Echoes from the Grave

By Brian Clary

Jackson Garrett, a talented lawyer with an abusive childhood background reaches great heights in the courtroom while his past begins to catch up with him.

In book one Jack is recruited to take lead on a quirky lawsuit with a contentious opposing counsel that threatens the very viability of two related corporate defendants taking the reader on a series of unpredictable twists and turns culminating in a riveting court trial.

In book two Jack, having burned out with the rigors of a trial lawyer assumes the small town law firm of his former mentor to make a go at it as a “people practice” but with the mundane day-to-day office practice Jack loses his interest and turns his attention away from the practice when he learns that the old house in which he practices law has a ghostly inhabitant and his infatuation slowly jeopardizes his home, family, and his sanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781663205353

Brian Clary

Brian Clary earned a BS in political science from Sam Houston State University and a JD from South Texas College of Law. He is a board certified trial lawyer who has been continuously engaged in the practice of law since 1987. Brian is a native Houstonian who is married with two sons. Home Cookin’ is his third book.

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Copyright © 2020 Brian Clary.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-6632-0536-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-0534-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-0535-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020913050

iUniverse rev. date: 08/19/2020

CONTENTS

1 Book War With The Roses

Chapter One (1995)

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven The Trial-Day1

Chapter Twelve The Trial-Day 2

Chapter Thirteen The Trial-Day 3

Chapter Fourteen The Trial-Day 4

2 Bookthe Moonshine Hill Redemption

Chapter One Day Of Reckoning (1933)

Chapter Two Humble Beginnings (2005)

Chapter Three The Closing

Chapter Four The Good Oil Days

Chapter Five Reflections Of Angel

Chapter Six The Consultations

Chapter Seven Strange Encounters

Chapter Eight Museum Pieces

Chapter Nine The Seance

Chapter Ten Channelling The Past

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen (Fort Bend County Courthouse) Asa Walker V.silvero Rodriguez Closing Arguments

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen Heading For The Hills

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

The world breaks everyone and afterward,

some are strong at the broken places

Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms

Dedicated to Douglas Phillip Clary Sr.: All square, all forgiven.

This novel is owned and published by Aspirant, LLC.

1

BOOK

WAR WITH

THE ROSES

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CHAPTER

ONE

(1995)

Jackson Garrett relaxed in the serenity of his office with his Tony Lama ostrich skin boots perched atop his desk. Jack, as most referred to him stood above average height and had a trim build except for a pesky bulge occupying his waistline. His complexion was naturally ruddy and he had neatly trimmed hair that was jet black except for emerging wisps of gray at the temples. On this day he wore iron creased wrangler blue jeans, a white button down starched shirt, and a navy blue blazer. He was trading glances between his monthly Texas Bar Journal and his office window which provided a panoramic view of the hazy Houston skyline. After reading the memorials for fellow lawyers that had reached their reward since the last issue he discarded the periodical and sat staring at the light blue KLM-Royal Dutch 747 approaching from the east. The jumbo jet was easing across the sky as if in slow-motion and Jack checked his watch and thought, right on time, but how does that thing fly?

Jack’s tranquility vanished when his phone intercom buzzed and he cringed knowing that the next voice he would hear would be that of his paralegal. She was the obese and overbearing niece of the founding partner of this small boutique litigation law firm with which Jack had joined three months earlier. Her name was Loretta Sowell and Jack often mused that the last three letters of her surname were silent and she had hired on with the firm only after wearing out her welcome at three separate law offices in Southern California. Law firms tend toward a caste system, one comprised of tiers of power with partners of seniority at the top, followed by junior partners, then the senior associates, junior associates, law clerks and paralegals. Considering Loretta’s pedigree working for a lowly associate was out of the question, but none of the other partners would willingly work with her. This included her own uncle who cited fears of nepotism charges from the rank and file if he took her under his charge. None of the other partners bought that excuse, but seniority does have its privileges and as such when Jackson, the newest partner in the firm was late for a partner’s meeting Loretta was assigned to him in absentia. Though Jack detested every molecule of Loretta’s being he realized she could not be reprimanded, much less fired, and she was keenly cognizant of that fact and took full advantage of her tenured status.

