Scandalous Behavior

39

Dr. Don Beverly Calhoun sat in a holding cell in Katonah, New York. His companions were not what Calhoun would consider felicitous company, and at least one of them smelled very bad. Calhoun had been there for the better part of two hours, and his discomfort had made it seem twice that.

His attention was drawn to the door by the rattling of a key in the lock. “Which one of you is Calhoun?” the jailer asked.

Calhoun’s hand shot up. “I am.”

“No,” said another prisoner, raising his hand, “I am Calhoun.”

Calhoun stood up, terrified that the other man, not he, would be set free. “I am Calhoun! Check my wallet — it’s in an envelope at the front desk.”

“Okay, Calhoun, come with me,” the jailer said. He pointed to the interloper. “You, siddown and shaddup.”

Calhoun followed the jailer down a hall and to the front desk, where his attorney waited, clutching a brown envelope.

“Okay,” the lawyer said, “you’re sprung.” He handed Calhoun the envelope. “Your personal effects.”

Calhoun followed him to the car, where his wife waited in the backseat, and settled himself in the front passenger seat before retrieving his watch, ring, wallet, and other effects from the envelope.

“Do you know how long I’ve been sitting in this car?” his wife demanded to know.

“Just about as long as I have been sitting in a cell, I expect.”

“I’m sorry it took so long,” the attorney said, starting the car. “The wheels of justice grind slowly.”

“I’m hungry,” Cheree said.

“I’m afraid it’s a forty-minute drive to Litchfield, and our hearing is in half an hour,” the attorney said.

“Swell.”

Forty-five minutes later they entered a small courtroom, glared at by judge and prosecutor.

“I apologize for our tardiness, Your Honor,” the attorney said, “but we were in another hearing.”

“Let’s get on with it,” the judge said. “Mr. Prosecutor?”

The hearing was a near duplicate of the one in Katonah, and once again Calhoun found himself in another cell, this time, mercifully, alone. Less than an hour passed before he was released on bail.

Calhoun watched as his wife greedily consumed a good lunch at a local restaurant. It had always annoyed him that she could eat for an hour with both hands and not gain an ounce. He ate just enough to keep his blood sugar up, afraid that he might throw up on the table if he ate more.

Back in the car, Calhoun rounded on his attorney. “How long am I going to be subjected to this kind of punishment?” he demanded.

“I expect for as long as you keep behaving stupidly, Don,” the attorney replied, disrespectfully using his first name.

“So you think I myself am to blame for all this?”

“Of course I do.”

“That is outrageous.”

“I hope you’re referring to your conduct,” the attorney said. “And while we’re on the subject, did you send your minions to paint the facade of Stone Barrington’s house?”

Calhoun made sputtering noises.

“I’ll take that as confirmation. Have you not yet realized, after three hearings in two countries, that you are trying to intimidate someone who will not be intimidated? Have you behaved in this manner in the other cities in which you live?”

“Certainly not,” Calhoun spat.

“Well, let’s see: you’ve been run out of Atlanta, New Orleans, Albuquerque, and Britain so far, and maybe Los Angeles, too.”

“I have not been run out of anywhere!” Calhoun shouted. “I simply enjoy experiencing different cities and countries!”

“Have you ever Googled yourself?”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“I recommend it for getting a clear picture of your past,” the attorney said. “Your bio on Wikipedia makes you sound like a megalomaniacal lunatic.”

“Then I’ll sue... whoever you said that was.”

“Then that makes you a hyper-litigious, megalomaniacal lunatic.”

“You, sir, are fired as my attorney!” Calhoun screamed.

“And that, sir, is a great relief!” The attorney whipped into a rest stop on the Connecticut — New York border and screeched to a halt. “Get out!”

“What?”

“Get out of my car! You are no longer my client, and I will not devote another minute to chauffeuring you from hearing to hearing! And take that woman with you!” he yelled, jerking a thumb at Cheree.

“Let’s go, Don,” Cheree said, opening her own door.

The two of them got out, and the attorney drove away, leaving them standing in front of the public restrooms.

Calhoun was slapping his pockets. “Where is my phone?”

She handed it to him. “You gave it to me when they locked you up the first time. Now you get on it and get us a car out of here. I have to pee.” She stormed away, leaving him looking for a car service.