SWIB: We Need to Talk

SWIB is a self-coined acronym; She Wanted It Bad. For the grammarians among us, whatever this “it” she wanted — she wanted it bad, not badly. Badly would refer to the extent to which she wanted this “it”; instead, she wanted “it” bad – as in immoral, evil, vulgar, or obscene.

I have three stories in progress with this general theme, hence the acronym. All will carry SWIB in the title.

In this particular tale, she might also be described as wanting “it” badly. But SWIB,B is a poor acronym and no more worthy of your time than is this introduction, so I’ll move on.

I enjoy most of the stories in this category. It is amazing, to me, how creative people can be with the simple premise of adultery, discovery, reaction, and resolution. Much as I hate to admit it, my favorites tend to dwell in the world of over-reaction and harsh retribution. Despite that, I think there are many untold and interesting stories in the more likely response and reaction range.

Hopefully, this is one such tale (at least, for the protagonist). It does require that one believe an accountant and attorneys can be good friends, which, might require suspension of disbelief, but if you can get by that —

The tale is all from the point of view of a naïve accountant, whose wife has strayed. He never discovered her infidelity(ies?), instead overhearing her talking to her lover. The story, and his knowledge, progress in the absence of information from or about her. As in life, he must infer from actions against him, what she is doing — and why she might be on that path.

This story is entirely fiction. No character or event exists other than in this story. Any character involved in any sexual activity is over 18 years of age and the sex, itself is not described in the story (sorry). The author has never been to Omaha (which does exist), though admits to liking their steaks.

The Rehearsal

It was a gorgeous spring day, April 25. My name is Bob Watson, I am a tax accountant, in Omaha, NE. Even though tax season was extended, due to the pandemic, most of my accounts filed last week. All of them owed a bit more and even though the date for filing was extended, interest payments would be due, for taxes owed. The smart thing to do was file.

My office is nice enough, I guess. I work on the third floor, on the North side of an office building. I have a wall of windows, trouble is they are North facing, not much light, and my view is mostly of the similar office building across the street.

If you know a tax-accountant, we spend most of the late winter and early spring with our nose in a computer, filing returns. It wouldn’t matter if my office looked out at the most romantic setting in the world, I’d still be nose-down, in numbers.

I went out for a breath of air at lunch time and the day was so gorgeous, I decided I needed an afternoon off. My wife, Marie and I live in a beautiful home overlooking the Platte River, a few miles before it joins the Missouri River. The day was too perfect, I needed to just watch the water flow by.

I headed home.

As I approached our home, there was a BMW in the driveway. The “BIGRICH” license plate told me whose Beemer it was. Richard Newberg III (or big Rich, to the prisoner who stamped his license plate) was visiting my wife.

I drove by the house, around the corner, parked, and walked back home.You see, Dickie, as most called him, was the ne’er-do-well son of Dick, Jr. I had presumed his license was because his wallet made him big and rich. He claimed some other reason for being referred to as big; but said they would not allow a plate that read, big dick. One thing was certain, his ego was huge. If you could buy him for what he was worth, and sell him for what he thought of himself, you’d not need to work again, in five lifetimes.

Dickie was well known. In part, because of his father, Richard Newberg, Jr. who is one of the wealthiest people in Omaha, one of the wealthiest, anywhere, I suspect. These days he made his “new” money mostly from his commercial real estate holdings. Junior, as he is called, tried everything with his playboy son, to no avail. The “old man” was brilliant, driven, and good at everything he tried. Dickie was a fuck up.

Our home has a large porch that wraps around two side of the house. It enables sitting and enjoying the river view, no matter where the sun or from what direction the wind comes. I crept onto the porch and started walking toward the front of the house. When I approached the living room, I could hear Marie and Dickie talking. All the windows were open, and I was only about five or six feet from them, just outside, on the porch, while they were inside, seated side-by-side near the windows.

I got my phone out and turned on my recording app.In my business, it is common for people to go through intricate detail, which they know from familiarity, but I must review, to assure all the detail is as it should be. Consequently, I am quite familiar with my audio app, and use it frequently.

“Marie, it is never going to be easy. When he gets home, tell him he’s too boring and you’re moving on.”

“Dickie, can’t you be here with me? I do kinda love him and I’ll hate to see him go all glum. It would be better to tell him we are in love, and I still have a big place in my heart, for him.”

“Marie, you know I love you, but think about it. You don’t have a place for him, other than the trash heap. You are moving on. As for me being there, Daddy has told me if I fuck around, well excuse me, what I mean is if I get involved with another married woman, he is going to remove that large appendage you’ve grown so fond of.”

She laughed, like an infatuated schoolgirl. “Dickie, your daddy will never harm you.”

“Don’t kid yourself. The old man is ruthless. He’ll not neuter me, but he might cut my income to nothing, or worse yet, make me work, again, a few hours here and there. Besides, you need to appear destitute, so you can take the bean-counter for all he’s got.”

“Oh, Dickie, surely not. It is bad enough I am leaving him. You have loads of money, surely we can leave him with his money, if not his pride.”

“No, we cannot. I want it all. If you want me, you must show me. Stomping on him hard will make him hate you and then, I don’t need to worry you’ll get all weak in the knees the first time one of your ankle-biters gets weepy and wants to run back to Daddy.”

We have two children. Claire, our oldest is 7, Bob, Jr., Bobby, is 18 months.

“You are consistent, I’ll give you that. OK, when he comes in, I’ll lay it on him…”

They went on talking, I realized the tears were streaming down my cheeks and it was all I could do to keep from sobbing. While I was still recording, I had to stop listening to the woman I love casually talking about destroying me personally and financially, just to make a point.

It got quiet. They’d obviously moved from discussion to another pursuit. I decided it was time to make my exit and call “Ben and Nancy”. I crept away. No one knew I had been there.

Ben and Nancy

One of my longest-standing clients was my friend, Edwin (Ed) Dover. Ed and his wife had a family law firm, which did quite well. His wife, Sally, practiced law under her maiden name, Joyette. Jokingly, they had knick-named themselves, Ben and Nancy. The first time I had to ask, why. She told me without so much as a smile, that it was a good name for a family law firm, Ben Dover and N. Joyette.

Ed and I work with several of his clients, whose personal wealth often requires both legal and financial planning. It is not unusual, at this time of year, for one of them to have forgotten some crucial element of their plan and need emergency assistance. I got Ed on the phone and briefly told him I was beside myself and needed their help.

“Bob, here is what we are going to do. I am tied up for a while, but Sally can get free. Go to our house, she will meet you there. I’ll call Marie. If she picks up the phone, I’ll tell her a big account has a bigger problem and you are buried in it. You’ll be able to call her tomorrow and let her know when you’ll be home.”

I was grateful to have such good friends, no detail and they are taking me in. By the time I was at their home, Sally greeted me with a hug. She wanted to know what was so wrong. I said one word, “Marie” and started sobbing, like a fool.

She squinted and looked me in the eyes, “Illness?” she paused, I was blank. “Betrayal”, tears. “That bitch! Ed is going to be here in less than an hour. Let’s see if we can drink two large martinis before he arrives. No business ’til then. I hate mixing martinis and betrayal.”

And so, we did. She is a great conversationalist. She didn’t get me out of the dumps, but between her charm, whit, and a half-pint of gin, I was no longer tearful when Ed walked in.

“Hi, you two, what’s up?”

“Bitch betrayed him.”

“The whore! Well, let’s see what we can do to fuck her life up more than she’s fucked his.”

That made me feel good. I got out my phone and played the recording. When it finished, I said, “I have two thoughts, first we use it in court, then we take it to his father. We fry that bastard.”

Ed and Sally looked at one another and spoke some invisible language. She nodded and turned to me. “Bob, you’re new to this arena. Things are not done as one would think. At least things are not done straight-forwardly, in a matter like this, if you want to win. Ed, tell him about taking the tape to Daddy.”

“You know Dick, Jr. a little, I think. Isn’t he officially your firm’s landlord?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t write rent checks, nor does he receive them. That’s all done by others.”

“Junior as he likes to call himself, inherited a fair amount of money, but he acquired a taste for it early in his life. Almost nothing he does is unrelated to becoming wealthier. He is one ruthless bastard. He has a love/hate relationship with his son, but Dickie is his truly weak, blind spot. He has spent fortunes getting that worthless hunk of nothing out of one scrape and another.

