A Class Action Page 2

  “Hello Sharp, are you there? It’s Bob Snell… special agent Bob Snell, FBI.”

  “Yeah Snell, I’m here. What’s the matter, you guys working overtime tonight? It’s kinda late.”

  “I know it’s late Sharp, but the reason I’m calling now is because I’d like to ask you a favor.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Well this is kind of embarrassing, but one of our people has been arrested. We were at a party tonight honoring the retirement of a Federal Agent we all respect. After we left, one of our associates got arrested for drunk driving. She’s being held in the Van Nuys LAPD Jail.”

  “That’s a sad story, but I still don’t know why you’re calling me at two in the morning.”

  “We’d like to get her out of jail.”

  “So, why call me? Call a bail bondsman. They can get her out in no time. Got a pencil? Call Fradkin Bail Bonds. Their number is four seven eight,…’

  He cuts me off mid-sentence. “No, no, no. We can’t use a bail bondsman.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re FBI agents. If the press ever found out we used a bondsman to bail out a member of the Federal Anti-Crime Task Force, they’d have a field day with it.”

  “So? What do you want me to do?”

  “Her bail is twenty-five hundred dollars and we don’t have that much cash – and they won’t accept a check. We have about five hundred between us. If you can lend us two thousand, I’ll give you my personal check for it, right on the spot. And don’t worry, the check is good.”

  “Boy, what a deal. You’ll take my hard-skimmed two grand and turn it into a check that I’ll have to deposit and report on my income tax. What’re you trying to do, make an honest person out of me?”

  “Sorry Sharp, but I’m afraid that ship’s already sailed. Look, can you help us out or not?”

  I know for a fact that most first time offenders don’t have to post bail because they get released on their own recognizance, just like a traffic ticket that the cop asks you to sign. He doesn’t want your autograph. He wants you to sign a promise to appear in court. What you are receiving at that time is what they call a field ‘R.O.R.,’ an acronym for Release on your Own Recognizance.

  If I call up and talk to the Van Nuys watch commander and let him know that he’s got a fed in his house, I’m sure I can get her an R.O.R.

  “Okay Snell, tell you what. You and your partner meet me at the Van Nuys Jail in forty-five minutes. And when we get there, just walk with me and don’t say anything. When we get to the officer at the front desk, just flip your ID’s at him and have a seat in the lobby. Got it?”

  “Okay, you’re in charge. We’ll see you there.”

  I call Van Nuys and explain what’s going on to the watch commander. Fortunately he remembers my name, because last year I helped his boss out on a case. He tells me that the girl in custody is still pretty much out of it and he doesn’t want to see her driving so soon. I assure him that she’s going to be picked up by two FBI agents who will be identifying themselves at the front desk. He agrees to have her ready to go by the time we get there.

  Forty-five minutes later I meet Snell and another fed outside the jail. It looks like a drug deal going down.

  “Thanks for coming, Sharp. Did you bring the cash? I’ve got my checkbook right here.”

  “Don’t be so hasty. You’re in my ballpark now, so let’s go upstairs and see if I can work some magic.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “No questions. Just follow me and get ready to flip those fancy ID wallets when we walk in the front door.”

  They take my instructions and follow me up the stairs to the jail floor. As we enter the front door, there’s a uniformed officer seated at a small table. I show him my State Bar card and nod to the Feds. They each flash their ID and as we walk into the waiting area, their eyes bulge out.

  Only one person is sitting in the lobby. It’s a disheveled female, probably in her early thirties. I ask Snell. “Is that her?”

  He’s totally amazed. There she is, sitting on a chair in the waiting lobby. No handcuffs, no guards, no security. “Yeah, that’s her, that’s Shirley.”

  I motion for her to come with us, and she walks over to meet Snell and his partner. She looks at me. “Am I free to go now?”

  “Yes, you are. You can go with Agent Snell and his friend but you can’t drive. They’ll take you home and you can pick up your car tomorrow.”

  We all walk out together. “Sharp, I don’t know how you did it, but we all thank you. Will she be going to court soon?”

  I take a look at her R.O.R. papers and tell them when and where her court appearance is. She asks me for help on her case. Snell calls me aside.

  “What’s the deal with these drunk driving charges? Is there going to be a big fine?”

  “Of course there is. Listen, my miracle working is limited. I can get someone out of jail occasionally, but there’s no way I can make this drunk driving charge go away.”

  “Will she have to appear in court?”

  “Someone’s got to be there on her behalf. With the proper document signed, waiving her appearance right, an attorney can appear for her and enter a plea.”

  “Will you do it?”

  “Yeah, I can represent her, but can she afford to pay a fee? You know, by the time the case is over the fine and court costs can add up to over a thousand dollars… but I can get her some time to pay that off.”

  “We can’t have that.”

  “Whatta ya mean you can’t have that? Who the hell do you think you are, The Federal Government?”

  “No, no. What I mean is that if she gets a fine of anything more than twenty-five dollars, she’ll lose her security clearance and get fired from her job. Can’t you do something? How much is your fee?”

