The Reform Artists: A Legal Suspense, Spy Thriller (The Reform Artists Series Book 1) (17 page)

Tony Sr. smiled. “For twenty years, he’d come in the shop every other week. Then, ten years ago, when they made him administrative judge he said it was too much. He couldn’t take the time off. He called the shop. ‘How about cutting my hair each week, in the courthouse?’ he asked. I remember hesitating because of the time and the long walk, you know.”

“‘Come on,’” he said. ‘We can reminisce. The walk will do you good. I’ll give you a good tip, and I’ll introduce you around the courthouse, like you introduced me around the club house. You’ll pick up lots of business! Besides,’ he added, ‘no one holds a candle to you!’”

They had arrived at Tony Sr.’s house. He opened the car door a crack and then turned to face his son. “What could I say?” he shrugged. “I agreed to do it. After all, the man was right!”

At precisely six forty-five Thursday night, as planned, the phone in Martin’s extended stay motel room began ringing. He picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Daddy!” Justin said.

“Hi, buddy! Boy, it’s good to hear your voice! How have you been?”

“I’ve missed you, Daddy.”

“I know. I’ve missed you, too. Terribly. I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to see or talk with you.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m staying in a motel nearby. Do you know what a motel is?”

“Unh uh.”

“Well, it’s a building full of rooms for people to sleep in when they’re traveling.”

“But you’re not traveling.”

“You’re right.”

“So, why don’t you just come home?”

“I wish I could, Justin, but I can’t for now.”

“Why not, Daddy? Don’t you want to be with us anymore?”

“Of course I do, buddy. But it’s complicated. Did Mommy tell you about the judge?”

“Yes.”

“What did she say?”

“She said the judge is very wise, and he thinks it would be best if we were apart for a while. She said the judge won’t let you see us or even talk with us until after Monday. But he made a ‘ception and let me talk with you tonight.”

“That’s right.”

“Mommy says the judge wants to keep us safe. Daddy, would you ever hurt me or Monica or Mommy?”

Martin swallowed hard. “What do you think, buddy?”

“No.”

“That’s right, son. I love all of you – including Maxie. I would never hurt you guys. You mean the world to me.”

“Will you be at my party tomorrow?”

“No, son. I’m in a kind of grown up time out. I can’t see you until it’s over.”

“Did you do something bad to get time out, Daddy?”

“I don’t think so. The judge is very busy, so he put me in it for a few days, until he and I can meet and talk. That’s what we’re going to do on Monday.

“Tell me about your party, son.”

“No! I don’t want to talk about it if you can’t come!”

“Please, Justin?”

“No.”

“I have a special surprise for you – sort of a birthday present.”

“You do?!”

“Yep. Tell me about your party, and I’ll tell you what it is. OK?”

“All right.”

“I heard the party’s going to be at the Cider Mill farm. Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“And there will be animals to pet – and pony rides?”

“Yeah.”

“That really sounds like fun.”

“I know.”

“Which friends of yours did you invite?”

“Petey and Jeffrey and Mikey and Dougy and some other guys. Petey’s getting me a baseball bat. He told me.”

“Wow. That’s a great present! We can use it when we practice your Tee Ball swing together. Won’t that be fun?”

“Yes!”

“A lot of special people will be there for you tomorrow; do you know that?”

“Who?”

“Well, Grandma Es and Grandma Phyllis! Uncle Jeb and Aunt Neenah, too.”

“They’re not special people, Daddy. They’re family!”

“That’s right, but you don’t get to see them every day, do you?”

“No.”

“So, that makes them kind of special, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe …. Are they bringing the baby, Daddy?”

“Yes, baby Suzy will be there, too.”

“Good. She’s funny!”

“Yes she is, buddy.”

“Daddy, do I have to go if you won’t be there?”

“Yes, son. It’s a very special day, for a very special guy. You’re going to be seven years old! That’s so amazing, do you know that?”

“Yeah!” Justin said, giggling.

“Everybody’s coming to see you blow out the candles – and they’re bringing you presents, too.”

“You won’t see me blow them out, Daddy. I don’t feel like cel’brating, if you can’t come!”

