Rescued Read online

  I don’t respond, because I have nothing to say; he’s going to get to wherever this is going, and there’s no sense slowing him down.

  “I want to hire you as my attorney.”

  “I’m retired.”

  “Laurie says you’ve unsuccessfully retired at least six times.”

  “This is lucky seven.” Then, “Why do you need representation?”

  “There was a killing today. A man driving a truckful of dogs was shot and killed inside that truck at a rest stop on the Garden State Parkway. But Laurie tells me you know about it already.”

  I nod. “I spent the last four hours there, at the scene.”

  “The police either think I killed the guy, or if they don’t yet, they’re going to. They will then arrest me.”

  “Why would they think that?” I ask.

  “Because I killed him.”

  “His name is Kenny Zimmer, and he is, or was, a piece of shit. I killed him in self-defense, but he and I have a bit of a history.”

  “What kind of history?” Laurie asks. I think she can tell I don’t want to be involved in this, so apparently her plan is to ask the questions I would ordinarily ask.

  “He’s the reason I lost my license.”

  “I didn’t realize you did,” she says.

  He nods. “A business client of mine came to me one day and said his fifteen-year-old daughter had been grabbed and assaulted by a guy in the park. The guy got away, and she went to the police, but they had nothing to go on and didn’t even have proof of a crime.”

  “So the client wanted you to find the perpetrator?”

  “Right. Which I did. It was the aforementioned piece of shit, Kenny Zimmer. I so informed the authorities, who weren’t inclined to make an arrest.”

  “Why?”

  “I used some unconventional means to break the case. In their defense, nothing that I had would have been admissible. So I don’t think they doubted that Zimmer was the guilty party, but they realized they couldn’t nail him on it. From their vantage point, it was probably the right call.”

  “So what did you do?” Laurie asks.

  “I went to see Kenny. We discussed the situation at some length, and he admitted his guilt. He actually laughed when he said it. It was one of those annoying little laughs.”

  “And then?” Laurie prompts.

  “I performed some actions that caused him to stop laughing. He went to the cops and filed an assault complaint. Actually, he didn’t go to the cops; he called them from the hospital. That was his home for the next three weeks.”

  “Which is how you lost your license?”

  Kramer nods. “I copped to a lesser charge and avoided jail time, but the license was gone.”

  “You put him in the hospital and you basically got off? How?”

  “I had a good reputation with law enforcement, and Kenny didn’t. They were glad I did what I did but couldn’t openly say so. The courts couldn’t punish him, so I had to. Think of it as a glitch in the system.”

  “How long ago did all this happen? And how have you continued to be an investigator?” Laurie asks.

  “It happened about two years ago. Losing the license hasn’t changed much; I’m just doing it without official government approval. I lost some of my higher-end clients, but business is still good.”

  Laurie turns to me. “Andy, you have any questions?”

  I shake my head. “Not so far. You’re doing fine.”

  Laurie’s got to be frustrated by my attitude, but I’m not feeling pleased about being drawn into this. There are other lawyers, albeit not as brilliant, that he could hire.

  “So what happened today?” Laurie asks.

  I interrupt. “I don’t have a question, but I do have some advice to offer. Be careful what you say here; none of this is privileged.”

  “Lawyer-client?” he asks.

  “I haven’t agreed to represent you, and in any event, you haven’t hired me yet.”

  “I’m hoping you will,” he says. “But no need to worry, because I’m not going to say anything incriminating. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “You’ve already admitted to assault and a killing,” I point out.

  “The assault is part of the public record, and the killing was in self-defense.”

  I nod, accepting his point. “The victim … Zimmer. He rescued dogs?”

  I think I see a brief smile on Laurie’s face; the first one since I got home. She knows that I would be disinclined to be on the side of someone who hurt, never mind killed, a dog rescuer.

  Kramer shakes his head. “No, he was a truck driver. He was just paid to drive down South and pick up a bunch of dogs. It was a truck-driving gig; he might as well have been transporting watermelons.”

  “So how did you come to be on his truck?” Laurie asks, even though being on his truck isn’t really the issue. Killing him is a bit more problematic, but I assume eventually we will get around to that.

  “It’s a long story,” he says, “and I don’t think we have the time.”

  As if on cue, the doorbell rings. “See what I mean? That will be the police.”

  “How did they know you were here?” I ask.

  “I told my wife to tell them when they showed up at our house.”

  “You’ve got a wife?”

  He nods. “Married two years ago. Does that matter?”

  “Not a bit,” I lie. “Not a bit.”

  Pete Stanton and three other officers are at the door when I answer it. They have their guns drawn, a prudent move considering that they are here to arrest a murder suspect. For all they know, we could be hostages or in danger. But that doesn’t mean I can’t mock him for it.

  “I hope your bullet is in your shirt pocket, Barney,” I say.

  It’s strange, but he doesn’t find that amusing. “Is Kramer in there?”

  “He is.”

  “So you were just down there for the dogs? You forgot to mention that the killer was your client?”

  “Once again, you have no idea what you are talking about.”

  “Bring him out,” he says.

  “So you can arrest him?”

  “No, we just want to share some recipes.”

