The Wrong Lawyer Read online

  THE WRONG LAWYER

  By Donald W. Desaulniers

  THE WRONG LAWYER

  Copyright 2014, Donald W. Desaulniers

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or any other, except for brief quotations, without the prior permission of the author.

  E-Book ISBN: 978-0-9937619-6-6

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, businesses and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Donald W. Desaulniers is a retired lawyer from Belleville, Ontario, Canada, his beloved hometown, where he operated his one-man law practice from 1973 until he retired in 2009.

  The author graduated in 1968 with a B.A. (Majoring in Philosophy) from University of Waterloo, and in 1971 received his LL.B. from University of Western Ontario Law School. He was called to the legal bar in Ontario on March 23rd, 1973.

  Still living in the beautiful city of Belleville with his lovely wife, Jane and their cats, the author has published 16 novels as E-Books on the Amazon website.

  OTHER BOOKS ABOUT LAWYERS BY THIS AUTHOR

  LOVE SEDUCES A FOOL

  RICH LAWYER, POOR PRIEST

  BROKE, DISGRACED AND ALONE (A ROMANCE)

  THE LIPPY LAWYER’S ROMANCE

  TEMPTING THE GOOD LAWYER

  THE TWIN SHADOWS

  A RETIRED LAWYER’S DOOMED ROMANCE

  FRUGAL LAWYER, FLASHY LAWYER

  FLASHY LAWYER SLITHERS INTO THE OTHER REALM

  ACTION BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR

  TY WARD HITS AMERICA

  TY WARD’S HOLIDAY FROM HELL

  TY WARD’S NEXT WAR

  DEADLY WITNESS

  ESCAPE FROM EVERYTHING

  MARTY MARCOTTE’S REVOLVING LIFE

  NON-FICTION BY THIS AUTHOR

  WATCHING AMERICA DECLINE

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  THE WRONG LAWYER

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 2 (Dance Time)

  CHAPTER 3 (A Fun Evening)

  CHAPTER 4 (Instant Compatibility)

  CHAPTER 5 (Comparing Notes)

  CHAPTER 6 (A Pleasant Surprise)

  CHAPTER 7 (Two Happy Old Lawyers)

  CHAPTER 8 (Playhouse Vanity)

  CHAPTER 9 (Unwelcome Company)

  CHAPTER 10 (Coping With Rejection)

  CHAPTER 11 (Envy)

  CHAPTER 12 (Travel Glitch)

  CHAPTER 13 (Intelligence Gone Berserk)

  CHAPTER 14 (A Luxury Prison)

  CHAPTER 15 (Planning My Escape)

  CHAPTER 16 (The Hooker Solution)

  CHAPTER 17 (Mandy the Arm Candy)

  CHAPTER 18 (The Next Step)

  CHAPTER 19 (The Failed Burial)

  CHAPTER 20 (Explanation and Release)

  CHAPTER 21 (A Detour into Weirdsville)

  CHAPTER 22 (More Dirty Tricks)

  CHAPTER 23 (The Final Insult)

  CHAPTER 24 (No One to Talk To)

  CHAPTER 25 (New Friend)

  CHAPTER 26 (Abhorrent Invasion of Privacy)

  CHAPTER 27 (The Elephant in the Room)

  CHAPTER 28 (Full Disclosure)

  CHAPTER 29 (The Wrong Lawyers)

  CHAPTER 1 (Retired and Irritable)

  My name is Tom Kennedy and I’m a retired attorney as is my best and only friend, Jim Corbett. We had bickered like brothers for the past forty years.

  Tonight was no different.

  “If I’d known that I’d be spending this much time bored out of my mind and looking at your cheap irritating mug, I’d never have sold my law practice,” Corbett moaned as he poured another brandy into his expensive crystal goblet. “Retirement was supposed to be the start of my golden carefree years, not some living Hell with the likes of you stuck to my ass like an unwelcome hemorrhoid.”

  “It serves you right,” I retorted as I paused momentarily to drain the last drop of Old Milwaukee beer from the can into my wide open mouth. “If you weren’t such a pompous prick, I wouldn’t be the only guy in the world willing to tolerate your continuous stream of bullshit.”

  “That does it! There’s no way I’m wasting another perfectly good Saturday night watching you pour that cheap crap down your throat.”

  With that pronouncement, Corbett put down his snifter of expensive brandy, pulled himself up from the recliner and marched into the lavish kitchen. A moment later he returned clutching a newspaper and began rifling through it.

  “Aha, I knew I’d seen this ad. There’s a charity dance at one of the downtown hotels tonight. Let’s get dressed up and check it out.”

  “Are you nuts? We’re retired attorneys, not a couple of horny university brats.”

  “Come on, Tom, it might be fun. We both need to get out more and meet new people. You can’t honestly tell me that you’re happy with your life right now.”

  “I suppose not. When’s the last time you went to any dance?”

  “Not since I was married but then I’ve never been this desperate before,” Corbett replied.

  “Well, don’t expect me to know what they’re like. Are you sure the guys will be wearing suits?”

  “Of course they will. Nothing impresses the ladies like the look of success.”