“I’ve got an idea. How about if I talk to Mommy and arrange to call you tomorrow, on Skype
®
, just as you are about to blow them out? That way, I can join everyone else and sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ and you can see and hear me do it. It will almost be like I’m there!”

“That would be great, Daddy. Will you?”

“I’ll ask her, buddy. I think we can make that happen.”

“Daddy,” Justin said, “I’m so happy now. I feel like crying. Isn’t that silly?”

“No,” Martin said, trying to hold back his own tears. “It isn’t silly at all. And Justin?”

“Yes, Daddy?”

“You need to listen better to Mommy. OK?”

“I’ll try.”

“It’s important, because you’re going to be seven years old. You’re a big boy. And you need to behave like one. OK?”

“I guess.”

“You know, you forgot to ask me something.”

“I did?”

“Yes. Remember, I told you I had a surprise for you?”

“Oh, yeah. What kind of surprise?”

“Well, as soon as I can, I am going to come visit you and Monica and Mommy and Maxie, and when I do, I am going out take you out for a special father-son birthday celebration!”

“Really?!”

“Uh huh. Just us guys. And guess where we’re going to go?”

“Where?”

“We’re going to Baltimore to watch your favorite team, the Orioles, play ball. We’ll make a day of it.”

“Really?”

“Yes siree.”

“And we can eat hot dogs together?”

“Yep. And Coke and Crackerjacks, too!”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Justin. Happy Birthday! And I’ll speak with you tomorrow!”

“OK, Daddy. Bye!”

“Bye.”

Martin sat on the side of the bed for a moment, sighing. He wiped the tears form his eyes. Then, he dialed Swindell’s number and left a message on the answering machine, explaining that he had figured out what ‘tiny’ reciprocal favor Swindell should now request from Katie’s attorney.

Beverly West sat at her antique French provincial writing desk, in her Rockville law office, sipping tea, nibbling at a stale cheese Danish and staring, uncomfortably, at the telephone. It was now nearly nine o’clock Friday morning and, for the past ten minutes, West had been trying to motivate herself to call Chester Swindell and offer to meet with him and his client to discuss settling the case.

West leaned forward, arms bent at the elbows and head resting on the backs of her hands. She was out of options and she knew it. She sighed as she stared at the lifeless device. On some level, she knew she was stalling, in the hope that a last-minute call from Swindell, with a similar request, might rescue her.

West had hoped she would never have to make this call, but twenty minutes earlier, Katie Silkwood had made the decision for her. Katie had called, ostensibly, to thank West for getting Martin to speak with their son. Justin, she had said, was now “back on board” for his birthday party, but she added, that was not the real reason for her call.

“Beverly, I’m out of time. I need you to call Martin’s attorney
today
and offer to settle the case. We need to make Monday’s hearing go away. I’m sorry, but I just can’t afford it!”

West swallowed hard as her hand inched toward the receiver. Like any lawyer, she preferred to deal from a position of strength, but her present reluctance ran deeper than that. For years, she had struggled to be taken seriously by those closest to her and that had made her hate feeling even the slightest bit vulnerable.

When she had first expressed an interest in the law more than thirty years earlier, the men in West’s family had belittled her. Skilled tradesmen and small business owners, they thought she was “putting on airs.” In ways both real and imagined, she felt they had hindered her legal ambitions.

The jokes subsided when West made law review at the University of Maryland, and later, she thought they had ended altogether when she passed the Maryland state bar exam on her first try. But her decision to specialize in family law, strangely enough, had inspired new taunts. Why, they had asked her, was she willing to squander her hard-won legal skills to pursue such a shallow, insignificant branch of the law? It took her stunning record of wins representing female divorce clients, and her conspicuously affluent lifestyle, to finally shut them up.

West pushed Swindell’s speed dial number and waited. When he answered, she gently eased into her topic.

“Chester, I’ve got good news for you. Whatever your client said to young Justin last night really helped. Katie Silkwood called me earlier today and said his behavior is much improved. He’s once more looking forward to attending his birthday party tomorrow.”

