🚀 go-pugleaf

	          < continued from preceding post >

   Ichii tugged the door shut on the telephone booth and stared at the
instructions.  After inserting a quarter, he punched the eleven digits
of the phone number given him.
   =Please insert .. two .. dollars and .. eighty- .. five .. cents.=
   Ichii cursed, and fished in his pocket.  Not nearly enough loose
change.  And sure enough, there was nothing resembling a slot for a
dollar bill.
   Ichii reentered the convenience store where he worked.  "Hey, Jung.
I need three bucks worth of change," he told the cashier.
   "What you buy?" the cashier asked.
   "I'm not going to buy anything.  I just want change."
   "Must buy.  Store policy."  Jung pointed at a sign: NO CHANGE.
   "Listen, Jung.  I just need to make a phone call!"
   The Korean shrugged and shook his head.
   Ichii grabbed his shirt collar.  "You know I work here!  Now, open
the damn drawer!"
   "No trouble!  No trouble!" the kid shouted.  Ichii noticed that he
was beginning to reach for a baseball bat.  He also heard the door
open from the manager's office.  Both led him to release the clerk.
   "How much are these little red fishes?" he asked.
   "Three cent."
   "I'll take one," he said, tossing three dollars onto the counter.

				*****

   Horace returned to his seat, completely at his ease.  The last ten
minutes had been the most relaxing of the day, and he felt completely
refreshed.  After a pleasurably long breath, he said, "Your witness."
   "Thank you, counselor.  So, Mel -- may I call you Mel?"
   "All my customers do," the barkeep replied.
   "Thank you.  Now, Mel, as I understand it, a lot of your regulars
will bring their problems to you?"
   "They do.  I'm the closest thing many of them have to a priest."
   "And so they come and just let it all out, is that it?"
   "Basically, yeah."
   "Does Mister Jackson confide in you too?"
   "Yes, he does."
   "And what sorts of things does he tell you?"
   "That's confidential," Mel smiled.
   "Fair enough.  May I at least presume that he's talked to you a
great deal about his daughter?"
   "That you can."
   "Then I suppose you care a great deal about her, too."
   "Vicariously, yes."
   "How often does Mr. Jackson drop by, usually?"
   "Three, four nights a week."
   "Even with a daughter at home?"
   "It's only for a couple hours at a time."
   "And that's how much he's come in lately?"
   Mel paused uncomfortably.  "No," he admitted.
   "'No' as in less often, or more often than usual?"
   "More often."
   "How often?"
   Mel fidgeted, looking helplessly at Richard.
   "If you'd like, I can recall Mary and ask her."
   "Twenty hours a week."
   "Twenty hours a week!  Instead of the usual, how many, six, eight?"
   "August was a Hell(tm) of a month for him."
   "Must be.  And where does his daughter fit in?"
   "What?"
   "Hadn't she also gone through the same bad times?"
   "Some of them, not all."
   "But her problems weren't bad enough for her to need her father?"
   "I didn't say that!"
   "No, you didn't, but is that what you were thinking?"
   "No, it isn't!  He's just .. got a bigger problem."
   "And you won't tell me.  I'll just have to recall the girl; surely
she'll tell me what this bigger problem is."
   The lawyer turned to return to his seat.
   "She doesn't know," Mel blurted out.
   The lawyer turned back with a look of surprise.  "She doesn't know?
You mean to tell me that Mr. Jackson is suffering from a trouble big
enough to neglect his daughter's needs, but he won't tell her?  Don't
you think she has the right to know if something is wrong with him?"
   Mel trembled with indecision, then cast a deeply apologetic look at
his friend.  "Richard is suffering from amnesia."

   During the general hubbub that comes between the excusing of one
witness and the calling of the next, Ichii arrived and slid into the
row behind Richard.  The next witness, he recognized, was Lieutenant
Harper of the West Reno police.  He chose not to smile or wave at the
cop, settling for the look of surprise and disgust that appeared when
Harper saw him.
   "Psst, Mr. Jackson."  Richard turned with a start.  "I called that
number you gave me."
   "Oh?  And what did you find out?"
   "Nothing.  All I got was an answering machine."
   "Then what?"
   "I hung up.  What I was I supposed to do?"
   "Did you leave a message?"
   "Didn't see the point.  The way I see it, by the time she calls
back, this would probably be over."
   "You probably did right."
   "You know, cabs are expensive!  I must have dropped six bucks,
after the three bucks wasted on the phone call."
   "Reality can be a shock.  Try asking Mary for the walkie-talkie I
heard she has.  She won't be needing it any more."