“For a while, he forced Dickie to work, but it seems Dickie has a talent even larger than his father’s. His father’s talent is acquiring money, Dickie, on the other hand is even more adept, if it can be called that, at losing money. Junior could not keep him employed, so, effectively, he’s enabled his philandering. That has cost him a bunch, but not as much as his idiot son’s not-so-bright business ideas.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Ed, he doesn’t want to know the family history, he wants to know if he can take the recording to Junior?”

“Of course not! Junior will kick Dickie’s ass, but he will destroy you for pointing out his son is a shithead. You heard yourself, Dickie wants Marie getting all your money. She and Dickie will squander that in weeks or months. When Junior needs to replenish Dickie, again, he will not help Marie.

“Dickie is a bad boy, the kind some women get drawn to. He is also, reportedly,well equipped“, with air quotes, “and quite the lover. His image and his bedroom skills get him many married women. He uses them ’til he is bored, and they are broke. Then he asks Junior for money and moves on.

“Junior will help his son. On the other hand, Marie will be broke, homeless, and will need to move to another planet, to avoid Junior’s rath. In Dad’s eyes it won’t be his darling son’s fault lives were destroyed, it will be your bitch of an ex-wife.

“In that way, you are lucky. This story ends very, very, very badly for her. But, in the meantime, we must figure a way to get you and your kids through this coming Armageddon.”

I had heard the phrase my blood ran cold, I thought it a metaphor. Suddenly, I was shivering. This was worse than I thought, and it had really not even started, yet. “What if I sneak in tomorrow and take the kids, then disappear?”

Sally smirked, “Great idea if you can really disappear. I mean vanish, no trace, never to be seen by anyone or anything for all of eternity. Short of that, it is a really bad idea.”

“I could buy fake IDs…”

Ed offered, “Junior will spend about 30 seconds finding who made your IDs. There is nothing you can do which he cannot discover. You kid yourself. The only way to avoid his wrath is to get him to agree not to impose it. There will be a way, it sometimes is painful getting to it. Our job is to minimize the initial pain and see you come out well on the back side.”

Sally saw the hurt in my expression and called a cease fire, “Enough of this for tonight. Give me your phone. Tomorrow go buy a new one, buy an identical one, if you can. We will keep this phone so we have the original of your recording and Junior cannot have it stolen from you. Your only other assignment is to go home tomorrow, and be surprised when you hear, ‘we need to talk’.”

We enjoyed a late dinner, they put me up for the night, and we turned in relatively early. I didn’t sleep well. My “Pearl Harbor” was no longer going to be a sneak attack.

Act one, Scene one

I was like a long-tailed cat, in a room full of rockers, all day. At work, everything made me jump. Several asked if I was ok. It was hard to say sure, for now; and not acknowledge that my world was about to blow up.

I drove home, pulled into the garage, took a long deep breath, let it out, and walked into the house announcing, “Honey, I’m home”, as usual. A voice from the dining room said,

“In here.”

I quietly sighed, my last chance to acknowledge I knew what was going on — and walked into the dining room, “This is unusual, what’s up.”

“Sit. We need to talk.”

Holy shit! Sit, like I’m some stray dog. I don’t get a hello, by name? Even though I was prepared, emotion started rising. I decided to sit without comment.

“Bob, as you well know, things between us have not been right, for some time. I have decided to file for divorce.”

The coldness of her words was matched by a steely countenance. She was well rehearsed. I got my new phone out, and hit record, setting it on the table near me. “I am not sure I understand. I am not aware things are not right between us. Why are you filing?”

“What is that?”

“My phone?”

“Not your phone, asshole, what are you doing?”

“Asshole? You’ve rarely sworn and never called me names in your life?”

“See that is how we’ve come to this. You lie and do it in a way it makes me look bad. There are no recordings of our fighting, of your demeaning me, and my smiling and taking it. Now you start recordings, making me look like the villain. Turn that off, or this conversation is over.”

“I am not turning it off.”

“Then get out.”

“I am not getting out. This is my home, too. Why can’t we talk? You asked me to sit and talk, why won’t you do that?”

“Turn off your recorder and hear what I have to say or get out. Those are your two options.”

“Well, politely, I must tell you I am exercising another option, to sit and wait for you to tell me what is going on, with my recorder running.”

“Have it your way.” She got up and walked away. I remained sitting, absolutely stunned. Who was this woman? There was not a hint of emotion, absolutely no warmth, only this cold stare and ultimatums. I was further frightened by the fact she was prepared for me to record and to refuse when I did.

I was lost in thought. I felt a tear on my cheek and wiped it away. She was returning to her chair. “Isn’t that just cute!” she said as she sat back down.

“Isn’t what cute? If I might ask.”

“Tears, after what you’ve done and are doing, you have the nerve to fake tears!”

“Marie, talk to me, honey. I don’t know what is going on. I come home and you surprise me with talk of divorce, and wonder why I have a tear on my cheek? What is wrong, why can’t we talk about this?”

“The children and I are not safe when you are like this. Now you are even recording our interactions, so you can appear normal, while I am the heavy. I won’t have it. Your abuse must stop.”

I just sat and stared at her, mouth agape. How could she be this rehearsed? She was now using my recording to her advantage, which tempted me to turn it off. I knew “Ben and Nancy” would be harder on me than Marie was being, were I to do so. I left it on. We stared at one another. I heard police sirens.

A moment after that, the front door opened, and two officers entered the dining room with tasers in their hands. “Sir, I need you to calm down.”

“I am sitting at my dining room table. What can I do to appear calmer?”

“Do not resist, sir. Stand up and place your hands behind you.”

I quickly decided there was nothing to be gained from resistance. I stood and turned my back toward them, presenting my hands to them. I was shocked, they cuffed me. I asked, “May I know what this is about?”

“We received a 911 call saying your wife was in fear for her safety. We are responding to that call. We are going to take you outside, while you have a chance to cool down and we can talk to each of you separately.”

They marched me toward the door. Both officers were flanking me, leaving Marie alone at the dining room table. “Wait!” I said, “I need my phone.”

“Where is your phone, sir.” The female officer said.

“Back on the dining room table.”

She turned and walked back into the dining room. The other officer walked me out to sit on the porch. A few seconds later, she walked out and said to her partner. “There was no phone. The wife says she has no idea what he is talking about.” She turned and went back inside.

“Now, we have a few questions we want to ask you. First, let me ask are you now calm enough that I can remove the hand cuffs?”

“Officer, at the risk of seeming uncooperative, I left my phone on the dining room table. My wife surprised me today, saying we don’t get along and she wants a divorce. In nine years, we’ve not had an argument. I was totally shocked, so I started recording her conversation. She objected, told me to turn off the phone, I said no, she left momentarily, then returned. I assume when she left, she called you. Now I am accused of violent behavior and can disprove it, if you will just get my phone.”

“Stand and turn your back toward me.”

I did. He unlocked one cuff and then had me sit on the porch swing, which was suspended by chains from the ceiling. He fixed the open cuff to the chain, assuring I would stay put. “I will go find your phone.”

He left. I didn’t time it, but at least 15 minutes passed. “We did a thorough search and found no phone. We called your phone and got no answer. Then, my partner asked if you had the find my phone app turned on your phones. Your wife said you did, got her phone and we found your phone at a residence across town. Your wife said you worked there last night.”

I thought to myself, she had a full mug of coffee. Maybe she put the phone in that. Sometimes, people don’t think of the most obvious spot. Damn. My old phone showed up on the finder, that meant if I wanted to push the idea of her having my phone, I’d have to admit I knew about her wanting a divorce. That would not be good, or so I thought, I decided to give up on the phone.

“Sir, are you willing to admit there was no phone?”

“No, officer, I am not. I cannot explain what happened. I had a phone and recorded our conversation. Marie has gone nowhere; the phone must be close.”

“Can you explain why your phone pinged across town?”

“I offer no explanation for that, at this time.”

“Then, we will presume there was no phone here, and your statement is false.”

“My statement is not false. I change no part of it in any way.”

“Very well. How do you answer the allegations that you have become increasingly abusive toward your wife?”

“I deny them, categorically.”

“You were out all last night. Were you running around on your wife?”

