Fletch Won (6 page)

“I said I’m getting married Saturday.”

“Doesn’t give you much time, does it?”

“Ann—”

“Besides that,” Ann said, refolding the newspaper on her desk, “I think Frank feels that such a story—well done, of course—would go a long way toward getting him off the hook for these unfortunate pictures that ran on the sports pages this morning.” She folded her hands on the desk. “Not all is tea and biscuits on the lifestyle pages, Fletcher. Definitely, you’re the man for the job.”

Fletch was looking out the window. “P.S., your fern is dead.”

“I happen to like brown fern,” Ann said, without looking around. “I feel they make a statement: despair springs eternal.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Happy to have you in the department, young Mr. Fletcher. At least you won’t have your purse snatched.”

“It’s not my purse I’m worried about.” He stood up.

“It will be interesting to see what you turn in.”

“You’re asking me to ‘turn in’ under wicked circumstances.”

“Oh, and, Fletcher…?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Be careful of Biff Wilson. Don’t get in his way. You do, and he’ll run over you like a fifty-car railroad train. He is a mean, vicious bastard. I ought to know. I was married to him, once.”

“Fletch, there’s a call waiting for you.” The young woman outside Ann McGarrahan’s office jangled her bracelets at him. “Line 303. Nice suit. ‘Fraid you’re goin’ to get raped ’round here?”

“Hello,” Fletch said into the phone.

“Hello,” said Barbara. “I’m furious.”

“I’d rather be Fletch.”

“What the hell do you mean by chewing out my employer?”

“Did I do that?”

“Cecilia’s very serious about jodhpurs just now. She overbought.”

“I care. She wouldn’t let you come to the phone.”

“Company policy. The phone’s for the business, not for the employees.”

“But I’m the fianc? of her number-one salesperson.”

“And what do you mean you can’t have lunch with me?”

“Things are a little confused here.”

“This is Monday, Fletch. We’re getting married Saturday. We have things to discuss, you know?”

“Anyway, I’d already agreed to have lunch with Alston. We want him as my best man, don’t I?”

“That’s the least of my worries. We don’t have much time. You’ve got to get with it.”

“I’m with it.”

“I mean, really with it. Look at all you’ve got to do. Cindy says—”

“Barbara! Cool it! Don’t chew me out now!”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve just been chewed out by absolutely the best. Next to her, you sound tin-horn.”

“Then why don’t you marry her, whoever she is?”

“I would,” answered Fletch, “except she has other ambitions for my proclivities.”

“Good afternoon, Alston.” Fletch slid into a chair at the café table.

“Good afternoon,” Alston said. “I’m having a beer.”

“Enjoy.”

“Want a beer?” Fletch nodded. Alston signaled the waiter. “Two beers, please.” With the back of his hand, Alston then brushed a speck of lint off the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Fletch, I couldn’t help notice, as you scuffed along the sidewalk…”

“What?”

“Your suit.”

“I’ve been assigned to the society pages.”

Alston grinned. “Well, that’s a real to-hell-with-society suit.”

“It makes a statement, I think,” Fletch said. “Like dead ferns. Despair springs eternal.”

“I see you had a super morning, too. Did they finally get you for that headline you wrote?”

“Headline?”

“D
OCTOR
S
AVES
L
IFE IN
A
CCIDENT
?”

“They never noticed that one.” The waiter brought the beers. “Sometimes I think I’m the only one at the
News-Tribune
with any news sense.”

“I have that headline hanging on my wall.”

“We must look at the bright side, Alston.”

“Yeah,” Alston said. “Barbara.”

“Barbara just chewed me out.”

“Oh.”

“This morning I was chewed out by the managing editor, Frank Jaffe, the
News-Tribune’s
star crime writer, Biff Wilson, Ann McGarrahan, the society editor, and my fiancé, Barbara Ralton. And it’s only Monday.”

