Chapter 7: A Matter Of Law

Because of the fine assistance - as well as his HTML expertise- rijf has helped me turn this into a well received story. As you read the tale, remember that rijf was very instrumental in making it come alive.

T.

Gordon McReady was a different person to all the people who knew him. So far as the lawyers who faced off against him in a courtroom were concerned, he was a mellow, laid back, bland looking shark that came on oh-so-friendly. Then, when his opponents were least expecting it, he gently shoved the knife in deep from a direction it was never expected.

His opponents in the courtroom looked on him as the consummate chess player. To the judges he appeared before, he seemed all about strategy and movements.

His stockbroker knew him as a man with an instinct for a good investment. If Gordon went in ten thousand on a new stock offering, the broker invested at least a thousand because Gordon was seldom wrong.

To the fellow members of the private poker club where he was a member, he was an easy source of extra income. He'd drop anywhere from a hundred to five hundred tops each time he sat in.

At the end of the evening, Gordy always smiled and said, "Well, maybe next time." Everybody loves a good loser.

However, while he was busy losing at five card draw, seven card stud and low ball, he was busier still setting the stage for some case or other he had pending, citing case law to illustrate a point.

Or on the other hand, he might be gauging the strengths of the case he had pending against one of the other players. Even the three superior court judges who played in the weekly games were not immune to his machinations.

"Good Old Gordy" won many a court case while he dropped a few dollars at the poker table. Gordon lost hundreds at poker to win cases worth hundreds of thousands or even millions of dollars. He planned far beyond the few dollars he might pick up at the weekly get together, if he had played to win at poker rather than law...

To his wife, Gordy was an inept, indifferent lover who paid the bills, sent their fifteen-year-old daughter to finishing school and didn't bother her in bed unless he was drunk. This happened perhaps once a year.

Randy, their gardener kept her home fires burning bright. The big, dumb bastard could keep on going all afternoon and still be ready for another go that night if she so desired. In return she kept Randy in the money he bought the cocaine he rubbed on the head of his dick to keep it hard, as well as horned up his nose.

Lately she thought more and more about leaving Gordon for a real man like Randy. She got twitchy at the thought of her young addict lover. He had the main attributes she required in a lover, he was dumb, lasted a long time and was dependent on her for his livelihood. Life was good...

Gordon McReady saw himself as a man trapped in a profession he no longer enjoyed. To make matters worse. He was trapped in a marriage he had been pressured into because of an unplanned pregnancy.

Right now, he was a man who wanted to be free for once in his life to live any way he damned well pleased. He felt the walls of his office and home closing in on him. In short, Gordon wanted out, to be free to live life on his own terms.

He was deep in thought when his secretary stuck her head through the door into his office and said, "There's a Zelda something or other on line one. You have your phones turned off. She says your friend, who is also a client, Jack Daniels is in big trouble. He broke a man's knee, crushed his foot, broke another man's arm and shot a third man in the hip, effectively destroying it. The only Daniels I have in my files is that veteran confined to a wheelchair. Who is this other one?" She looked at him questioningly. "He sounds like Rambo."

"Oh hell, this guy makes Rambo look like a sissy. And yes, he is the one in the wheelchair." She looked at her boss puzzled. Gordon laughed and said, "Put the lady on. She has the pleasure to be Jack's caretaker and live in bodyguard. Believe me, she earns her money."

He turned on the phone and said, "McReady here."

"Mister McReady, Jack has been arrested and charged with attempted murder. That awful Senator Creel is behind it."

"Where is he being held?" the lawyer asked.

"They took him to the downtown police station. All they will tell me is that he has been booked. I'm scared of what Jack might do if they really mess with him. He might end up getting killed. I'm scared." She sounded on the verge of hysteria.

"Look, I'll leave here right now. I have an appointment that can be postponed. Meet me at the information desk in the City Center."

"You might not recognize me now. My hair is still red. I have it tied back in a ponytail and am wearing designer jeans and a silk black tee shirt. I've filled out quite a bit because, thanks to Jack, I now eat regular. I'll leave right now." She hung up before Gordon could say anything else.

When he arrived at the City Center he saw the red headed woman who looked like a cross between a bathing beauty and an Amazon warrior. She easily stood five feet nine inches tall and tipped the scales at close to a hundred fifty, none of it fat. She moved with the grace of a trained athlete.

Gordon smiled to himself. "Yep, ol' Rambo Jack got himself a winner this time," he said aloud.

At first look, he wasn't certain it was she. She had changed. It took Gordy a second, closer look. The lawyer smiled to himself. Even in a wheelchair, Whiskey Jack finds himself a good one.

Gordon's mind flashed to his days in Iraq before he got wounded and returned home to resume his law practice. Even there, Whiskey Jack Daniels was the warrior's warrior. His officers all respected him and his men would follow him into hell in the sure knowledge he never left anyone behind.

"How are you, Zelda?" he asked, as he offered his hand.

"Not too good right now. How are we going to get him out?" She looked at Gordon with worry showing all over her face. "They're going to hurt him. That big fat lieutenant..." She got no further.

"Fat lieutenant? Describe him to me," Gordon interrupted.