“Absolutely not. I was with two attorneys, conducting business.”

“Do you care to state the nature of that business?”

“I am afraid I am not at liberty to state that.”

“We will follow-up with these attorneys.”

“That is fine with me. Everything I have told you or will tell you is the absolute truth. I have nothing to hide.”

“Well, you told me your phone was here, it isn’t. You told me you were conducting business, but not at liberty to disclose what business. So far your honesty is a bit underwhelming.”

His partner appeared at the front door. He looked to assure I had not freed myself from my cuffs and went inside. He was not gone long. “We are taking you downtown for booking.”

“Might I ask the charge?”

“Domestic disturbance and assault.”

He read me my rights, my frigging rights! They took me to some building, finger-printed and photographed me, and threw me in a cell. They did allow me to call “Ben and Nancy”. I got no answer, left a message, and was told that was my limit.

I was in some sort of a holding cell for a day and a half. I was offered food three times, accepted it once. I slept little and was pleased to hear my name called. I walked to the door and was escorted to a smiling Sally.

“Have you been harmed in any way?”

No, no, I am fine.”

“Come with me.”

She was all business. We walked at just less than a sprint and made our way to an office. She barged in, the police officer looked at her and was clearly unhappy. “Don’t you knock?”

“Don’t you dare fuck with me because I am a woman. I am here to file both criminal complaints and to notify you my client will be suing the city for three million dollars. I want both arresting officers suspended, without pay. They are abusive, reckless, clueless, and generally a hazard to polite society.”

“Ms. Joyette, if I may…”

“You may fucking not.”

She turned to me and sweetly asked me to take a seat. She got some forms and filled them out. A couple of times she asked me to sign. I did. When we left, I started to ask what was going on. She held up a hand and I took that as my clue to be quiet and follow her. Many say hearing, ‘we need to talk’ led to their worst days. Those folks had nothing on me. Something had changed. She had gone from reluctant participant to zealous enemy.

Back with my attorney friends

I was back at the residence of my friends. In history I don’t know if anyone fared worse than I, in my first encounter. She told me we needed to talk, then, other than foundless accusations, refused to talk. If this was what my life is to be, I wasn’t sure I would endure it.

“Bob, you may not feel like it, but we got a huge break.”

“Well,” I could tell Sally was fired up, but frankly, “if that was a win, I don’t look forward to a loss.”

Ed continued, “You should not have been arrested. My guess is one or both arresting officers know Dickie or know of Junior and were trying to get in their good graces. Instead, they made a huge blunder. The whole thing smelled bad to the desk sergeant, and he called me about the missing phone. He got a warrant and found it. The phone was in the trash, it had been submerged in coffee. Marie claims you must have done it.”

“We were lucky she did not get it out of the house.” Sally continued. “It took them a bit to get a warrant and it was just this morning that the search occurred. We don’t know for sure, but it would appear Junior is not involved. If he were they would not have gotten the warrant, in time. The phone would have been dust, lost in some big mound of dust.”

Ed picked up, “This is just the beginning. I hate to say it, but Junior will be involved now. We had to do a couple of things to make it obvious a false arrest had been made. Worst of them was to play your first tape for Judge Marin.”

“I thought you said it was stupid to play that tape for a judge.”

“Well, I don’t remember, exactly, but we told you something like, nothing is straightforward.”

“Why is my suggesting sharing an audio file with a judge a mistake, and your doing it a good thing?”

“We need to understand Marie. I thought you and she were a great couple. She is not only evil, but also damn proficient at it. Dickie has a reputation for charming the ladies, but she has become your biggest enemy. Do you have any idea why?”

“Tax time is always hard for us. I have work and clients in need of help, year-round. But from the end of January to the middle of April I do nearly half of my billable hours. I work and I sleep, that’s it. I know I must eat; I do that while I work.”

“Bob, you are not looking at this right,” Sally was almost in my face. “So, you have a bad quarter each year, that is a reason for boredom, maybe a fling — this woman is behaving as though she hates you. Why?”

“We decided Marie would give up work while our kids were young. Our seven-year-old, Claire, came right away. We’d given up on having a second, then Bob, Jr. came along, he’s about 18 months. What Marie hoped would be five or six years of staying at home is looking more like ten to twelve. That bothers her.”

“Bob, there is something more and you know it.”

“Marie has always been enamored by Dickie, and his ilk. Guys who have time to be carefree and frivolous. She once told me accountants lack spontaneity, let alone frivolity. My counter was in my business, spontaneity is likely a felony. I thought it was funny, she was not amused.”

Now it was Ed’s turn, “Bob, that sounds like a wife who was looking. Did you have warning?”

“Warning? No. But, I don’t think I ever looked. Marie is six years younger. At first, we were an unlikely pair. She was looking for ‘the right’ husband. I was doing well. But odd as it sounds, we hit it off. She had our spirit; I was our rock. We worked. But looking at what is going on now, a curious man would have suspected.”

“Suspected what, exactly?” asked Sally.

“She said she wanted the right house, the right schools, the right everything. She says she wants to work, but her degree in Language Arts doesn’t qualify her for much; and nothing around here. She says many things, but I never see action. What she does is make sure we are at the right parties, with the right crowd, and so on.”

“The right parties and crowd are not a bad thing. Being associated with the best people in the area must be good for business.” Sally was digging in. Clearly, both knew I was not seeing a picture of what was going on.

“Well, to her, the right parties are with Dickie and that crowd.”

“And she flirts with all the men?” Ed looked suspicious.

“Not really. But she is out-going, friendly, our social organizer. I just sit and marvel. We laugh about it, or we used to. Thinking back, it was an issue at the New Year’s Ball. The in crowd, of which Dickie was a main member, were using some drugs, nothing illegal, she assured me. One of them was some woman’s name, like Maggie?”

“My, my, you are the party animal”, Sally laughed. “How about Molly? AKA, MDMA or Ecstasy?”

“OK, I hope you are not expecting me to be embarrassed. I know all I need to know about drugs.” Okay, I’ll admit I am a complete nerd on the subject. I lived a quiet, idyllic life — or so I had thought.

“But maybe not all Marie would like you to know.” Ed was somber. “Molly isn’t heroin, and it isn’t legal, either. Party people can get into prescription pain killers, benzos, all manner of things. They think — legal, but only legal if taken as prescribed under a doctor’s care.”

“We need to start digging. If she is using drugs, your children are not safe.” Sally was making notes, for herself. “Well, our picture is a little clearer. Your wife has moved from bored to at least thrill seeking, of that we can be fairly certain. Changes in behavior and impaired judgment are typical with drug use. Even with lower doses of the so-called party drugs.”

That worried me, “I do know this; Marie is vindictive as hell. If Dickie has convinced her, I am the enemy, whether it is impaired judgment, or not, she will come at me with fury. I think that is what I saw when we met.”

Sally looked at Ed, “Dickie has done that, I know he has. He gets friends to tell his prey that the spouse is cheating. I don’t know how he does it, exactly, but he does. Then, he moves in. He has a great reputation, I guess the ladies love being loved by him, but to date, he gets bored, moves on and Junior mops up the mess.”

Ed looked at me, “If you talk to her friends, see if you can find out if they think she has a reason to be upset with you. Unfortunately, now it doesn’t matter much. We got Junior involved, so it is a war.”

Sally laughed, shaking her head. “This has to be a first. A spouse says, honey, we have to talk — they never do, and all hell breaks loose, anyway.”

“Pardon me, but neither of you has ever told me why you played the recording for the judge.”

“Marie is saying you are abusive. You are having an affair. You are dangerous to her children. For a time, there was no phone to be found in your home. This tended to corroborate her story. We decided it was best to reveal the recording, to taint her accusations, and to show you are the aggrieved party here. It was a close call, but we did it.”

“Why was it a close call?”

“The judges are all friendly with Junior. He has now heard his ‘idiot’ son has been recorded with some new paramour, plotting your demise. Junior knows Dickie will fuck it up. Junior will do his best to get ahead of the game, destroy you, let Dickie have his fun, dump Marie, then Junior will destroy her and await Dickie’s next fling.

“It was a close call because establishing you as the good-guy started the war much earlier than we were prepared for. Fortunately, we have a good case in against the city. They are going to pay you a bunch. You’ll need that, and more, I’m afraid to defend against the wrath of Junior.”

