Give ’Em the Ax

13

Esther Witson came barging in, her face filled with toothful smiles. A couple of steps behind her, a pudgy man about two-thirds bald beamed amiably at us behind horned-rimmed glasses. He had bluish-green eyes, an appearance of beefy solidarity and a manner which was consciously dynamic. It was as though he’d been reading books on how to impress people and had remembered just about all he had read. A short red mustache, ragged and stiff as a bottle brush, separated his nose from a thick upper lip. His thick fingers clutched the handle of a brief case.

“My lawyer, Mr. Mysgart, John Carver Mysgart. He’s handled my legal interests for years,” Esther Witson said.

Mysgart bowed so that the light from Bertha’s window reflected from the shiny expanse of his bald dome.

“This is Mrs. Cool,” Esther Witson went on, “and this is Mr. Lam.”

Mysgart shook hands. He was, he announced, very pleased to meet us both.

“Won’t you be seated?” Bertha asked.

Esther Witson said, “They’ve served papers on me. I brought my lawyer along because I wanted him to explain the legal aspects of the situation.”

She turned to Mysgart and beamed at him.

Mysgart cleared his throat. The amiable expression instantly left his face as he marshaled his features into the judicial. He said, in tones of deep solemnity, “This is a legal outrage, Mrs. Cool. It is unfortunate that the legal profession is besmirched by such a firm as Cosgate & Glimson.”

“Shysters?” Bertha asked.

“Not exactly what you’d call shysters,” Mysgart said. “They are shrewd, aggressive, able and scrupulous in observing the exact letter of the law. But that is all. Yes, Mrs. Cool, that is all. Understand, I wouldn’t want to be quoted in this. It is merely a confidential statement that I’m making — a privileged communication, by the way.”

“He’s had dealings with them before,” Esther Witson interposed.

Mysgart lifted his brief case, opened it. “Take, for instance, this despicable, this damnable attempt to influence your testimony, Mrs. Cool. It is legal in the sense that there’s no law against it, but it is something which the ethical lawyer can never condone. You see what they have done, don’t you?”

“They’ve sued me,” Bertha said.

“Exactly. They’ve named you as a defendant in order to worry you, in order to harass you, in order to annoy you, and in order to stampede you so that in giving your testimony you will be swayed by a desire to placate them.”

Bertha said, “They can’t scare me.”

Esther Witson nodded enthusiastically, “That’s exactly what I told Mr. Mysgart.”

Mysgart beamed at Bertha. “I’m glad to hear you say so, Mrs. Cool. Now my idea is to turn their despicable little trick against them. You are entitled to five days notice before they can take your deposition, but these lawyers naturally didn’t tell you that. They wanted to force you to testify in their favor, to intimidate you, to browbeat you. However, we’ve worked out a perfect defense to their little scheme, Mrs. Cool. My client was not only blameless throughout, but she is a generous, warm hearted, sympathetic woman who has a keen appreciation for the inconvenience to which you have been subjected.

“Mrs. Cool, my client, Esther Witson, has told me that she will defray the expenses of making a legal appearance for you. In other words, I am instructed by my client to file an answer on your behalf and proceed as your attorney until the matter is disposed of and it will not cost you one red cent — not one red cent, Mrs. Cool. My client will defray the entire cost of the action.”

Bertha beamed all over her face. “You mean I won’t have to hire any lawyer?”

“No, Mr. Mysgart will appear for you. He’ll take care of everything,” Esther Witson said.

“And it won’t cost me a cent?”

“Not a red cent,” Mysgart repeated.

Bertha heaved a sigh of relief and reached for a cigarette.

There was a moment’s silence while Bertha lit up. I could see Bertha struggling for a diplomatic approach. Abruptly she blurted, “How about settling the case?”

“Settling it!” Mysgart said mouthing the words as though forcing himself to say something utterly reprehensible. “My dear Mrs. Cool, there is nothing to settle — absolutely nothing.”

Bertha coughed a couple of times, looked over to me for help.

I didn’t say anything.

Bertha said, “After all, you know, lawsuits are expensive. And it occurred to me that in order to avoid all of the trouble of litigation — well, you know, I might make some offer of settlement to the plaintiff’s lawyer to see if he’d wipe the whole thing off the books.”

“Oh don’t do that! For Heaven’s sake, don’t do that, Mrs. Cool! That would be an admission of liability on your part. That would jeopardize the entire case. That would be inconceivably disastrous!”

“Well,” Bertha said, “I’m a busy woman. I can’t take the time...”