  “Well, maybe something can be done. I charge a thousand to handle cases like this. I can see by the stunned expression on your face that you think it’s a lot, so just make a check out to me for five hundred, and I’ll represent her in court. The watch commander led me to believe that her Breathalyzer reading was way over the legal limit, so there’ll probably be no reduction of the charge to reckless driving… but I’ll talk to the judge.”

  Snell writes out a check to me for the five hundred dollars and makes sure to tell me that I should report it on my income tax. They all leave in his car and I go back to the Marina. Damn. Laverne is probably out like the lights on her boat, so now I won’t get to earn my plate of greasy French toast for breakfast.

  *****

  Chapter 2

  A dogmail instructs me to call attorney Charles Indovine. He’s got a big law firm downtown that specializes in doing insurance defense work, and his biggest client is the Uniman Insurance Company, the firm that insures the car dealership where the exploding Suburban was serviced. True to his threats on the news broadcast, the owner of that vehicle is suing the dealership. The insurance company sent the file to Indovine’s office and they decided to assign it to me. I did a favor for Mister Uniman last year, so no doubt he probably told Indovine to toss me a bone every once in a while.

  The file is being brought over by messenger, along with a fifteen hundred dollar retainer check. Not bad. Two grand already in this week, with some new cases in the hopper. I haven’t the slightest idea what to do with Shirley the fed’s drunk driving case, but I sure know what to do with this one from Indovine’s office: build up the hours. Indovine pays me one hundred per hour for my time, and I’m pretty sure he bills Uniman Insurance more than two fifty. That means his firm makes plenty of money on each hour I put in, so ‘rush’ is a word that’s not in their vocabulary.

  On the other hand, Shirley is in a hurry to get her case over with. If she only knew that the quicker it gets done the quicker she’ll get fired, maybe she’d ask me to stall it along for a while.

  While glancing through Indovine’s file on the exploding Suburban, I see that the plaintiff’s lawyer is contending a certain well-kno
wn legal principle is involved in this case. It has the fancy Latin name of Res Ipsa Loquitur, but a plain English translation is that it simply means ‘the thing speaks for itself.’

  Stuart mentioned he’s studying that principle now in his correspondence law course and it’s giving him some difficulty, so I invite him over for dinner later this week to discuss it, and to let him help me out on this file. It’s about time he gets a feel for what a real lawyer does on a case – and I’m sure that Indovine won’t mind my hiring a paralegal to help out. Usually Suzi gets the job, but she’s so busy learning all about seamanship that she doesn’t have any spare time this month. That’s a good thing, because her hourly rate is thirty-five bucks, and I’m sure Stuart will work for half of that. Of course Suzi is smarter than both of us, but Stuart will do just fine, if he follows my instructions.

  Shirley’s arraignment date is this morning, and as I drive to the West Los Angeles Municipal Courthouse, I haven’t the slightest idea of how to save her job.

  The courtroom is packed with people. All the drunk drivers on the west side who were arrested last weekend are here for their arraignments today and their lawyers are lined up waiting for a chance to beg the courtroom’s Deputy City Attorney for a reduction to reckless driving. If they’re successful in getting the charge reduced, the fine will probably be the same but it’s sure nice to be able to avoid having a drunk driving conviction on your record, because if you do it again, you’ll be doing some mandatory jail time.

  After about twenty minutes of pushing through the crowd, there’s a brief opening at the prosecution’s counsel table, so I walk over and introduce myself. She thinks she knows what I want. I wish she’d tell me, because at this time I don’t know what I want.

  “Hello, my name is Peter Sharp. I’m here on your case number 7875044.” She looks up at me with a faint expression of recognition on her face.

  “You’re the D.A.’s ex, aren’t you?”

  “Please don’t hold that against me… I just want to talk about this case.”

  “No, I mean you’re the one that helped get her elected to the office… and my uncle, Mister Seymour, was put out of work.”

  “I’m sorry your uncle lost his job but he was only the acting District Attorney, and he…”

  She’s in no mood to talk to someone who forced her uncle out of work, and if I was under any impression that I’d get some cooperation in this courtroom, she just proved me wrong.

  “Excuse me, but I wonder if you could join me in chambers to discuss this case?”

  She quickly goes through her file. “What for? There’s no deal to be made here. She blew a one point four… that’s almost twice the legal limit. She’s going down.”

  “I know she is, but that’s what I’d like to discuss with the judge… we’ve got a special situation here, and I can’t get into it out here in the courtroom. Will you please join me in chambers? We both know that the judge won’t talk to me unless you’re there too, so I promise you right here and now that if you’ll go into chambers with me, I’ll plead her straight up to the drunk driving charge.”

  She hesitates for a minute and looks at her wristwatch. “Okay, I’ll give you three minutes.” She then signals the court clerk to buzz the judge and let him know we’re on the way to his chambers.

  Judge Parker is a former Deputy Attorney General who prosecuted many Federal crimes before getting appointed to the bench. Because he was a fed himself, I’m hoping he’ll understand Shirley’s special security clearance predicament and give me some way to go.

  It was a tough decision offering to plead her guilty to the charge in the arraignment court, but I had to do it in order to get to this judge – a former fed.

