A Class Action (2 page)

I’m sure that Stuart made the initial call and wormed the invitation out of her. Now that he’s signed up with some correspondence mail-order law school, he’s her prize student. If not for the fact that you have to be twenty-one years old to practice law in California, she wouldn’t need me at all. She runs the law practice, prepares the pleadings, does all the legal research, and pays me quite well to do her bidding in court. The other reason she can’t practice law now is because she isn’t tall enough to see over the counsel tables in the courtroom. When taking over as her legal guardian, I was concerned that she wasn’t attending one of the local public schools. I now know that several years ago Melvin received permission for her to be home-schooled. All she has to do is go downtown every month or so to pass the Board of Education’s home-schooling exams. The strange thing now is that instead of teachers coming to visit her, all I see are people coming to learn from her.

When Stuart gets to the boat he’s bubbling over with his new business idea - a used car lot. I tell him that if he’s looking for respect, he’s going in the wrong direction. It’s bad enough that he wants to be a lawyer, because there are very few jobs that rank lower in the public’s scale of esteem, but used car salesman is one of them.

He explains to me that the chance to make a great profit here is too good to pass up. He owns his own warehouse in the San Fernando Valley, where he has his weight-reduction products stored and his armored trucks garaged. There’s also a large enough parking lot for him to qualify for a used car sales permit, so he’s going for it.

I point out to him that he’s not in an area where any other car lots are, and ask him where he’s going to get the cars to sell and the customers to buy them. As usual, his answer is quite remarkable.

“
Peter my dear friend, you have hit the nail right on the head. Getting customers is no problem if you offer the right product at the right price – and I can do it. I’ve made an arrangement with I.R.S…”

“
Stuart, you’re not working with the government on this deal are you?”

“
No, no, no. This I.R.S. stands for a New Jersey company named Insurance Recovery Sales. There’s a lot of auto theft in New York, and if an insured car isn’t recovered within a thirty-day period, the insurance company must pay the policy holder. If the car is subsequently recovered, the insurance company dumps it as soon as possible to these I.R.S. guys, and I can buy the cars for a little over half of the wholesale blue book.”

“
I don’t know, Stu, you know what they say about a deal that’s too good to be true…”

“
Yeah Pete, I know, but I’ve been to New Jersey and saw their warehouse, and believe me, this deal is true.”

There’s no talking him out of it, so I do what I usually do every time he comes up with one of his new business ideas – wish him the best of luck and let him know that I’ll be available if he needs any help.

Not too long ago, I settled his uncle’s wrongful death suit. He and Suzi’s stepfather both died when their plane crashed during take-off from some local airport in Thailand, where they were vacationing. That’s why both Stuart and the kid are the richest people I know - until I bump into my neighbor, George.

With no important cases going on, it’s time for a little relaxation, so I’m going to walk over to the Marina del Rey Junior Liquor Store to pick up a six-pack, a box of our neighbor’s favorite wine, and a Playboy. On the way there, I’ll stop by Laverne’s boat.

The Marina has several boxy houseboats they rent out and Laverne lives in one that’s on our dock. At one time she probably was a real looker, but all the looking she does now is out of the window of her houseboat, waiting for me to walk by so she can clink two wine glasses together and wink at me. I call it the ‘wink and clink,’ but clink probably isn’t the proper word, because the glasses are plastic. They just sort of clunk.

On several occasions I’ve allowed myself to be led astray and spent the night aboard with her. Aside from the ‘early whorehouse’ décor, it’s a comfortable place, and she never fails to leave some greasy French toast out for me the next morning when she goes to work.

I still don’t know what she does for a living, but some husky guy picks her up every morning at seven and brings her back at six each evening. She may have a couple of years on my forty-three, but she keeps herself well-preserved in alcohol, so the deterioration’s been minimal.

My plan is to stop by her boat, tell her I’m going to the market, and ask her if there’s anything she needs. It’s starting to get dark. I politely knock on her boat. She pops her head out of the window and after my announcement, requests some crackers and a bag of ice.

