!”

  We got a good laugh out of that and continued torturing the chicken. She was too polite to ask, so I volunteered the update on her case.

  “There’s an offer on your case, but I didn’t want to say anything to Darnell.”

  At the mention of his name, her lower jaw pushed forward, her smiled faded, and her hands worked the chicken like it had personally insulted her. “I’m glad you didn’t. He thinks he’s getting half the money, but he’s wrong. I need to get away from him, and I need that money to get started on my own. What’s the offer?”

  “He’s at $28,000, but I think I can get more.”

  Her eyes went wide and her smile returned. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “It is, but if we sit tight another day or so, I think we can get it up to $30,000.”

  “Sure, I guess I can wait.”

  Her situation with Darnell had been weighing on me particularly hard since I learned he was violent toward her. I had to get her out from under Darnell’s roof.

  “Look, I know he hit you last night. You can’t stay there.”

  “I’m not staying. He’s been angry ever since his arrest.”

  “His arrest?”

  “Yeah. He’s out on bail. The trial’s coming up and he’s real edgy. I know I can’t stay there. My cousin’s coming over tomorrow to help me move my stuff.”

  “I can help if you need me.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t have a lot of stuff. Just my clothes, my cookbooks, and the notebooks I write my recipes in.”

  We were down to the last four
chicken breasts when Hal walked in. He looked at me with my gloved hands and winked, “You do good work, but don’t expect me to pay you.”

  “You couldn’t afford me.”

  “Smart-ass lawyer.”

  I peeled off my rubber gloves, and Sharlyn did the same. She retrieved her purse from a row of lockers and pulled out her cell phone.

  “I’d like you to listen to this. It’s a voicemail from some guy at the State’s Attorney’s office.” She pressed the touch screen on the phone and let the message play through her speaker.

  I recognized the voice immediately. It was warm, yet businesslike and still managed to send a tingle through me. The voice belonged to Chip Woodward. I went to law school with Chip. We took the same Domestic Law class. I managed to weasel my way into his study group. We dissected the issues surrounding several bitter and brutal divorces cases, and I developed a crush on him. It was a one-sided romance that existed only in my head. In the message, he identified himself as Charles Woodward, Assistant State’s Attorney, and said he wanted to speak with Sharlyn about Darnell Black.

  I told Sharlyn not to worry about it. I would call the ASA to find out what he wanted.

  #

  Kari and I sat at her desk, elbow deep in files, when Delroy burst through the front door. His breathing was loud yet shallow. He collapsed onto the couch and asked Kari for a glass of water. “The bus had no air conditioning. It crapped out eight blocks ago and went from hot as blazes to suffocating in a matter of minutes.”

  Kari handed him a bottle of water. He downed half of it, put the lid on, and rubbed the bottle on his neck. “Thank you. I’m starting to feel better.”

  “What’s up?” I asked. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I was on my way to see my brother-in-law. I only stopped in here because I was about to pass out on that bus. I’m gonna rest here a minute and then call this hack I know. He’s got air conditioning.” He reached down to examine the contents of the plastic bag he brought in. “I got this here stuff for my brother-in-law. He’s recuperating from an accident.”

  Kari and I both picked up on the word ‘accident’ and looked at each other. Kari didn’t miss a beat. “What kind of accident?”