The Love-Haight Case Files (33 page)

Phillip continued. “But the Board of Supervisors, they recently passed a new ordinance which goes into effect next month. The folks at Animal Control are all hot and bothered over it. Held special training sessions during roll call last week.”

Gretchen interrupted. “Doesn’t Animal Control already have more strays on their hands than they know what to do with?”

Phillip nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I believe they do. But this isn’t about strays. This is about dog-fighting. I guess there’s always been a dog-fighting ring operating outside the city, across the bay and inland, too. But they’ve apparently moved into the city—Chinatown and the Tenderloin, so I hear. Apparently the fights move around.”

“Low-life thugs and barbarians,” muttered Gretchen.

Evelyn agreed. Like almost everyone in town, she was a big fan of the 49ers football team, but years ago she had vowed that if they ever hired convicted dog-fighter Michael Vick, she would start rooting for another team. Some things just can’t be forgiven.

“But, I don’t understand, Phillip. What’s that got to do with Sadie.… or Barney? No one’s running dog fights in the alley. We’d hear. I strongly suspect Pete would drop a cornice on anyone doing something so heinous.”

“Well,” answered Phillip, “since they can’t get word of the fight locations in time to raid them, the Board of Supervisors has outlawed the keeping of any pit bulls in the city. That includes all the popular breeds of bull terriers and bull terrier mixes of any kind.”

“But that’s not fair!” exclaimed Evelyn. “Bull terriers are smart, sweet, adorable dogs. They’re not mean. Just because some—” she paused as she sought the right word.

“Jerks,” interjected Gretchen. “The word you are looking for is ‘jerks.’”

“Class A Jerks,” continued Evelyn with conviction, “have starved and beaten and trained their dogs to fight doesn’t mean that the entire breed should be outlawed.”

“That’s right,” chimed in Gretchen. She was clearly getting riled. “They really should outlaw—”

“—
assholes.
They should outlaw
assholes,”
said Evelyn in a firm, clear voice. She really wasn’t much for strong language, but some things deserved an unequivocal response.

Phillip was clearly flustered by the vehemence of Gretchen and Evelyn. “The … the Animal Control people say that a pit bull has a real powerful bite when it clamps down on you.”

“You want bite strength, try an African Grey Parrot or a macaw,” grumbled Gretchen. “One lit after my Floofy and clipped the tip of his ear right off. Bled like a son-of-a—”

“I was just giving Sad Sadie a warning. You know, so she could find a good home for the dog outside the city.”

“Or keep Barney out of sight,” suggested Gretchen.

“No, ma’am. Owning a pit bull, they’ve classed that a felony. I’ve got no discretion.”

Thomas spoke up. “Phillip’s right, ladies. He can’t look the other way on a felony. He’s a good cop. He has to do his duty.”

“But I promised Sadie we would handle this,” groused Gretchen.

“The law’s not fair!” repeated Evelyn. “Pit bulls are good dogs at heart.”

“Lots of famous dogs are pit bulls,” added Gretchen. “Like the dog in
Our Gang
or the one in the Budweiser and Target commercials. Or Patsy Ann, up in Juneau.”

Evelyn continued her case. “They’re being discriminated against for things that aren’t their fault. Just like OTs.”

“That’s true,” replied Thomas. “And what do we do when someone is being discriminated against for something that isn’t their fault, even under color of law?”

“We sue!” cried out Evelyn in glee. “That’s what lawyers do best.”

Thomas looked at Gretchen and Evelyn, the edges of his mouth turning up, then inclined his head toward Phillip. “Thanks for your assistance, Officer. Rest assured that The Law Office of Thomas Brock is on the case.”

Chapter 4.3

Judge Gordon N. Knott tilted his head down and peered at Evelyn over the top of his spectacles. “How many weeks ago did I admit you to practice, Miss Love?”

“Three, Your Honor.”

“After being licensed for three weeks, Miss Love, most attorneys are still figuring out how to use the copy machine at the law firm where they are working on document production for some big antitrust action or piece of commercial litigation. Some may still even be looking for a job. But you, Miss Love, you are asking, no doubt with the assistance of your ghostly employer, who I can see hovering in the back of the courtroom, to be appointed as
guardian ad litem
on behalf of … what is it … all breeds and sub-breeds of bull terriers in the City and County of San Francisco.”

“Yes, Your Honor. That is correct.”