Are you in there? Loretta screeched.

Where do you think I am Jack said to himself, then responded, I’m here, what is it?

"There’s a Damien on the phone."

Damien? Jack questioned.

"Yes, like the name of that possessed kid in The Omen," she said tersely.

I would rather speak with him and his dog, than you, he thought, then asked, Is that his first name or last?

How would I know?

Asking would be one way, Jack said, then heard an audible sigh and the line changed to on hold chamber music.

When Loretta returned, she informed, I think he said his name is Esquire Damien.

Are you sure he didn’t say Squire Daymon?

Possibly, but either way he wants to talk to you, do you want to call or not?

Sure Loretta, put whoever the heck it is through to me.

When Jack’s phone rang he pushed the blinking button, and said, Hello.

The caller on the other end, answered, Hello back, you Northside Houston white trash son of a bitch.

Though now certain that the caller was Jack’s friend and former mentor the harshness of the comment and the chosen words thrust 33-year-old Jack’s mind back two decades. This delivered him to an era when similar words and tone of voice were neither facetious nor rhetorical, but rather a prelude to violence.

Please daddy, don’t

You do this on purpose don’t you?

No sir, I just—

Bullshit, you push, push, push until it comes to this and don’t you deny it god damn it or you’ll get it worse, the man said, and the youngster, now a veteran of such episodes cowered knowing that he was powerless to stop the inevitable. In anticipation of the first salvo Jackson stood still, closed his eyes then suffered a slap across his cheek followed by a backhand to his forehead causing the youngster to drop to his knees.

Stand up and take it like a man.

Jack rose on to his PF flyer sneakers, and sobbed, Please daddy, I’ll behave.

It’s too late, you should’ve thought about that before it got to this, the man said, delivering a jab to his son’s midsection taking his breath away and causing him to double over. Jackson instinctively pivoted to an oblique position to defend the next blow, but instead the man grabbed Jackson from behind, lifted him by his torso to chest high, and flung him downward and on to the hard vinyl asbestos floor tiles. Jackson laid prone on the floor and felt first his underwear followed by his Sears and Roebuck Toughskin brand jeans becoming saturated with an involuntary flow of warm urine.

The man stared down at his trembling child, and said, You pissed your goddamn pants, didn’t you?

Sorry sir I didn’t mean to.

Sorry doesn’t cut it the man bellowed, and he again slapped his son across the face and added, you take those pants and your drawers off, then put them in the wash and if your mother asks about it you tell her that you couldn’t hold it, you hear?

Yes sir, Jackson whimpered and unsnapped the button on his jeans and removed all of his clothes including his sox, and though he had succeeded in suppressing his flow of tears, and his bladder was now empty Jack could not stop his involuntary double breathing hyperventilation.

You stop that right now, do you hear me? The man demanded, but Jackson was incapable of controlling his convulsing lungs. "I mean it, you stop it or you’re getting it worse.

Jack, its Squire, can you hear me? the voice on the other end of the phone line said jolting Jack back to the present.

Jack muttered. Yes … um I hear you and I was distracted by something, and as far as being a Northside white trash it takes one to know one.

You didn’t defend the son of a bitch part.

Isn’t that implied by our chosen profession? Jack said.

Touché, Squire conceded.

It’s good to hear your voice, Sigmund, Jack said, using a moniker that Squire Daymon earned by majoring in psychology in college.

Ditto, but did I rile your secretary, she seemed pissed that I—

She’s always like that.

Oh, that’s too bad, Squire said. I called your old firm and they gave me this number, what happened?

That’s a long story, but to what do I owe this call?

I took on civil case and the further it progresses the more unwieldy it’s becoming. It started as a benign product warranty matter, but it’s getting a little hairy and un-neighborly to boot. The primary case involves a malcontent couple bitching about a product they bought with their swimming pool and I represent both the national company and the guy that owns the local franchise that built the pool. The plaintiff’s lawyer has now joined a company near Cleveland Ohio that distributed the device at issue and I’ve been asked to defend them as well.

What’s the product?

