Bert Trench was studying his doodles. “Well, I don’t know, Arlen, I don’t exactly know…”
“Can you write them a letter, sort of a friendly eviction notice?” I tried not to roll my eyes. Dad went on. “Something kind of official? I’ve got the right to do this, right? I mean, it’s my place and all.”
“Sure, sure, you’ve got rights, Arlen. But, what have they actually done?”
“Done?”
“I mean, have they threatened you? Caused any significant property damage?”
Dad paused. “Not exactly. But it’s a lot of little things, they add up, you know?”
Trench doodled a bit more, and then, in what looked like a staged gesture, glanced at his watch. “Oh my, goodness, I wonder if you could excuse me for a moment.”
He got up, left the room, and closed the door behind him. Dad and I sat in the office, alone, nearly a minute, before Dad said to me, “The hell’s wrong with him?”
“He started looking a bit pasty from the moment you mentioned the name Wickens,” I said.
“He did seem a bit funny, didn’t he?” Dad said. “I wonder what-”
The door opened again, and Bert Trench strode in, but he didn’t head for his spot behind the desk. He had his hands in his pockets, and tried to look at us, but mostly was looking at the floor.
“Listen, Arlen, and Mr. Walker, Zachary, is it?”
I said nothing.
“I feel terrible about this, but I should have told you when you booked your appointment that I’m just not in a position to take any new business on at this time. I’m really pretty swamped with things, I’ve got a very large client base, and what you’re asking for, what you’d want me to take on for you, that could run into a lot of hours, and I just don’t think I could give you the kind of service that you deserve.”
“I’m just talking about a letter,” Dad said. “You haven’t got time to write them a friggin’ letter?”
“Like I said, I’m just not able to take on new clients at the moment,” he said, trying to smile.
“I’m not a new client,” Dad said. “I’ve already done business with you.”
Bert Trench pretended not to hear. “There are some other law offices in Braynor, or you might want to try in Smithfield, or Jersey Falls, maybe someone there would be able to help you, I’m sure.” He’d moved to the door and was holding it open for us.
We stood. Dad got his crutches under his arms and as we were going out the door he stopped and looked Bert Trench square in the eye. “Where are your balls, Bert?”
I noticed beads of sweat on Trench’s forehead.
“I’m sorry, Arlen,” he said. “I can’t do this for you.”
“Why not?”
Trench swallowed, bowed his head. “Couple years ago, there was a lawyer in Red Lake, he had this client, a plumber, did a lot of work at this house where the Wickenses used to live, before they moved this way and rented your place.”
We watched him.
“So he’d done at least a thousand dollars’ worth of work, gave the Wickenses their bill, they never paid, so this plumber, he goes and sees this lawyer, asks him to take care of it for him. And the lawyer, he sends them a letter.”
“The Wickenses,” I said.
“Yeah. So he sends them this letter. And the next night, his house burns down.”
Dad and I said nothing.
“Nearly lost his family. Got them out just in time. Nearly lost his daughter, she’s paralyzed, fell off a horse when she was fifteen, can’t move on her own, and he carried her out just in time.”
“It could have just been a coincidence,” I said.
“The plumber, he gets a phone call the next day. Caller asks him, does he want his place to be next?”
Dad, shuffling on his crutches, and I moved for the door.
“I’m real sorry,” said Bert Trench. “I just don’t need that kind of thing. But, Arlen, any time you’ve got a basic real estate deal, you call me and I’ll look after you.”
“Sure, Bert,” said Dad. “You’ll be the first.”
13
“SO, WHERE DOES THAT LEAVE US?” I said, sitting at the counter next to Dad in the coffee shop owned by Dad’s main squeeze, Lana Gantry. We were still reeling from our meeting with Bert Trench as we hauled our butts up onto the stools.
“Hey, boys,” said Lana, her elbows on the counter, leaning in intimately toward us. As she leaned, I could see Dad trying not to be obvious about peeking down her blouse.
“Hi, honey,” Dad said.
“Lana,” I said, smiling.
“How’s your ankle, sweetie?” Lana asked Dad. He turned red, being called “sweetie” in front of his son.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly.
“If I didn’t have this place to run, I’d come out there and stay with you till you get better.” She smiled. “I could give you everything you need.”
Dad kept blushing, swallowed, and said, “You know Bert Trench?”
“Yeah, sure, he has lunch in here all the time.”
“Does he strike you as an attractive man?”
Lana smiled again. “All those hot wives he’s had, that what this is about?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, from what I hear, what he lacks in the looks department he makes up for in technique.”
My eyebrows went up.
“And when he gets tired of one, he unloads her and gets another, and rocks her world, too. They don’t even mind it that much when he wants a divorce, they’re so exhausted. Don’t you worry, though,” Lana Gantry said, patting Dad’s hand. “I won’t let him lure me away from you.”
“Um, Lana, I wonder if you could get me and my boy some coffees.”
I looked beyond Lana at what was behind the glass. “I wouldn’t mind a piece of coconut cream pie, too, if that’s what I see there,” I said. Lana was back with coffees in a moment, a couple of creams tucked into my saucer, Dad’s black, and then she went for my pie.
“This looks fantastic,” I said as she placed it in front of me. I put a forkful into my mouth. It was heaven.
“You boys need anything you give me a shout,” Lana said, and headed over to the cash register to confer with one of the two waitresses working the room.
“Maybe there’s other lawyers with some nuggets in their shorts who’d be willing to take this on,” Dad said.
“Try some from some other towns, but not Red Lake,” I said. “Someone who’s not likely to run into Timmy when he’s getting gas or buying a loaf of bread. You could make some calls when we get back to the cabin,” I said, pouring some sugar from the glass dispenser into my cup.
Dad nodded, looking down into his porcelain mug.
“And I have a friend I might call,” I said. “He’s had a bit more experience with these kinds of things than I have.”
Dad looked over at me. “A lawyer?”
“No,” I said. “An ex-cop. He works for himself now. Name’s Lawrence Jones. He sort of owes me one. I’ll call him when we get back.”
The door jingled and in walked the law. Orville Thorne took off his hat, set it on the counter, and took the stool next to Dad, even though the one next to me was empty as well.
“I saw your truck outside, Arlen,” Orville said, not even bothering with a nod in my direction. I felt an overwhelming urge to give him a nipple-twister. “Wanted to tell you I’ve got a couple folks together to hunt down that bear. Probably be tomorrow I should think, we’ll get started first thing in the morning.”
I shook my head, took a sip of coffee.
“What’s the matter with him?” Orville asked Dad.
Lana appeared, leaned over the counter and gave her nephew a kiss on the forehead. “Hey, sweetie. Usual?”
“Sure, Aunt Lana.”
She poured him a cup of coffee, black, then placed a chocolate dip doughnut on a plate for him. Orville took a big bite, washed it down with the hot coffee. His mouth still full, he said to me, “So what’s your problem?”