The Wrath of Junior

It was Monday, a new week, a chance for a better start. I was staying with my friends, and attorneys, Ed and Sally. Their home has a guest wing, I guess you’d call it. There is a doorway from their family room to a small office. The door leaving the office leads to an entry hall. From there you can leave the house, go to a bedroom, or a large bathroom. The bedroom is large and has a pantry with a coffee maker, microwave, and small refrigerator.

I can stay in that room and never enter the main house. From what they tell me, I am going to need them, frequently.

I arrived at work at five minutes to nine. At precisely 9:00 am I was buzzed, a process server from Dewey, Cheetham, and Howe (Junior’s law firm of choice) was there. He had a stack of large envelopes. He told me I was required to sign for them.

“One moment, please.” I hit #1 on the speed dial and Ed picked up the phone. “Ed, a process server is here with a stack of envelopes. He wants me to sign for each of them.” Ed asked he be put on speaker. I did.

“My name is Ed Dover, counsel for Mr. Watson, might I have your name, please.”

“Ralph, just call me Ralph.” Said the server.

“Ralph, my client is not knowledgeable enough to sign for these documents. Therefore, our legal system has established a process for the serving of legal pleadings. You have your responsibilities, of which I trust you are aware. My client has no responsibilities because he is involved in no legal proceeding at this time. If you wish to serve him, do so. He has no part of this process.”

“I am instructed to get signatures.”

“Ralph, serve my client and leave, or just leave. My client is in front of you. Those are your choices.”

The server got this arrogant look, “I am noting you refuse to have your client sign. I am leaving.”

“Thank you, Ralph, enjoy your day.”

Ralph turned and left. He was out of earshot, and I said, “Ed, he didn’t leave any documents.”

“Bob, I’ve been involved in more lawsuits than I care to mention, I never saw that. Did you happen to see his list, that he wanted you to sign?”

“I did. One of the items, maybe the third on the list was entitled ‘Complaint’. The first two were ‘Notice of this or that’, I don’t recall. There were also ‘Interrogatories”, more than one, if I saw correctly.”

“What on earth are they doing? A lawsuit follows one distinct path. They file a complaint; the complaint states their cause of action and the reasons. We answer the complaint, admitting or denying their claims. Then, if either of us need information to properly defend our position, we ask for discovery. The judge grants that request. Then, there are motions and things like interrogatories. Someone is out of control. I smell Dickie.”

I called Ed again, toward the end of the day. Another server had arrived with one document. He was waiting outside my office. Ed asked me to invite him in. The man asked if I was Bob Watson, I said I was, he handed me an envelope and said you have been served. He left.

“Bob, that is how it is supposed to work. Though I will say, I called Ron Howe and asked him to have me listed as your attorney of record. He asked I confirm that with a letter. I did and couriered it over to him. They still served you. I hate to say this, but you have a mess on your hands.”

“My loving wife hates me, her boyfriend is out to get me, and his powerful father mops up after him, crushing all in his path. Where’s the problem?”

“Bob, I can’t tell you what a clown show that was this morning. You could not find a law clerk who would do that, let alone a lawyer. You couldn’t get a process server to behave that way, either. No, that was Dickie throwing his arrogant incompetence around. I can think of only two reasons why.

“The first is Dickie is trying to impress his old man, that he is in the game. Now you might ask why someone would so thoroughly fuck something up as proof he is doing well. I would tell you that is Dickie. He is a disaster. Anything he touches, he screws up.

“The second is more likely, I think. Junior heard from the judge about the recording. Junior asked his son what was going on? Dickie explained, wanting Daddy’s help. Daddy refused. Dickie fucked it up intentionally to get the old man to jump in.”

It is bad enough my wife has become a stranger, so I go to my friends who are expert in these matters. They tell me it is a pattern and explain, then, things don’t go according to the pattern. I was lost, so I asked, “Why would Dickie want Junior’s help?”

“You’ve got me by the ass. I have no idea. Junior’s role is mopping up, he threatens Dickie and harasses him, and ultimately bails him out. Neither one of them want him involved early. Unless this is different from the normal dance they dance.”

“Different? Different how?”

“Bob, I have no idea. Maybe the drugs are the issue. Maybe it is something else, I would be guessing. But if Dickie created this public embarrassment to force his daddy to get involved, I don’t like it.”

Now, I was scared, “If Junior is not going to mop up, and instead, is going to run the campaign for Marie, that sounds serious, really serious.”

“I can’t tell you how serious, Bob. But Dickie is involved, and that is a plus. He may well be the biggest ally you have when all is said and done.”

You read stories about the husband and ex-seal being wronged. Shortly thereafter, there is retribution on a Biblical scale. The husband comes out whole, all the bad actors are strewn behind him, barely existing. I am not an ex-anything. I am an accountant. I could go and refuse to do their taxes — but I didn’t do their taxes. Things looked bleaker.

We Need to Talk, revisitedI got a text from Marie, “we need to talk”.

Something told me I should ignore it. Whatever it was trying to warn me was not loud enough, I texted back, “sure, where and when?”.

The return text pissed me off, “This has gotten out of hand, my attorney says I can’t talk to you unless she is present.”

“Then we can’t talk. Thanks for bringing it up.”

She kept texting. I forwarded the whole lot to Sally. I must be a slow learner. I still trust my wife. I know she is not to be trusted, but I haven’t let go. I haven’t stopped. I’d say I still loved her were it not for the conversation I overheard. Yet, she was clearly at war with me. Why?

Well, many are in my situation, and they are not the senior tax specialist in a large accounting firm. They do not have resources. They don’t have best-friend attorneys. Thinking of whom, I must get out of their home. Private entrance or not, they didn’t take me to raise. I looked for a nice condominium my firm would be able to loan to good clients, once I had moved out. I’d end up being able to write my stay off as a business expense.

I quickly found one. I also found I had no assets with which to purchase a condom, let alone a condo. They were all frozen. More work for Ed and Sally, their little joke about bend over and enjoy it was becoming less amusing by the day.

I was amazed. I was approached by the CEO of our firm, with whom I am friendly, but we’re not really friends. He said he heard I was going through I divorce and looking for a condo. He brought up this could be of benefit to the firm and if I found something let him know. He was certain he could get our board to buy it and rent it to me for a period.

I was shocked it was so generally known I was divorcing or looking for housing, but hey, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, right?

Before I knew it, we had a condo which cost me nearly nothing. Life was looking up. I got a call from Ed; we were meeting Marie and her attorney. The good life came in short spurts these days.

My Secrets are RevealedEd and Sally both decided to attend this first meeting. We were still outnumbered. Marie sat in the middle of a small army of people who didn’t really identify themselves, to me, anyway. It was absolutely feudal, on the other side of the table. The royal, her lords and ladies, footmen, and other minions.

Marie looked at me, “I’m sorry for all this, this formality, I have so wanted to talk to you.”

She was interrupted by a dour looking woman who could have easily worked in a funeral home, with her overall cheeriness. “Marie, let me do the talking.”

She launched into their suit and reasons for same. Bad as she looked, she was worse than she appeared. I kept getting lower and lower in my chair. I did some estimation in my head as she droned on and mentioned she expected me to pay for all legal costs. The people in the room had to be at least $1,800 per hour, collectively. That’s $30 a minute. I straightened up, hoping she’d get to the point more quickly.

If you’ve never sat in on some legal proceeding, I suggest you do all in your power to keep it that way. The lawyers speak in some tongue, certainly not conducive to any understanding by those in the unfortunate position of paying for the drama. I did tune in when she said something about in flagrante delicto, in reference to me. Like I say, the language was odd, but I knew this had something to do with not keeping my pants zipped.

“We have photos. I am prepared to show you a few today.”

The first photo was an attractive young woman sitting by herself at a table for two. I recognized her, Rebecca Carter, a client, with whom I had had dinner, but not at this restaurant, and not just the two of us. It was my practice never to dine alone with a female client. The next photo was of the two of us, apparently at that same table, she was gazing at me. I wondered how it was done. The second photo was real, I was nearly certain of that. It didn’t show the table, but our position was the same as the two place settings in the earlier picture. Together, they gave the image of our being alone at an intimate dinner.

