“Well, I’m trying to be sophisticated about it. But either we have a bond that’s strong enough to ward off the likes of Meyers or we don’t.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “We do, Bishop. We do!”
They had dinner, the barbecued chicken and potatoes with a salad and loved it. And they loved what Bishop called the desert they enjoyed later on.
Bishop woke up at three in the morning wondering how he’d approach the problem he had with Welborn Watson. The possibility that he was on drugs made it more complicated. I think his mother is still alive. I’ll get her opinion. She may also want to bring the loan current to save her late husband’s investment.
That’s what he’d do next. See the mother. Well, the first thing he wanted to do was see if he could find out what, if any, improvements Welborn had made. He was betting none, but figured he needed to “dot the i’s and cross the t’s.”
With that settled, he was able to sleep the rest of the night.
Chapter 2
A woman in her thirties walked through Stan Thomas’s open office door that morning and stood looking at him sitting behind his desk. Her hair was bleach blond and she was a bit wide in the hips, but pleasant looking enough. She was also on the tall side and well built. She wasn’t wearing a bra, which Stan noticed with masculine interest when he first saw her.
His secretary only worked twenty hours a week and was off work that day. That was why his office door was open.
Hank, Stan’s dad, was paying the secretary’s wages. He felt that until Stan really had a steady stream of clients, he didn’t need a full-time secretary. Stan didn’t argue.
However, his dad did complain that even twenty hours a week might be too much time to pay when considering the legal fees Stan was logging; as in, not that many.
Hearing the noise she made entering the office, Stan looked up at her from the papers in his hands, gave her a greeting smile, and motioned toward a chair. He stood briefly as he did.
He was wearing his standard dark suit and tie to command respect in case anybody came in to be commanded. In other words, a potential client with money or means to make money that’d pay his fee.
The woman didn’t look sophisticated like somebody with a college degree or somebody who had a significant job with considerable responsibilities. More importantly, as far as Stan was concerned, she didn’t strike him as having a source of money she could use to pay a lawyer’s fee.
Her face, and the way she talked, reflected a life that had been relatively free of backbreaking responsibilities in the sun, but not others. She’s probably seen more hard times than good ones. A survivor, Stan thought. He believed that a face was a reflection of the kind of life a person had had.
Like the blouse and skirt she wore, her face had a plain look to it. But she didn’t seem shy at all. Not downtrodden at all. In fact, she seemed confident somehow, like she wasn’t awed or cowed by Stan.
Must work with people, men most likely, he thought. That thought would be verified by what she told him next.
She took a chair and gave her name. “I’m Margo Dawkins. I, well, I work the tonks around the county, primarily the Indian Creek Bar and Grill but I make the rounds. I wait on customers, serve beer, and, well frankly, since I’m talking to a lawyer who can’t shoot off his mouth to every Tom, Dick and Harry that he knows, I’ll tell you one more thing I do. When somebody plunks down the right change, I meet them in a room down the hall. I share that change with the manager who keeps tracks of how many trips I made down there each night. It’s a livin’.” She shrugged.
Stan nodded and said, “I see.” Not many women he’d met would admit to doing that for a living. “I’ve been in the place with my dad.”
After a hard day working the fields, his dad would often take him to what the locals called the “honkytonk” for a cold beer. After he went off to Ole Miss, they still went there for a beer now and then, but not nearly as often.
“I thought I recognized you. Been awhile though. You’ve seen a few miles since you started coming in.”
Stan agreed, and added an explanation about what he’d been doing since he and his dad had quit going to the place. He’d been going to school and more recently, practicing law.
She gave it a nod.
“So, what can I do for you?” he asked. What in the hell can I do for her that I’d dare try? He suppressed the smile he felt but gave her a good look.
She told him what had happened to her at the Indian Creek ‘tonk the past week.
