On Ice '93: A Tale Twisted in Time

By LLoyd Z. Pierce

It was an ordinary day when Dr. Rikkard Van Haupt learned that the city wanted to tear down his house to build a new city project. It was an ordinary day when Van Haupt contacted his attorney, Jack O' Rourke, to help him fight City Hall over their plan to destroy a home that had been in his family for five generations. Then it happened! An e

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lloyd Z. Pierce
• Release date: Sep 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781535616577

LLoyd Z. Pierce

Lloyd Z. Pierce is a lifelong Chicagoan. He is a father of four sons and has worked in a variety of occupations,including business consulting, sales and marketing management, stock brokerage, education, and radio advertising. He started writing for work, but soon found that the bedtime stories he told his kids were helping his creativity and quality at work. His sons encouraged him to try longer formats, like full-length novels. He has also coached speech and drama at the secondary level. He would also like to thank his wife, Mary, for her patience and Ellen Thornton for help with the initial editing.

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On Ice ‘93

Lloyd Z. Pierce

Copyright © 2019 Lloyd Z. Pierce

All rights reserved. No part(s) of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form, or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval systems without prior expressed written permission of the author of this book.

ISBNs

ePub: 978-1-5356-1657-7

mobi: 978-1-5356-1658-4

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter One

I’m Jack O’Rourke

About a year ago my life changed drastically. I was working for the prominent Chicago law firm of Groff, Lilly, Pyle, Fiat, and Coyle. As an attorney with only three years of experience, I had done quite well, I guess one would say, to advance through the firm as far as I had. With three of the partners facing retirement, my opportunities were increasing every day. Unexpectedly, on a Saturday morning, I received a phone call at home. It was Marsha McGann, Mr. Lilly’s secretary.

Hello, Mr. O’Rourke?

Yes?

Marsha McGann. Mr. Lilly called me and told me to give you a message. He would like to see you in his office at seven o’clock sharp on Monday morning.

What’s up?

I really don’t know, sir. That’s all he told me.

Very well. Thank you.

See you Monday.

As I hung up the phone, I began wondering what was on his mind. It must be the Phillips case, it had to be. My wife, Mary, stuck her head out of the kitchen.

Who was that?

Marsha McGann.

Who?

Marsha McGann, Mr. Lilly’s secretary. I have to meet with him on Monday morning.

You’re not in trouble, are you?

No, no way. It’s probably about this estate case that I’ve been working on.

What about it?

I don’t know. The ole man didn’t tell her about it. He’s likely to have some approach or detail that he wants me to follow.

He’s always been nice to you, hasn’t he? she asked as she stepped out of the kitchen.

That’s true. The man’s a genius. He’s forgotten more law than most attorneys ever learn.

So what’s special about this case?

Nothing really. It’s a will being contested. The father cut the stepson out of the will. He thought the kid was a freeloader and a bum. So now the stepson wants his piece of the value of the estate.

Is he a freeloader and a bum?

He doesn’t work, go to school, or do anything productive that I can tell. On top of that, he’s got a beard down to here and looks and smells like he hasn’t bathed in weeks.

Gross! Are you prepared?

Yeah, pretty much.

Pretty much? Remember what you said after the last meeting you had with Lilly. Finicky, stickler for details, and so on and so forth.

My wife sounds more like my conscience than my conscience. My conscience wasn’t finished talking.

"When’s the meeting?

Seven. Monday morning.

Are the papers at home?

No, they’re in the office.

You’d better get down there right now. Can you get in?

Yeah, there’s a guard on duty in the lobby but he knows me.

OK, get going. I’ve got to go to the store to pick up some stuff for dinner tomorrow. Remember Phil and Eileen are coming over.

Oh, hell! I had totally forgotten the dinner plans we had made weeks earlier.

That’s going to take a lot of time tomorrow. I may have to stay at the office and prep tonight.

All right, but call me and let me know when you’ll be home.

What, and let your other lover escape out the window?

Very funny. Hey, Romeo, you’d better hurry. The next train leaves around two.

With that, she grabbed the car keys off the kitchen table and took off for the store.

I sat on the edge of the couch, wondering, Is there anything that I could have missed? I’ve turned every stone, prepared everything. I tried to reassure myself. I’ve handled dozens of these cases. What could be wrong?

Then I looked at my watch. I only had fifteen minutes to catch that train. I ran through the apartment like a chicken with its head cut off, then quickly down the hall to the elevator. Why do they always take so long! When I got on there were two women with laundry baskets gabbing up a storm. When we stopped at the third floor one got off…almost. She held the doors and they kept talking. My impatience started to show.