“That’s great, Bev. Just goes to show you how important co-parentin’ is, wouldn’t you agree?”

“In this case, Chester, I would have to say, ‘yes’. I was quite impressed with the way the Silkwoods came together, for Justin’s sake. I think this may give them a new foundation upon which to build.”

Swindell, who had been slouching at his desk, sat up straight in his chair. “What are you gettin’ at, Bev?”

“Well, Chester,” West said, hesitantly, “I think now might be the time to take another look at settling this case. I think we should try to preserve this positive, new momentum. It would be a real tragedy if we allowed the Silkwoods to return to a state of acrimony. What do you think?”

At the other end of the line, Swindell smiled and pumped his right fist up and down several times, in a silent, victory salute.

“I don’t know, Bev” he continued. “Your last attempt to settle didn’t turn out all that well. What makes you think this time will be better?”

West felt blood rushing to her cheeks. “Chester, you know that first offer was nothing more than a trial balloon. The process never should have ended there.”

“But it did, Bev, and at my client’s insistence. Want to know why?”

“Sure.”

“It ended because my client, who is a decent man, did not like being robbed of his parental rights and falsely charged with domestic violence in a one-sided trial. What you call a ‘trial balloon’ he considered to be insult heaped upon injury.”

“So, what are you saying, Chester? Your client wants to go to trial? Potentially, he still has a lot to lose.”

“That may be, Bev,” Swindell said, smiling and shaking his head. “But he doesn’t seem to care! The man, pardon the expression, has balls. I don’t think he wants to go to trial any more than he wants a divorce. But he also won’t beg to have what he considers to be stolen property returned. Please tell me how I can assure him this won’t be another waste of his time.”

West cleared her throat. “We are prepared, Chester, to put virtually everything on the table. No sacred cows.”

Swindell considered that for a moment. “You said ‘virtually everythin’,’ Bev. Precisely what does ‘virtually’ mean?”

“It means
nearly
everything, Chester. My client does have a few non-negotiable items, but I assure you, they do not include anything that a normal, rational human being, in your client’s position, would consider to be a deal breaker.”

“I sure hope you’re right, Bev.”

“Then, you’re willing to give this a try?” West asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.” West felt a wave of relief. “How about if you, your client and I meet Saturday morning, at eleven o’clock, at your office?”

“That should work,” Swindell said. “I’ll check with Mahr-tin. If you don’t hear anythin’ different from me, we’re on.”

“Great. Now Chester,” West said, “I also need your reassurance about something.”

“What’s that, Bev?”

“After having been rebuffed once, by your client, I would like to know that I won’t be wasting my time again. A girl doesn’t like to be turned down once, let alone twice! How serious do you think Mr. Silkwood will be about settling this matter?”

Swindell stroked his chin as he pondered just how forthcoming he should be. “That’s a tough one, Bev. He’s been a bit hard to read, lately, on that subject. One minute, he seems fairly eager to resolve the matter out-of-court; the next, he seems to have dug in his heels the other way.

“Well …” West sighed.

“Bev, I think he was very hurt by what he considers to be his wife’s false allegations, so I think you’ll need to be a bit contrite and extremely generous and flexible right out of the gate. Be prepared to bend over to make your offer as appealin’ as possible.”

West smiled. “Chester, I think you meant to say, be prepared to ‘bend over backwards’ not ‘bend over.’ I don’t need reassurance in
that
department.”

Swindell laughed, “I should hope not, counselor!” He paused a moment before continuing.  “Uh Bev, there’s another small matter that’s come up that I need your help on.”

“What’s that, Chester?”

“Mr. Silkwood wants to attend his son’s birthday party tomorrow – virtually, via Skype,” he clarified, “and only long enough to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ and watch the boy blow out the candles.”

“I think that should be doable.”

“Great, Bev. Please let me know the details, so I can pass them along to him. I think he’ll consider that to be a nice pre-settlement conference goodwill gesture.

“You also should know that my influence with my client, in this area, may be a bit more limited than you might think.”

“I’m sure you’re understating that a bit,” West said. “But I hear you.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, counselor, at eleven sharp.”

“Right.”