“Oh, but it isn’t going to cost you anything,” Esther Witson interrupted. “Mr. Mysgart will represent you at every stage of the proceedings and there won’t be any charge — none whatever.”

“But there’s my time,” Bertha said lamely. “I thought perhaps... well, you know, I’d offer them a thousand or two and see what they did.”

Mysgart and his client exchanged glances of incredulous amazement.

“You mean you’d offer it yourself out of your own pocket?”

“Why not?”

“But why should you?” Mysgart said. “Can’t you understand, Mrs. Cool, the only reason on God’s green earth that they have made you a party defendant to this action is so they could take your deposition and bullyrag you into distorting what had happened so that it would be in their favor. It’s a very shrewd and a very desperate trick. They put you in the position of being a defendant faced with a large contingent liability, and then assure you that if your testimony is the way they think it is going to be, they will dismiss the action against you. It’s very plainly an attempt to influence the witness.”

Bertha looked over at me.

I lit a cigarette.

Bertha looked at Mysgart, floundered around for words, then suddenly turned on me and said, “Damn it, say something.”

Mysgart elevated his eyebrows, glanced curiously over at me.

“Want me to tell you what I think?” I asked Bertha.

“Yes.”

I said, “Go ahead, tell them the truth. Tell them that Miss Witson was driving along behind you; that you stopped your car because you wanted to turn left; that you motioned her to go on around you and she stopped to bawl you out, and that was the reason she didn’t see Lidfield’s car coming.”

There was a silence that you could have been put in a slicing machine, cut off into small slices and wrapped up in paper.

Esther Witson said suddenly, “Well, if that’s the position you’re going to take, I’ll do a little talking myself.”

Mysgart said soothingly, “Come, come now, ladies. Let’s...”

“Shut up,” Esther Witson said. “As a matter of fact, this fat slob was driving all over the road. First she was on the left. Then she swung way over to the right, just in front of me. Then damned if she didn’t stop and start giving left-hand turn signals and then waving her arms and going through a lot of outdoor calisthenics...”

“Who’s a fat slob?” Bertha yelled.

“You are!”

“Ladies, ladies,” Mysgart interposed.

“My God,” Bertha said, “no horse-toothed bitch is going to call me a fat slob. I’m heavy — but I’m hard. There’s nothing slobby about me. Get the hell out of here!”

“And,” Esther Witson went on, “because I didn’t know what you were going to do, and was trying to get past you. I was lured out into the intersection and...”

“My dear young lady,” Mysgart said, on his feet now and between her and Bertha Cool, “you mustn’t, you simply mustn’t make such statements.”

“I don’t care,” Esther Witson screamed. “It was all her fault, and as far as I’m concerned, she’s the one that’s responsible for the whole business.”

Bertha Cool said, “You were so damned anxious to bawl me out that you damn near twisted your neck off. You weren’t even looking where you were going. All I saw was those horse teeth of yours...”

“Don’t you say anything about my teeth, you fat swill barrel!”

Mysgart got the door open into the corridor. “Please, Miss Witson, please — I beg of you.”

Esther Witson yelled back over his shoulder, “I didn’t want you for a witness, anyway. I hate fat stupidity.”

“Keep your lips over your teeth as much as you can, Dearie,” Bertha said. “You look like hell when your mouth is all the way open.”

The door slammed.

Bertha, her face almost purple, looked at me. “Damn you,” she said, “you did that. Sometimes I could rip you apart just to see what makes you tick — only you don’t tick. You’re too smooth. You’re just a lot of damn wheels running in an oil bath. God how I hate you!”

I said, “Your cigarette’s burning the desk.”

Bertha snatched up the cigarette end, ground it out in the ash tray and glowered at me.

I said, “It had to come out sooner or later. It’s better this way. You try juggling the truth and you’ll get hurt. Eventually we’ll settle this case for Crail, but not by letting Mysgart think he’s going to have a case he can win. Esther Witson has money. If you settle the case, Mysgart can’t charge his client a fat fee. If you’re on his side, he’ll put in a lot of time on legal monkey business and when he’s won the case send his client a bill for about three thousand bucks. Tell the truth and Mysgart may be willing to work out a settlement. Well, I’ve got some work to do. See you around deposition time. Better think over what you’re going to say.”

I walked out of the office. Bertha, frowning at her desk, was too busy thinking to say anything.

Elsie Brand was pounding away at the keyboard of the typewriter. Without missing a beat of a single letter, she glanced up at me, her right eye slowly closed.

I winked back at her and went out.