One Dead Lawyer (3 page)
Authors: Tony Lindsay
“I felt I owed you, David, because I kept Chester a secret from you. You missed so much of his life because of my own confused emotions. I didn't want you back in my life due to a child. I wanted you to want me and me alone, but it never happened.
“Do you know you didn't call me once after your grandmother's funeral? True we were separated, but David, we made love that night. And you couldn't pick up the phone to call and say âHow are you.' I was your wife for eight years!”
My grandmother died shortly after our son Eric did. She was very dear to me and the two losses shut me down for a while. I was numb at my grandmother's funeral, and that night Regina and I went to a hotel as a couple even though we were living separated at the time.
“Regina I . . .”
“Allow me to finish, David. I think I have earned the right to tell you how I feel and felt without interruption.”
Basically she told me to shut up. The rigid way she looked at me made it clear that she was certain she'd earned the right to be heard.
“We had a life, a family. Did you think our getting together that night was just a casual occurrence? I waited for your call for weeks. God, I thought you wanted me back in your life, but you didn't. Did you? It was just sex to you. Men! Oh my sweet Lord, you tore my heart out.
“I thought our making love that night was you forgiving me. I thought you were forgiving me for my infidelity, forgiving me for our son's death.
“I missed that doctor's appointment. Me! I chose not to take him to the doctor that morning and that night he died. He died. Our son died because I didn't take him to the doctor. I know you blamed me. I blamed me. I blamed me!”
I went from the sofa to her. I wanted to hold her and tell her to let it go, to tell her I had forgiven her because it wasn't her fault, but she pushed me away. She pushed me away hard.
“Don't! Please go back to your seat.”
She wasn't crying. Her eyes were cold and dry.
“I don't need your hugs now. When I needed them you gave them to whores.”
I dropped to the sofa speechless. Wasn't a thing I could say; she was right. When we should have been together I ran to the streets. I didn't think about her needs. I thought about only stopping my own pain.
“Last night, Randolph asked me to marry him, and I accepted.”
“Randolph?” I didn't know any Randolph who she would be dating, but she made him sound as common as salt. “The Uncle Randolph Chester's been talking about?”
“Yes he is quite fond of Randolph. They enjoy each other's company and Randolph loves Chester as if he was his own son.”
At that moment a dunce cap could have appeared on my head and I wouldn't have minded one bit. Regina has an uncle named Randolph. I was thinking it was the same dude. I had no idea Uncle Randolph was Regina's new man, but it made sense; “Uncle Randolph took Mommy to the movies,” “Uncle Randolph and Mommy bought me some new gym shoes.”
“I thought Chester was talking about your Uncle Randolph.”
“I figured you did.”
She figured I did but didn't bother to correct me? This woman was one of a kind. With that statement, the past four months evaporated from my consciousness. I had created a false Regina as the object of my desire. In my erroneous thoughts, Regina wanted me as she did early in our marriage. I thought of her as the girl I dated, a sparkling smile and a person who looked to me to change her life.
However, the true Regina was sitting before me: the Regina I had hurt, the Regina I caught in the hotel with the preacher, the Regina who didn't take my son to the doctor on the day of his death. I didn't want that Regina.
“Well what can I say, baby? I'm happy for you.”
Yep, I was about as happy as a crackhead in Utah.
“Are you really, David?”
Hell naw! I wasn't happy for her. I went over there thinking I was going to get me some. But not only was I being denied a little trim that night, it had become painfully obvious that she hadn't really desired me at all. I was the only one lusting.
“Yeah, baby, if this nigga floats your boat, I'm not going to be the one to sink it.” And I really meant that. No matter how disappointed I felt at the time. Regina was right; we had too many issues as a couple to be together.
I don't think I continued to blame her for Eric's death, but who knew what would surface if we were together every day? And even though I wanted her body, I really didn't want all of her, her attitudes and moods for example.
Rekindling our relationship would have been a lot of work and working on a relationship is for those young and in love. And being honest, I was neither.
“Randolph's not a nigga, David.”
“Well you know what I'm saying. If this brother is making you happy, I will not be the one to spoil it.”
“Randolph is not African American, David. He's white.”
“What?”
“He's white.”
“Come again.”
“Attorney Randolph Peal is a white man.”
“Hold up. Not that dude on the commercial. Please, Regina, tell me you are not talking about that ambulance chaser from LaSalle Street.” I stood up from the sofa. “He's a crook, baby. That bastard is as slimy as a fresh booger.”
“David, please.”
“He is, baby. He is as crooked as the letter S. Everybody in the hood knows that. The sucker doesn't pay his settlements on time, if he pays out at all. I know at least fifteen people waiting to get their money from his shady ass. He is not close to right, Gina.”