It’s a contraption that makes ozone and it’s supposed to treat the pool water without using chlorine.

Does it work? Jack said.

My folks say it does, but obviously the other side disagrees. The model plaintiffs initially received did have some mechanical issues, but my folks coordinated with the Ohio outfit to provide a newer and better replacement. Nevertheless, here they are neck deep in litigation and I don’t like the tone this is taking and I’m getting spooked on conflicts of interest.

I understand, where’s it filed?

The one I need help with is pending in Houston and as you know I don’t have a lot of experience there aside from a rare appearance in the Family Law Center. They’ve filed two similar suits over in Fort Bend County and I’ve answered those as well. There may be more on the way and they’re hinting at going class action, and what’s more the lawyer on the other side is an asshole.

Who is he?

It’s a she, and her name is Simone Arreola, Daymon said.

I’ve never heard of her, but I don’t blame you for being concerned, Jack said. In whose court did the Houston case land?

Let me see, Squire said, and Jack heard him rustling through his file. It’s before the Honorable Ross McClelland, do you know him?

I’ve handled a few hearings in front of him, but never a trial. However, several years ago a couple of partners from my prior firm got in a dust up in his court and it got nasty. Sanction motions were abounding and our senior partner ended up on the losing end of one and was saddled with community service costing him two nights manning the legal hot line for indigents. The primary complaint was the judge’s reluctance to take control, issue rulings and the sanctioned partner theorized that McClelland has his eye on following in the footsteps of his predecessor by getting a federal appointment.

The lifetime gig, huh? Squire Daymon said.

Right, and to reach that goal he needed a fairly clean appellate record and one way to avoid negative ink in the case reporters is to abstain from signing contested orders.

Jack, you know I don’t typically handle cases such as this and I’m a fish out of water in your county, I owe, I will she Jack do you reckon you could lend a hand?

What do you have in mind?

I’d be most grateful if you would represent the Ohio defendant and take the lead on the case as a whole, Squire said.

When is the appearance due for them?

Squire said. A week from Monday.

What’s your fee arrangement with the pool company?

I have an hourly billing contract, but only at ninety-five bucks per.

Why so low? Jack said.

When I get a business client instead of a people client I want to keep my foot in the door for future work.

Undervaluing your services isn’t the way to do that, Jack said.

You’re right, but don’t feel bound by my rate charge the new defendant whatever you and they are comfortable with.

Is there anything pressing on the court’s calendar?

That’s the reason I am calling, there is a hearing set.

For when? Jack asked.

There was a pause, then Squire said, Tomorrow morning, can you do it?

That’s a little short on notice, isn’t it?

I know, but I filed a motion and before I even set it for a hearing the court coordinator called out of the blue and said that the judge wants us down there at nine.

Come to think of it my sanctioned partner complained of McClelland’s impromptu hearings, some at odd hours including evenings, but for me to consider this we have to get together right away.

I can meet you wherever you want where are you practicing now?

The building is off Memorial Drive, but I was about to head home.

Where’s home? Squire said.

I have a loft downtown close to the courthouse, but you were kind enough to consider me for the case so I should come out your way, are you still in the bank building?

For now, but that’s my own long story, Squire said. Listen, I’m happy to come into town and make it convenient for you. I’ll return the file to Miss Purdy and she’ll fax you my motion and plaintiff’s response and I’ll hit the road.

Sounds fine, Jack said, and provided his fax number. I’m happy to discuss this, but just know I’m not committing to anything.

Understood, so where do you want to meet?

Do you remember the Barrister’s Den?

I haven’t been there in a coon’s age, but what self-respecting South Texas College of Law alum forgets that haunt?

Squire Daymon steered his Dodge pickup on to the interstate heading south and found the traffic tolerable since at that time of day most commuters were traveling north out of downtown. Before long the Houston skyline appeared on the horizon and Squire took the downtown exit and struggled to recall the streets and cross streets needed to reach his destination. He made two additional turns the latter of which placed him on San Jacinto Street and Squire glanced wistfully at his alma mater as he passed it by. From there he knew precisely where to go and moments later he was on the parking lot of the Barrister’s Den.