There were more photographs. The two of us exiting the restaurant, holding hands. Then, one on the elevator, in an embrace and kissing passionately. You could not always see my face, but my sport coat was a tweed, not common, by any means and where you couldn’t see the whole face, the clothing made it seem obvious.

It is worth noting, Ms. Carter was a new client, who wanted me as her advisor and could only meet for dinner — she was a plant. This was very well done.

There was a photo of our infant crying. I was reaching out to soothe him, of course it was claimed he was crying because I was striking him. One photo proved nothing; in the pile it was more than suggestive.

Next, we turned to our finances. Being an accountant, everything was very well documented. There was a fairly large account in my name, only. It was a holding account for moving money into our retirement accounts, the children’s college funds, and so forth. I had written a detailed description of what the use of the account was and suggested we get it in both of our names. Marie and I had reviewed the description, and I left her with the copy. She claimed not to have seen it.

We took a break.

One of the minions offered a conference room to Ed, so we could have privacy. Ed very boisterously said, “You are too kind, you think of everything. We are so appreciative; might I see it?”

As he and the minion walked away, Sally said, “Ed must suspect the room is bugged. When we sit in there, he is going to ask you questions. They won’t be for us; they will be for them. Hem and haw when you answer, make it sound as though you don’t know exactly what to say. Don’t lie, they know what they have shown is not what it appears, if you say too much, they’ll know you are lying.”

We got in the room and Ed went into a tirade about my carrying on with some woman. I stuttered, stammered, and told him it was not what it appeared. He said he didn’t want to hear it. How did I expect them to defend me? In mid-tirade, he looked at his watch, turned the emotion off and said we should go rejoin the group.

As we were walking back, I said to Sally, “I tried to be so careful, then Ed goes and does that.”

“Does what?” she asked, more than a little curious.

“Is full of emotion, then, looks at his watch, goes calm, and we are walking back.”

“My goodness Bob, you are new to this. His emotion was a show, they know that. ‘All the world’s a stage’ if you recall your Shakespeare. He was playing his part; you were playing yours.”

“But he just turned it off!” I still didn’t get it.

“Because we are going back to sit and stare at the other side, he can’t be red-faced and breathing hard when we get back. In this process you are required to behave, we are not. Don’t try to analyze why we do something, you’ll go nuts.”

From that point the meeting was very brief. Ed asked a couple of procedural questions, then Sally started her own tirade. This was the biggest, trumped-up, set of lies she had ever seen. There was little reason to talk with people no more honest than those across the table. I noticed, Sally was staring directly at opposing, lead counsel, and Ed was nonchalantly observing Marie. They were a hell-of-a team.

Marie announced she was sick of this and sick of them; we were leaving. We did. A second time Marie said we needed to talk but we didn’t.

The three of us debriefed back at their offices. It seemed to all of us that Marie was the key. She was aloof and nearly uninvolved throughout the whole meeting.

Ed started, “I have known her since you two were dating. She smiled at me like you smile at someone you pass on the street, then she never looked at me, again. Of the eight on her side of the table, she was not in the top half of interest shown and dead last in emotion shown.”

“I saw you eying her when Sally was going through that tirade in the end, what did you think?”

“Well, that was the worst of it. I first looked at you and not surprisingly you were staring right at her, so I looked to see how she was handling that. It was totally curious, she was scanning the room, without any real interest in anything. She did look at you, but without any more interest than at me or at Sally, for that matter. I think she might be on some drug, Xanax, maybe?”

“You saw her with Dickie, the one time, how did they seem?”

“Sally, I didn’t really see them. They were not five feet from me, but in the house, I was outside, listening through a window.”

“So? Same question.”

“They were talking about being together. No, that’s not right, they were together, I was already past tense. She was pleading my case, leave me with some money, but he said no, and she didn’t seem to object. She also wanted him there, but he didn’t think it wise. He said Junior has issues with him and married women.”

“I have asked around, no one sees them at his usual haunts. In fact, no one sees him, at those same haunts.” Ed was fidgeting around.

“Oh, Ed, for goodness’ sake, say what you’re thinking, don’t make him beg!”

“This has all the appearance of Dickie having fallen in love. If that is true, this is different from what we have been describing. That wasn’t a contingent she put together to get rid of a husband; it was a group formed to help gain the freedom of a woman, he is interested in marrying.”

Sally looked like he’d hit the lottery. “Oh, you’re right! She was like a disinterested passenger on some flight to nowhere. Nervous, she took a couple of levelers to keep her calm. She could do that, because she had no real role, just ride along until they told her to debark.”

For some reason, that made me sad. “I don’t mind telling you, that depresses me. I guess I knew it, but this made it more real. Divorcing her because she is unfaithful, and I don’t want her is almost acceptable. Finding she has moved so far along, I am not a thought in her past, hurts.”

“You know you are more than a client to us. Get involved in your work.” Sally had turned herself, so she was staring me right in the eyes. “We know you want access to your children; we know you are innocent, and we know what a ruthless s-o-b Junior is. There are some bad months coming. You don’t deserve them, but, unfortunately, they are coming, anyway. Detach yourself.”

“That’s a little cold, sweety.” Ed was also leaning forward, toward me. “She is right, though. This client of yours, Carter? Was that her name? When we depose her, it will be a disappointment. She will have some line that is not quite true, but clever enough we cannot catch her in a lie. She’ll refer to you as an ‘almost’ affair. Sully you without really saying much.”

Sue interjected, “Ed, you know it is Marie we must worry about.” She turned toward me, “Bob, will Marie lie about you? Will she say she fears for her safety and her children’s safety around you?”

“I can only hope not. But like I told you, she can be extremely vindictive. If Dickie convinced her, I was fooling around, it doesn’t really matter if my client tells the absolute truth. Think about it. They tell her I was spotted, but they have no proof, they took some bull shit photos just to illustrate their point. They don’t need to convince a court; they need to convince her. If they have, she could be convinced to burn me, because I deserve it.”

Ed backed away and slouched in his chair. “I accused her of being cold. This is bad news. If Dickie is in love and intends to marry her, Junior will need to have you out of the way. If she falters and wants to go back, he’ll have made sure there is nothing there to go back to. This is bad news.”

“I take it, you feel this is bad news.” I tried to laugh, it caught in my throat. “What can I expect?”

It was Sally’s turn, “Nothing is off limits, other than physical harm. He will go after your life, your income, your ability to enjoy this area. If you fear it, and he can think of it, he will do it.”

“You’ll protect me?”

Ed looked solum, “We will do all we can. Hold on to this thought, no matter what. Dickie will fuck this up. He can’t help himself. I don’t know how or when, but, trust me, he will.”

“Swell? So, when I live in some homeless shelter in Topeka, I will be cheered because it is only a matter of time.”

A Bad Summer

I am in a nice condo, but without access to my home or my children. I had a supervised visit, every other Saturday. I really can’t say with which of these beautiful young people I had the more difficulty losing touch. Claire was precocious and such a charmer. She was soon to be a young woman and I was missing it.

Bobby was hardly walking and not talking when I left home. I had missed his going from a helpless infant to a young child. It was tearing me apart.

I had been in court three different times, trying to arrange joint custody. I thought Ed was doing well, but he was hampered by morals and ethics. Marie’s lawyers suffered from no such encumbrance. They argued a swift resolution of the divorce was the key to justice. Their argument went on that it was unfortunate in this case that I wanted to drag it out, but surely the children should not be put at risk because of my delaying tactics.

Ed would stand and explain to the judge I had no interest in prolonging the divorce action, I was merely trying to get an acceptable custody arrangement. Marie was disputing my fitness as a father, and it was her fault we were having the delays.

Ed would point out that their arguments were entirely circular. Marie, without evidence, said I was an unfit father. I contested that assertion. Plaintiff, she was the plaintiff, apparently, used her own assertion as evidence of and got expert opinion, based on a naked assertion, that I was unfit. Now, they are using that expert’s opinion as the basis of their assertion.

I am amazed at lawyers, when caught in an absolute lie, smile and pile on some other plausible explanation for why the lies might not be a lie. They don’t go so far as to say it is true, just it might not be a lie. In this case, they argued that how could Ed or his client know the mind of an expert? Just because we think his sole basis for saying I was unfit was Marie’s complaint, doesn’t make it so.