Ladies, I have a train to catch. In return, two perturbed sneers.

See you later—when we can talk.

I made the train with no time to spare. It pulled out before I could even find a seat. I grabbed one quickly and collapsed into it. At least I’d have fifty minutes to relax and not worry. With the train easing down the track, I laid my head back and stared out of the tinted windows. Within a few minutes, the train had passed from the suburbs and into the city. The transition was noticeable as we passed from the new and neat to older styles, still well kept. The deeper we delved into the city, the more the houses told a story of urban movement. The closer to downtown, the more dilapidated the buildings looked. Many were so well made in their day, yet now were hollowed-out, gutted shells of their former glory. Still, in many there were people living, surviving, and fighting through another day. Then we passed some semi-barren blocks where the old had been torn down. Graffiti lined the walls and fences of what was left. Shortly came the quick change, new modern developments and offices on the edge of downtown. This was gentrification in its finest moment. As the train entered the station, the daydream flickered out and the neon of reality flashed on. The few blocks to the office passed quickly. Entering our office building was like walking into a tomb. Cold, stark marble walls climbing forty feet high made the security guard look quite small.

Can I help you, sir? the guard said efficiently.

I’m Jack O’Rourke with––

Mr. O’Rourke, I’m sorry, I should have recognized you, but I don’t see you down here on Saturdays very much.

No problem. I may be up there for some time. My anxiety was showing.

That’s fine. Just make sure you sign the log when you leave.

I quickly looked at his nametag. Thanks, Mike.

I suddenly felt guilty. All this time, he saw hundreds of people and he knew my name. I passed him every day and I didn’t know his. As I stepped onto the elevator, it filled my thought to the top. I was lucky and had a good job. Was I getting my head in the clouds and forgetting my roots? It was a mean reality check.

For the next four and a half hours I checked, cross-checked, reviewed, pulled case histories of similar cases, and organized documents. When I was done, I was exhausted. My anxiety was now diminished to a pleasant curiosity. I packed up and headed for home. Down in the lobby, as I signed out, I made a point to do something important.

Good night, Mike.

Good night, Mr. O’Rourke.

As I stepped out into the night air, I had two reasons now to feel good.

The rest of the weekend passed quickly, with all of the activity on Sunday night. Mary, in all her domestic wisdom, managed to hold a smashing party and still have the guests on their way by ten.

Jack, why don’t you go to bed now? I’ll finish up.

Honey, you’re the best!

I knew that alarm would come too soon. I remembered getting in bed… Ding! The alarm? Already?

Time to wake up.

I’m dreaming.

Come on, you’ve got a meeting!

It wasn’t a dream. That was the alarm. Lifting my body seemed like way too much work for such a little job. The shower helped, but Mary had coffee ready and in my hand as I headed in to get dressed.

This is the third time I tied this and it’s still not right! I said, emerging as a dressed person.

You’re not going to wear that one? Mary said with obvious doubt.

Yeah. Why not?

It’s just this giant stain right in the middle.

After a brief panic, I found a reasonable substitute. We had a conversation during a brief breakfast. I had no idea what it was about. The second cup of coffee got me out the door and on the train by five thirty. The train was packed at five thirty in the morning! I thought to myself, These people have got to be nuts. What job is worth getting up in the middle of the night, going to work in the dark, and fighting crowds like this? Oh, mine. They’re probably saying the same thing. I saw a seat at the end of the car and took it. It didn’t take much motion to rock me back to sleep. Just when I had relaxed enough, the train crossed over a bad patch of tracks. It balked, then bolted. I snapped up in my seat.

Real nice! The more you pay the rougher it gets, exclaimed a rather caustic young woman who had taken the seat next to mine during my somatic period.

That was pretty rough. I wonder what the problem was.

They probably hit some of the padding in their contract! She turned and gave me a half grin, displaying her jaded humor. I pulled myself together and prepared for the exit crunch that was only moments away. My stop was in the heart of the loop, so detraining took about five minutes. People scurried from the station like mice from an open cupboard, zigzagging between cars and taxis, off to the spires and towers of business empires.

When I arrived at the office, it was like a wasteland, with only two or three secretaries weaving across hallways. The corridor to my office seemed so long, but I wasn’t used to seeing it empty. My secretary, Chris Kelly, hadn’t arrived yet. I picked up my materials and headed to the executive wing of offices. The large wooden doors to Mr. Lilly’s office were like the Gates to the Forbidden City. I stopped outside to do a last check of my appearance. As I stepped through the doorway, my tension was broken.

Good morning, Mr. O’Rourke, said Marsha. Mr. Lilly’s on the phone right now. He’ll be with you soon. In the meantime, would you like some coffee or tea?