“It was after six thirty, Friday night,” she said. “The place was heatin’ up. Pretty much filled with men who’d laid down their tools when it got dark and had dragged into the place lookin’ for some’in cold to drink, maybe some’in hot to eat. After that, who knows.” She made a gesture with her hands that left no doubt about what she meant by the “who knows.”
“Yeah,” Stan said with a look that acknowledged the implication of the gesture.
She nodded her head with a smile and continued, “I saw Leroy, Mr. Arnold, at a table drinkin’ a beer with a woman, not his wife. I know her. Leroy has a company that builds houses to sale. Cheap houses. Then, Elmer Bryant walks in lookin’ mad as hell. He’s one of Leroy’s carpenters. Was anyway.”
She described Bryant as being lanky and on the tall side. She said he had a face that looked like it only smiled if somebody was dying and he’d caused it.
“Rough as a cob. Drinks like a fish. He saw Leroy and lit out runnin’ over to the table where he was.”
She said Bryant grabbed Arnold by the front of his shirt and jerked him out of his chair. “Mr. Arnold ain’t no sissy but before he could do anything, Bryant had shoved him against a wall and was hittin’ him hard with his fists. Accusing Mr. Arnold of sleeping with his wife.”
Margo told Stan that she knew it wasn’t Arnold who was sleeping with Bryant’s wife. It was the lawyer she’d been talking to about getting a divorce from Bryant. The lawyer, Freddie Myers, had a reputation for doing that. Sleepin’ around with other men’s wives. One of the Bryant’s friends had told another friend who told Margo. “Partly how he got paid for doing divorces,” she said about Myers, smiling as she did.
Stan wished he could pick up a “fee” like that.
“Bryant’s wife’s name is Marsha Jane. Not a bad lookin’ woman, come to that. Got what it takes.” She made a move with her hands to suggest the woman had breasts that men liked. “Real ones too,” she added.
Stan nodded his head and motioned for her to continue. She still hadn’t said why she needed him.
“By that time, Leroy was fightin’ back but it didn’t matter, the woman he was with, jumped up and knocked Bryant over the head with her beer mug. Knocked him silly. He fell to his knees.”
Leroy looked down at him before he left with his woman and said, “I ain’t slept with your woman, Bryant. Don’t intend to. And, in case you ain’t figured it out already, you’re fired.”
Stan asked, “I wonder why Bryant’s wife told Bryant she was sleeping with Arnold?”
“Well, Leroy has a reputation for being a stud. I think Marsha Jane was just trying to make Bryant jealous. She probably knew old Elmer would fight paying her alimony so she’d get him fired and he wouldn’t have any money anyway.”
“I guess it worked.”
“It shore did!”
Still hasn’t told me why she needs me?
He shoved out both hands for her to continue and maybe give him an answer to his question.
“Later on, Bryant slapped some bills on the table when I come by to see if he wanted another beer. I took it and he followed me down the hall. We got to foolin’ around, you know what I mean, and I told him what I just told you about his wife sleeping with her attorney and he commenced to hit me. Got mad! Called me a liar. Somebody heard the commotion and came in the room. They pulled him off me and threw him out of the place. Owner said he wasn’t to come back, ever.”
“You want to sue him? Is that it?
” Doubt she’ll get much, but I can do it. Hell, a case is a case. Good publicity.
She shook her head. “Not exactly. ‘Sides, he ain’t got a pot to piss in. What I want is for you to get a restraining order to stop him from botherin’ me ever again. I don’t take money for people to beat me up. I want it known! Maybe you can ask the sheriff to have somebody talk to him. I want him to get it through his head that I ain’t gonna take to him hittin’ on me like he done. I’ll pay you.” She let out a loud breath of air. “Boy, I get uptight just remembering how he hit me. Wish to hell I had a joint.” She gave him a smile and added, “I don’t guess you got one.”
Stan smiled back and handed her a rolled joint from his desk drawer. He kept a few in his drawer for the times he got so bored, he had to have one. They gave him a lift when he needed one.
He lit it for her.