This establishment occupied a large rustic red brick building that was once home to the William Morrison Fruit Company and the historical marker on the front of the building chronicled its erection as circa 1898. The Great Depression was not kind to the fruit industry on the Texas Gulf Coast and eventually the building was sold. Thereafter it operated as a speakeasy until the passage of the 21st amendment and had openly operated as a bar ever since.

When Squire entered he paused and squinted until his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the interior, then marveled at how markedly similar the place looked as it had for decades. He made his way past the jury room, a designated area where law students had gathered for years to study and drink, or to sometimes drink and not study. He then ambled through the recreation area which featured video games, dartboards, pinball machines and coin operated pool tables and the walls in this area showed damage from wayward cue balls and physical disputes over gaming contests. As he walked that area Squire heard some all too familiar sounds, including the piercing zapping from the overhead electrostatic cigarette smoke precipitators, the chiming and pinging of the pinball machines, and the clicking of the pool balls.

There were three separate bars in the Barrister’s Den and the one closest to the front was the noon saloon. This segregated area had its own entrance from the side street and from late morning until 3:00 PM it offered food and libations to the downtown Houston office workers and executives. Next was sidebar and it catered to the ladies offering a variety of wines, specialty cocktails and a tapas menu. Last but not least was the back bar which was a more traditional watering hole serving ample selections of liquor, wine and beer and offered a full food menu from 4:00 PM until closing. Squire’s destination was latter which and as indicated by its name it was located at the rear of the building.

When he neared the bar he spied Jackson Garrett atop a stool conversing with their mutual friend and bartender, Pedro Delagarza. Pedro, or Pete as they lounge denizens referred to him was a fellow student at the law school during the time that Squire Daymon attended classes there. During that era Pete was such a frequent visitor of the Barrister’s Den that he was often asked by the management to tend the bar when regular barkeeps failed to make their shift. After flunking bar exam twice Pete decided to make bartending his career and often proclaimed that he had earned more money behind the Back Bar than he would have in front of the bar in the courtroom.

Pete glanced up from washing glasses, spotted Squire, did a double take, and said, I’ll be Goddamned if it ain’t Sigmund in the flesh.

Squire Daymon beamed at being recognized, and said, It’s great to see you Pete, how the hell are you?

I’m fine as frog hair, thank you.

Daymon shook Jack’s hand, and said, You’re looking well my friend, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.

You didn’t, and I was just catching up with Pete.

What can I get for you?

I’ll have one of those, Squire said, pointing to the Miller Lite longneck sitting in front of Jack.

You got it, Pete said, and reached into a galvanized tub of ice, removed the bottle, used a church key to pop the cap and placed it on the bar.

Squire took a swig, scanned the room, and took a glance down the bar and said, Looks like business is good.

It’s always good, Pete said. "As I like to say, people drink when they’re happy, they drink when they’re sad, they drink during the good times and drink when they’re bad."

Do some drink and leave without paying? Jack said, pointing to a sign above the bar reading, If you’re drinking to forget please pay in advance.

That happens, but thankfully not too often, though here comes someone that’s always a threat, Pete said.

The two men pivoted on their barstools and looked back to see a figure walking past the jury room.

That guy looks familiar? Squire said.

It’s Johnny Pacheco, Jack said. You two met a couple of years ago at that bender we had after the Advanced Personal injury seminar at The Galleria.

I remember him now and he’s quite the character, but what’s he doing?

They watched on as Johnny dumped a full Houston Chronicle newspaper from its clear plastic wrapper on to a pool table, and then placed all but one section in a garbage can, and began examining the remainder.

I know exactly what he’s up to and that’s the sports section he laid on the table to study the betting lines and soon he’ll to walk to one of the payphones and make a call, Jack said.

To a bookie? Squire Daymon said.

Yep, Johnny will bet on anything, right Pete?

Absolutely, and I can prove it. The worst moment for the sports better is the day after the final game of the NFL season. College football has been over for a weeks and there ain’t shit worth betting on and most just suffer through it, but guys like Johnny get awfully depressed.

There’s college basketball by then, Squire reasoned.