“You're mistaken about him, David. I've seen those ghetto people in his office demanding payments on cases that haven't been settled. It's pathetic. He goes in his pocket to loan them money because they cannot wait for payment.”
“Yeah he loans them money all right, at forty percent interest!”
Her eyes were on me, but she wasn't focused. I wasn't getting through. She was not hearing my words. I decided to try a different approach.
“You know you wouldn't be his first black wife. He was married to Eleanor Jackson.”
“So?”
“I'm just saying, he may be one of them white men with a thing for black women.”
“Eleanor and I are as different as night and day.”
“That's my point. The only thing you both have in common is being black. How long have you been going out with him?”
“Long enough to gather that he is one of the most honest, caring men I have ever met.”
“He's a personal-injury lawyer, Gina. Caring is not one of their attributes.”
“You're not familiar with Randolph the way I am. Your interaction with him I'm sure has been slight and from a jaded perspective.”
“True, I have never met him, but I know plenty of people who have. He makes his living off of our community. Black folks with health and auto insurance have gotten him rich.”
She stood to face me with eyes piercing and looked as if she were really going to set me straight. She was defending the man with a vigor I hadn't seen from her in years.
“Tell me how, David? He sues stores, trucking companies, hospitals, liquor companies, and retail stores. He helps people, David. Your opinion is shortsighted,” she huffed.
“If he's such a help, why is it mandatory for his clients to be employed with health insurance?”
“The intricacies of a law practice are beyond me and you weren't trained in law either. What? Did your bodyguard training include a law course?”
A smirk rested on her thin lips.
I am secure and happy with my career choice. I am a personal security professional. Others, however, treat my chosen profession as a pressure point or as a dent in my armor. My job is to provide protection for those who need it. I am a security escort and proud of it.
“You know what? I'm outta here. If you want to marry him, hey, I'm fine with it, but my son won't be anywhere close to him.”
“He wants to adopt Chester.”
“Hell naw! I know you didn't say what I think you said!” I stepped to her and she backed up as if she feared me. I stood where I was. My intentions were not to be a threat. I was stepping closer to hear her, because I couldn't have heard her right.
“He wants to adopt Chester,” she said again.
“How is he going to adopt a boy who already has a father?”
“It's legal, David. When we marry, he can adopt Chester, giving him his name and making him an heir to his estate.”
“You have lost your cotton-pickin' mind if you think I will give my son to any man walking this earth!”
“It will benefit Chester.”
“You know what, Gina? It's really time for me to leave.”
I turned away to leave.
To my back she said, “David, please don't fight this. You can still spend as much time with Chester as you like. It's a simple name change, a name change that will set him up for life.”
I wanted to turn around and look at her eye to eye, but I didn't. I didn't trust myself not to hurt her. She was talking about a white man adopting my son. I had to get out of there.
“You know what, you can bend over for that crook if you want to, but you won't be offering him my son. I'll see you and that shyster in court.”
“If you take that attitude, Randolph will start the proceedings before we are married. He said he is willing to fight for Chester. He has been in his life longer than you.”
At that I turned around. This broad had balls. She flipped open the folder to show me some papers, I slapped it out of her hands and the papers scattered across the table.
“And whose fuckin' fault is that? You kept Chester a secret from me!”
She didn't have an answer. She stood there looking through me. Man, I was out of there quicker than a Michael Jackson's dance skip. I needed major space between me and that . . . that . . . that . . . woman!
Chapter Three
I was outside at my Caddy patting the pockets in my shorts for the keys. I didn't have them. The night air was heavy and hot, and sweat was dripping from my bald head down the back of my neck. My keys must have slid out of my pocket while I sat on the sofa. I patted my pockets again for my cell phone. I'd left it at home.
I looked down the dark block to the traffic on 159th Street and wondered about my chances of catching a cab at one-thirty in the morning in Harvey, Illinois.
Maybe I could get a gypsy cab, was my thought.
As I started walking, a gold baby Benz pulled alongside my DTS. At first glance I thought it was my business partner, Carol, but it wasn't.
“David is that you?” a female voice called from the small sedan. “Good, it is you. I came out here hoping Regina would be able to get in contact with you tonight. I need your help.”
It was Regina's friend Daphne. As pissed as I was at Regina, all her friends, her mama, and her dead daddy could have kissed my ass. I acted as if I didn't see the car or hear a word she said. I turned and started my walk toward 159th Street.
Regina's front door suddenly swung open and she screamed for me.
“David! Chester is hurt!”
The alarm in her voice drew me up the porch stairs, past her and straight into the house. Chester was at the foot of the stairs crying, holding his foot; blood was seeping through his tiny fingers.
“Daddy, Daddy, my feet, my foots, my toooe!”
