Chapter 18

Deena’s turn:

Dunno how this happens. Maybe it’s the stress — there’s a good bit of that going on around here, right now. Anyway, Abby is already over at the Gleasons’ for the evening, wearing hastily purchased clothing. Walmart is beneath her usual standards, but good enough for “right now”, and she has some of my stuff for tomorrow.

I took a shower (alone!), and got one of Dad’s T-shirts to sleep in. Put it on, and had a frightening thought: What if Mom refuses to allow me to testify in court? Could she actually DO that?

I grabbed my cell phone and punched Mr. Andre’s speed-dial. I hope he doesn’t mind me calling him direct.

He answered, “Good evening, Miss Deena. May I presume you already figured out the possibility of a custody issue?”

I asked, “Mister Andre, you’re correct. I just now had the thought: Can Mom refuse to allow me to testify?”

He said, “Potentially so, or maybe not, ma’am, either directly or through various means of coercion. unless you’re emancipated. And guess which nefarious lawyer already has your papers ready? But you’ll want to bring Bill with you, for a meeting with Judge Landon at 8:30am tomorrow. May as well bring Abby with you — we’ll get a two-fer with the judge. Sound good?”

I said, “Yes, sir, but I’ll have to look up his address.”

He said, “Text coming at you, Deena, and we’ll see you in the morning. Bonus points for you if you bring donuts!”

I said, “Thank you, sir, it’ll be home-made brownies, and we’ll see you in the morning!”

Text to Abby: “Be at our house at 7:30. We need to put you in uniform, brew coffee, and get donuts. We’re going, too, and for the same reason.”

Abby’s text: Smiley-face, and “Got it, sister!”

Andre Thibodeaux’s turn:

I got a good crew. I don’t hardly have to think very loud and one of my girls grabs hold of something and runs with it. Today’s an example. I’m supposed to meet Deena Simon and her dad at their house. I mention Bill Simon’s name, next thing I know, I have a sheet of paper (better than an email, as far as I’m concerned) with the address to that house AND the address of Bill Simon’s office, so I can act like I’m some sort of wizard and show up at his office first.

Makes me look good, plus, I get to look around and gather some information to help me decide if I want to take this case.

I want to take this case. It’s one of those things I like about my life – a good fight.

Been kinda wanting to take dem Basler couyons (Author’s note: ‘couyon’, pronounced ‘coo-YAWN’ and more properly spelled ‘coullion’, is Cajun French for dunce or idiot or foolish fellow) down for several years, but first things first — time to get the paper-work organized for Miss Abigail Basler. Returning to the office, I gave the information to one of my paralegals, then stepped to my office and closed the door.

I punched my speed-dial and heard: “Good afternoon, Mister Andre. Did you wish to speak to the judge?”

“Molly, you REALLY need to go out with me, you know. Can’t understand why you haven’t, unless you think I’m too young.”

Laughter, then, “Sir, you’re already married, too. I’m twenty-five, and you’re only sixty-two. I need someone older, more established and responsible — those kinds of things.”

I groaned (for effect) and said, “Well, hell. I’ll wait a few years and try again, I guess. And while it’s true that I’m married, we can work out a deal, don’t you think?”

I love hearing a girl laugh, even if it’s at me.

“Anyway, if himself is free, I’d like to talk to him and arrange for an emancipation hearing tomorrow, as early as possible. If he’s busy, you could just have him call me.”

“Yes, sir, and I can schedule you for 8:30 am, in his office, if that will work. Quick action?”

“Probably about ten minutes, Molly, and that’ll work. But have him call me anyway — we need to get each other riled up a little.”

Her: “OK, Mister Andre, but it’ll cost you flowers. The other workers keep wondering who’s sending them. It’s a real ego-boost, you know.”

Me: “Molly, you’re a jewel. Done and done, and clear a space on your desk for tomorrow morning.”

Clicked off, dialed the florist, arranged for the delivery, and leaned back, thinking. Molly. Can I be honest, here? She’s probably two hundred pounds or so, and kinda plain. But her mind — she’s a jewel, and I hope someone her age will recognize it --between her ears, she’s a beauty, too.

I looked at the card for Jim Stannis. What to do about this?