"That’s true Sigmund, and guys like Johnny will eventually resort to wagering on it, but that’s no substitute for football. So get this, last February Johnny brings this skank up here for Valentine’s Day, after all what spells amore like our seven dollar steak night, right? They started fussing and it had something to do with Johnny falling asleep after they had sex and apparently he had his enjoyment, but left her feeling thwarted. The squabble ended with Johnny cussing her out and as an encore he went nuclear dropped the C-word thus ending that blossoming romance. She grabbed her cigarettes and as she stormed away she addressed the women at the side bar, saying, Listen up ladies don’t go home with Johnny Pacheco since once he gets his jollies its over. Johnny Countered, "I would have done you again, but I was afraid of getting arrested for necrophilia. Then, like a soccer announcer she yelled as she’s exited, He shoots he snores."

How did Johnny react to that? Jack said.

He didn’t give shit and actually seemed pleased to see her go. As a consolation prize he got two steak dinners, but when he finished eating he began to fret and became antsy. This was before we got the video poker machines so Johnny asked me for the remote and began scanning through the channels for televised sports and eventually he happened upon a bowling tournament and made the call.

He bet on bowling? Squire said incredulously.

It’s true Sigmund, I swear an oath to my mother, Pete said. It was some sort of championship deal and Vegas actually had a line on it.

That’s sick, Jack said.

That’s Johnny and you of all people should know that.

He’s always been the pebble in my shoe, but deep down inside he’s a good-hearted guy and for better or worse he’ll always be my friend, Jack said.

How’d you two get acquainted in the first place? Squire said.

I met him in law school and I took to him right away. He was different and stood out like a sore thumb and as you might imagine there was a vast contrast between him and the typical law school demographic. There was the New York accent, the slicked-back graying hair, the pasty complexion, and those misaligned teeth yellowed from all the years of smoking. Johnny was also older than most of the students and he dressed essentially as you see him now, Jack said, referring to Johnny’s attire consisting of powder blue polyester slacks, black tennis shoes, and the off white silk shirt two sizes too small and unbuttoned to the middle of his chest.

Come to think of it he was dressed just like that at that seminar, Squire recollected.

Jack said. That get up is like his daily uniform except when he’s in court, which he rarely is.

How does he make a living if he doesn’t go to court? Squire said.

"He’s alluded to maintaining connections in New York that he facilitates for and I never knew exactly what he meant by that, but then again I never asked. When he’s not doing that he has tentacles in various local communities and does get some cases mostly car wrecks and slip and falls, and he refers them out."

Once Johnny Pacheco consummated his wagering transaction he hung up the phone, turned and saw Jack, and made a beeline to the Back Bar. Well, well, well, the big time lawyer decided to go slumming.

I come here occasionally I only live few a blocks away.

How would I know since you’ve never invited me over?

Jack ignored the complaint, and said, It’s good to see you Johnny, and we were just talking about you, do you remember Squire Daymon?

I never forget a fellow sailor and we tied one on after that CLE conference, it took me two days to get over that one, Johnny said. Remind me of the story behind your odd name.

There was a defender at the Alamo with the last name Daymon and his first name was Squire so my dad felt that would be a good moniker for me.

I guess he meant well, Johnny said. Pete, I’ll have the usual.

Crown and Coke, coming right up.

So what are youse two doing here anyway? Johnny asked.

"Did you hear that Squire, youse?" Jack said.

Johnny rolled his eyes, and said, "Would it make you feel at home if I said y’all?"

When in Rome, Pete said.

Jack said. To your question Johnny, Squire and I are discussing a case that we might joint venture.

Oh, is it a big one?

I’m trying to figure that out.

Tell me about it perhaps I’ll lend some of my expertise.

If you must know, it involves a defective swimming pool, Jack explained.

That’s it, a fucking swimming pool? Johnny said, and Jack nodded. Well, I hope there’s a drowned kid somewhere in the picture.

What a sentiment, Pete said, handing Johnny his drink.

It’s nothing like that, but it’s a high stakes consumer fraud case that could go class-action, Squire said.

Now you’re talking, and if that’s true I’m in, Johnny said eagerly.

This is way above your pay grade, Jack said.