I lifted my son and gently pushed his small hand aside. He'd sliced his big toe open. The cut didn't look severe. I carried him to the kitchen and rinsed his foot in the sink. I covered his cheeks with kisses while the cold water cleared away the blood.
It didn't take two minutes for him to go from crying to laughing. The splashing cold water tickled his feet. Regina brought us a First Aid kit. A quick rinse of hydrogen peroxide, a dab of Vaseline, a Band-aid, and a kiss on all ten toes, and my little trooper was none the worse for wear.
I carried him up to his room and he told me all about a new Scooby-Doo movie he wanted us to buy and watch on Saturday. I told him we had a date, and tucked him in under his covers. He was asleep before I finished the good-night prayer with him. When I came downstairs from his bedroom Regina was standing at the front door.
“He was running after you. He woke up, heard your voice and wanted to tell you about a new tape he saw in the Wal-Mart sales paper. He stubbed his toe on the door. I tried to help him but he wouldn't let me touch it. He started screaming for you.”
“The boy wanted his daddy, you can't blame him for that,” I said looking hard into her eyes.
I walked into the living room to get my keys from the sofa and saw Daphne and her son. They were sitting on the sofa. My keys were on the coffee table atop the manila folder.
“David, I need to hire you.” Daphne was looking at me, but I wasn't looking at her. “It's my son. D, he's in trouble with some rough boys.”
She knew damn well that she wasn't friendly enough with me to be calling me D. She was reaching, so I figured she needed my help pretty bad. I grabbed my keys and sat in the armchair across from the two of them. Regina took the love seat across the room.
When Daphne's boy was about seven years old, I liked him a lot. He was a fat little fellow, but he was a rough-and-tumble kid through and through. They lived across the alley behind us, in her parents' house. I used to watch him play and scrap. The boy was constantly up a tree or under a porch, and he was always dirty, but it was the day's dirt from his play. Daphne started him out clean.
He would bring stuff to me to look at what he found; rocks, bones, old-time spinning tops, bolts, whatever struck his fancy. I even built him a treasure box for him to keep all his stuff in.
I have never known the whole story, but overnight Daphne was no longer a single mom trying to make ends meet while living in her parents' basement. Young Daphne bought a condo in Hyde Park and a Volvo. From what I heard, she was now living downtown. For a time, after she moved out of her parents' basement, she would still bring the boy around to the block parties and family barbecues.
However, the instant wealth changed her, and I guess she changed the boy. He came to a block party with toys and wouldn't let any of the other kids play with them. They were to only watch him play with them. Kids who have a little learn to share, and he was once a kid who had a little, so the other kids on the block expected him to share. He nor his mother agreed. A fight broke out between the children. Harsh words were exchanged between parents, and Daphne and her son never attended another block party or family event.
That night at Regina's, the first thing I noticed about the boy was that he was blunted. He couldn't have opened his eyes all the way if he was in a squad room full of cops. The marijuana had him feeling right nice. For no reason other than me being in a foul mood, I decided to mess with him.
“Hey, Stanley! How you been, young brother?”
My blurted-out “Hey Stanley” sat him erect as a light pole. He surveyed the room as if he'd just arrived. The kid's hair was braided in cornrows with jagged angles that resembled the letter V.
“Oh, hey there, Mr. Price, I been doin' awright. School is goin' great.”
It was mid-August; no high-school students had returned to classes.
“I didn't ask you about school, boy. What, did you have to go to summer school?”
“No sir, not really, I just thought you asked.”
“You got allergies or something? Why are your eyes so red? And what's all the white crap around your lips? Damn, I wouldn't lick them if I was you. That stuff looks toxic.”
He stopped licking his lips and shot me what I believed he considered a tough look and said, “Yeah I think I do have allergies. I'm allergic to old men trippin'.”
His mother quickly intervened. “Boy, watch your mouth! Mr. Price might be nice enough to help you.”
The boy and his mama were almost dressed the same.
Each had on a terry cloth sweatsuit . His was a gold Sean John; I had a black one at home just like it. Daphne's was gold too, but it wasn't one of Puffy's.
She had the widest hair rollers under her flowered head-scarf I had ever seen. They were about four inches in diameter. It only took eight to roll up her whole head.
“I don't need his help.” His droopy red eyes traveled from me to his mama.
“Oh, no?” she asked. “I can't help, and you won't go to the police. So who is supposed to stop those wannabe gangsters from hurting you?”
“I told you, Ma, just give me the money and it will all work out.”
“Boy, I'm not paying any young hooligans five thousand dollars!”
“It's only money, Ma.”
At that statement I laughed out loud but his mother's reply was priceless.
“It's only money! Boy, my money and the word âonly' don't go together.”
I was tired and had heard enough. There was no fear or worry in the boy's face or in his words. The spoiled brat was playing his mother for money. I didn't have the patience for his games.