  Before I can banter back, Laurie and Kramer come to the door.

  “David Kramer?” Pete asks.

  “You know who I am, Pete.”

  Pete tells him that he’s under arrest, and one of the other officers reads him his rights. When that’s over, Pete says, “Let’s go.”

  I’m sure Kramer must be savvy in this area, but I still tell him, “Don’t say anything to anyone. Not a word.”

  “Are you my lawyer?”

  “I’ll get back to you on that.”

  “I hope sooner rather than later.”

  I nod at his reasonable request. “Definitely sooner.”

  Once they’re gone, Laurie turns to me and says, “Where do you want to do this?”

  “In bed would be my first choice.”

  “Andy…”

  “Kitchen is fine.”

  We head back to the kitchen to have “the talk.” I dread talks that are planned in advance; I can’t ever remember a good one. Talks should be spontaneous, not premeditated.

  Laurie walks on ahead, and Tara tags along beside me. I say to her, “You and I will talk later, you traitor,” but she doesn’t seem worried. Sebastian, for his part, doesn’t appear to think that observing my talk with Laurie is worth getting up from his dog bed and trudging into the kitchen. He probably knows how it’s going to end.

  Once we’re in the kitchen, Laurie pours us both coffee. “Where should we start?” she says.

  “We could flip a coin, but even if I win, I’ll just defer to the second half.” It’s a football reference, and I’m not sure if she got it. What I am sure of is that she ignores it.

  “I know Dave Kramer well, Andy. I know him very well.”

  I don’t say anything; I’m just relieved she didn’t use the word carnally.r />
  She continues. “If he says the killing was in self-defense, it was in self-defense. He is not a liar, and he is not a murderer.”

  “I believe you. But there are plenty of non-liars and non-murderers that I don’t represent.”

  “And there are plenty that you have.”

  “True,” I say, trying to be as noncommittal as possible. Unfortunately, one of the problems with planned talks is that participants in them eventually have to be committal. It’s part of the deal. I just want to put it off as long as possible, but unfortunately, these things have no time limit. I can’t run out the clock.

  “Would you consider representing him?” she asks.

  She could have just asked if I’d represent him, but by adding the word consider, it seems like she’s willing to take incremental victories. Laurie is a master tactician; it’s clear that I am in over my head here.

  “I’ve told you I want to try to cut back on my caseload,” I say.

  “Cut back? You haven’t taken on a case in six months.”

  “See? It’s working,” I say. The truth is that I’m independently wealthy from inheritance, previous lucrative cases, and good investments. So I don’t need to work, and I don’t like to work, which should mean I don’t work. Unfortunately, it never seems to pan out that way, the last six glorious months notwithstanding.

  “This is the kind of case you have always taken on, someone wrongly accused of murder, whose very life and freedom are at stake.”

  “I’m already pretty busy,” I say. “Ricky starts school in three weeks, and then there’s football season, and I need to get the car serviced, and before you know it, it’s Halloween. We don’t even have costumes yet, and I was hoping not to dress up as a lawyer again this year.”

  “Andy, are you going to represent him or not?”

  “Is it important to you?” There it is, the key question, the absolute decider. Growing up in my house, we could always say no to anything, but when the other family member invoked that personal “importance,” it became an imperative. It wasn’t used often or casually.

  Laurie has accepted this approach, and I can never remember either of us refusing something that the other person said was important. Which means I have officially thrown down the gauntlet; now it’s up to Laurie if she wants to pick it up. I’m hoping she won’t but betting she will.

  “It’s important to me that Dave get the best defense possible, and unfortunately that means you,” she says.

  “So that’s a yes? It is important to you?” I ask. I’m looking for some clarity here.

  She hesitates a moment before dropping the bomb. “I think so, yes. It is important to me.” Then she gives me an out. “But so is your happiness, and I know how much work a case like this can entail.”

  She has just pulled off a brilliant conversational maneuver; if manipulative negotiating were an Olympic sport, even the Russian judge would give her a ten.

  So in case you’re scoring at home, here’s where things stand: If I refuse her, I will be miserable about it, and so will she. If I give in, I will be miserable, and she’ll be happy, albeit a little guilty.

  So once again, a planned talk does not go as planned.

  “I’ll do it.”

  I take Tara and Sebastian for a walk and then head down to the county jail. If I’m going to be Kramer’s lawyer, he has a right to know it without delay. Hopefully he’s either hired another lawyer already or confessed.

  He’s still being processed when I arrive, and I have to wait more than an hour to see him. When I finally do, he asks, “Good news?”

  “Depends on your perspective,” I say. “If you want to hire me as your lawyer, I’m willing to take the case.”

  He nods. “You’re hired.”

  “You don’t seem surprised at my decision.”

  “I’m not. I know how persuasive Laurie can be.”

  “Why me?” I ask.

  “She says you’re the best.”

  Some things cannot be argued with, so I don’t even try. I tell Kramer that I will be back early in the morning to discuss the case with him, and we can begin to plan our defense. I again admonish him not to talk to anyone about anything, and he assures me that he knows the drill.

  Before I leave, I ask, “Is there any message you want me to get to your wife?”