  When we get into chambers I once again am shown that that this deputy city attorney isn’t giving an inch. “Your Honor, counsel’s client blew a one-four, and he promised to plead her straight up, so I have no idea why we’re in here.”

  The judge looks at me. “Counsel, perhaps you can give the City Attorney some reason why you’re in here. She already told you there’s no deal to be made, and you offered to plead your client straight up. So what’s there to talk about?”

  “Your Honor, my client is a federal employee. All I’m at liberty to say is that she’s connected to the United States Attorney General’s Organized Crime Task Force. Being a former fed yourself, you know what happens if a person gets convicted of anything that carries more than a twenty-five dollar fine.”

  “Yes I do counsel. She loses her security clearance and gets fired. But she should have thought of that before she drove drunk that night. She was a danger to herself and to others, and she deserves a conviction, whether she’s a federal employee or not.”

  “I agree Your Honor, and she’ll get one - that’s what I promised the City Attorney. All I’m saying here is that if she loses her job, then maybe justice isn’t served. I’m not on the list of people who get information on what that task force is working on, but whatever it is, the public will no doubt be much better off if they succeed, than if she loses her job. I’m not asking for any special favor like a dismissal or reduction to reckless driving here. All I want is for us to work out something with the fine.”

  The City Attorney puts her two cents in. “The fine on cases like this is less than four hundred dollars. The thing that gets it raised up to thirteen hundred is the addition of court costs and a penalty assessment. We can’t do anything about that. If you want those numbers changed, you’ll have to have the State Legislature do if for you. We don’t do things like that here.”

  That doesn’t help, but I really wasn’t expecting anything better from her. Suddenly I get a brainstorm. If they go for it, maybe I’ll make history – and at the same time keep my standing with the Feds as a genuine miracle worker.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you what. If I plead her guilty and the court gets its thirteen hundred, that’s all you guys really care about right? I mean, will that make the City Attorney’s office and the court happy?”

  The judge is a smart cookie. It looks like he may know where I’m going with this. Now that I’ve got their attention, I might as well try to close the deal.

  “Here’s my suggestion. Why don’t we make the fine twenty-five dollars and the court costs and penalty assessment total twelve hundred seventy-five? That way the City Attorney gets its conviction, the court gets the same total amount of money, but the money description gets shoved around a little, so my client can keep her job. And that will be a saving of more public money because she won’t have to be on the people’s dime for unemployment or welfare benefits.”

  The City Attorney looks at me with contempt on her face. She probably now realizes why her inept uncle is out of work – because he just didn’t have the brainpower to compete with his opponent’s campaign manager. She gives the standard civil service answer. “No, we can’t do that. It’s against the rules.” I can’t let that remark go unanswered so I tell her what my next suggestion is.

  “I’ve got another great idea. This man sitting here is the judge. He makes the rules in this courtroom. What he says goes. So instead of you telling him what he can or can’t do, why don’t we let him be in charge of this disposition? I’m willing to go along with whatever he says. Are you?”

  She doesn’t answer that question. It looks like there’s been some conflict between these two in the past. Prosecutors sometimes have a feeling that because they represent the People, that they are the law. Some judges stand for it and others don’t. I’m hoping that this judge, who was a former federal prosecutor, will stand his ground and not get pushed around by this dame.

  There’s silence in the room. The City Attorney is contemplating her navel. I’m staring right at the judge, letting him know that he’s got to face me here and now with a decision. He steps up to the plate.

  “Okay, counsel. I’ll accept her plea. Twenty-five dollars for a fine and the rest as court costs and penalty assessment.”

  We both thank the judge
and leave. I get to the cashier’s desk and make arrangements for monthly payments on the total amount. The Federal Government owes me big time, but I know I’ll never collect on this marker. You can ask any American Indian about how good the feds are at keeping promises.

  Stuart shows up on time for dinner and we all look forward to the gourmet dinner that’s being brought over to the boat.

  After he gets the kid to help him fill out the forms for his used car dealer’s license bond, we sit down to enjoy the Chinese feast that was delivered and is now being served up by the Asian boys. During dinner, Stuart starts to expound on Res Ipsa Loquitur by telling me that it’s a meaningless concept because everything speaks for itself. Now the lively debate starts. “Peter, when you see one car with its rear end smashed in and another right behind it with its front end smashed in, doesn’t that sort of speak for itself? I mean, that’s a rear-ender and there’s no getting out of it.”

  “Maybe Stu. I’ll admit that the fact of the two of them colliding speaks for itself, but it doesn’t necessarily say which one of them was negligent. What if the car in front caused the damages by backing up into the car behind it?” That’s not good enough for him. He keeps arguing his point.

  “So what? The fact still remains that they collided and both got smashed up. That speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, but it’s not just a factual statement that you want to speak for itself. You want to use the doctrine to replace two of the elements of a negligence case.”

  “Oh yeah I know. The four elements are Duty, Breach, Causation, and Damages.”

  “Very good, Stu. In that rear-ender you described, the breach of one person’s duty to drive their car carefully certainly caused damages to the other driver, but we really don’t know which breached the duty. Did the guy in back rear-end the car in front or did the guy in front front-end the car in back?”