The Underground Man

2

Steve had a chance to size up Mr. Walsh while Tracy ushered him into the room and sat him in the clients’ chair. The description, he figured, had been accurate. Only it hadn’t gone far enough. Mr. Walsh was indeed unshaven and dressed in the clothes of a street person. But there are street people and street people. Some of them are sniveling and pitiful and helpless. Some of them are loud, truculent and obnoxious. Some of them are nauseatingly polite, thanking and god-blessing each and every person who ignores their entreaties.

Mr. Walsh didn’t fall into any category except the one regarding his appearance. He had a fright wig of snow-white hair framing his unshaven face. The hairs of his stubbly beard were considerably darker, perhaps naturally, or, Steve reflected, perhaps colored by dirt. The latter was certainly possible, as there were dirt smudges on the cheeks and nose.

He wore a flannel shirt, slightly askew and not tucked into his gabardine pants, a sweater-vest fastened by a single button, and a heavy tweed overcoat that had obviously seen better days. The coat looked as if someone had slept in it, which someone obviously had. The overall effect was to give Mr. Walsh the appearance of the most pitiful of street people-the lunatic, the mental incompetent.

Except for the eyes. The eyes belied the whole image. They were sharp and focused and clear.

They took in Steve Winslow at a glance. If Mr. Walsh was surprised by Steve’s appearance, he didn’t show it. If he was impressed, he didn’t show it either. His mouth was set in a straight line. His head was up and his jaw was out, quarrelsomely, as if expecting a fight.

“So,” he said. “You’re Winslow.”

Steve smiled. “That’s right. I’m Steve Winslow. This is my secretary, Tracy Garvin. And you’re Mr. Walsh?”

“That’s right. Jack Walsh.”

“What can I do for you, Mr. Walsh?”

Walsh jerked his thumb. “You can tell her to leave.”

Steve smiled again. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Walsh. Miss Garvin is my secretary, takes notes on everything I do. If you don’t want to talk to her, you can’t talk to me. It’s as simple as that.”

Walsh looked at Steve. Then at Tracy. Then back at Steve. With a snort, he flopped himself down in the clients’ chair. “All right. She stays.”

“Fine,” Steve said. He shot Tracy a look, then settled himself behind his desk. “Go ahead, Mr. Walsh. What is it you want?”

“I want to see you about a will.”

Despite himself, Steve couldn’t keep the surprise off his face. He’d expected a personal injury, a grievance against the city, harassment by some police officer or other.

But not this.

“A will?” Steve said.

“Yes, a will,” Walsh said irritably. “What’s the matter? You’re a lawyer, you never heard of a will before?”

“I’ve heard of wills, Mr. Walsh. But I’ve never actually drawn one.”

“Who asked you?”

“No one asked me, but if that’s what you’re after, perhaps you’re in the wrong law office.”

“No, I’m in the right law office, all right.”

“How is that?”

“Because I’m talking to the lawyer. The other office I went, I didn’t get past the damn receptionist.”

“Is that so?” Steve said. “Tell me, how did you find me?”

“Saw your picture in the paper once. Looked like someone might be willing to talk to me.”

“Oh, really? And what paper was that?”

Walsh frowned. “What the hell difference does that make?”

“It doesn’t,” Steve said. “Just making conversation. All right. You want to see me about a will. Whose will?”

“Mine.”

“You want me to draw you a will?”

“I already told you I didn’t.”

“What do you want?”

“Information. Legal advice.”

“About a will?”

“Yes.”

Steve frowned. “That’s not my field of expertise. I do mostly criminal work.”

“You passed the bar, didn’t you? You went to law school?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know enough to answer my questions. At least you should. If you can’t, just say so.”

“All right, Mr. Walsh, why don’t you tell me what this is about?”

“Fine. Here’s the thing. A while back, I made a will. Quite a while back, actually.”

“Leaving what to whom?”

Walsh shook his head. “That’s not important.”

“You may think it’s not,” Steve said. “But I’m a lawyer. If you want advice on a certain document-”

Walsh waved his hands. “No, no, no. You’re getting way ahead of yourself. Just listen. I’ll tell you what the problem is. Then you’ll know if these things are important or not.”

“Fine,” Steve said. “Tell it your way.”

“I will, if you’ll stop interrupting.”

Steve shot Tracy an amused look. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

“All right. I made this will. Drawn up by lawyers. Signed in their presence. Signed by witnesses. All nice and fancy and legal.”

