As the senior partner, Oscar felt compelled to take the initiative. “We can pay a thousand bucks a month, and you keep half of what you bring in. After six months, we’ll reevaluate.”
Wally jumped in quickly with “It will be rough at first, lots of competition out there on the streets.”
“We can toss some files your way,” Oscar added.
“We’ll give you a piece of the Krayoxx litigation,” Wally said, as if they were already banking huge fees.
“The what?” David asked.
“Never mind,” Oscar said with a frown.
“Look, guys,” David said with a smile. He was far more at ease than they were. “I’ve made a very nice salary for the past five years. I’ve spent a lot, but there’s a chunk in the bank. Don’t worry about me. I’ll take the deal.” And with that he thrust out a hand, shaking Oscar’s first, then Wally’s.
CHAPTER 10
David cleaned for the next hour. He wiped dust from the desk and chairs. He found an old Hoover in the kitchen and vacuumed the plank floors. He filled three large bags with trash and put them on the small porch out back. He stopped occasionally to admire the windows and sunlight, something he’d never done at Rogan Rothberg. Sure, on a clear day the view across Lake Michigan was captivating, but he had learned during his first year with the firm that time spent gazing out from the Trust Tower was time that could not be billed. Rookie associates were placed in bunker-like cubicles, where they toiled around the clock and, with time, forgot about sunshine and daydreaming. Now David couldn’t stay away from the windows. The view, admittedly, was not as captivating. Looking down, he could see the massage parlor, and beyond it the intersection of Preston, Beech, and Thirty-eighth, the very spot where he’d taken a piece of metal to the slimeball Gholston and chased him away. Beyond the intersection was a block of more converted bungalows.
Not much of a view, but David liked it anyway. It represented an exciting change in his life, a new challenge. It meant freedom.
Wally dropped in every ten minutes to check on things, and it became obvious he had something on his mind. Finally, after an hour, he said, “Say, David, I’m due in court at eleven. Divorce court. I doubt you’ve ever been there, so I was thinking you could tag along and I’ll introduce you to the judge.”
The cleaning had become monotonous. David said, “Let’s go.”
As they were leaving through the back door, Wally said, “Is that your Audi SUV?”
“It is.”
“Do you mind driving? I’ll do the talking.”
“Sure.”
As they were pulling onto Preston, Wally said, “Look, David, the truth is that I got a DUI a year ago and my license is suspended. There, I said it. I believe in being honest.”
“Okay. You’ve certainly seen me drunk enough.”
“I have indeed. But your cute wife told me you’re not much of a drinker. I, on the other hand, have quite a history. I’m sober for sixty-one days now. Every day is a challenge. I go to AA, and I’ve rehabbed several times. What else do you want to know?”
“I didn’t bring this up.”
“Oscar, he has a few strong ones every night. Believe me, with his wife, he needs them, but he keeps it under control. Some people are like that, you know. They can stop with two or three. They can skip a few days, even weeks, no problem. Others can’t stop until they black out, kinda like you yesterday.”
“Thanks, Wally. Where are we headed, by the way?”
“The Daley Center downtown, 50 West Washington. Me, I do fine for a while. I’ve quit four or five times, you know?”
“How would I know that?”
“Anyway, enough of the booze.”
“What’s wrong with Oscar’s wife?”
Wally whistled and looked out the side window for a moment. “Tough woman, man. One of these people who grew up in a nicer part of town, father wore a suit and tie to work, as opposed to a uniform, so she was raised to believe she’s better than most. A real snot. She made a major mistake when she married Oscar because she figured he was a lawyer, right? Lawyers make lots of money, right? Not exactly. Oscar has never made enough to satisfy her, and she hammers him relentlessly because she wants more money. I loathe the woman. You won’t meet her, because she refuses to set foot in the office, which suits me just fine.”
“Why not get a divorce?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying for years. Me, I got no problem with divorce. Been down that road four times.”
“Four times?”
“Yep, and every trip was worth the hassle. You know what they say—the reason divorce is so expensive is because it’s worth it.” Wally laughed at this stale punch line.
“Are you married now?” David asked, somewhat cautiously.
“Nope, back on the prowl,” Wally said smugly, as if no woman were safe. David couldn’t imagine a less attractive person hitting on females in bars and at parties. So, in less than fifteen minutes, he had learned Wally was a recovering alcoholic with four ex-wives, several trips through rehab, and at least one DUI. David decided to stop with the questions.
Over breakfast with Helen, he had dug a bit online and learned that (1) ten years earlier, Finley & Figg had settled a sexual harassment suit brought by a former secretary; (2) on one occasion, Oscar had been reprimanded by the state bar association for overcharging a client in a divorce case; (3) on two prior occasions, Wally had been reprimanded by the state bar association for “blatant solicitation” of clients who’d been injured in auto accidents, including an apparently messy affair involving Wally wearing doctor’s scrubs and barging into the hospital room of a badly wounded teenager who died an hour later; (4) at least four former clients had sued the firm alleging malpractice, though it was unclear if any recovered damages; and (5) the firm had been mentioned in a scathing article written by a professor of legal ethics who was sick of lawyers’ advertising. And all of this was just over breakfast.
Helen had been alarmed, but David took a hard, cynical line and argued that such dubious behavior couldn’t touch the cutthroat brand of law practiced by the fine folks at Rogan Rothberg. He had only to mention the Strick River case to win the argument. The Strick River in Wisconsin had been thoroughly polluted by an infamous chemical company represented by Rogan Rothberg, and after decades of brutal litigation and skillful legal wrangling the dumping continued.
Wally was digging through his briefcase.
The skyline came into view, and David looked at the tall, majestic buildings crowded together in downtown Chicago. The Trust Tower was in the center. “I would be there right now,” he said softly, almost to himself. Wally looked up, saw the skyline, and realized what David was thinking.
“Which one?” Wally asked.
“The Trust Tower.”
“I was in the Sears Tower one summer, a clerk, after my second year of law school. Martin & Wheeler. And I thought that’s what I wanted.”
“What happened?”
“Couldn’t pass the bar exam.”
David added that to the growing list of defects.
“You’re not going to miss it, are you?” Wally asked.
“No, I’m breaking into a sweat right now, just looking at the building. I don’t want to get any closer.”
“Take a left on Washington. We’re almost there.”