  “Oh, about that … there is no wife,” he says. “I’m not married.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Laurie told me you might be a little weird about she and I having been together, so I figured if you thought I was married, you’d be more inclined to take the case.”

  “So you lied,” I point out.

  He nods. “For the greater good. And it seems to have worked.”

  “Seems to. Let me explain something, also for the greater good. I’m your lawyer; if you lie to me again, about anything, I will instantly not be your lawyer anymore.”

  “Fair enough,” he says.

  “Did Laurie know the truth?”

  “You’d have to ask her that.”

  I’m not sure where to go with this. I’m pissed that he lied, and certainly not pleased that he’s not actually married. But unfortunately, it all comes back to this being important to Laurie, so it doesn’t really change anything. I’m stuck. “See you tomorrow,” I say.

  It’s past seven o’clock when I leave the jail, and as much as I’d like to go home and hide under the bed, I decide to stop at Charlie’s. Charlie’s is to sports bars what Tara is to living creatures, meaning the absolute best in class.

  Before I married Laurie and we adopted Ricky, I used to spend at least three nights a week at Charlie’s with Pete Stanton and Vince Sanders, the editor of our local newspaper. Now I’m down to one or two nights, but I can be sure that whenever I do show up, they will be at our regular table, watching sports, drinking beer, and eating burgers and fries.

  In my capacity as the only rich person in the group, I wind up getting the check whenever I’m here, and I run a tab, which I pay once a month. Because of that fact, their inherent cheapness always caused them to be glad to see me when I arrived. That changed when I started to notice that they were charging their drinks and meals to my tab even when it was just the two of them.

  I haven’t mentioned my discovery to them; the truth is that I don’t mind paying. A couple of weeks ago, I made an offhand comment that “this place is getting pricey; my tab has been pretty big each month.”

  I saw them exchange quick glances with each other, and Pete said, “Damn inflation.” Vince nodded and said, “It’s those bastards in Washington; they’re screwing everything up. What we need are term limits.”

  This time, Pete greets me with, “Well, look who’s here. The defender of the indefensible.”

  Vince just grunts; he’s busy watching the Mets game. When I ask how the game is going, he says, “Mets are getting killed.” I look at the screen and see that they’re down 2–0 in the second inning; years of pain have turned Vince into something of a pessimist where the Mets are concerned.

  I doubt very much that Pete will give me any information about the case against Kramer, but there’s no harm in giving it a shot. “Once again, you got the wrong man,” I say.

  He laughs. “Yeah, right. Because you’ll only defend the purest of the pure.”

  “Actually, I just assume that whoever you arrest is innocent. If you were working the Lincoln assassination, John Wilkes Booth would be on Dancing with the Stars today.”

  He holds up his beer. “I named a drink in your honor; I’m going to have this beer, and then follow it with an ambulance chaser.”

  “And you can pay for both,” I say.

  This immediately gets Vince’s attention and causes him to turn away from the television. I doubt Vince even brings his wallet with him when he comes here anymore. “Boys, boys … let’s not let this get out of hand. We’re all friends here.”

  “Well, ‘friends’ … I know you’ve been charging to my tab even when I�
�m not here.”

  Vince fakes a look of shock. “What? I had no idea … I thought they were giving us free food and beer because they were paying off the crooked cop here.” He points at Pete in case I didn’t know which crooked cop he was referring to.

  Pete nods. “I for one am stunned that a reputable restaurant would take advantage of you like that. I’m going to commence an immediate, time-consuming investigation. In the meantime, we should proceed as we have been, so they don’t get suspicious.”

  “That’s comforting,” I say. “But I’m still going to embarrass you in court. Again.”

  “Color me scared,” Pete says. “By the way, didn’t Kramer used to go out with Laurie? Before she defied all logic and married you?”

  “I believe they went out, yes,” I say.

  Vince laughs. “That must make for an interesting situation.”

  “I believe it does, yes,” I say.

  Laurie, Ricky, and I try to have breakfast together every morning. With me not working, that hasn’t been too difficult a feat to accomplish. That’s going to change; a murder case, if it goes to trial, changes everything. But today we stick to the script, and Laurie makes pancakes, after which Ricky joins Tara, Sebastian, and me on our morning walk.

  Before we leave, I say to Laurie, “By the way, Kramer’s not married.”

  She nods. “I know. I assume he figured you’d be more likely to take the case if you thought he was. Your attitude wasn’t that friendly when you first met him.”

  “So you decided to just stand there and stay silent while he lied?”

  “I did.”

  “I thought he was so honest,” I say.

  “He’s not a saint, Andy,” she says and smiles.

  Laurie doesn’t seem upset by my outrage, probably because she knows it’s false. If I were in Kramer’s position, I would have told the same lie. I might have even added a few kids to my fake family, and maybe a sick mother in a home.

  “You’ll notify everyone?” I ask.

  She nods. “I will.”

  Because we so rarely take on clients, every time we do so, we need to inform and assemble the defense team. It reminds me of those movies where the old gang gets summoned back for one last job or assignment. Most of them are doing other things and, depending on the person, are either pleased or displeased to be called back into action. But eventually they all come on board, or there would be no movie.