You don’t know my depth of capabilities, but Jack I’ve offered you plaintiff’s cases to partner up on and you won’t do it, yet you’ll take one from this guy?

One reason is that your cases are usually garbage.

You can’t cherry pick, if you’re not willing to help with the lower end cases why should I send you the bell ringers and I do get some good cases from time to time, you know.

Yeah, and when you do you send them to the big guns like Mithoff, O’Malley, Racehorse Haynes or Jamail, and by the way, we don’t have the plaintiffs in this one, we’re defending the case.

Johnny shook his head disapprovingly, and said, Jack when are you going to get on the right side of the docket?

I make a good living defending cases.

Maybe, but you’ll never get rich slaving for fucking ungrateful heartless insurance companies.

No joke Johnny, Squire and I have got to talk about the case, there’s a hearing in the morning.

In who’s court?

Ross McClelland.

That’s not the worst draw for a defendant.

What do you know about him? Squire said.

Nice guy, but he tries to be a mediator instead of a judge, and fat chance on getting a contested order signed by him, Johnny said.

I guess you were right, Squire said.

Jack nodded, then said, Johnny, will you please excuse us now?

Fine, Johnny said, and walked two stools over and began placing coins into a video poker machine.

Squire said. First things first, did you get the stuff we faxed over?

I did, and I don’t get all the noise over a four-hundred-dollar piece of equipment.

Big case, huh? Johnny said, under his breath.

That’s what I thought at first and while it shouldn’t be a big deal they’re making it one, and it’s going to be difficult to settle, Squire said. My client maintains that this is all a bunch of bullshit and that they’re never going to pay the jackass on the other side a dime.

Jack placed a legal pad on the bar, and said. Let’s start with the players, I read that the plaintiffs are Mr. and Mrs. Rose, but who all did you answer for?

The national client is Aqua-Vista Enterprises of California, and as I mentioned on the phone I also represent the local branch and its franchisee that they sued individually.

What’s his name?

Conrad Eigenauer.

Jack looked up from his note taking, and said, Eisenhower?

No, Eigenauer, Squire repeated, then spelled the name aloud.

Pete said. It sounds like you’re saying Eisenhower with a hair lip—what kind of name is that?

He’s probably a member of the tribe, Johnny said.

An Indian? Squire Daymon said.

No, he’s likely a Jew and chances are that all associated with him will be too, Johnny said, then coughed a stream of smoke upward, resulting in a static uproar from the precipitator suspended from the rafters above the bar.

He may be right, Squire said. The principals are all related somehow and though I’ve yet to meet the others, Conrad wears a gold necklace with a diamond encrusted six pointed pendant.

What’d I tell you? Johnny said.

Who all has been deposed? Jack asked.

Only Conrad so far.

Jack glanced curiously at Squire, and said, You put up your client before questioning the plaintiffs?

I know it’s a rookie mistake, but my guy was convinced that once the cards were on the table this thing would just go away and besides, Conrad didn’t want to spring for the cost of the court reporter.

Hmm … imagine that, Johnny murmured.

How did his deposition go? Jack said.

That Arreola chick does do an aggressive cross examination, but Conrad held his own.

What’s the name of the principle of the national company?

Jacob Roth.

Look who’s right again, I hope you got a retainer up front.

That’s enough Johnny, Jack reproached, Anyone else?

Squire said. Mr. Roth has a business partner, but he’s in real bad health.

What’s his name?

Sydney Shied.

Shit man, is there a Gentile in the whole fucking case? Johnny said, coughed violently, snuffed out his cigarette and rose to go to the restroom.

Once out of earshot, Squire said, Is he some sort of an anti-Semite?

No, Johnny’s just being Johnny, and he’s actually Jewish by heritage. Pacheco is a Portuguese name and according to him his father’s side of the family are descendants of a converted Jew.

Pete replaced Squire Daymon’s beer, then confided, Johnny had an uncle that died at Auschwitz.

Really? Jack said, dismayed.

Yeah, he tripped and fell out of a guard tower.

About the hearing tomorrow, give me the history of how it led up to this, Jack said.