"He is big, fat and ugly. His mouth is in a sneer and he has pig eyes. He smells bad." She made a moue as she described the lieutenant.

"Ah! You just described my old pal Dick Simmons. I wonder who's putting the quarters in his meter this year?" McReady smiled grimly.

"If you mean who's bribing him, Jack said it was Senator Creel."

He whipped out his cell phone and pressed a quick dial number. "This is Gordon McReady, let me speak to his honor, please."

"Look, there he goes now," Zelda said and pointed at the figure of Lieutenant Simmons quickly striding toward the front entrance.

"Hey, Lieutenant!" Gordon called, "This phone call is to Judge Snyder and it concerns you. You might want to stick around, Pal."

"Look," Simmons blustered as soon as he was close enough to talk, "I don't have time to play games with no hotshot lawyers."

The lawyer listened to the phone for a moment, held up his hand to silence the lieutenant and said, "Judge Snyder, this is Gordon McReady. You remember that hypothetical discussion we had about six months ago about the police overstepping their authority and making a specious arrest?"

Gordy paused and stated, "Well, Your Honor, that very scenario just played itself out. Now I have two choices, I can wait until tomorrow while the police mistreat a crippled war hero and then sue this city and the police department severally and as a part of a larger action or we can settle it right now and demand one fat fool, your own Lieutenant Simmons be discharged immediately. I am coming to you first, sir."

"Hey!" Simmons exclaimed as he grabbed the phone away from the lawyer. "This is Lieutenant Dick Simmons and I made a righteous arrest and the charges will stick. That so-called hero was running away from a bunch of rag heads when he was shot. He's a coward, not a hero. Senator Creel says..."

Gordon yanked his cell phone away from the police lieutenant. "That is the other part, your honor. That arrest was made at the behest of Senator Creel. Will you sign a court order to release the wheelchair bound prisoner to his caretaker so she can take him home? I guarantee he will make any and all appearances necessary."

"Let me speak to Lieutenant Simmons," the deep voice came over the phone.

"Here, his honor wants to talk to you." Gordon handed the phone back to Simmons.

Simmons accepted the phone, said hello and shut up. As he listened his face became red and then darker red. "Here, he wants to speak to you."

"Yes sir," Gordon said as soon as he had the phone back.

"Come up to my chambers I have ordered the lieutenant to bring the prisoner and the first responding officers up to my court immediately. I am relying on your word that the situation is truly as you have presented it to me. I shall also invite police commissioner Ellis to attend this meeting. You will be cleared to come up right now. I had planned to take the rest of the day off. But come ahead." The cell phone went dead.

"Come on," he told Zelda, "The judge wants us in chambers immediately."

They were buzzed on through the security gate and escorted to the judge's chambers. "Gordon," a sour looking man sat behind a modern looking desk looked up as they knocked and entered, "What in hell is this all about? The police state the man to be a cross between Alvin York and King Kong. The report I have on my desk states he is wheelchair bound and is immobile without it.

"That idiot Creel has an aid on his way over to sit in as an 'interested observer.' The only thing the senator has ever been interested in is pork for his friends and a fat paycheck for himself. Just what is going on? I refuse to permit some self aggrandizing tinhorn politician the use of my court to garner votes."

Gordon made a derisive sound and shook his head, "Whiskey Jack Daniels, as his many admirers call him is a warrior in the truest sense of the word. The man spent almost eighteen years as a soldier who served his country bravely and well."

He continued, "I first met Jack in the Middle East a few years ago during a time we were doing our best to make the world safe for corporate America. He saved his lieutenant's butt and that of his men on more than one occasion. Today I am his friend and he is my client. When you hear the army wants you to 'be all you can be, ' they're referring to Whiskey Jack Daniels. He is a whole platoon of all you can be, all rolled up into one."

"That's nice, but what about the specifics of today's adventures? Care to shed a little light on what happened where, according to the police report, he tried to kill some helpless bystander with an antique black powder cap and ball revolver?" The judge cocked an eyebrow as he looked at the lawyer.

Zelda spoke up, "That so-called helpless bystander had Jack's daughter Melissa in a neck lock and was threatening her life, your honor. There was no try about the one shot he made. If he had wanted that scum dead, he'd be dead. Jack hits what he aims at and he never misses."

"And you are?" the judge asked.

"I'm Zelda Perkins, Jack's caregiver. I take care of his house, cook his meals and do his laundry. He pays me out of his own pocket and is as fine a man as I have ever known. He is not only my employer, he's also my friend."

Judge Snyder smiled, "Well, he certainly seems to draw out the loyalty in people."

Gordy added, "Just don't play poker with him; he'll have the socks off your feet while you're protecting your new dentures."

The judge looked at the lawyer in surprise, and then realized that perhaps Jack was not the only master poker player in town. "Ah yes," he said.

McReady laughed and added, "The man is a quiet type who never seems to push or shove but still gets his work done."

The phone on the judge's desk trilled. "Snyder," he answered it. He listened and growled, "Either you find than man and have him up here immediately in my court room or there is going to be hell to pay. You have thirty minutes."