“If my help is not needed, I'm going home.”
“See ya,” the kid said and shot me a half grin.
That pissed me off. If he would have just sat there and let me leave I wouldn't have screwed up his little scam, because Daphne was Regina's friend, and all associated with Regina could have kissed my ass.
His mother kicked him hard in his shin and said, “Boy, shut your silly mouth.” She looked like she wanted to slap him but thought better of it.
“David, I don't know what you can do to help if anything. I found some drugs in a sandwich bag in his room. I told him I flushed them down the toilet and now I find out he was given the drugs on consignment. Five thousand dollars is what he has to come up with.”
“What? Five thousand dollars and you said the drugs were in a sandwich bag?” I shot the boy my own half grin. He looked away.
“Yes, in a sandwich bag.”
“I don't know of any street drug that could fit into a sandwich bag and be worth five grand.”
“That's because you too old to be up on thangs and you can't help. Ma this is . . .” The boy tried to stand, but Daphne's hand was in his stomach and she directed him back to the sofa.
I ignored his words and asked, “Was it pills?”
“No, it looks like pottery chips or something. Here.” She pulled the sandwich bag from inside her blouse.
The boy's mouth dropped open and damn near hit the floor.
“Ma, you said you flushed it down the toilet.”
“Boy, shut up.”
It was crack cocaine, and not even an eighth of an ounce. I was right. The kid was scamming his own mama. I wanted to leave, go home and lick my Regina-inflicted wounds, and then find myself a good lawyer. I didn't want a new case, especially a case that would help one of Regina's friends, but at one time I'd liked the boy. I took the bag of cocaine from Daphne's hand.
“This isn't two hundred dollars worth of crack cocaine. Stanley is lying to you.”
My brother, Robert, is addicted to crack. I know the dollar value of it by sight. I have bought him enough eight balls, one eighth of an ounce to know one when I see one. The question I asked myself was why.
Why would the boy lie to his mother? Daphne had always given him more than he needed, and despite his flip mouth, at one time I knew him to love his mama.
“That's not five thousand dollars worth of narcotics?”
“No. It's not two hundred dollars worth.”
My answer was to her, but my eyes were on Stanley. He was looking down at his elf-like gym shoes. They were that new style of nylon gym shoe with the curved-up toes. I didn't like them. I looked from the shoes to his mother. If she thought better of hitting him this time, thinking didn't stop her.
She went upside the boy's head with tight little fists, beating him all about his head and shoulders. I didn't move. It was Regina who bolted across the room and pulled the mother off her son.
Out of breath, and with big rollers undone and scattered across the couch and coffee table, Daphne ordered me to get her son, “the hell out of my sight!” Again I didn't move. I was about to ask her where she wanted me to take him when she asked, “How much does your protection cost, David?”
“Don't worry baby, it won't cost you five grand.” I said the words to Daphne, but my eyes were hard on Regina. I was trying to let her know this was a favor to her. She looked at me briefly and nodded her head.
It was just the two of us alone in my DTS. The young creep hadn't said a word and we'd traveled for over three miles. Trying to con his own mother out of money made the kid a creep in my mind, but as a young creep, he deserved some help.
I spent a lot of time with kids. I coach a softball team in the summer and I sponsor a bowling league in the winter, mostly for the kids on my block and the block behind me.
I don't presume to be completely up on everything they go through, because kids these days go through a lot.
However, a spoiled punk when I was a kid looks the same as the spoiled punks of today. They have everything new and the most expensive version of it. The long gold chain that hung around the skinny kid's neck could have fed a family of five for six months.
“So your mama buys your clothes?” There was no traffic on I-94, and I drove the powerful black sedan through the early morning as if the expressway belonged to me.
“She used to, but I buy all my stuff now.”
“If you got enough money to dress like you dressing, why were you trying to beat your own mama out of five grand?”
He made a teeth sucking noise and said, “Man, I wasn't gonna beat her out of anything. I woulda gave her the money back in a couple of days.” He reached in his pants pocket and pulled out a box of small cigars. From the box he pulled a blunt. “You mind if I light it up?”
“Hell yeah, I mind. Matter of fact, throw that shit out the window along with the box of cigars!”
“Can't do that one, dude. I won't strike it up, but I ain't thowing it away, it's a whole sack in here.”
“Young man, we are two black men in a Cadillac and I'm speeding. I am prepared to deal with a speeding ticket if I have to, but I am not about to get caught in a drug case because of your ass. Either you throw it out or we are going to the police station.”
Driving with weed in the car didn't bother me at all. What got my goat was that he pulled the blunt out in front of me as if I was somebody he could get high with. I was not about to be disrespected by a kid who I had shoes older than.
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