  “You’ve already had a snootful of brandy and I’ve polished off three beer. Neither of us can drive, especially since we’ll be having more drinks. We may as well walk to the hotel.”

  “I guess you’re right about driving.”

  “How much are the tickets?” I asked dubiously.

  “It’ll cost us forty bucks each to get in.”

  “The whole thing sounds like a colossal waste of money,” I shot back.

  “Don’t be so bloody cheap. It’s time you opened that dusty wallet and let a few bills out into the fresh air. There’s absolutely no reason for you to accumulate any more money. Free those slaves, Kennedy. They’ve been imprisoned in your pocket long enough.”

  “Fine, what time does this thing start?”

  “The ad says it goes from nine until one in the morning. That gives us an hour to get ready. Meet me back here around nine o’clock and we’ll head out. There’s no point being the first men to arrive. We want to portray the scent of affluence, not desperation.”

  “You’re pathetic, Corbett,” I barked as I headed for his condo door. “This sounds like a total fiasco about to unravel. I don’t want to hear you ever complaining again that we never do anything you suggest.”

  “Duly noted, Kennedy; just don’t let the ladies discover how insanely miserly you are. The last thing I need is to be stuck at a table with you while all the women avoid us because their ‘cheapskate alert’ warning got passed around the room.”

  I took the elevator down to my second floor condo apartment.

  This is as good a time as any to tell you a bit more about myself.

  As I said earlier, my name was Tom Kennedy. I was 61 years old and my buddy Jim Corbett was 62. We were both reasonably wealthy retired lawyers, but I disliked spending money whereas Corbett loved to show off how successful he was.

  He lived in an opulent three-bedroom condominium on the top floor and his unit was filled with expensive furniture and assorted trinkets.

  On the other hand, I resided in a one-bedroom apartment in the same building. All my furniture was basic and there wasn’t a single sign in my place indicating that I was rich.

  Who can truly understand the reasons why we do what we do?

  For me, looking poor comforted me into believing that I was just like any other o
rdinary bloke. Hiding my wealth bought me some measure of public acceptance, at least in my own mind. My parents were frugal and that was one lesson I appear to have absorbed from them.

  I drove a 2002 Chevrolet Cavalier with no extras whatsoever other than a basic radio and automatic transmission. I purchased the car new in February of that year when my previous vehicle, a 1986 Dodge Aries K-Car, finally bit the dust after over 15 years of trusty use.

  Corbett had two vehicles, a 2014 Cadillac XTS and a 2013 Cadillac Escalade. He rarely kept a car more than two years, and detested having to drive in my Chevy, which he referred to as “The Little Shit-Box”.

  We’ve been good friends since law school and remained close through our respective marriages and divorces.

  Despite the vast differences in our lifestyles, in some ways our lives had been like two peas in a pod. Each of us got married in 1984, divorced in 1999 and had remained unattached since then. To complete our sometimes parallel worlds, Jim and I both retired from our law practices on September 13th, 2013.

  I had always been a sole practitioner whereas Jim headed up a medium-sized law firm here in Kingston, Ontario.

  Our condominium building overlooked Lake Ontario although the water was not visible from my unit which faced Ontario Street. Jim’s southeast corner penthouse apartment allowed him to gaze out over Lake Ontario from his south windows or to see both the downtown area and Wolfe Island from his eastern view.

  We had purchased our units in 2001 when the building was first erected. Jim’s apartment cost four times as much as mine, a fact he consistently took pleasure in reminding me.

  Neither of us had dated much after our divorces although Jim was regularly pursued by women. The enjoyment and responsibility of running our law practices had consumed both our time and energies. Another factor was our costly divorces. There was nothing like wasting scads of money extricating oneself from a deteriorated marriage to make a fellow reluctant to get back in the saddle.

  Although occasionally this past year we had hit a downtown bar on a Friday after the rest of the world was let out of work, normally we wound up chatting only with other lawyers. It still amazed us how quickly we had lost touch with the legal community once we retired.

  Romance had been a definite no-show lately in both our lives.

  Perhaps tonight would be different.

  CHAPTER 2 (Dance Time)

  I happened to notice on my kitchen calendar that it was Saturday, September 6th, 2014. That meant that Corbett and I would have been retired for a full year next Saturday.

  The romantic in me speculated that if I met someone interesting tonight, then it might be nice to take her to dinner next Saturday to celebrate the end of my first year of boring sloth.

  I chose to wear an older light grey pinstripe suit which seemed somewhat more casual than the standard black lawyer’s uniform.

  When I knocked on Corbett’s door at nine o’clock, he was dressed in one of his $2,000 made-to-measure Italian suits, black pinstripe of course.

  “I thought we were going to a dance, not a funeral,” I commented wryly.

  “As usual, I’ll be ashamed to be seen with you,” he shot back. “Did you get that monstrosity at Giant Tiger? I thought they stopped selling men’s suits for $29.99.”

  “They did, but I picked up this beauty back in 2002 when they had a great sale on. It has really stood the test of time.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Corbett contradicted. “The knees are so worn out that they make it look like you’ve spent the past twelve years in the blow-job business.”

