The Status Quo Ante
by Charles C. Parsons
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
conclusion
From his office window, Chance stared outside at a crescent moon. In two days, he’d be across the street in a courtroom trying to retain the BMW. He pounded his palm on the desk. Where were those damn receipts? It was nearly midnight. He needed to rest his bleary eyes.
He slung his sports coat over his shoulder as he strode through the faintly lit building lobby. He pushed open the front door. The streetlights vaguely outlined the cars parked on the street. Suddenly, a dark figure leaning against a parked automobile stepped forward.
“I’ve been waiting for you, shyster. I want my car.”
Willie stepped forward, thrusting his jaw into Chance’s face. He was two or three inches taller and wore a tight green t-shirt that strained across his chiseled pectoral muscles. The dim building light glinted off brass knuckles on his right fist.
Chance’s lips trembled. “The repo man has it somewhere.”
Willie motioned for Chance to use his cell phone. “Call him now, or I’ll remodel your teeth.” Chance’s fingers jittered as he dialed the number. Behind Willie, between the cars parked on the street, he observed a uniformed security guard making his rounds on the floodlit courthouse lawn. The gap between the cars was nearly ten feet.
Willie dropped his fists to his sides. “I need some things outa the car.”
Chance gestured to Willie that the phone was ringing. His blood raced as he eyed an escape route between the cars. Chance feigned surprise as the phone slipped from his hand to the sidewalk at Willie’s feet. As Willie reached for the fallen receiver, Chance slung his coat at him and bolted for the opening. Between the vehicles, he screamed, “Help!”
In the courthouse lights, the blue-uniformed guard began walking toward him. Gasping, Chance blurted, “A guy back there’s after me.”
“I saw him. He started after you, then ran away.”
“Call the police. I’m making a criminal complaint. I want a record of this.”
A squad car arrived. Chance was driven to a nearby substation. He made a written complaint, identifying his assailant, and gave the police the address in Northeast. At 2:00 a.m., he left the substation and went home. He tossed in bed. With the hearing only a day away, why was Willie stalking him?
* * *
The day before the hearing, Laura telephoned Chance.
“Have the police arrested him yet?”
“Willie’s lawyer got him out on bail.”
He hesitated before continuing. “Willie was after something in that car.”
Laura remained silent, so he moved on to the court proceeding the next day. “I’ve subpoenaed Slade, but I wouldn’t bet he’ll tell the truth on the witness stand.”
* * *
“You caught a big break getting Judge Malone,” Martin said standing with Chance, Laura and Nate outside the courtroom. “She’s tough, but you’ll get a fair hearing.”
Laura asked to speak alone with the older lawyer. She knew that Martin had guided Chance’s seizure of the BMW. They were still talking when the courtroom clerk leaned into the hallway and announced that Judge Malone wanted to start the proceedings.
Inside the spacious courtroom, the clerk ordered them to rise as Judge Malone entered. Tall windows flooded the immense open volume with sunlight. The judge’s heels clicked beneath her black robe as she ascended three steps to an elevated mahogany podium. She sat down in a high-backed chair.
Chance and Laura sat at the plaintiff’s table in the well of the courtroom. She wore an onyx-colored dress with a high collar, as though she were attending a funeral. Chance looked around the gallery and noticed Nate seated in the front row, but Martin was not in the courtroom.
At the defense table, Slade sat uneasily. His eyes flared nervously when he recognized Chance, who was now an obvious adversary. Beside Slade sat O’Donnell, a squat man with a balding head, wearing a dark suit, and rifling through papers in an expensive leather briefcase.
Luis Mendez was a dark-haired young man in a gray suit with a purplish shirt and black tie. Next to him, Willie Drake, deeply tanned with slick jet-black hair, wore a shiny silk shirt, the top two buttons undone. A medallion on a gold chain around his neck nestled in his exposed hairy chest.
Laura whispered to Chance: “I sent your friend Martin out looking for the repo man.” Before he could answer, Judge Malone addressed the courtroom.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, her voice echoing through the room, “Mr. Mendez has petitioned me for an order directing the return of a BMW vehicle he alleges was illegally seized.” The judge looked out over the counsel tables. “Mr. Mendez, you may proceed.”
Mendez sprang to his feet. “Your honor, this is a garden variety theft by a disgruntled woman seeking revenge by seizing her ex-boyfriend’s property.” He grinned. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”
Judge Malone frowned as Mendez waved a document in his hand. “This is the title from our Department of Motor Vehicles. It’s a certified public record that establishes my client’s ownership and entitlement to the BMW.”
Mendez strode to the podium and handed the title to the clerk. Judge Malone read the title, then handed it back to the clerk. She looked at Chance. “The public record title does show that Mr. Mendez’s client has a prima facie case for possession. Do you have any evidence you wish to offer?”
“Yes, your honor, we call to the witness stand Mr. Victor Slade.”
Slade’s eyes glowed warily as he approached the witness chair and took the oath to testify. Once Slade was seated, Chance quickly confirmed that the BMW had been for sale on Slade’s car lot. Slade testified that his memory of the transaction might be murky because he conducted so many vehicle sales.
Judge Malone abruptly raised her hand, looking out over the courtroom. “The court notes the entry of Martin Marshall, a stalwart in this court. He’s motioning to you, Mr. Chance.” Chance looked back and saw Martin holding several documents in his hand. Judge Malone granted Chance’s request for a brief recess.
