Chapter 7

Ernie Davidson turned out to be everything Harley said he was, and then some. Except he wasn’t so much a smartass as he was just smart. He didn’t have any kind of a secretarial background to qualify him for the position, so I tested his skills by giving him a recorded deposition to transcribe. Once he got used to the on/off foot pedal on the recording device, he whipped it out on the computer in an hour. No errors, no typos. His fingers were a blur moving over the keyboard. As far as taking dictation, he had his own brand of shorthand he used to take notes in class. He could keep up at least as well as Charlene, and he didn’t have to stop me every two minutes to ask me to explain the meaning of a legal term.

That was good enough for starters, so I said I’d give him a six-week try-out at an hourly wage before considering him for full-time status with benefits. In my humble opinion, Ernie was lawyer material. Whether or not he had any desire to join the dark side remained to be seen.

Looks wise, Ernie was as classic a twenty-year-old nerd as you could imagine. He stood about five feet, nine, maybe a hundred and forty pounds, mouse-brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a feeble attempt at a mustache. Squeaky clean. Personality wise, he was pleasant, obviously bright, well-read with an excellent vocabulary. He had a friendly smile and a wit to go with it. As far as I could see, there was only one area where he didn’t outshine Charlene, and Ernie’s butt didn’t excite me in any way whatsoever. As far as I knew, the Brenner curse didn’t cross gender lines.

Over the next couple of days, as we did our final preparation for court, I learned something else about Ernie. Well, two things. Very much like his uncle, he had a devotion to duty, and he was staunchly loyal to his employer.

Oh, and the guy had a true genius for online research, especially for dirt. Like I said, lawyer material.

Okay, that needs some explaining. In the course of our conversation to bring him up to speed on Aunt Margie’s case, I casually mentioned that old Bullock would try his damnedest to discredit as much of my evidence as he could, especially the video of Dagmar and me getting it on. I dropped a comment about wishing I had some sleazy tidbits of info on him I could use as a bargaining chip. As it was, I’d have to rely on the probability that Wilmer would see him as the disingenuous, pompous ass that he was, and overrule his objections to my methods. That’s fine as far as it goes, but I can’t expect Wilmer to push it to the point that she provides him with fodder for an appeal.

Anyhow, I continued rattling on about this and that, giving no more thought to old Bullock, and unaware that Ernie had taken my wish to heart. He spent a couple of hours on his computer that evening searching the web. And, SHAZAM, did he strike pay-dirt!

Through mostly legitimate search tools (and perhaps a bit of questionable hacking of some U of Tennessee records), he traced old Bullock all the way back to his undergraduate years. It seems our not-so-virtuous County Attorney was brought up on charges of date rape in his senior year. He slipped a roofie (Rohypnol) into a young lady’s beer at a frat party and managed to maneuver her up to his room where he proceeded to have his way with her. The only thing that saved his ass from expulsion and a likely prison sentence was the fact that his daddy, who happened to be stinking rich, paid the girl, Lorena Wilkerson, and her family a huge settlement to keep it under the radar. They dropped the charges and the sleaze-ball walked free.

I guess the incident didn’t get totally suppressed, because UT School of Law, in spite of daddy’s offer of a substantial endowment, refused Bullock’s application, citing his lackluster showing on his LSAT and his dubious moral character. Bullock’s papa was finally able to buy his errant son’s way into a third-rate law school where he graduated near the bottom of his class. It took him three tries to pass the bar.

Apparently, family money has paved his way into several politically important positions through the years, culminating in his election to the County Attorney slot he now occupies.

“Ernie,” I said after I read what he’d dug up, “You have an excellent nasty streak in you.”

“I deny that, Mr. Brenner. I just hate hypocrites.”

“Call me Marty, and that makes us kindred spirits, doesn’t it? Welcome aboard, Mr. Davidson. I think we’re going to get along just great! And we really must talk about your future, sometime.”

I called Aunt Margie the afternoon before our court appearance and asked her if she would like to join me and Ernie for dinner to go over a few last-minute details. I thought they should meet since he was becoming intimate with the details of her case as he did his share of the prep work. And how could one get more intimate than scrutinizing that recording of me and Dagmar. Talk about your up close and personal!

But she begged off, complaining that the medication made her so fuzzy-brained that she didn’t feel comfortable being in public. I suggested we have dinner at her house and I’d bring along whatever order-in she was in the mood for. She went for that idea and opted for spicy Thai. I told her we’d pick it up and be knocking on her door at six o’clock, sharp.

My aunt answered the door looking downright radiant, dressed casually but very attractively in black slacks, a colorful, flower-print blouse and low heels. When I kissed her cheek, I smelled some very nice perfume.

I also smelled a rat. Something wasn’t right. Someone didn’t seem all that fuzzy-brained.

I introduced her to Ernie and she took possession of him like they were betrothed, shoving a beer into his hand and practically dragging him to the couch. She plopped down next to him, not leaving enough room between them to slide a sheet of paper.

Uh oh, I thought, this isn’t Aunt Margie, this is Dagmar!

She may as well have been wearing a name tag.

I asked Ernie to excuse us and insisted she help me with something in the kitchen. She didn’t try to resist or argue because she knew that I knew. She was teasing me. As I pulled the cartons of rice, Pad Thai, and spicy soup out the bags, I asked in a whisper, “Why in hell have you not taken your medication? I need her back here, and I mean right now! Do you want me to lose this case? Aunt Margie won’t be the only one locked up, you know!”

She hugged me from behind, pressing her boobs into my back and giggling like a little school girl as she slid her hand down my belly and gave my dick a squeeze. “Relax, kid! Your old auntie will be present and accounted for at the court proceedings tomorrow morning. That medication is a pain, and she just wanted to be out from under the fog for your little dinner. I like your new help, by the way. He’s kind of cute, in a studious kind of way.”

“Damn it, Dagmar, if you show up in that courtroom, the whole case is going in the toilet! The only way Judge Wilmer lets Aunt Margie walk out of that building is if she sees the medication is keeping you bottled up! If it isn’t working, you, or rather, Aunt Margie, is going to be committed to a psych ward to keep the innocent young males in the community out of YOUR clutches!”

She burst out laughing. “Innocent young males? Marty, that’s rich! It’s also an oxymoron. Pussy is the most prevalent thought in their horny teenage minds!”

“You’re probably right, but the public doesn’t want to believe you’re right, and they’ll damn sure lock you up to preserve those fantasies.”

She throws up her hands and yields to my logic. “Okay! Okay! Look, I’ll take a pill as soon as we’ve had our dinner. I promise! You can watch me take it.”

“Well you better! Jesus, Dagmar, you’re giving me the vapors!”

“Vapors?” she chuckled, “How quaint.” She picked up two of the cartons and headed for the dining room. “Let’s eat! I’m starving.”

But Dagmar had something spicier in mind than the soup.

It was a pleasant dinner, for the most part. Dagmar behaved herself and seemed to be charming Ernie into believing in her virtues. I almost choked on my spicy prawn soup when she said – with a straight face - that she hoped the young men her alter ego had abused so wantonly could find it in their hearts to be forgiving.

I knew Ernie was just playing along with her game when he patted her hand and replied, “How could any young man of good upbringing not appreciate the torture your poor soul must be suffering, Miss Brenner. Yet, as Chinese philosophers point out, the yin and the yang are interconnected and interdependent. One cannot exist without its complement. It seems to me that Dagmar is not only a logical extension of Margaret, but a necessary one. To my way of thinking, she shouldn’t be eliminated, just controlled. I should think the ideal solution would be to find a way to meld them into one charming and attractive, albeit slightly wicked lady.”