Previously: “Pops, how’d you like to be a lawyer?”
And now: Pops was so deep into debt with Tranks, he had to just stand there and ask “What now?”
“Pops, you watch any late night TV? You know the stuff, meet girls, get rich, lawyers, that stuff?” Tranks asked. Barry in the meantime had brought a gift of corn dogs over to Pops as a reminder of what they had done together in the recent past. Barry was anything if not subtle.
“Tranks, look, I don’t know anything about lawyers. And Barry, by the way, thanks for the corn dogs, Polly loves ‘em.” Pops did not pick up on the subtlety that Barry was pushing.
“Pops, this little joint would be perfect for a PI lawyer to operate out of. Cheap, seedy, bad food, and it’s got a bathroom. It’s perfect.”
I have to admit it, Tranks was resourceful. Certainly not above the law, but hey, who here is? He wanted to install one of his not-quite-bright minions as a personal injury lawyer in Pops place. If I knew this was on the level, I’d vote for it. Lawyers, even the bad ones (well, how do you make that distinction?) tend to class up the place. Or would in Pops’ case. However, I’m pretty sure this guy would not have passed the bar, at least not one without alcohol sold in it.
“Look Pops, it’s a no-brainer. We’ll take only those cases in which the perp has been charged with resisting arrest. Do you know how easy it is to defend those? I’ve come up with a fool-proof defense.” Tranks claiming something was fool-proof was an oxymoronic statement, right up there with political ethics. But since I hadn’t had a good laugh that day, I was willing to listen and suspend disbelief if possible. Afterwards, possible was not the operational word, “required” was.
“OK, Tranks, this’ll be good. Let’s hear it,” I offered.
“Fog, you do speak after all. I may have to hire you next. Anyway, this is the deal. Say, I decide I want to smash you in the face and I do it. And I get you good. Do you stop me? No. Why? Because I did it unexpectedly. You didn’t know what I wanted or was going to do. Same thing with the cops. Let’s say now that I’m driving a little on the fast side. Ehh, maybe a lot. Anyway, a cop comes up behind me and flashes his lights. I pull over and stop. The cop gets out and walks over. With me so far? Good. He asks the dumb question, ‘Do you know how fast you’re going?’ Well, yeah, of course I do, I was driving the damn car. Figuring he just wanted to talk I politely answered him and told him it was nice talking with him but I had to be someplace soon. And I drive off, leaving him by the side of the road. Aside from driving maybe a little too fast. I haven’t done anything wrong, right? But he gets in his car, puts on the lights, calls out for back-up and catches me further down the highway and charges me with resisting arrest.
“That’s where this whole thing works. Like me smashing you in the face, you didn’t know what I was going to do. So, how did I know what he was going to do? Did he mention he was going to arrest me? No. Could I read his mind? No again. So how the hell can he get me for resisting arrest when I didn’t know that’s what he was going to do. It’s brilliant, I tell you. I would have had to have known that’s what he was going to do in order for me to resist it. Brilliant. I thought of that myself.”
Brilliant was right. In the same way a 15 watt light bulb is brilliant. This was not going to end well.