   Lovitz watched the policeman, as he described Richard's assistance
in reducing local street crime.  "He sure looks fidgety up there," she
wondered aloud.
   "Yes, mistress," replied one of her toadies.  "He keeps glancing
over at the kid over there."
   "Him, I know about.  Betty says he'd have a rap sheet a mile long
if the police ever caught up to him, but he always manages to avoid
getting nabbed."  She scribbled a note to her mouthpiece, who glanced
at it, glanced at Ichii, and nodded, returning his attention back to
the proceedings.
   "I could see that bugging the chief."
   "But it's not just that.  He can't seem to stand looking at the
counselor, what's-his-name."
   "Beasley."
   "Right.  Something's up."
   "Say," interrupted the third sycophant, "that kid's staring at us.
Now he's looked away."
   "Never mind him," Lovitz shushed.  "He can't hear us.  Now, Betty's
at the library, digging up what she can of Jackson's past.  I want you
to find her, and have her find out what's up with Beasley here."
   "Yes, mistress."

   "So, in conclusion, Lieutenant Harper, would you agree that Richard
Jackson is a fine, up-standing citizen?"
   "Yes.  I'd almost wish he had more like him."
   "Almost?"
   The policeman looked queerly at the counselor.  "Never mind."
   "Your witness."
   "Thank you, counselor.  Lieutenant, is your personal assessment of
the respondent based on any encounter outside your official capacity?"
   "No.  I have no personal interaction with him."
   "So your admiration is based solely in the help he's given you."
   "Yes, it is.  It's nice to have a concerned citizen in this town."
   "To your knowledge, does Mr. Jackson actually have the power to
enforce the law?"
   "Not to my knowledge.  He always called in to us."
   "I see.  So, he was never one to take the law into his own hands."
   "Correct."
   "Then what do you call 'harboring a juvenile delinquent'?"
   Harper glanced away from him, as expected.
   Horace stood up.  "Objection, your Honor!  My client has never been
charged or even arrested on such grounds!"
   The counselor for the plaintiff smiled, turned towards Horace, saw
an empty seat where Ichii had been, and swore to himself.  "I withdraw
the question, with apologies."  He turned back towards the witness.
"Lieutenant Harper, are you aware that the respondent actually *had*
been arrested in August, on the charge of arson?"
   "Your Honor," objected Horace.  "This is a blatantly hearsay!"
   "Your Honor, I have reason to believe that this witness is biased
in favor of the respondent, despite his claims of having an objective
viewpoint."
   "Very well, overruled."
   "So, Lieutenant, were you aware of those charges?~
   Harper glanced at Richard, then looked back.  "Yes, I was."
   "Now, how do you suppose a fine, up-standing citizen such as
Richard Jackson would get mixed up in something like that?"
   "I have no answer for you.  It is not my case."
   "Thank you."

   "Request to redirect, your Honor," Horace called.
   "Granted."
   "Lieutenant Harper, I suppose you heard of the results of that
arson case."
   "Objection!  Hearsay!"
   "Your Honor, this line of questioning differs in no material way
from that just recently adopted by the petitioner."
   "Overruled.  Proceed."
   Harper replied.  "I know that the case never came to court."
   "And why not?  Was there plea-bargaining involved?"
   "No.  All of the charges were dropped."
   "Thank you."

   "Request to respond, your Honor." called the other lawyer.
   "Granted."
   "Lieutenant Harper.  Do you know *why* the charges were dropped?"
   "Objection!"
   "Sustained!  Would the counsels please approach the bench?"  She
waited irritably for the two to approach, then spoke in as controlled
a voice as she could muster.  "Would you two kindly tell me why you
are asking this witness to testify on a subject about which he is
only tangentially aware?"
   "I'm only following *his* precedent," Horace pointed out.
   "This is central to *his* witness's testimony!" said the other.
   "Stop that!  I will not have you two playing Ping-Pong in *my*
courtroom!  If you wish to bring this evidence to my attention, I urge
you to use a knowledgeable witness."
   "I'd very much like to," said Lovitz's attorney, "but I am a victim
of circumstances.  Surely I am not expected to call Richard Jackson as
a witness for the petitioner!"
   "That would be unusual, yes."
   "And the only potential witness I could call on short notice would
also be considered hostile, namely Jackson's defense attorney."
   "Who is that?" asked the judge.
   "Me," said Horace.