“I’m a cat person myself, but I bear no ill will against our canine friends. And, as you know, I am not afraid to take on the trickiest and most difficult cases in my courtroom. But a
guardian ad litem
is generally an appointment made for someone who is incapacitated or of tender years and not able to look after their own legal interests.”

“That is true, Your Honor. My … clients … are similarly afflicted. They are not able to speak … uh … our language and few, if any, ever live to the age of legal majority under the laws of the State of California.”

Judge Knott stared at Evelyn for a full minute, before continuing. “Thank you for not asking this esteemed Court to interrogate your
clients
in their native tongue. We will stipulate that dogs can neither converse with the Court effectively, nor are most of legal age, if such a concept were applied to animals and other lower beasts. But, the primary function of a
guardian ad litem
is to protect the legal rights of his or her client. What legal rights do you intend to enforce?”

“I seek to become
guardian ad litem
, Your Honor, so I may bring a class action before the Court claiming that Ordinance 4.8889 of the Board of Supervisors for the City and County of San Francisco violates the Constitution of the United States and the Constitution of the State of California by discriminating against them on the basis of race.”

Judge Knott shook himself, as if trying to awake from a deep sleep. “Dog race?”

“Breed, Your Honor. Dog breeds are the equivalent of racial classifications for these purposes.”

“You want to bring a constitutional class action for racial discrimination on behalf of a breed of dog? And you want to do that in my courtroom?”

“Basically, yes, Your Honor. Dogs are protected under various anti-cruelty laws and ordinances.”

“None of which gives them the power to sue as third-party beneficiaries of such provisions.”

“The law may infer a right of private action if necessary to enforce the legal rights granted. Much like disenfranchised voters in the—”

“Stop. Just stop right there,” intoned the Judge in a weary voice, “before you analogize to this country’s sad history on civil rights. It dismays this Court that the United States Constitution did not even consider all humans to have legal rights when it was founded, but I doubt even the current Supreme Court would opine that the founding fathers intended such rights for animals. If you were with one of the more politically-connected law firms and I were up for judicial retention this year, I might think you had conjured up this bizarre request for an order appointing you as
The Dog Whisperer
in an effort to rile up the dog-owners of this fair land against me. As it is, I will simply deny your motion for lack of your client having any legal rights under the law, for a failure to show proper cause that any such rights are not adequately protected under the current law, and for utter preposterousness. Motion denied. Clerk to set an order.”

“Thank you for your time, Your Honor.”

“Please try not to waste any more of it, Miss Love.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

O O O

Evelyn sat in the empty courtroom. Thomas sat with her. More accurately, he bent himself into a sitting position and hovered as if actually sitting on the bench—he couldn’t actually touch anything, including Evelyn. He missed many things about being alive. The smells of cooking food and the salt air on the breeze, the taste of fine wine as the sun set over the ocean, the bracing feel of a cool shower on a hot day, or even just a hot day. But one of the things he missed most of all was being able to touch things. And right now, he wanted to touch Evelyn, to push back the loose strand of hair blocking her face and brush away the tears in her eyes. It saddened him not to be able to do so. Just because he couldn’t feel didn’t mean he didn’t have feelings.

“The Judge hates me,” muttered Evelyn.

“Old Gordy?” replied Thomas. “He doesn’t hate you. He just doesn’t want to risk a high profile reversal. They say he’s bucking for the Governor to appoint him to the Supreme Court of California.”

“Corporations have legal rights. Maybe we could incorporate Barney and all of the other pit bulls.”

Thomas shook his head slowly. “I can’t see Gordy extending the parameters of that decision.”

“What are we going to do?”

Thomas thought for a moment. “Phillip said the Board of Supervisors passed this ordinance because they couldn’t find and shut down the floating dog-fighting ring in town, right?”

“Well, sure, but I don’t see how that helps.”

Thomas shrugged. “If there’s no more dog-fighting ring, the law won’t be needed. Maybe we can get the Board of Supervisors to repeal it.”

Evelyn smiled. Thomas loved it when she smiled. “But if the police can’t find the dog-fighting ring, how can we?”

Thomas floated up from his “seated” position and drifted around the room a few times, gathering speed as he went, then stopped and stood in front of Evelyn. “I can go places the police can’t.” He grinned. “And I don’t need a warrant or a lock-pick to get in.”

“That helps. You definitely have an advantage. But you can’t go everywhere,
be
everywhere.”