“So?”

“Suppose I were to make a new will?”

“What about it?”

“Suppose I change my will, but I don’t want anyone to know it? Can I do that?”

Steve frowned. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Exactly what I said. Suppose I change my will and no one knows it-is it legal?”

“When you say no one, you mean the heirs?”

“I mean no one. When I say no one, I mean no one. No lawyers. No witnesses. No one. Suppose I change my will myself, and nobody knows I’ve done it. Is it legal?”

Steve smiled. “That’s kind of like the tree falling in the forest and there’s no one there to hear it.”

“No, it isn’t,” Walsh said, impatiently. “I don’t mean like I dig a hole and bury it and no one ever finds it. Suppose I change my will and no one knows I’ve done it, but I make arrangements that after my death the new will would be discovered. My question is, would it invalidate the prior will and stand in its place?”

“If it was legally binding, it would. That’s what the phrase, ‘Last Will and Testament,’” means. The last will drawn by the decedent is the one that takes precedence.”

“I know that. I know that. It’s the first thing you said. If it’s legally binding. That’s the whole point. How can I make sure it’s legally binding?”

“The safest way is to have it drawn by an attorney.”

“I know that. But if I don’t. If I draw the will myself. Can the will I draw myself take precedence over the will prepared by lawyers and signed in the presence of witnesses?”

“Yes, provided it’s legally binding.”

Walsh threw up his hands. “We’re talking in circles here. If I draw the will myself, how can I make it legally binding?”

Steve sighed. “All right. First of all, you don’t type it. You make it entirely in your own handwriting. And when I say entirely, I mean entirely. That is to say, you can’t use letterhead. You start with an entirely blank sheet of paper.”

“Fine. What else?”

“You use a pen, of course, for the entire document. You date it. You state your full name. You state that you are of sound mind and body. You state specifically that you revoke all prior wills. You state that this is your last will and testament. Then you state specifically how you wish to dispose of your property. This is where it gets tricky, and this is where you need a lawyer.”

“Why?”

“Because in most wills there are specific bequests and a residuary clause. Do you know what that means?”

“Of course I do. Why is that tricky?”

“Because the value of a person’s property may fluctuate. Which puts the beneficiary of the residuary clause at risk.”

“How is that?”

“Because the specific bequests are fixed, whereas the residuary clause isn’t. For example, suppose you had a hundred thousand dollars to leave. You make five bequests of ten thousand dollars each. Those people are going to get ten thousand dollars no matter what. Your beneficiary is going to get fifty thousand dollars by the residuary clause. Say before you die you suffer business losses and your property sinks to fifty thousand. Since the ten thousand dollars bequests are fixed, those five people get ten grand each, and your principal beneficiary gets nothing.”

Walsh shook his head. “No, no. That’s not a problem. I understand all that, anyway. I don’t need a lawyer to help me with it. I make all my specific bequests, and then I say, all the rest, remainder and residue of my property I leave to blah, blah, blah. Right?”

“That’s essentially right.”

“Fine. What else do I have to do?”

“If there’s anyone you wish to disinherit, don’t just omit them. Mention them by name and state that you are disinheriting them. ‘To Cousin Fred I leave nothing because he’s a schmuck,’ or words to that effect.”

Walsh never cracked a smile. “What else?”

“When you’ve finished all that, you sign your will. That’s the last thing you do. And sign it at the very bottom.”

Walsh looked at him. “Why wouldn’t I sign it at the very bottom?”

“You would and you should. That’s the place to do it.”

“Then why do you even mention it?”

“To make sure there’s no confusion. See, you already started the document, ‘I, so and so, being of sound mind and body,’ etc., etc. Since you are writing in longhand, some people might argue writing your name at the top in that manner constitutes a signature. Whether it does or not is a moot point if you simply sign it at the bottom. Also, signing it at the bottom verifies the fact that the will is indeed over, that there isn’t an additional page kicking around someplace that somehow got lost.”

“Fine. Fine. So if I do all that, I’m set?”

“You should be.”

“And this will take precedence over the prior will, even though that will was prepared by lawyers and signed in the presence of witnesses?”

“It should.”

Walsh frowned. “Why do you say ‘should?’”

Steve smiled. “Because anyone can hire a lawyer to argue anything. If the heirs named in the prior will want to contest the new one, they can. It doesn’t mean they can win, and if you follow the instructions I’ve given you exactly, they shouldn’t win. But if you want a hundred percent, dead certain, money-back guarantee, you must understand that there’s nothing in life that’s a sure thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Walsh said. “Protect your backside. But practically speaking, the handwritten will would be good?”