Ed said he would happily depose the expert to show our argument was truthful, and theirs was not. Her lawyers said they agreed happily to the deposition and would see it took place at the earliest possible moment. Their thought on the earliest possible moment was two weeks after the end of time.

We finally did the deposition and proved our assertion that their expert opinion was without basis. It was a slam-dunk. Of course, by that time, they had two other experts, who from what we could ascertain, used the first expert’s opinion, as their basis, and said I was an unfit father.

Ed lost it and said this was the same thing, all over again. Her attorneys said it was not at all the same thing. The previous expert had based his opinion on the complaint. That certainly was not the case here. Ed, of course pointed out that this time the experts’ opinions were based on the previous expert opinion, which was foundless. The judge was beginning to lose patience. He said that if depositions showed Ed’s objection was correct, he was going to decide for the defendant (me).

They smiled and assured that would not be the case and swore they would make both experts available as soon as possible. I was sitting in the gallery, I’d say the cheap seats, but nothing about this was cheap. It was clear they were finding ways to spend money on legal fees. In my opinion, they were damn good at it.

The summer had slipped away. One of the experts had unexpectedly gone on a sixty-day sabbatical and had been unavailable for deposition. Marie’s lawyers, knowing they were in trouble, asked for a meeting with the judge. At said meeting, they swore they didn’t think to ask about the European sabbatical, planned for over a year. They were now ready to let the findings of the divorce hearing, scheduled for early October, decide everything.

Ed admonished opposing counsel and reminded the judge if they failed to show my unfitness, he would award joint custody. The judge agreed. He said effective September 12, I would be awarded custody every Wednesday afternoon until 8:00pm and alternate weekends, without supervision.

Mid-September and we got our first victory, or partial victory. I was overjoyed.

An Express Trip to Despair

They were unrelenting. Though I’ve not had cancer, I’d say it is roughly equivalent. One morning you wake up and everything you thought was a given is now a question mark. Nothing feels right, there is not a situation where you are safe.

I was learning about depositions, interrogatories, and affidavits. I was signing some document, I never knew quite what or why, at least with any certainty. I chuckled, just above my signature it said, Further affiant saith not. I am an accountant. You add numbers and take a percentage of that. There is no bullshit in accounting.

Does that suggest there is in the law? I saith not.

I had another card in this game. The police had falsely arrested me, and Sally assured me the city would pay. The payment would be large enough to handle the stack of legal bills coming my way.

I got a call from Sally one morning, at work. We were in our second month of discovery. The city had some financial issues. An unnamed benefactor had agreed to buy several bonds, with one condition. He would have sole authority on any settlement of my false arrest suit. Fortunately, the city attorney handling this matter is quite young, and this offended her.

“Sally”, I am sorry she is offended. Clearly this means I am not getting a settlement or getting one any time soon.”

“Well, true. That is the bad news, but there is an upside. She thought it close to racketeering. She was dressed down and told it was a great way for the city to get a large sum of money, to do public work, and her role was to submit any settlement offer to Dewey, Cheetham, and Howe.

“She did a little digging and found the benefactor was Junior and his motive was keeping money from you.”

“So, we can prosecute him?”

“No, this is unofficial, but we have an ally, it may come in handy.”

“Do you accept ‘handy’ as payment?”

“Let’s not worry about payment, for now.”

“Right, for now.” I said as sarcastically as I dared.

You cannot imagine how quickly a nice life can go to shit. It was Friday, September 27th. You could feel the impending cold of winter in the fall air. I was surprised that our CEO and firm-owner called a meeting among his five, top people.

I was further surprised that he had sold the firm and the only change, of significance was I no longer had a job. He announced that with the six of us sitting in his conference room. A single tear shot from my eye; the shock was that great. I started to speak. He held his hand, palm toward me indicating I should hold it. He dismissed the others.

“I am staying on in the same position, nothing changed except I got a wad of cash, and you are out. It is not a civil thing to do, but what can I say, I did it. Oh, by the way, since you are no longer with the firm, you must vacate your condo by the 30th.”

“You bastard!”

“Bob, I have said too much. Your employment was at-will, and I am free to terminate it. I was required to gather the group and announce your departure. I was required to do it today and to have you vacate your condo by Monday. It is done. I am sorry. Get out.”

No settlement, no job, no company car, no home. From the top of society to the bottom, in one easy step.

I called Ed. I found my phone service had been discontinued. What the hell, I didn’t have a job, I had nothing but time. I could walk over to talk to them. I had gone a couple of blocks and a cold rain started. I looked up, “You too?”

I Did Have the One Ally

I was cold, wet, and desperate when I reached the offices of Dover and Joyette. Both were in conference, but I was assured I would wait no more than a few minutes. Ed and I are not that different in size, and they brought me a sweater, some sweatpants, and underwear for me to put on, while I waited.

I had just changed, and Sally was at my side, asking what went on. I explained, she said, “He is brutal, I fear there is more, but I can’t imagine what else.”

“They have stopped my cell service. The account is in both our names, I don’t know how they did it. I need that phone. It hooks me into our home network. It is the only way I have of seeing my children. If I don’t have that, I am going to lose it.”

Sally found my carrier and disappeared. She was gone quite a while, nearly an hour. She returned, “Try your phone.”

“I hit her number on speed dial, her phone rang, I was back in business.” I am not embarrassed to say, I cried like a baby, the trauma, then that bit of relief just did me in. Sally sat close to me and hugged me as I wept.

“You are coming home with us, tonight. We will figure out our next step.”

I couldn’t talk to them. I sat in their guest bedroom gazing at my phone. It was only a little after 8:00 pm. One of the things we had done is install a nanny cam complete with an app which enabled looking in on our young son, when Mom and Dad were out.

He was sleeping. Then, maybe a bad dream or something but he woke up and started crying. He cried for a bit and then he started getting loud. It was his only way to get Mom, cry, then cry louder, then louder.

I was shocked to see Dickie stagger into the room, swearing at my boy. “Quiet down you little fuck. Your Mom is a bit tied up right now…” I ran into the den and shouted for Ed and Sally to, “look at this.”

By this point, Dickie was getting a little loud, which made the baby get louder. Dickie reached in his pocket and had some small bag. He dipped his finger in the bag, then in the boy’s mouth. My son quieted down, immediately.

Ed stood, “Sally call 911, identify yourself, tell them we have witnessed a child being drugged. They need to get the whole world to that house, right now.” He looked at me. “Bob, we are going to your house, now.”

Our homes were more than thirty minutes apart. Ed had me call 911 from the car. I think he knew it was superfluous, but he wanted me occupied while he pushed every speed limit known to man.

By the time we got to the house, there was an ambulance, a fire truck, four police cars, and a small army of on-lookers. Ed told me to be immediately beside him and to keep my mouth shut. It surprised me. He said it in a way that I knew he would express my outrage — and keep me out of trouble.

He found the officer in charge and demanded to know what was going on. It took a bit of back and forth, but quickly the officer was telling us everything he knew. They arrived at the house and got no immediate answer at the door. They broke it down.

My son was lethargic but responsive. Dickie had passed out. Marie was tied to the headboard of our bed, naked, and gagged. Both were now in custody. The officer was not certain what the drug was but seemed to believe the boy had been given only some very small amount and would recover.

The ambulance was about to leave, and I got in to make sure my son got whatever he needed. I knew Ed would handle whatever was left behind.

It was a long night. I was beyond anything I have ever known. Murder and life in prison seemed like the minimum acceptable action, at this point. About 5:00 am, I was joined by Sally. She said she wanted to hear everything. So far, I didn’t know much other than they had Bobby resting comfortably.

Sally had been there about 20 minutes and we were approached by a man in scrubs. “Mr. Watson?”

“Yes, and this is my friend, Sally Joyette.” I didn’t think he needed to know she was an attorney at this point.

“My name is Dr. Graham. I have good news. Your boy was given primarily prescription tranquillizers. I can’t really say how much, but it would appear it was not the first time. There are trace amounts in his blood. Disturbingly, we found trace amounts of cocaine and other recreational drugs on his clothing.”

“You said primarily, I don’t like that word.” Sally was quickly moving from my friend to my lawyer.

