Kill All the Lawyers

Fifteen

"Let me get this straight," Steve said. "The rabbi was late for your wedding."

"Causing us emotional distress," piped up Sheila Minkin.

"And costing us like a thousand bucks in extra liquor charges," added Max Minkin, newly minted groom. "We had to start the reception before the wedding. Do you know how much the Ritz-Carlton charges per bottle?"

Steve didn't know and didn't care. He just wanted to get the basic facts of this farshlugginer case, then head to court for his own arraignment. It wouldn't hurt if his lawyer-Victoria Lord, Esq.-showed up so she could go along, too.

Where the hell is she?

In the past two minutes, Steve had learned that Max was a stockbroker downtown, Sheila a personal shopper for Neiman Marcus in Bal Harbour. Bride and groom were in their early thirties and well dressed. Steve figured the case was worth fifteen minutes of his time, twenty if he liked the couple. So far, he didn't.

They were sitting in the interior office of Solomon amp; Lord on this chilly day. A northwest wind had definitely replaced the soft Caribbean breezes, and the windows rattled in their panes. Across the alley, on the balcony of an apartment occupied by a Trinidad steel band, wind chimes banged against one another, loud as cymbals. Still, that was preferable to half a dozen bare-chested men with dreadlocks beating sticks against metal pans. In the reception room, Cece Santiago did her bench presses, her grunts interspersed with the clang of the bar dropping into its brackets.

"Three hours late," Sheila Minkin was saying. "Rabbi Finsterman showed up three hours late, and he smelled of liquor."

"He got our names wrong during the ceremony," Max Minkin tossed in. "That's got to be worth something, right?"

Steve tried to pay attention. It was a shit case, no doubt about it. But sometimes you can write a demand letter….

"My clients have suffered grievously as a result of your negligence."

And the guy coughs up five grand to make you go away. One-third of which was $1666.67. Not a bad day's pay, even if he had to listen to the newly wedded Minkins piss and moan, kvetch and noodge.

"First the rabbi said traffic was blocked getting over the Rickenbacker because of the tennis tournament. Then he said a Purim festival in Aventura ran late. But I did a little sleuthing."

Sheila Minkin paused, as if waiting for applause. "The big k'nocker triple-booked. He had another wedding at the Diplomat in Hallandale and a third at the Church of the Little Flower in the Gables."

"A Catholic church?"

"A mixed marriage," Sheila explained. "Finsterman's reform."

"A thousand bucks in extra booze," Max Minkin repeated. "My uncle Sol got so shikker he pinched Aunt Sadie instead of a bridesmaid."

"I have to tell you," Steve said, "this isn't a big-money case. Not much in hard damages."

Working his clients. Preparing them for pin money. And hoping to get them out of his office as quickly as possible.

Just where the hell is Victoria, anyway?

"What about my emotional distress?" Sheila insisted. "I broke out in hives when the band played 'Hava Nagila.'"

"A lot of brides experience tension and stress." Steve played devil's advocate, the devil being the opposing lawyer.

"There's more. Tell him, Max."

Her husband reddened but didn't say a word.

"Okay, I'll tell him. Max couldn't get it up that night. A six-hundred-dollar suite at the Ritz-Carlton, and he couldn't get it up. A groom, on his wedding night! There's a name for that in the law, right?"

Buyer's remorse, Steve thought, but what he said was: "Lost consortium."

"Right. We didn't consort for two days. That's hard damages, right?"

Or soft damages, as the case may be.

"It's a cognizable claim," Steve said, trying to sound like a lawyer. "I just don't want you to think we're talking big money here."

The door opened, and Victoria walked in. Cheeks pink. Her fair complexion showing the effects of the wind. Meaning she hadn't just gotten out of her car.

She'd been walking. Alone. As she did when troubled. Not a good sign. He needed Victoria on so many different levels, and here she was, going all introspective on him.

"Sorry to interrupt," Victoria said softly. "Steve, don't you have to go to court?"

"We do."

"Do you need me? It's all worked out, right?"

True, the hearing would take all of five minutes. The state had agreed to lower the charges to a misdemeanor; Steve would plead nolo contendere and take an anger management course. Adjudication would be withheld, and when Steve got his certificate saying he was gentle as a pussy cat, all records would be expunged. In a strict legal sense, he didn't really need Victoria to stand alongside him in court, but he wanted her there. Saying that was something else. He wasn't going to beg.

"Nah. You don't have to go, Vic. Why don't you finish up here?"

He introduced her to Max and Sheila Minkin and described the facts, which he termed "a shocking case of rabbinical malpractice."

"Shocking," Victoria agreed, with just a smidgen of sarcasm. She turned to the lovebirds and said, "I'm sure we'll be able to achieve a fair and just result for you."

"Fuck that," Sheila Minkin said. "I want you to put that rabbi's nuts in a vise and make him squeal."