It starts with the judge setting the case for trial in December, no one asked for it, it just showed up in the mail.

Jack made a mental calculation, and said, That’s just over three months.

I know, but why would the judge set it without one of the parties requesting it, they don’t do that in Montgomery County?

Most Harris County judges are apt to unilaterally set a case once it’s been on file for a certain period of time. They don’t want cases lingering on their dockets and becoming a problem at election time, and while doing so works fine for some lawsuits it can cause havoc in others.

Like this one, we didn’t have a single hearing until he did that, Squire said.

Here’s what we’ll do, you appear for the defendants and I’ll act as your local counsel that way I can participate without committing to the case.

You’ll take the lead, right? Squire said, and Jack nodded. Do you mind getting there a little early so we can talk some more before the hearing?

Sure, there’s a café by the courthouse that I often use to meet with clients, are you familiar with it?

Is it the one close to that bail bondsman’s office?

There’s a jillion bondsmen around there, but this place is right across San Jacinto Street from the courthouse. You’ll find it, and I’ll meet you there between eight and eight-thirty.

Johnny checked his wristwatch, and said, Pete, turn the tube to channel thirty-three, would you?

Sure, do you have a little action going? Pete said, glancing furtively toward Squire and Jack.

Always, Johnny said.

Jack said. What’s the line … Earl Anthony minus six pins?

Johnny glared at Pete, who simply shrugged.

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CHAPTER

TWO

Aren’t you cold? Jack asked when he entered the café the following morning.

Squire flinched, and said, Shit man, you scared me, am I what?

Cold, it’s getting nasty out there and you’re wearing a knit blazer.

That’s why am in here, Squire said, then eyed Jack from his western boots to the monogramed overcoat, up to his silk necktie. That’s a mighty swanky ensemble, I’d sure get stares wearing a getup into the Montgomery County courthouse.

Jack doffed the overcoat, brushed the beaded droplets from it, and laid it neatly on the back of the booth. He then took the seat across from Squire, and said, After digesting all of this I think you have a good motion.

Squire glanced hopefully toward Jack, and said, Do you really think so?

You should’ve requested the plaintiff’s depositions sooner, but beyond that I think it’s a no-brainer. The only question to me is whether McClelland is going to rule on it or not.

He has to rule on it one way or another, right?

"He doesn’t have to do anything, he’s a judge, Jack said. What I don’t understand is why plaintiff’s won’t provide sooner dates."

One excuse is that Mr. Rose and his two brothers run some sort of company and opposing counsel claims that they’re really busy.

Have you confirmed the existence of such a business? Jack said.

"Yes, it’s near Sugarland and I drove by the address awhile back and the sign out front read Rose-Bros. Network Solutions.

It sounds like they work with companies on their internet technology.

Squire said. I’ve heard about that on the news, it’s that world web super highway deal, but I think it’s just another passing fad.

By the way, I looked up Arreola, and she’s a board certified family law attorney and most of those around here are a pain to deal with and obstruction and contentiousness is the order of the day.

That’s her cup of tea, all right, Squire said.

Can I get you something Mr. Garrett, asked a haggard looking woman wearing a brown waitress uniform, and she stood poised with a pencil and order pad in hand.

Jack said, Not this time Ms. Autry, but thank you.

Are you sure, I’m buying? Squire said.

Positive, Jack said, and checked his watch. We ought to be getting over there, perhaps there’s a chance to work this out before the hearing.

Hope springs eternal, Squire said, then then tossed a one-dollar bill and two quarters on the table, then without Squire noticing Jack added a five. They exited the café, crossed the street and paced headlong into the blustery West wind and toward the Harris County courthouse.

I can’t recall a day this cold this early in the fall, can you? Jack said.

No, and I am underdressed, but look at those poor sons of bitches over there, Squire said, referring to several bundled up panhandlers perched on the concrete wall surrounding the courthouse lawn. All but two were holding handwritten signs with two claiming homeless veteran status, one professed the willingness to work for food and yet another’s strip of rain soaked cardboard simply said, God bless.

Jack said. Those same guys have been haunting this area for as long as I’ve been trying cases here.