My phone buzzed: ID says, “James Landon”, so I answered: “Jim, your honorable worship, sir! Why don’t you get a REAL job?”

He said, “Andre, you’d better shine your shoes and get a haircut. Guess who’s coming to visit ME in a couple of days?”

I said, “Jim, no idea, and what business is it of mine, anyhow?”

He said, “‘Cause you have to be there. Andre, it’s Mizz Lee! And one of her students,
Nikki Granger — you never met her, but I performed a marriage for her about six years ago. Damnedest thing you ever saw, long story, and she’s now “Doctor Granger”. Andre, you need to meet her, but I want you with flowers in your hand for Mizz Lee — you know why!”

Me: “Jim, even at my age, I’m a little scared of Mizz Lee. I always gave her fits when we were in school together. She liked you, but she didn’t like me. It was my fault, of course. Do you think she’d forgive me?”

Him: “Probably she would, although I’d enjoy seeing her giving you hell. Andre, over the phone, she sounds as sharp as ever, and as authoritative. I’d give a LOT of money to sit in her class and watch that again, right now!”

Me: “Yup, me too. Time passes, Jim, and we can’t ever get it back. But you’re right, and I’ll get the flowers. Different subject, but I’m pretty sure we have a corrupt chief of police, and a corrupt DA. There’s an attempted rape hearing coming up, and I can’t be a part of that. But I WILL be representing the plaintiff in the following civil action. How would you recommend pursuing the corruption stuff?”

Him: “Call Sheriff Ernie. He has my ear, when he needs it, and he’ll know what to do.”

Me: “Damn, Jim! Good idea! Why didn’t I think of that?”

Him: “Cause you’re just a doofus lawyer, I’m pretty sure.”

Me: “Yep, you’re probably right. Will you be nice to me in court?”

Him: “Hell NO, and you know why!”

Me: “Yes, your honor. And you’re STILL full of shit.”

Laughter, and a click. Yup, he gives me hell in court — berates me, chastises me, but when I make a case and get a favorable ruling, there’s NO chance of appeal, which is why he does it. And we both know it, and we both know why.

Now, I bring up the “contacts” menu, and punch “Ernie Richard.” Trouble will follow, I’m pretty sure. But I’m not a couyon. I know to do whatever he says.

Bill’s turn:

I knew that a battle was looming. Hell, make that multiple battles – one with the legal system when Deena elected to press charges against her assailant, that one was expected. And when Laney found out that Deena was legally emancipated. Okay, that one was expected, too, because, well, Laney likes being able to jerk my chain a bit ever since Deena moved out of her house.

“Civil law ain’t my strong suit,” Andre’ had said, “but there’s a lot of pluses here, Deena,” he’d explained to her, with me present. “One of ‘em’s that the money you say you’ve made with your friends is YOURS. No strings.”

He looked at me, raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Oh, I know,” I said. “We’ve always treated it like that. And, Andre’, I don’t worry. She’s very sane when it comes to finances.”

“Well, good for you then, Deena,” he said. “The other thing is that YOU get to be the decider on legal matters. Others might try to influence you, but YOU get to decide. Like this sexual assault case.”

The first battle was joined when Laney called Deena.

“You and I and your dad need to meet with the district attorney,” she told Deena.

“The three of us need to meet before this,” Deena said.

“Why?”

“Mom, I talked with an attorney. I had a judge emancipate me.”

The explosion from the phone eliminated any need to have the conversation on speaker.

“What?!? Why’d you DO that, baby? Who???”

I knew that her last question was telling. She thought she was some sort of queen within the local legal movers and shakers and probably figured if I were to try such a stunt somebody’d call her first.

Deena started, “Andre’...”

“THAT BASTARD!”

“Mom! Language! He’s a nice guy.”

“He’s NOT a nice guy, baby! He’s...”

“Independent-minded.”

“That’s putting it mildly. What’s he got to do with emancipation? He’s a criminal lawyer.”

“Emancipation’s mostly just paperwork. He explained...”

“Why’d you even TALK to him? You’re not a defendant...”

“Mom, I already heard people say that Ethan Basler’s done this before and gotten out of it. He shouldn’t be getting away with it. If he did others, and he tried to do me, it has to end!”

“Baby...”

“Mom,” Deena spat.