No, thank you. I’d better not before the meeting.

I was getting a second round of butterflies in my stomach while staring at a lamp in the corner.

Mr. O’Rourke…Mr. O’Rourke? Marsha snapped me from my daze. Mr. Lilly will see you now.

Entering Mr. Lilly’s office, I was surprised. There he stood in a red-and-white plaid jacket, white pants, and white shoes. It was all very different from the blacks, greys, and navies that dominated this office.

What’s a matter, O’Rourke? You’ve never seen a plaid before?

Yes, sir, but it is different from the rest of your wardrobe.

You mean my business attire? I’m going golfing today. That’s why you’re here now instead of at eight thirty. Sit down. He started to walk around the room. He was a short man, so it made him more comfortable when taller men were seated when he’d talk with them.

You know how long it’s been since I went golfing last? he asked.

I hesitated. He answered.

Four years ago. Four years. You know why?

I thought but still didn’t answer.

Because I’m always here. A good friend of mine passed away last Friday. He was two years younger than I am. It got me thinking. I am going to enjoy all that I’ve worked for. Is the Phillips case ready, are you prepared?

Yes, sir, totally!

Did you cover everything?

I believe so.

I’m turning it over to J.J. Spinello, he said curtly.

I was shocked. All my work, my preparation!

But sir, I’ve worked on that case since its inception…

Oblivious to my protestations, he continued.

And the rest of your caseload?

Really well prepared. But sir, I––

O’Rourke, shut up and listen!

The power of his voice. That dramatic courtroom tone. I leaned back in my chair, but my face clearly showed my upset.

O’Rourke, you’re good and you’ve handled yourself well, so far. But something’s missing. Up till now we’ve given you a number of cases and you handled them with ease, but we would expect that of any good attorney. But no real challenges. Then this Phillips case came up. You attacked it with gusto. That’s good! Four and a half hours on a Saturday. I bet you thought you’d come in here guns blazing.

Well, yes, sir, I did some preparation, but how did you know about Saturday?

The watchman’s book. Four hours and thirty-seven minutes. Do you have the acumen to be great?

Before I could respond, I had to think. He sat on the edge of his desk and looked me square in the eye.

You…you must be the one to decide greatness. If you’ve got it, it will show under pressure. The point is this. When Groff and Fiat and the rest of us got together as young men like you, we worked hard to build a core of loyal accounts. We landed some big ones, and some tough ones, and have kept them to ourselves primarily over the years as our security. The firm has grown and we’ve all done well. Our security was in our self-reliance. We’ve got corporations, and partnerships, some wealthy families and now lifelong friends. But if I’m going to be able to enjoy golf, I need someone who will work for my clients, just like I would. Do you think you can handle it?

I was in shock.

If I do a really good job, do you think someday I could get a plaid jacket?

Lilly smiled. Get all of your cases ready to turn over to Spinello. You’ll have a new office down this hall and a new secretary.

Sir, can I keep the one I have?

The office or the girl?

Chris, she’s really good.

OK. Be here tomorrow at eight thirty. We have cases to review. Also take the rest of today off. From now on, you’ll be working too hard to just sit around.

Thank you, sir. Yes sir, eight thirty.

As I stepped out of his office, Marsha greeted me with a big grin. Congratulations!

Thank you! You knew all along.

No, Mr. Lilly just left his intercom button on. We both broke into laughter. So how do you feel?

Happy, elated, scared, terrified––all of those and then some.

Suddenly the door opened behind me and Mr. Lilly stuck his head out. I hate to break this up, but Mr. O’Rourke needs to go home and you, Miss McGann, need to go down to O’Rourke’s office and help his girl… He paused. Chris, you said. Go help Chris get relocated. And the ‘Ole Man’ is going golfing. And he closed the door.

Marsha and I looked at each other and broke out laughing. We laughed halfway down the hall.

Chris was just arriving…late. It was eight forty.

Late! Again! You’ll have to empty your desk out.

But Mr. O’Rourke, my train was late!

Mine was early! Step into my office, I said with a stern, dictatorial voice. The three of us paraded into my office.

Sit down. I kept my serious routine going. We start at eight thirty. Not eight thirty-five, not eight forty. We can’t just arrive whenever! You’ll have to empty your desk out.

You mean I’m being fired? Chris said with real shock in her voice.

Marsha couldn’t take it any longer. No, that’s not what he means.

Chris’s head was spinning back and forth between me and then Marsha.

Marsha, could you take Chris out and explain what’s happened? I have a phone call that I need to make.

Marsha took Chris by the hand and led her out of the room. Chris was still totally befuddled. I went to the phone.