They look wild eyed, Squire observed.

They’re a little nutty, but they’re also harmless.

Should we give them some money? Squire asked.

No, there are a half dozen shelters in this part of downtown alone and any one of which would take them in, provide three squares a day, and give them a warm bed, but they won’t go because they can’t drink or do drugs there. That’s the reason they’re out here shivering and I don’t want my money encouraging that behavior, however I do make one exception, check out that fella over there, Jack said, pointing to a thin black man emerging from behind a spreading oak wearing a tattered London Fog trench coat and on his head sat a heavily stained Russian trooper’s hat.

What about him?

His name is Napoleon Mitchell, and take a gander at his sign, Jack said.

Daymon ventured a peek at the sodden poster board being held at waist level which read; conducting alcohol research—need funding.

Jack reached into a pocket in his overcoat, lifted a small silver money clip from it, and removed a ten dollar bill. He handed the sawbuck to the researcher, and said, Nap, any breakthroughs with your experiments?

Yes sir, Mr. Jack, the near toothless man said in a thick Jamaican dialect. Last night I had a quart of malt liquor breakthrough the paper sack.

For goodness sakes man, get the stop-and-rob to double bag it.

Just likes I do my ladies, the cheerful panhandler said, releasing a raspy burst of laughter.

Stay warm Nap.

Yes sir Mr. Jack, God bless you and good luck in court.

As they walked on, Squire said, Did you notice that his trench coat was monogramed on the cuffs with the same initials as yours.

Huh, what are the chances? Jack said.

Squire followed Jack up the steps to the courthouse, and they entered and after clearing security, Jack said, McClelland is on five so let’s take the elevator.

They stood at the elevator bank until they heard a ding and watched as the door struggled to slide open. Squire peeked inside and thought it was empty until he noticed a woman sitting on a small plastic stool. It was the elevator operator and she sat stoically facing forward with her hand on the lever that controlled the movement of the elevator and beneath her chair sat a small purse and two cans of Lysol.

Good morning Juanita, fifth floor please, Jack said, as they entered. The woman offered only a subtle nod of her head in return, then rotated the lever which propelled them upward.

As the elevator car shook and rattled as it rose, Squire addressed its operator, saying, I bet this job has its ups and downs.

The humorless woman glanced scornfully at him and said, Well I’ll just be damned twenty-one years on this stool and I’ve never heard that one.

Once they entered courtroom Squire leaned toward Jack and whispered, That’s Simone Arreola in the green pantsuit.

Their opponent appeared to be in her mid-forties and she sat biding her time at counsel table tapping her file with a Mont Blanc pen. When she sensed the two men nearing she turned, scowled at them contemptuously and then turned away. Arreola had spiked white hair a furrowed forehead and around her lips were the subtle lines of a once chronic smoker, but Jack noticed most her narrowly set piercing dark eyes.

Squire said. Simone, this is my co-counsel Jackson Garrett.

It takes two lawyers to handle a motion hearing?

I’m acting as local counsel, since Squire does most of his litigation in Montgomery County.

The more the merrier, but it won’t change the outcome, Arreola smirked.

Do you want to try to work this out before taking up the court’s time?

Arreola’s eyes narrowed even further, and she said, I already made my proposal-okay?

You did and it’s unreasonable, Jack said. We either need a trial continuance or you have to offer sooner dates for your client’s depositions.

I’ve heard all that and the answer is the same, no. It’s either my plan, which I take umbrage at you calling unreasonable, or no plan at all.

Lay out your plan for me so we’re on the same page, Jack said.

That’s why interlopers like you piss me off, Arreola said. I’ve already explained this in detail to the guy next to you, the one I thought was handling the case. Now you show up with those silly cockroach killers on your feet sticking your nose into this and want me to rehash the case history, and I’m not so going to do it.

Jack motioned to Squire and they walked to the unoccupied counsel table, took seats, and he whispered, You weren’t kidding about her.

So much for working it out in advance, Squire lamented.

She’s a typical family lawyer and we can’t reason with her, so we have to persuade the judge, Jack said, and acknowledged the courtroom bailiff as he passed their table on his way to his desk.