She drew down on it and said, “Damn, that’s a good one. I haven’t had one that smooth in a long time. Smells good too. Pine and maybe lemon scent. How’d you come by it?”
“Had a client who left me with some. Ended up, I got him out of a problem he had and he moved on. Looks like I’m gonna run out. I may try to contact him for more.”
Actually, he had bought the marijuana seeds at the request of one of the managers for a research project while he was working at Ole Miss. He rolled himself a joint out of it and liked it so much he bought a couple of boxes of seed for himself, on the side. That was before he started law school.
He called it Dutch Passion even though he recalled it had a technical name. He had the seed sent to his grandfather’s old place just outside of Lawton, now his. Since he only planned to smoke a joint now and then, for personal use, he also bought a small plastic green house. He planted the seeds in the green house. They sprouted and grew into smokable pot. He also bought a machine to roll the joints from the harvested “weed,” one of which he’d just given Margo Dawkins.
He had told his dad he needed the money to repair the air conditioner in the house. Hank complained but gave him the money.
Stan remembered the exchange he’d had with his dad at the time. When he asked for the money, his dad immediately said no. It was always his first response when anybody asked for money. “When we were growing up, we had to use fans when it got really hot. You’ve had it too easy, boy. You need to get some backbone. Learn to make do with what you have!”
Stan had half expected the response but knew his dad was a sucker for a negative argument so he replied, “You’re right dad. I’ve been using a fan. It does pretty good but I get a little sleepy in court sometimes. I’ll just drink more coffee. That should help keep me awake in the afternoons.”
His dad gave in and wrote him a check for the amount he’d said he needed.
Margo told Stan, “Too bad your … client didn’t leave you more. Old Bryant used to sell bags of the stuff, not this good, but still weed, you know. Made a few bucks on the side. Then his dealer got shot … killed and he ain’t had none to sell lately. We used to trade some. You know what I mean?”
Stan nodded. An idea passed into his thoughts but he didn’t pick it up just then. He wanted to think about it some first.
She looked at him with a sly grin and added, “We could do a trade, if you wanted to. Maybe go halves on your fee.”
Stan suppressed a smile. He shook his head and said, “Thanks. Sounds interesting, but I got engaged, and I quit fooling around when I did.” That wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t far from the truth.
He and Shelly were practically living together, but even with his free house, he still couldn’t afford a wife. They spent many nights there, so many in fact, her parents were talking about her moving in so they could rent the apartment.
But as he’d told everyone, he wasn’t going to let Shelly support him while he built his practice, even though she was making good money working at the hospital.
He still had to eat with his parents part of the time when his fees were low, practically all the time. If Shelly was with him, she would eat with them also. Not only that, his mother still brought them their leftovers, and he didn’t turn them down.
Margo looked at him with one of those alluring smiles and said, “I don’t see no woman around here now.” She pulled her skirt up a couple of inches. “I seen how you been eyeing me. Got that sofa out yonder.” She gestured toward the waiting room with its sofa.
Hmm, damn thing is a pull out. I could lock the door. Hell, not likely anybody would bother us.
He stood and motioned with his head. She smiled and followed him out.
After locking the office door, he pulled out the sofa and took her up on her offer. He enjoyed it. Didn’t have to tell her a damn thing or promise her anything. Nothing about love or how good it was. Nothing. Just a frolic for some of his fee.
When it was over, he told Margo he’d get her a restraining order against Elmer Bryant. He doubted it’d be a problem. Judges didn’t like men who abused women. Maybe it was okay decades earlier, but not now, he thought.
He wrote down the pertinent information about the man, primarily his address, telephone number and what he did … well, what he used to do to make a living. He also got her information, basically the same things he’d asked for on Bryant, address, telephone number and email address.
She pulled out her check book and asked, “What do I pay you? How much?”
“We’ll assume you’ve given me a hundred. I’ll see how far it goes. Likely going to cost more, but I don’t mind waiting.”
