a cup of coffee

I called Attorney Phycks and left a message.

“Hi this is Justin Marlin, blah blah blah, I wanna sue the County Sheriff for excessive use of force.” His paralegal returned my call shortly thereafter and we set up an appointment.

His office was in downtown Roquefort. I found parking and rode the elevator up to his floor. As I sat in the waiting room I looked at the framed Classic Rock & Roll posters adorning the walls. Stones, Zeppelin, Beatles, Joni Mitchell. Joni Mitchell? He has a soft side? OK.

The secretary called me in. “Mr. Phycks will see you now.”

She brought me to a room with a long table and had me take a seat. Again, the walls had classic rock posters, and on one wall hung an illegibly signed guitar. I walked over to it and tried to make out the signature.

“Do you like it?” asked Phycks, as he walked into the room. “That is a verified authentic signed Bon Scott guitar. Do you know that name? Bon Scott.”

“I’m a fan” I said. “Highway to Hell was one of the first albums I ever bought. ‘It ain’t easy living free’.”

“Well, alright!” he said “Have a seat and let’s talk shop. What kind of a jam are you in, and what can I do to get you out of it?”

Obviously, I’m not going to hold back from my attorney, who has to know everything or how can he be ready to defend me? So I began to tell my story. I got the necessary interruptions I expected from Jimmie Fix as I told my tale.

“Well,” I began “it’s not pretty. I pretty much got drunk and blacked out, by the time I came to I was standing in front of a Sheriff’s Deputy who asked me why there was blood all over the place. Then…”

“Stop!” said Mr. Fix, palm in the air, “When did this happen?”

“Sunday, July 15th, this past summer.” I replied.

“And yet here we are in September.” he said.

“Well, as I said in my message…”

“Which I didn’t hear. I’m just sitting here for a meeting with a potential client. My secretary set this up. I’m a blank slate. Tabla Rasa. Why are you here now if this happened in July?”

“I’m looking for a new attorney. My first attorney didn’t want to countersue the Sheriff for excessive use of force or anything else. He wanted me to take a plea.”

“Who was he? Did he give you my name?”

“It was [redacted] McMurphree. He didn’t give me your name, but told me ‘go ahead and call around.’ Generic Attorney suggested I call you.”

“Ah, Generic. Yeah, we go way back. We trade clients sometimes. Go on.”

“Well, they charged me with felony assault with a deadly weapon; doorknob, and resisting arrest and assaulting an officer during an arrest. But I say they TEASER-ed me during the arrest, I have the marks to prove it, and…”

“Our podunk backwater Sheriff’s Deputies don’t have TEASERs. The County is too cheap; won’t buy them. You’re wrong.”

I stood up and turned for the door. “I guess you’re not my guy, then.”

In a second he was beside me, hand on my shoulder, steering me back to the table.

“I am your guy.” he said “And you’re mine. So shines a brave deed in a weary world. You have the benefit of your convictions. I’ll call McMurphree and let him know I’m taking over your case. I’ll notify the court of the same. I’ll have my secretary write up our agreement, including the retainer fee. Would you like a coffee? We have one of those new one cup coffee makers, The CupKettle. What flavor would you like?”

“I’ll take a dark roast, if you have one.”

Like most of the attorneys I’d called or looked up in the yellow pages, he charged about $200/hour. I don’t think I was there for the full hour, but I got a cup of coffee and a $200 bill. That was an expensive cup of coffee, I thought to myself. Would it be worth it?