“Well, I am sorry, but…”

“No, no buts, while I am Mr. Watson’s good friend, I am here as his attorney. Some monster has done a great injury to his son, and right now there are only two camps, those with us, and on the side of angels, and the monster’s associates, which are you?”

“Well, ahummm, that is well put. Let me tell you what I believe. This is not yet ready for the police, and they are involved, but you represent the boy’s father, so I can speculate a bit, with you.

“Mrs. Watson and her friend seem to use a tranquillizer-like drug on a somewhat regular basis. We are analyzing it, but in the main, it is prescription drugs. But the two of them also use some recreational drugs: it appears cocaine, X, and maybe others. Unless they are extremely careful, and how often do you find careful drug users, there is every chance that when they gave your son, something to make him quiet down, it probably included whatever trace amounts of other drugs the adults had on them.”

“That bastard, I’ll…”

Sally interrupted, forcefully, “Mr. Watson, we’ll not speak of other people.” As she spoke, she dug her nails into my wrist, to make sure I got her point. I did and went silent.

The doctor smiled a bit and turned toward me. “This may be of interest to you. As I understand it, when the police arrived, they could not get in the house, so the broke in. Word is they found a man passed out on the bed and a very groggy naked woman cuffed to the bed with what I believe is termed a ball-gag, in her mouth.

“The word the police had was from a female attorney, who had everyone upset at the heinous acts being performed.” The doctor paused and looked at Sally, who looked back without any acknowledgment. “The police used bolt cutters to free the woman’s arms, then used police cuffs to restrain her arms behind her back so they could remove her to their car. She was still naked and gagged. The word is she was quite hysterical.”

Sally got a lawyerly smile and said, “Stupid slut. If she didn’t like how, she was being treated, why didn’t she say something?”

The doctor looked as though he needed to explain a ball gag, then, caught on, smiled, and said, “Exactly.”

Ed called Sally, they talked for several minutes. Then, she handed me the phone and said, “Ed wants to talk to you.”

“Hi!” I had nothing left and awaited his words.

“Bob, first and foremost, I am sorry. I knew that stupid son of a bitch would fuck it up, but I had no idea even he would sink to that. Not that it makes up for anything, but they are being treated terribly. True to form, he has lawyered up and suddenly doesn’t remember her, anymore. She should have gotten married to him before he pulled something like this.”

I used a line I’d heard in some movie, “Gee, I can’t tell you what it would do to me if they gave her life in the electric chair.”

He didn’t chuckle or even pause, he just continued, “No one should be talking to me, but like I say, the police hate people who abuse children. A guy who was in with Dickie and his lawyer, before they clammed up completely, says it was your wife. Dickie really had no knowledge of what was going on. He only gave the child his medicine because his whore likes kinky sex games. He is in fact, a model citizen.”

“What about all Sally’s claims of my abuse and her saint-like behavior?”

“That’s what Sally and I were plotting. You listen to her and do what she says. This may well have a good ending.”

“I assume you mean better than top-bunk at the homeless shelter.”

“I know, I can’t imagine the trauma you’ve gone through. But hang in there. They must be in a panic and Dickie is about to be arraigned. Time is not their friend.”

The turned worm

I did listen to Sally. As an aside, if Sally wants you to listen to her, she doesn’t need Ed to pave the way. Ed is a fine attorney and forceful opponent. Sally scares me to death. Her plan sounded plausible; things were looking up.

It was 8:30 by the time I had everything about the plan ready, since I no longer had a job, my company car had gone away, Sally drove me to within a block of condo. I walked from there. At least I had two more days before homelessness.

I lay on the bed, fully clothed, and was asleep immediately. I awoke to the doorbell and a pounding on my front door. It was 10:05. Even sleeping past 10 didn’t seem to have helped, I tried to laugh to myself. I opened the door.

An older gentleman, who resembled a mangy member of the ferret family stared me in the face. “Mr. Bob Watson?”

“Maybe.”

“Mr. Watson, if I may have a moment of your time, I think I have some ideas which can end this bad streak you’ve been having and get you back on top of the heap.”

I continued to stand in the doorway, blocking his path. “Your name?”

“My name is Jon Cheetham, I am an attorney.”

“Jon, my friend, I was born at night, but not last night, that bad streak I have been having was designed, engineered, and built by you and your firm. I’d think you suddenly were overcome by guilt, but you said you were a lawyer.”

“Despite our past, we are now in a position to help one another.”

“Bull shit! You are a paid, a paid, I don’t know, I want to say assassin, but they are kinder. They put a bullet in someone, and their pain is over. You are closer to the Marquis de Sade. Speaking of whom, one of his apprentices was visiting my wife last night.”

“If I may…”

“You may fucking not.” I was not in Sally’s league, but I could use some of her material. “Here is the deal. Dickie is in deep shit. He is going to prison for harming a child. His life span after he is sentenced is shorter than that dick, he seems so proud of. His old man has a scheme. If he wants me to consider his scheme he and I meet, face-to-face, just the two of us. Otherwise, he can stick it up his ass.”

“That may not be possible.”

“No problem.” I slammed the door in his face. Immediately, he was knocking, trying to restart the conversation.

I opened the door. I stared at him with all the hate I truly felt for his client and his law firm. I said, nothing. He was going to stare me down. I slammed the door again. The knocking resumed. I opened the door.

“I have had a little more than an hour’s sleep thanks to your client. I want him in jail — hell, I want you in jail, you have 10 seconds then I am going back to bed. If I go back to bed, this little drama plays out as it plays out.

“May I come in? I want to make a quick phone call and see if we can agree to terms. It is clear to me you will not meet the terms I came to lay out.”

“I don’t like you. I don’t trust you. I will allow you to come in, primarily so I can sit down. If I suggest you leave, I want you to agree, in advance, you will get up and go immediately. If you do not, I will call 911 and explain why you are here. Are we clear?”

“Yes sir, I will leave. Let me make the call. I am sure we can find common ground.”

We stepped into the front room, and both sat. He got out his cell phone and made a call. “I am with Mr. Watson. I have not started any negotiation with him. Before I brought up my reason for being here, he suggested it was because Dickie was in trouble and his father wanted to help get him out of trouble. His condition to listen to anything is to speak directly with the father.”

He paused, listening. Every so often he would say, “uh huh”, then go back to listening. Finally, “Yes sir, hold on, I will ask.”

He looked at me holding the phone in his lap. “Mr. Watson, as you might imagine, this is a sensitive situation, it seems it might be possible for me to arrange a meeting, but it must be quickly, and it must be just the two of you. I would need to assure you did not contact anyone beforehand.”

I took a deep breath and let it out, slowly. “Look, you are here, I am here. Pick a place, let’s get in your car, I happen to have lost mine, and go meet. This is not complicated. I would prefer we meet in the open, you’ll pardon me for so saying but your client is the type of man to make inconveniences disappear. I have nothing left, but my life, I’d like to cling to that if I may.”

He held up a finger, wanting me to wait, put the phone back to his ear. “Did you hear that?” Then it was back to the occasional, “Uh huh”. Finally, “Let me confirm that.”

He looked at me, “Do you know Falconwood Park, near the confluence of the two rivers?”

“A great spot, not too far away, if that is the suggestion, I accept.”

“In ten minutes?”

“You got me out of bed. Let me go to the bathroom and brush my teeth and so forth, you can watch if you want. Let’s say 20 minutes and I’ll hurry.”

“Do you have a cell phone?”

“Yes, much to everyone’s, save my young son’s chagrin. It is there, on the end table. I expect it to be there, untouched on my return.”

“Well, I would think so, what do you take me for?”

“Messing with, or stealing a cell phone, would not make the list of the dishonest activities I take you for. Don’t play the harmed innocent with me. I’ll be right back.”

I didn’t take too long, but I didn’t rush, either. I went into the powder room immediately off the entry. Mr. Cheetham could be assured I took nothing in with me and came out in the same clothing. I joined him and walked over toward my phone.

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot, force of habit. Of course, we can leave it behind.”

We made our way to his car and were off to the park.

I was surprised, the last Saturday in September and the park was positively loaded with people. Cheetham got on his phone and asked Junior where he was. We got directions and walked over to a bench, on which sat Richard Newberg, Jr. Cheetham told me he would wait here, and I walked for my first meeting with the man who’d destroyed my life.