Knowing I’m in for some greasy French toast tomorrow morning, I rush to the liquor store and back. As expected, upon my return, the wink and clink are my signal to ‘come aboard.’ We finish off that box of wine and spend prime time watching one of those stupid reality shows that she likes. She’s been known to tape an episode when not around to watch it live, making for an extremely elegant video library. The only books she has on board are some romance novels, each one showing a Fabian wannabee on the cover, shirt torn half off, and a desperate nymphet hanging on him. Every time I go to the neighborhood Ralph’s Market I see those soap-opera paperbacks. I used to wonder what type of desperate person would spend their money on them.

Being only partially embalmed I can still see that the late news is showing an angry man threatening to bring a lawsuit against the dealership where his wife’s Suburban was serviced. I assume that’s the one that exploded.

After the wine and the news we retreat to the aft stateroom part of her floating trailer and fumble ourselves asleep.

It must be about two in the morning and I’m suddenly awake, sensing someone heavy creeping onto her houseboat. Whoever it is stops near the bedroom. I quietly sneak over to the window to get a look outside, and when I stick my head out the window, I hear a low whine. It’s Suzi’s huge Saint Bernard. When he sees me, he stands up against the side of the boat and I notice that my cell phone is hanging around his neck. I remove it and the dog goes back to our boat. The cell phone is turned on. After holding it for a minute or so, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, it rings.

It’s FBI Special Agent Bob Snell, head of the West Los Angeles office. Not too long ago, I was instrumental in getting some information together on a gang of bank robbers, and Snell made the arrests - and took the credit. The reward money was a big contribution to the purchase of our present fifty-foot Grand Banks, so I guess you could say we’ve got a decent working relationship.

“
Hello Sharp, are you there? It’s Bob Snell… special agent Bob Snell, FBI.”

“
Yeah Snell, I’m here. What’s the matter, you guys working overtime tonight? It’s kinda late.”

“
I know it’s late Sharp, but the reason I’m calling now is because I’d like to ask you a favor.”

“
I’m listening.”

“
Well this is kind of embarrassing, but one of our people has been arrested. We were at a party tonight honoring the retirement of a Federal Agent we all respect. After we left, one of our associates got arrested for drunk driving. She’s being held in the Van Nuys LAPD Jail.”

“
That’s a sad story, but I still don’t know why you’re calling me at two in the morning.”

“
We’d like to get her out of jail.”

“
So, why call me? Call a bail bondsman. They can get her out in no time. Got a pencil? Call Fradkin Bail Bonds. Their number is four seven eight,…’

He cuts me off mid-sentence. “No, no, no. We can’t use a bail bondsman.”

“
Why not?”

“
Because we’re FBI agents. If the press ever found out we used a bondsman to bail out a member of the Federal Anti-Crime Task Force, they’d have a field day with it.”

“
So? What do you want me to do?”

“
Her bail is twenty-five hundred dollars and we don’t have that much cash – and they won’t accept a check. We have about five hundred between us. If you can lend us two thousand, I’ll give you my personal check for it, right on the spot. And don’t worry, the check is good.”

“
Boy, what a deal. You’ll take my hard-skimmed two grand and turn it into a check that I’ll have to deposit and report on my income tax. What’re you trying to do, make an honest person out of me?”

“
Sorry Sharp, but I’m afraid that ship’s already sailed. Look, can you help us out or not?”

I know for a fact that most first time offenders don’t have to post bail because they get released on their own recognizance, just like a traffic ticket that the cop asks you to sign. He doesn’t want your autograph. He wants you to sign a promise to appear in court. What you are receiving at that time is what they call a field ‘R.O.R.,’ an acronym for Release on your Own Recognizance.

If I call up and talk to the Van Nuys watch commander and let him know that he’s got a fed in his house, I’m sure I can get her an R.O.R.