“We can always work something out,” she said, and did an uplift of her breasts.
“Yeah,” he said, then added, “If Bryant gets a lawyer and we end up spending a lot of time in court, it could easily reach a thousand. Lots of working out time.”
She gasped. “I hope he doesn’t. I don’t think he could afford it anyway.”
He gave her comment a twist of his head and said, “Well, for sure we’ll need more before I’m finished with ole Bryant. Maybe not a thousand, but more.”
“We’ll work it out one way or t’other,” she gave him another alluring smile.
“Have to mix it, dollars and the other,” he said. “I have to eat too.”
“I git ya.”
He said he’d get back to her. She thanked him for the joint and left.
*****
Stan called one of the sheriff’s deputies he knew through his mom and dad. They’d had a dinner party awhile back and invited the deputy and his wife with some others his dad knew. His dad was a nut about law and order and he often invited law enforcement people to their home for dinners. Stan got to know the deputy during the dinner.
He’d also had the sheriff and his wife to dinner a few times as well.
“Delbert,” Stan said when the deputy came on the line. “I wonder if I can ask a favor?”
“Sure Stan, fire away. I’ll do what I can.”
Stan explained how Elmer Bryant had attacked Margo Dawkins, and as a result, she wanted to get a restraining order against the man. She also asked if someone from the sheriff’s office could tell him he could be arrested if he did it again.
“Put a scare into him,” Stan said.
“Hells bells, Stan, we could arrest him now, charge him, if she gives us the word,” Delbert said. “Assault and battery. Sounds like an easy case. Even got a witness.”
Stan didn’t think she wanted that, but would appreciate some informal help. I don’t think Margo would want the world to know what she did for a living – if there’s anybody left in the county who doesn’t already know.
Delbert said he’d pay Bryant a visit and let him know “where the bear shit in the buckwheat.” He’d used an old expression that men often used to describe a hostile confrontation between them.
Stan thanked him.
What he thought he might do, depending on Bryant’s reaction to Delbert’s call, was get him to sign an agreement not to bother Margo again. He’d include it with his pleading to hit Bryant with a restraini
ng order. He hoped he could do that without having a full-scale legal confrontation that might end up having to face another lawyer in Court. That was the possibility he’d suggested to Margo. He’d still win but it’d cost her more.
I’ll call Bryant as soon as I hear back from Delbert. If Bryant is cowed, I’ll hit him with my stipulation for a restraining order that I’ll file with the court.
*****
The next day Delbert came by Stan’s office to tell him what had happened when he went to see Bryant.
“He blustered some,” Delbert told Stan. “Said he kind of figured Margo would get a lawyer after him. She was that way, he said. It surprised him that she asked, in effect, for the sheriff to get involved. But he sure as hell didn’t want to be arrested. We’ve had him in a couple of times for being drunk and fighting. He didn’t like it.”
“I guess he didn’t. Not many people would want that as a regular thing. The jail house can’t be much fun.”
“No. It’s not. Anyway, bottom line, he said he’d back off and not bother her again. He explained the problems he was having with his wife. Said she was upsetting him, wantin’ a divorce. He just lost his temper when the Dawson woman more or less told him he was full of shit for attacking his boss, the wrong man.”
“Yeah. Anything else?”
Delbert laughed. “Well, one thing. The dumb shit said he’d called Bishop Bone to represent him in court if she went that far. Offered him handyman services to pay him for it. He’s flat busted. As I said, he’d assumed Margo was going to go after him.”
“Be damned, Bishop Bone! I bet that didn’t get him very far.”
Bishop was well known around the county. He worked with Chief Jenkins of the Lawton Police department on some high-profile cases now and then. Most of those ended up in the newspaper; some on television.
“It didn’t. He said Mr. Bone was nice about it, but said he was tied up with other business.”
“I bet,” Stan said. “I’m surprised Bone didn’t laugh at him.”
Death of the Weed Merchant Page 3
