Читать книгу Klick's Shorts - Milam Smith - Страница 13

After making out a quick contract to cover the disposition of the Lottery Ticket and having McGillicutty sign it, I drove my trusty steed - a 1968 Dodge Charger, recently painted white - to the Tarrant County Courthouse. I counted the wad of bills as I drove. Five grand, and then some. Enough to take care of the lawyer I owed, and a bit extra for a dinner at El Chico’s. Since the closing of Casa Linda a few years ago, I’d resorted to franchise Mexican food.

The lawyer I had to pay off sued me on behalf of a client with whom I’d gotten a little rough. Just ‘cause the guy had a gun out and ready to shoot me, was no reason for me to break his arm, nose and a foot for good measure. Didn’t want to pay his bill. Seems the evidence he thought I could produce that would clear him in a insurance-scam suit clearly pointed the finger of guilt square on him.

Lawyers and insurance salespeople….

I twirled around the beautiful Courthouse a few times before finding a open parking meter. I obediently covered the meter with a FWPD bag. Hey, save a quarter here and there….

The Courthouse had been polished and refurbished years ago. Attached to it was the Civil Court, which had only merited a painted enclosure to make it appear older yet newer. Works from a distance, but up close….

Inside I trotted the elevator up to the fourth floor and sauntered over to the 455th District Court clerks’ cubicle and asked a smiling, polite and short Mexican-American lady for McGillicutty’s file. The smile faded at the name. She grimaced and rolled her eyes and grudgingly trundled to the file cabinet and pulled out five swollen file-jackets that seemed to take up half the drawer.

Apparently, she was familiar with the case.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Fill this out,” she said, handing me a sign-out card. They don’t actually let you take the file with you. You have to sit there and review it. But I had a feeling she was one clerk that wouldn’t mind seeing this file disappear.

I squinted at her name plaque on her desk; Beth Lawler. I winced. I’d recently had bad luck with a dark-skinned lady named Beth. No since hitting on this one. In fact, I’d probably be camera-shy of women for the next few years because of recent experiences I’d had.

It took me an hour to read the maze that was the McGillicutty case. Accusatory motions back and forth of violence by both sides, physical and psychiatric exams of their poor little kids, depositions, police reports.

The files painted an ugly picture of adultery and recrimination. Sometimes I really hated this job.

But there was nothing there that would prevent me from carrying out Clarence’s request. No protective orders, no restrictions with the children.

“I’ll put these back in for you if you’ll open the drawer,” I said to Beth, the clerk. The files probably outweighed her by a few pounds.

The smile came back as she jumped up and went over and yanked out the file drawer.

“Thank you,” she said. Her eyes had that glint that makes men’s knees buckle. I glanced at her ring-finger; no ring.

I resisted the come on and twiddled my fingers goodbye at her.