Read Online Vulgar Boatman by William G. Tapply - Free Book Online Page A

Legal theory. Precedents, hoary old Latin terms, statutes and torts and contracts, all the good stuff that was evolved to enable attorneys to maintain an abstracted distance from the human pain and inequity the law is supposed to mediate. In one corner of my office, I have two shoulder-high file cabinets crammed with abstractions. Two shelves of weighty tomes full of more abstractions. Thousands of little legal pigeonholes, each with its unique shape, into which real flesh-and-blood people are supposed to be fitted.
    The fit never seems perfect.
    Those volumes and file cabinets are full of laws. But they’re not the law. That’s why they put people into offices like mine, along with the files and the books. Laws are like automobiles: They need lawyers to make them go.
    Julie scratched on my door with her fingernails.
    “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” I said.
    She came in and stood in front of me, looking slim and Irish and gorgeous as usual. She carried a sheaf of papers in her hand.
    “Care to discuss business, or do you want to bag the rest of the day?” she said.
    “What I want to do and what I’ve got to do are two different things.”
    “Fishing trip got rained out, huh?”
    “Yes, but that’s not it.”
    “Something heavier than getting rained out of a fishing trip? Want to talk about it?”
    “Yes. But not now. Come in. Sit down. Fill me in.”
    Julie took the chair beside my desk. Up close, I could see the spatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the last vestiges of her summer tan.
    She took the top sheet of paper from her pile and looked at it. “Mr. Paradise called. Three times. You have to call him back.”
    “My kind of law,” I said. “He’s got a new invention, no doubt. Frank Paradise is my favorite client. He never calls me for anything bad. He’s always excited when he calls. Frank is a helluva guy. What else?”
    “Doctor Adams. He left a message, and I quote: ‘The blues are going bananas off Plum Island. Interested?’ ” Julie frowned. “This must have something to do with fishing.”
    “Right,” I said. “Bluefish. Doc wants to go fishing.”
    She sighed. “Sometimes I feel more like a social secretary than a legal one. Mr. McDevitt wants to play golf. He told me he thinks he’s cured his slice. In vast and totally incomprehensible detail. He used the word ‘pronate’ several times. Mentioned his ‘V’s’ often, too, and where they should be properly aimed.”
    “His grip,” I said. “Charlie is messing with his grip again.”
    Julie shrugged. “I just take the messages. But he was very agitated. He said, and I’m quoting again now because he made me write it down, he said, ‘It’s a matter of great urgency that we convene on Friday.’ That’s the end of the quote.”
    “He said ‘convene’?”
    “Of course. I am very precise about such things.”
    “Of course you are. Friday, huh. How’s my calendar look?”
    “You always keep it clear on Friday afternoons. Golf, fishing, Hungarian ladies…”
    “Hmm,” I said. “Charlie’s afraid he’ll forget his new grip. Okay. Anything else?”
    “I took the liberty of making a ten-thirty for you tomorrow. Mr. and Mrs. Fallon. A referral from Doctor Segrue.”
    “Divorce?”
    “ Au contraire ,” said Julie, smiling. “They want to have a child.”
    “I’m not a sex therapist.”
    “A classic understatement,” said Julie, rolling her eyes. “Somehow I didn’t get the impression that they were looking for that. Mrs. Fallon was understandably reluctant to discuss it with me. But, frankly, my dear, I am curious as hell, so after you see them…”
    I reached over and patted her arm. “You will hear all, I promise.”
    She grinned. “Okay. And that’s it. I took care of everything else.”
    “I must say, it’s a pleasure working for you,” I said. “Now leave, so I can do what you’ve assigned to me.”
    “I know you’ll call Doctor Adams and Mr. McDevitt. But don’t forget