   A tall old man loomed ever Richard's table as the attorneys talked
with the judge.  "Report."
   "Sir!" Richard jumped to his feet and saluted.  "I didn't expect to
see you here!"
   "A leader always looks after his men.  So, what is the situation?"
   Only five feet away, Lovitz looked on with unconcealed disgust.
She then angrily scribbled a note to her spokesman.

				*****

   Betty pored over the labels on the large wall of filing cabinets.
Opening the desired drawer, she looked in and saw it was neatly filled
by the corpse of a baby.  She sighed deeply.  "Stop that!" she urged.
The illusion faded.
   "What else do you expect in a place that calls itself a morgue?"
asked her assistant playfully.
   "Look, I don't have time for this!  We're on a schedule, remember?"
   "Schedules, schmedules!  You didn't use to worry about them!"
   Betty selected a sheet of microfilm and fed it into a reader.
"Well, things are different now, okay?"
   "Somebody's coming.  It's one of *hers*."
   "Whatever it is, no, you may not."
   "Spoilsport."
   "Listen.  Behave, and I'll buy you a briefcase of your very own."
   "My joy knows no bounds."

   "Mistress asked me to bring you this," the man said, presenting her
with a note.
   "'Horace Beasley'" Betty read.  "Never heard of him."
   "Mister Jackson's attorney.  The police chief knows him somehow;
Mistress wants to know how."
   "I'll see what I can do."
   "Anything for Mistress?"
   "Not much.  This guy has no life.  Aside from recent months, it's
almost like he doesn't exist.  But I *did* see his name turn up once
in the distant past.  Looks like he got into trouble with a radio
station back in '69."
   "Thank you!  Thank you!"  The toady took the memo and ran.
   "Pathetic," muttered Betty's assistant.
   "Remember who he works for," said Betty.
   "True.  Oooh, more company."
   "Why don't you disappear?"
   "If you insist."

   Ichii stormed into the room.  "We have to talk!"
   "Pleased to meet you too, Carlos."
   "Wait.  How'd you know my name?"
   "I'm an investigator.  It's my job.  So what brings you here?"
   "I need to know about Mary's Mom."
   "Sorry to hear that.  Client confidentiality, you know."
   "Screw that!  This is my girl friend we're talking about here!"
   "I know that."
   "Then tell me: why is she doing this -- why is she splitting up
Mary and her Dad?"
   "She has her reasons."
   "Don't you think she oughta know?"
   "Look.  I'd like to help you; I really would.  But I can't."
   "Why not?"
   "I need the money."
   "You're trying to wreck our lives to make a buck?"
   "What am I wrecking?  Mary had a superguy career nipped in the bud;
her father won't talk to her, and spends half each night in the bar;
and her boyfriend is liable to spend the rest of his life in jail if
the law ever catches up to him."
   "It ain't like that," Ichii said quietly.
   "Well, it sure as Hell(tm) looks like it from the outside!"
   "Then let me give you the scoop from the inside.  What you're doing
is wrong.  Mary was happy to know that she had a real life mother out
there, but being ripped from her father is really eating her up.  It's
also not doing her old man any good."
   "I'm touched.  But, like I said, I need the money.  You understand
that.  You're in the same boat."
   "What?"
   "You've changed your behavior just because you needed money."
   "That's not true!"
   "Sure it is.  Word gets around.  What was his name -- Jose?"
   "That was just to make him happy.  I actually hope to stay on
regular."
   "Really?" Betty asked with genuine interest.
   "I owe the old man more than just the money.  I respect him now.
Sure, he's changed -- I really don't understand why or how -- but I
think he's better this way.  He's helping me get on my feet; the least
I could do is like him for it."
   "Well, I envy you then.  I really am strapped for cash, and unless
you can beat what my client is paying me, I really can't help you."
   "What about your partner?"
   "Who?"
   "You were talking to someone before I came in."
   Betty guffawed.  "You want *his* help?"
   "Whatever it takes to find out who Mary's Mom is."
   A mysterious whistling wind blew through the subterranean wind,
lifting a stack of papers from Betty's briefcase and spreading them
out in front of Ichii.  Betty chuckled.
   "What the Hell(tm)?" Ichii asked.
   "Never mind.  Just remember.  I didn't give you anything, right?"

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