“That’s right.”

“I see,” Walsh said. He thought for a moment.

“Was there something else?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Walsh said. “Suppose there’s some delay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, suppose the handwritten will isn’t found for a while?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Walsh waved it away. “That’s not important. I’m saying what if. Suppose for some reason this handwritten will is misplaced. The lawyers produce the will they’ve drawn. It’s probated. People inherit. Then the new will is found.”

Steve frowned. He looked at Walsh narrowly. “What’s your question?”

“What would happen then? Would the new will take precedence? Would the old will be upset? Would the heirs have to give the money back?”

Steve pursed his lips. “They might.”

Now it was Walsh’s turn to frown. “Why do you say ‘might?’ It’s my understanding they would.”

“Your understanding’s correct. And ordinarily they would. But …”

“But what?”

“You’d have a situation then. Be one hell of a legal dogfight.”

“I know that. But who would win?”

“The beneficiaries named in the handwritten will. Except for one thing. Collusion.” Steve shook his head. “Big problem, Mr. Walsh. If the beneficiaries named in the prior will are in a position to prove that the handwritten will was deliberately withheld, that it was planned that way, that they had been tricked into thinking they had inherited when they had in fact not, then they would have legal recourse. They would have a cause of action against you.”

“I’d be dead.”

“Against your estate. And if they were able to successfully sue your estate, reducing the amount that you have left to leave, they would be able to divert the money away from your beneficiary and into their own pockets just as effectively as if they had inherited under the old will.”

“I see, I see,” Walsh said. “That’s all right. That’s not the case.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Steve said. “You come in here and ask me that specific question, I have to assume that that’s exactly the case.”

Walsh grinned. “Yes, but you’re a lawyer. You don’t go blabbing everything you know. There’s a law of privileged communications, right? Everything I tell you is confidential. So, no problem. Collusion? What collusion? We’re talking hypothetically here.

“So that’s it. If the will is entirely in my own handwriting and signed and dated and revokes all prior wills, I’m home free.” Walsh stood up. “Fine. What do I owe you?”

Steve shook his head. “No charge. I didn’t do anything.”

“I mean for the consultation.”

Steve smiled. “No charge.”

Walsh frowned irritably. “Of course there’s a charge. There’s no such thing as free advice. Free advice ain’t worth taking. If you give me free advice, then you’re a fool, and I’d be a fool to follow it. Here, let me see.”

He pulled his overcoat aside and rummaged in his pants pocket. He pulled out a dirty, crumpled bill and laid it on the desk. “There,” he said. He rummaged in his pocket again, pulled out another crumpled bill, set that on the desk. “And there. Now we’re square. You get what you pay for. Now if you gave me bum advice and it don’t work out, you’ll feel bad. Of course, I’ll be dead, so I won’t know. But you’ll have to live with it.”

Walsh nodded shortly. “Thanks for your time.”

“Now wait a minute,” Steve said. “You can’t just ask for advice and then go running off and try applying it-”

Walsh was already halfway to the door. Over his shoulder he said, “That’s what you think.”

A few more steps and he was gone, slamming the door behind him.

Steve looked after him, shook his head, and grinned at Tracy Garvin. “Son of a bitch,” he said. “What do you make of that?”

Tracy shook her head. “What do I make of it? What do you make of it. Here’s a guy off the street, and you sit here talking to him about specific bequests and residuary beneficiaries as if he were just some normal client. I mean, what can he possibly have that he wants to leave?”

“I have no idea,” Steve said. “Whatever it is, I just hope he doesn’t get into trouble. A person who wants to get his law from a lawyer and then apply it to the facts himself is usually a fool. I just hope in his case it doesn’t make any difference.”

Steve sighed and ran his hand over his head. “Well, Tracy, I’m afraid our two clients didn’t amount to much. The first case was a total washout, and the second earned us a whopping two bucks.”

Tracy got up from her chair. “You want this written up?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Steve said. “And duly reported to the IRS. I can’t wait till they see that one. ‘Consultation fee: two dollars.’”

Tracy walked over to the desk, picked up the bills and smoothed them out. “Oh shit,” she said.

Steve looked up. “What’s the matter?”

“Your two-dollar fee.”

“What about it?”

Tracy smoothed the bills out and handed them over.

They were hundred dollar bills.