“We’ve got one more advantage you’re not thinking of.”

“What’s that?”

“Dagger MacKenzie.”

“I should have thought of that.” She laughed. He loved it when she laughed. “That’s a big advantage.”

He laughed with her. “At six foot five, none bigger.”

Chapter 4.4

Dagger rolled over and grabbed his cell phone before it vibrated its way off the nightstand as it pulsed out the strains of “Carry On My Wayward Son” as a ringtone. He held the tiny thing in his beefy paw and turned the screen toward his sharp eyes. Even at arm’s length he could see the caller I.D. read: “Thomas Brock Law Offices.” Sure, it could be Thomas, if Pete had dialed for him and was holding the phone, but it might just be Gretchen giving him some hassle for the incidental expenses he claimed on his last bill for “services rendered.” Or it could be Evey. In trouble. Again. He had a soft spot for the girl. He’d taught her some self-defense. Moves he liked to think helped her escape from that near-death fracas at that restaurant some months back. But he didn’t want to be at anyone’s constant beck and call. After all, even he had the right to relax some of the time, even if it was in the middle of the afternoon.

It’s not like he kept regular hours.

But … it could be Evey. In trouble.

He punched the “Talk” button with his massive thumb.

“Dagger. Make it good.”

“Dagger, Thomas … Thomas Brock.”

He felt his lip curl reflexively. He preferred to talk with Evey. “Business or charity?” he growled.

“Er, business. Just a small project, actually.”

He sat up on the bed. “Small things somehow turn into big things when OTs are involved. Hasn’t that been the case on every project I’ve worked for you? OTs are your specialty, not mine. I do have other clients.”

“I understand, Dagger. I’m sure with your knowledge and expertise that you have a great many clients I know nothing about.”

“Just like they know nothing about you, Tommy-boy.”

“Of course. You’re the best. That’s why I call you.”

“I charge double for time wasted flattering me.” He got up and wandered toward the bathroom as the call continued. “What kind of OT are we dealing with this time? I don’t do imps. Imps creep me out.”

“No imps. No OTs at all, actually. Evelyn and I, we just need your help finding and bringing down a dog-fighting ring.”

“Sickos. Every single one of ’em.” Dagger had hated the concept of dog-fights even before he had become a lycanthrope. Now the whole gratuitous canine cruelty thing made his fangs grow.

“So, I can count on you?” Thomas asked.

“When haven’t you?” Dagger paused as he arrived at the bathroom door. “But I need to set you straight on one thing right away.”

“What’s that?”

“This one isn’t business. It’s personal.”

“That’s great, Dagger, but I don’t want to take advantage—”

“I’m not the one being taken advantage of here. Look, if it makes you feel any better, you can donate what my fee would’ve been to Rocket Dog Rescue. They do good work there.”

Dagger thumbed the phone off without waiting for a response. He looked back toward the bed, where his companion was stirring. “Sleep as long as you like. Lock up when you let yourself out.”

“I thought you had the whole day free.”

Dagger shrugged. “Things change. Being self-employed has its downside.”

His companion sat up. “Where are you going?”

Dagger chuckled as he entered the bathroom. “Believe it or not, I’ve got to see a man about a dog.”

O O O

Thomas was relieved to hear that Dagger would assist and that he would be doing so
pro bono publico,
but having to ask for help also frustrated him. There were so many things he simply couldn’t do as a ghost. To even call Dagger, Thomas had been forced to pry Pete away from Gretchen’s computer, where the building gargoyle was busily playing
World of Warcraft
while Gretchen was out at the local OfficeMax restocking supplies. The store was all the way up on Geary Boulevard, at Arguello, but the prices were good and the office was definitely on a budget.

It grated on him to be dependent on others. Sure, he knew other ghosts went through the same thing, missing taste and smell and having to deal with the indignities, not only of being incorporeal but also of having people be afraid of you for being so. Not everyone, though, shared his particular frustration of not being able to effectively practice law. Why, he couldn’t turn a page of a legal treatise without Gretchen or Pete’s help. He couldn’t pull a file, Google a suspect, or MapQuest a location without assistance. It was nice that everyone in the office was willing to help, especially Evelyn, who depended on the office staying open as her path to a successful career as an attorney, especially in these over-lawyered times. Still, it hardly seemed fair to burden her with his infirmities … an apt word for his condition in the afterlife … when she should be stretching her wings as an attorney.