  I ignored the insult. Corbett has always had a foul mouth.

  Proud that he had effectively shut me up, Corbett whipped out his cell phone and said, “There’s no way I’m hoofing it. I’ll call for a limo.”

  “Screw that nonsense. I’m not paying for a fucking limo. Call a regular taxi if you must. Don’t worry about your precious reputation. We’re not going to the Academy Awards. Nobody is going to be standing outside the hotel entrance gawking for celebrities.”

  Corbett’s brow furled in disgust but at least he took my advice and called a cab.

  We went down to the main foyer and waited.

  “I just know this is going to be a horror show,” I complained. “I must be going senile to let you talk me into this foolishness.”

  “You’ve been senile for the past twenty years, Kennedy. Stop bitching.”

  The cab arrived quickly and five minutes later we were walking into the hotel and up to the Park Ballroom where the dance was being held.

  Two middle-aged women were at a table selling admission tickets.

  “Are you gentlemen members of the charity?”

  “No,” we replied in unison.

  “In that case, we’ll need you to fill out application forms first.”

  One of the ladies handed us each a form.

  Jim and I glanced at each other in exasperation.

  “Is this really necessary?” Jim moaned. “We don’t want to join a cult. We just want to check out the ladies.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but the dance is restricted to members only. The admission fee includes the cost of membership.”

  “It didn’t say that in the newspaper advertisement,” Jim responded. “I’m not falling for any bait and switch scam.”

  I quickly scanned the piece of paper and immediately threw in my own objection to the whole process.

  “These questions are far too personal,” I complained. “There’s no way I’m providing you with this information.”

  “I understand, sir. In that case it’s acceptable if you simply provide your names and addresses.”

  That appeased us and a moment later we walked into the Park Ballroom.

  The place was almost full.

  Tables of varying sizes were interspersed surrounding a central dance floor. A disc jockey was handling the music and a small sigh of disappointment escaped my lips when it registered that the song was far too modern for my retarded tastes. An evening of loud irritating noise seemed inevitable.

  It was a self-serve bar so we went up to purchase our drinks before selecting a spot to sit.

  “Courvoisier, straight up,” Corbett ordered.

  The chap behind the bar replied, “We don’t have that. Will standard bar brandy be acceptable?”

  “It’ll have to do,” Jim answered. Then, just as the fellow was about to pour the drink, Jim interrupted him.

  “Surely you’ve got something better to serve it in than a plastic cup.”

  “Sorry, sir; for liability reasons the charity isn’t permitted to use glassware. Do you still want brandy?”

  “Fine, but make it a double.”

  I ordered a beer which the gentleman insisted also had to be served in a plastic cup. I prefer my beer straight from the can or bottle.

  Already I regretted being here. The beer had cost six bucks including the tip. At the beer store six bucks would get me at least four bottles and I wouldn’t feel like a fish out of water when I paid for them.

  Corbett’s double shot of brandy had set him back $17.

  There were only a few empty tables.

  I pointed out a nearby table with two chairs and suggested that we sit there.

  “Are you demented, Kennedy? We’ll look like a couple of queers sitting at that cozy little table for two.”

  “We already look odd,” I shot back. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re about the only guys in here wearing suits. You look like a bloody funeral director.”

  “That’s a damn sight better than looking like some desperate used car salesman.”

  Those arrows having been loosed from our unlimited verbal arsenal, I followed the undertaker like a lost puppy until he found a table that suited him, a larger table which seated four.

  Fortunately it wasn’t too far from the exit in case we decided to slink away unobtrusively after we had finished our drinks.

  “Now what happens?” I asked. “Do we wait for wome
n to approach us or are we supposed to go ask someone to dance?”

  “For once, Kennedy, I admit to knowing as little about something as you. I have no idea how these charity dances work. We’ll have to observe how other guys target their victims.”

  “This isn’t some form of guerilla warfare,” I responded in resignation. “Besides, most of the guests appear to be couples. What made you think eligible women might be here tonight?”

  “It was just an assumption. Stop with the negative comments. This still beats our normal Saturday evenings getting pissed and insulting one another.”

  Simultaneously we glanced around this section of the room in that age old male tradition of checking out the action.

  “We’re about the oldest people in the place,” I snapped. “I haven’t seen a single woman yet who couldn’t be my daughter or granddaughter.”

  “As usual you’re exaggerating. Just exercise a bit of patience. Some suitable candidates might surface in due course.”

  The music was grating on my nerves and I threw back the beer in short order. Corbett was still working on his double so I got up and went over to get another rip-off drink.

  Two women, a blonde and a brunette, were placing their orders and the blonde smiled at me and said hello while her friend was paying for their drinks.

  “My sister and I haven’t been to a public dance in a long time,” she shouted over the insanely loud music. “Are we supposed to find our own seats?”

  “That’s what my buddy and I did,” I answered. “It’s the first time either of us has been to a dance like this. Actually we’re sitting alone at a table for four. You’re perfectly welcome to join us. I apologize for being overdressed but we just assumed that everyone would be wearing a suit.”