He was every bit the smug looking bastard I expected. He motioned for me to sit. He didn’t offer to shake hands; so, I didn’t need to turn him down. We sat in silence for a moment.

“Mr. Watson, may I call you Bob?”

“Call me what you like, maybe we’ll become best of friends.” My blank stare probably told him I didn’t think that likely.

“Bob, we have a real problem, and I am certain we can help one another.”

He paused for me to nod, or agree, or something. As still as I was, I was expecting a pigeon to lite on me at any moment.

“Your ex-wife is not a good person, I guess you know that. Unfortunately, her actions have led to devastating circumstances for both you and my son.”

I continued to await the pigeons.

“Since it was your wife’s actions, I was thinking there must be some way for you and me to work an arrangement so that neither you nor my son are too harshly punished.”

“Junior, and I don’t give a shit what you prefer to be called, here is what I’m thinking. Your criminal son is going to be arraigned and indicted Monday morning. If you don’t get to the point, you and I are still going to be sitting here wondering what the fuck you’re talking about.” I got still, again.

His legs were already crossed, he also crossed his arms, “I don’t think there is any need in spelling it out.”

I shook my head, “I agree. You say nothing. I do nothing. In a couple of months, we’ll hear your son has been killed in prison, which I presume we will hear with different emotions.”

He straightened to his full height, “I could take that as a threat on my son’s life.”

“Junior, stop it. Just stop it. If you want something from me, tell me. Tell me what I am to do, tell me what I will get when I do it. I will weigh whether some filthy stack of silver is worth what your son did to mine.”

He tried to look innocent, but like a wolf before sheep, he had no idea what innocent might look like. “That’s just it. My son would not hurt a living thing. It is your wife who tricked him into giving your son and adult dose of a prescription drug.”

I was happy I had watched Sally and Ed in various negotiations. No matter what was said, they sat as though someone was reading the phone book. I wanted to stand and casually strangle the life from this worthless piece of shit. Instead, I envisioned the phone book.

Apparently, that was the end of his pitch. After a short pause he said, “So, what do you think?”

“Is English your first language? I wonder because I would swear, I said you tell me what you want me to do and what I will get for it, and I will evaluate whether I’ll do it.”

Suddenly, his feet seemed interesting to him. He stared at them as he mumbled, “Understandably, I am reluctant…”

“Junior, I get it, you don’t want to say anything. We are done here. Your son will get a shiv from some righteous inmate who thinks drugging children is evil. Is there anything else?”

Junior looked from side-to-side. He stared at me, as though he were peering into my soul. I stared back, wondering if he had one. “Bob, Dickie has told me your wife has asked him to drug your children, so they can enjoy themselves, uninterrupted. She even gave him a small bag of the drug, she told him was for children.”

I shot back the obvious, “He’s in jail, just when did he reveal this evil practice to you?”

“Well, unfortunately, it has been going on for some time.”

I smiled, “That’s not unfortunate, I now have you as an accessory. You can do time, too. Maybe I can mount both of your livers above my fireplace if I am lucky enough to ever have a fireplace. If you are going to make shit up, you’d better think harder.”

He sighed, resigned to needing to say more, “OK, I can see why you have been successful. You’re no dummy. My dipshit off-spring is a walking, talking disaster. But he truly means no harm. He isn’t smart enough. You are right, if he goes to a high security prison, he’ll get what other prisoners think is justice. I must avoid that. I am sure you can come up with a reasonable story which will point the finger at your wife. My son will get some lesser sentence. If you can do that for me, I can see your old life is restored and pay a million dollars toward your son’s bright future. What do you think?”

“You are asking me to perjure myself. This is all your idea, your son hurt mine, and you want me to take all the risk.”

He was nearly squirming, now, “I am in an impossible position. I can’t do anything; it will look like I am trying to fix his case. But you are above suspicion. That is why we are talking just you and me. We will forever hold each other hostage, if either of us says anything about the other, our own crime will be revealed.”

I shook my head, “I am going to hell, no doubt about that. Selling my own son.” I paused, then continued, “I hate my wife, no doubt about that, but everything I have ever seen from her, she is a devoted mother. I fear if I make something up, it will be as bad as your effort.”

“Where does that leave us?”

“You call my old employer. You tell him to take me back as a partner, he can retain some majority ownership, but I will now be a partner. We’ll call that an act of good faith. On Monday morning, we will meet I will make up a story, along the lines you suggest. If you want to tweak the lie, it is fine with me. For the lie you requested you will give me two cashier’s checks. One for $1 million, to the trust for my son and one for $200 thousand to me, for my creative services.”

“I think we can do that.”

“Ordinarily, I would fear that your follow will be to somehow turn this around. I approached you, extorting money, it is my wife and I who are evil you and your poor spawn are victims. I want something from you at the time we make the exchange which assures you will not double-cross me. I have no idea what that looks like, but I want assurance you and I know we are obstructing justice with your proposal, and we are bound by our dishonesty to secrecy.”

“I’ll have something.”

“Monday let’s meet at 11:00 am at the Starbucks on 3rd. We can stand outside the place with our coffees and casually do our business and be on our way.”

“Agreed.”

“I expect a call before the end of Sunday, reinstating my job, an act of good faith. The rest of it, my lie to your intent, your payment for the lie, and your statement binding us in silence, at 11 on Monday. Will Mr. Cheetham give me a ride home?”

“Of course.”

Epilogue

I must admit, my story on Monday was a humdinger. It was the best croc of shit that Sally, Ed, the city Attorney, and I could come up with in a little over 10 hours. Junior was excited to hear it and gladly handed me the checks. He seemed less pleased when he was arrested for obstruction of justice.

One of the things Sally had seen to before my short night, Friday, was that I had a microphone on me. It was in my belt buckle. All Cheetham’s conversation with me was recorded; it looks as though he may be disbarred. Not only was my conversation with Junior recorded, by my belt buckle, there were four people from various law enforcement agencies in place with parabolic mics. They were camped out a block from my condo and when they heard the meet location, could get to the park while I did my ablutions.

The young city attorney was obsessed with getting Junior. Buying bonds to keep the city from settling a lawsuit was not ethical. She did not like he could bully the city and harm people, by using his money “for the public good”. She thought it racketeering. By the time it was over, she had four high ranking public officials terminated and had added a racketeering count to Junior’s indictment.

I was reinstated as a partner, holding 33% of the company. The owner retained 67% to give to his two children, enabling them to maintain control when he retires. He was most apologetic. It seems Junior gave him two options: accept a goodly sum of money and accept a nonparticipant partner whose only-ever request was I be terminated; or they would go after his clients, one-by-one offering enough discount to win them over. In the latter case, both he and I would be out of jobs. While he hated to do it to me, he did enjoy eating. Oh, did I mention, that is racketeering, too — and was added to Junior’s list of sins.

Dickie was wonderful in his own defense. With his lawyer present, telling him not to answer questions, Dickie volunteered he had inadvertently chosen the wrong bag of drugs. The one he chose was only the prescription barbiturate he was routinely giving to Marie. That was a revelation in and of itself.

Current medical practice is to use benzodiazepines instead of barbiturates. Apparently, Dickie’s method of getting drugs did not include doctors or pharmacies. He claimed, and Marie admitted, she was using these drugs for their mood-altering properties. Marie said she was told there was nothing illegal in any of them. It was not clear whether she knew it was illegal to take prescription medications, without having a prescription to take them.

Dickie, on the other hand, had graduated from prescription uppers and downers, and had moved to street drugs, like cocaine, and fentanyl. His lawyer had given up on advising Dickie and being told to shut up. Dickie knew what he was doing. Dickie said he intended, as their relationship grew, to introduce these drugs to Marie. But so far, he had not done it, so they had nothing on him.

He and his dad may get to share a cell.

Marie’s fate changed drastically in one weekend. She went from custody of the children, in our beautiful home to an orange jump-suit and 6 by 8 cell. She knew her son was being drugged; but thought them harmless. Suddenly, life was good, again.

The city settled my false arrest. The check, for more than a million went to my attorneys and to my children’s future. I was free of debt, in my home and rebuilding my life.

The date for our divorce hearing came up. Marie’s attorneys’ interest had waned, notably. One did show up and did enough that malpractice could not be added to the firm’s woes. The divorce was granted. I was awarded full custody. Marie was looking at serious prison time.