“In a suit like that—as much as you can be said to be
in
it—I’m surprised anyone takes you seriously.”

“Oh, yeah.” Fletch removed his coat and put it on the back of his chair. “I was also held up by a liquor store. Shot at.”

“Lots of people have been held up in a liquor store. Once, my uncle was in a hurry; you know, before the rabbits started nibbling his toes? And—”

“And I interviewed a nice, kooky lady who said she was someone apparently she isn’t.”

“You interviewed an impostor?”

“I guess.”

“Did you get anything interesting out of her?”

“I did have the feeling I was leading her, Alston.”

“I would think you would have to feed answers to an impostor,” Alston said. “To get any kind of a story.”

“What’s more, she got my clothes off me. Ran away with them.”

“All this happened just this morning?”

“And those sneakers were just getting comfortable.”

“Fletcher, are you sure you can make it outside the U.S. Marine Corps?”

“It’s hard, Alston, getting a start in life.”

Alston held up his beer. “To youth.”

“No one takes us young people seriously.”

“And we are serious.”

“We are indeed. Seriously serious.”

The waiter said, “Are you gentlemen ready to order now?”

“Yes,” Fletch said. “The usual.”

“Sir,” the waiter said with poised pen, “it may be usual to you, but whatever it is, is not usual to me.”

“You mean I have to tell you my order?”

“You could keep it to yourself, sir. That would cut down on my work.”

“I had it here just last week.”

“I’m pleased to see it was you who returned, sir, and not whatever it was you had for lunch.”

“This is Manolo’s, isn’t it?”

The waiter glanced at the name on the awning. “That much we’ve established.”

“A peanut-butter-and-sliced-banana sandwich with mayonnaise on pumpernickel,” Fletch said.

“Ah,” said the waiter. “That is memorable. How could we have forgotten?”

“You make it special for me.”

“I would hope so. And you, sir?”

“Liederkranz-and-celery sandwich on light rye,” Alston answered. “Just a soupgon of ketchup.”

“I beseech Thee, O God, that’s another special.”

The waiter went away, hurriedly.

“Even the damned waiter doesn’t take us seriously,” Fletch said.

“No one takes youth seriously. Maturity is too precious to be wasted on the old.”

“Aren’t we mature? Veterans. You’re a lawyer. I’m a journalist.”

“People still plunk us in the to-be-seen-and-not-heard category, though.”

“Could it be that we’re pretty?”

“In that suit, Fletcher, you dim daffodils.”

“I should think so.”

“This morning I got called into Haller’s office. Senior partner. Summoned. You see, I’m supposed to sit in on meetings, keeping my mouth shut, of course, and never, never laugh, let my jaw drop in shock, or stare too much.”

“Those the conditions of your employment?”

“You got it. I’m supposed to just listen. Pretend I’m not there. That way, I get to learn how grown-up lawyers work up their fees to the exorbitant, pay the rent for us lesser souls, and maintain their Mercedes.”

“Sounds edifyin’.”

“Educational. Also, of course, peons such as I are to be present at meetings so we can understand what research, leg work, is to be done on the case underfoot.”

“Don’t you mean, under consideration, or under advisement, or something?”

“Underfoot. So here’s a client, new to Habeck, Harrison and Haller—”

“Ha ha ha.”

“Excuse me? I haven’t finished yet.”

“I should have said,
Hay, Ha, Haw
. Have I got that right?”

“Probably. Whatever it is you’re saying.”

The waiter put their sandwiches in front of them. He said, “Here’s your fodder.”

“Yeah,” said Fletch. “Thanks, mudder.”

“Anyway,” continued Alston, while checking his ketchup and apparently finding it satisfactory. “This new client was interrupted Saturday night by the police while
removing silver, stereo, and other glittery things from a home up at The Heights. The scandal, and the reason for this gentleman coming to Habeck, Harrison and Haller, is, you see, that the home, silver, stereo, and other glittery objects did not belong to him.”