In the court hallway, Martin handed Chance the papers. “Paul searched the convertible and found Slade’s receipts in the glove compartment,” he said. “Laura suspected they might be there when Willie came after you; he was so desperate to get the car.”
Chance quickly read the papers. Martin squeezed his shoulder. “Go clobber them. You’ve got a winner.”
When court resumed, Chance forced Slade to concede that he’d notarized the BMW title that vested title to Willie as the sole owner.
At the defense table, Mendez nodded to O’Donnell approvingly.
“Mr. Slade, I want to show you Plaintiff’s Exhibit number one. Can we agree that this is a receipt, in your handwriting, that you issued on the day of the sale of the subject BMW?”
“May I see the exhibit?” the judge asked, and, after reviewing it, her clerk passed it to Slade.
Slade frowned at the crumpled paper but admitted he’d prepared it.
“Does this receipt correctly state that Ms. King traded her Mercury with $14,000 of her own cash for the purchase of the BMW?”
Slade only nodded, but Judge Malone directed Slade to give a verbal answer. Slade gave a barely audible yes.
“Mr. Slade, showing you Exhibit Two, is this paper a title that you prepared and had Ms. King sign, showing that she was a co-owner of the BMW?”
Slade feigned confusion, but Judge Malone’s gaze was intently fixed on him; she directed Slade to answer. Slade merely nodded, and again the judge ordered a verbal response.
“Yes, ma’am,” Slade replied meekly, looking at the judge.
Chance leaned closer to the witness. “You never contacted Ms. King before you revised her BMW title to name Willie Drake as the sole owner, did you?”
Slade ducked his head, trying to evade a response.
“Mr. Slade,” interjected Judge Malone, “did you make any effort to telephone or to speak with Ms. King before you changed the BMW title?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Mr. Slade, when you rewrote this title, you knew this woman had put up more than 95% of the collateral for the transaction,” the judge continued. “You knew you were extinguishing her interest in it, didn’t you?”
Slade flinched under the judge’s words. “That didn’t matter, your honor. The boyfriend told me she wanted him to have the BMW.”
The judge abruptly stood up. “We are going to take a short recess,” she exclaimed. “But first, I’ve got something to say to you, Mr. O’Donnell.” She glared at the defense counsel table. “I know as a defense lawyer you can’t select your cases; your insurer just assigns you clients to defend. But, from Mr. Slade’s testimony, it appears your insurer owes major damages to Laura King.”
The judge strode toward the rear door of the courtroom. Before exiting, she glared at O’Donnell. “Call your adjuster; tell him this judge is very upset.”
O’Donnell frantically seized his cell phone and rushed for the hallway. Laura, Chance, and Nate rose to leave the courtroom. Martin smiled as they passed.
Outside in the hallway, O’Donnell was stammering into his cell phone, and Mendez and Willie had filed over to the far side of the hallway. Willie sneered at Laura.
She squirmed beside Chance. “Isn’t there some way you can get that diseased bastard off the streets?”
Before he could answer, O’Donnell tugged on his shoulder, pulling him toward a nearby corner.
“I told the adjuster that the judge is outraged that Slade committed fraud,” he said. “The adjuster wants to know what amount you’ll settle for. Your client’s out-of-pocket loss is around $40,000. That’s the value of her Mercury and the cash.”
Chance saw Martin, arms crossed, standing outside the courtroom. He could have simply waved to him, and Martin would have rushed to assist. Instead, he calmly frowned at O’Donnell: “Tell the adjuster we’re looking for punitive damages; we want triple Laura’s out-of-pocket loss,” he said. “Frankly, I don’t think $120,000 is adequate.”
O’Donnell winced but didn’t protest. He pivoted away, clutching his cell phone to his ear.
Chance spoke to Laura in a low voice. “We’re about to get a financial offer to settle this case.”
Her lips trembled. “What about Willie infecting me?”
Chance didn’t reply; his eyes were trained on O’Donnell, clutching his phone to his ear. O’Donnell thrust up his thumb; the adjuster had capitulated; the insurance claim against Slade was sealed.
Back in the courtroom, Judge Malone’s eyes sparkled when she learned the case was concluded. “The court appreciates the efforts of learned counsel.” She then formally denied Mendez’s petition for the BMW.
* * *
Outside the courtroom, Laura tugged at Chance, wanting to speak to him alone. He escorted her back across the street to his office. Once they were seated, he withdrew a bottle of whisky he kept in a desk drawer. Laura grimaced as she sipped the fiery alcohol.
“The case is over, isn’t it?” she said. “You won your big-money verdict. But you didn’t get me justice.”
“I delivered what the law allows.”
Her eyes were moist. “But Willie is just walking away. He gave me herpes. Get me a big verdict against him!”
“He’s got no assets to pay. He’d just declare bankruptcy and wipe out our verdict.”
She put the glass down and slumped in her chair. “You’re like Willie,” she sobbed. “Once you win what you want, I’m disposable.”
They sat wordlessly, watching shadows from the waning afternoon sun trek slowly across his office floor. Finally, Laura rose to leave. When she reached the doorway, he told her he’d call when the settlement check arrived. As she closed the door, dim hallway light soaked through the gold letters on his glass panel. He sagged back in his seat. She was right. He hadn’t restored the status quo ante.
Copyright © 2023 by Charles C. Parsons