“
Okay Snell, tell you what. You and your partner meet me at the Van Nuys Jail in forty-five minutes. And when we get there, just walk with me and don’t say anything. When we get to the officer at the front desk, just flip your ID’s at him and have a seat in the lobby. Got it?”

“
Okay, you’re in charge. We’ll see you there.”

I call Van Nuys and explain what’s going on to the watch commander. Fortunately he remembers my name, because last year I helped his boss out on a case. He tells me that the girl in custody is still pretty much out of it and he doesn’t want to see her driving so soon. I assure him that she’s going to be picked up by two FBI agents who will be identifying themselves at the front desk. He agrees to have her ready to go by the time we get there.

Forty-five minutes later I meet Snell and another fed outside the jail. It looks like a drug deal going down.

“
Thanks for coming, Sharp. Did you bring the cash? I’ve got my checkbook right here.”

“
Don’t be so hasty. You’re in my ballpark now, so let’s go upstairs and see if I can work some magic.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
No questions. Just follow me and get ready to flip those fancy ID wallets when we walk in the front door.”

They take my instructions and follow me up the stairs to the jail floor. As we enter the front door, there’s a uniformed officer seated at a small table. I show him my State Bar card and nod to the Feds. They each flash their ID and as we walk into the waiting area, their eyes bulge out.

Only one person is sitting in the lobby. It’s a disheveled female, probably in her early thirties. I ask Snell. “Is that her?”

He’s totally amazed. There she is, sitting on a chair in the waiting lobby. No handcuffs, no guards, no security. “Yeah, that’s her, that’s Shirley.”

I motion for her to come with us, and she walks over to meet Snell and his partner. She looks at me. “Am I free to go now?”

“
Yes, you are. You can go with Agent Snell and his friend but you can’t drive. They’ll take you home and you can pick up your car tomorrow.”

We all walk out together. “Sharp, I don’t know how you did it, but we all thank you. Will she be going to court soon?”

I take a look at her R.O.R. papers and tell them when and where her court appearance is. She asks me for help on her case. Snell calls me aside.

“
What’s the deal with these drunk driving charges? Is there going to be a big fine?”

“
Of course there is. Listen, my miracle working is limited. I can get someone out of jail occasionally, but there’s no way I can make this drunk driving charge go away.”

“
Will she have to appear in court?”

“
Someone’s got to be there on her behalf. With the proper document signed, waiving her appearance right, an attorney can appear for her and enter a plea.”

“
Will you do it?”

“
Yeah, I can represent her, but can she afford to pay a fee? You know, by the time the case is over the fine and court costs can add up to over a thousand dollars… but I can get her some time to pay that off.”

“
We can’t have that.”

“
Whatta ya mean you can’t have that? Who the hell do you think you are, The Federal Government?”

“
No, no. What I mean is that if she gets a fine of anything more than twenty-five dollars, she’ll lose her security clearance and get fired from her job. Can’t you do something? How much is your fee?”

“
Well, maybe something can be done. I charge a thousand to handle cases like this. I can see by the stunned expression on your face that you think it’s a lot, so just make a check out to me for five hundred, and I’ll represent her in court. The watch commander led me to believe that her Breathalyzer reading was way over the legal limit, so there’ll probably be no reduction of the charge to reckless driving… but I’ll talk to the judge.”

Snell writes out a check to me for the five hundred dollars and makes sure to tell me that I should report it on my income tax. They all leave in his car and I go back to the Marina. Damn. Laverne is probably out like the lights on her boat, so now I won’t get to earn my plate of greasy French toast for breakfast.

*****

Chapter 2

A dogmail instructs me to call attorney Charles Indovine. He’s got a big law firm downtown that specializes in doing insurance defense work, and his biggest client is the Uniman Insurance Company, the firm that insures the car dealership where the exploding Suburban was serviced. True to his threats on the news broadcast, the owner of that vehicle is suing the dealership. The insurance company sent the file to Indovine’s office and they decided to assign it to me. I did a favor for Mister Uniman last year, so no doubt he probably told Indovine to toss me a bone every once in a while.