“A burglar.”

“Well, someone in the front lines in the theft business.”

“Why wasn’t he in court this morning?”

“Came directly to us from court, having had the wisdom to ask for and get what will be, I’m sure, the first of many postponements.”

“He was out on bail.”

“Which modest amount he posted himself. His reason for doing so and rushing off, he told the court, was that he was obliged to take his fifteen-year-old dog to the dentist.”

“Had he an appointment?”

“Unbreakable.”

“A mission of mercy.”

“Doubtlessly the court is now prejudiced in his favor.”

“You’re not about to tell me he was lying to the court?”

“Well, he told us, or, rather, he told Mr. Haller, that while he was in court, the dog, waiting to be brought to the dentist, was howling so in pain, a neighbor shot him.”

Fletch shook his head. “He needn’t have rushed.” He salted his peanut butter-banana-and-mayonnaise sandwich. “Tell me, did he call up and cancel the dentist’s appointment?”

“He didn’t say.”

“I’m trying to gauge the degree of this man’s honesty, you see, his concern for the social contract.”

“In meetings, I am not allowed to put forth such questions.”

“I forgot. You’re a hanging plant.”

“That, or whatever is put at the base of plants to aid their growth.”

“I’m surprised Mr. Haller, being senior partner in an
important law firm, would be interviewing a simple burglar himself. Why would he be taking on a burglar as a client?”

“Ah, Fletch, you are innocent as to how law firms, and thus the law, works.”

“I thought I knew a few things.”

“I’ll bet you thought law firms practice law.”

“They don’t?”

“That’s not their primary function.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. What they actually practice is something called cooling the client.”

“Do they teach that in law school?”

“No. Which is why starters, such as myself, work in law firms a few years at just enough above the minimum wage to keep us in clean collars. Because it is not being taught in law schools, we must learn this technique essential to keeping the law firm afloat.”

“So what’s ‘cooling the client’?”

“When a client first knocks on the door of a law firm as ambitious as Habeck, Harrison and Haller, the law firm’s first job is to discover how much the client—the client, not the case—is worth. It takes experience and wisdom to make such an assessment.”

“I don’t see how what the client is worth has to do with what the case is worth.”

“Suppose it’s a simple, straightforward case. But the senior partner, who conducts the first interview, discovers the client is rich. Under the circumstances, what would you do?”

“Practice law.”

“How little you know. You cool the client. The senior partner, having made an assessment of the client’s worth, decides how much of his wealth the law firm will take from him in fees, regardless of how simple or complicated the case is. It would amaze you to know how a talented law
firm can complicate the most simple case by creating setbacks, other delays, filing wrong or useless motions, petitions, initiating incorrect lines of argument, et cetera. The object, you see, is to keep the case going as long as possible, all the while milking the client for nearly every penny he or she may be worth. If, despite the law firm’s best efforts, the case is ever brought to a conclusion, and if the law firm has done a masterful job of cooling the client consistently throughout his ordeal, the client ends up impoverished and very, very grateful.”

“Pardon me, Counselor, but isn’t that called robbery?”

“In the law, it’s called building a solid reputation.”

“Supposing, Counselor, in the initial interview, the senior partner discovers this particular client isn’t rich enough to be worth robbing?”

“One of three things happens. First, the client could be persuaded that his case could be handled just as well, and more cheaply, by a smaller, less prestigious law firm. Which law firm, incidentally, is expected to kick back to the recommending law firm a percentage of whatever fees the poor client is able to pay.”

“The rich get richer.”

“And the poor get screwed. Or, second, if the case has any value to the partners socially, or if it might generate beneficial publicity, or whatever, even if the client doesn’t have sufficient wherewithal to be worth robbing, the case is taken. It is then handled with such dazzling speed and efficiency the world is breathless as it watches. The old-boy network is used. Private deals are struck. A settlement is arrived at swiftly, and cheaply, not always to the client’s complete benefit.”