A continuing story about a crazy lawyer in a crazy world.
The woman in the bespoke white buttoned shirt with rolled up sleeves and the black suit pants heard the creaking gate being pushed open, but didn’t care to look up. She was busy resting her feet in her black custom-made lace-ups on the old wooden desk from an antique shop and sexily exhaling cigarette smoke while admiring the roof’s rusty underside. The footsteps came closer. When she had taken another two drags, the person causing the footsteps finally arrived at her desk.
“You could really get a proper office, you know, Sara.”
It was her assistant.
“Appreciate the exercise, Sigi.” the woman said, “Emptiness is a luxury.”
“Ja, schure. But zis dilapidated factory is conveying ze wrong picture to clients.”
Sara let her feet drop to the naked concrete floor and sat up.
“No! It is perfectly right. We had this discussion before, Sigi.”
“You could put some cupboards in, or a sofa. At least a second chair for ze clients.”
“Sigi!” Sara warned, “When you propose again, I shall put a chaise longue inside the hall, I will do some deep analyzing with you, but not of the psychological type.”
“Ja, okay. Wottever, Sara. Zere has been ein accident.”
“I’m all ears.” Sara said, took a last deep drag and then threw the burning cigarette butt away.
Sigi, with his face expressing clear discomfort about this littering, said: “Downtown. A car, driven by a recovering white male alcoholic has hit a blind black women wiz a service dog as she was crossing ze road.”
“Oh my god.” Sara said, biting her lower lip.
“Ja, I know, Sara.”
“And, is she dead?” Sara asked, “Sigi! Tell me. Come on, tell me.”
“No, she is not.”
“Sigi!”
With clear disgust he managed to say: “She is paralyzed from ze neck down.”
Sara moaned and let her fingers run through her messy hair.
“And the dog?”
“He bit ze driver, when he got out of ze car. Police shot him.” Sigi sighed.
“The driver?”
“No, of course not. Ze dog.”
“Good goddess.” Sara said and swiveled around on the old desk chair, which made it creak dangerously.
Sigi looked at his fingertips and cleaned out some dirt from under the index finger’s nail.
“You know, Sara, I am raza concerned about your-”
“This is wonderful! Thank you, Sigi. I love you. Platonically, of course.” Sara said, jumping to her feet and walking up and down behind her old wooden desk, the hard heels of her shoes echoing through the empty factory hall. “I can see it before my inner eyes. Class action against the manufacturer of the driver’s car, because they clearly are an accessory to this hate crime of a white male against an innocent black woman. Class action against the training facilities of service dogs, for they clearly acted with gross negligence in allowing the dog to bite the innocent driver, which was recovering from his horrible addiction and completely helpless and shocked after that careless woman ran directly in front of his car. And class action against the police, because they shot the dog in a clear act of excessive force. They should have shot the driver instead.”
“But ze dog was attacking ze driver.”
“He got out of his car knowing that the dog no longer was on a leash, because he had just run over the dog’s owner. The dog acted in self-defense for its paralyzed owner.”
“But, Sara, ze driver just wanted to help ze poor woman.”
“Uh-Uh-uh. Sigi, this is the perfect case. Three perfect cases, to be precise. Go and get me the details, we have no time to waste.” said Sara, put on her black bespoke suit jacket and started off.
“Where are you going?”
“Ran out of cigarettes. Meet you later, Sigi.”
He looked after her, sighed and pulled out his phone to start googling.
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Sara double-parked her old Landrover right in front of the tobacco store. The car was white, and she had painted “UN” on it in black letters, and to make sure also a red cross. The two bullet holes in the rear were real. So far, no one had dared giving her a ticket. The store here was one of the few tobacco stores left in this district. Two blocks away was the St. Mary Church, which was located next to the St. Mary Monastery and opposite a kindergarten and a primary health care center. Residential housing prices were on the rise for years, fancy bars, restaurants and galleries have opened. Here, smokers now had the same popularity level as hookers. But Sara still came to this store. It was her favorite place to buy cigarettes. Mostly, because right next to it lay a liquor store which sold cheap prosecco and Aperol. She loved prosecco with Aperol, the poor women’s cocktail.
“Hey, there, Sara. The usual?” asked Mike, the store owner, manager and only employee.
“Yo, yeah, gimme.” said Sara.
Mike put two cartons of Zebras on the counter (Be you black or white, smoking’s just right). Sara put the cash on the counter.
“About time you accept cards, dude. Times are a changing, you know. This is the only store left in the Northern hemisphere, which does not accept cards.” Sara said.
“Fuck you.”
“Yo, yeah, you too. See you.”
Sara tucked the Zebra cartons under her arm, put her hands in her pants pockets and exited the tobacco store to walk right over to the booze store. On the sidewalk, she couldn’t help to overhear two guys standing next to a yellow Mustang mumbling something about drugs. Sara slowed down.
...another street lost. We need to regain control over this hood, bruh ...
She slowed down some more.
...if we fail to sell 'nuff shit, we’re fucking done with, man. Big Daddy ain’t not like this...
Sara stopped and pretended to be thinking about Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle.
...need to get rid of the nuns. Pronto, man. We gotta do, what we gotta to do...
Suddenly, the guys noticed Sara.
“Hey, bitch! Are you eavesdropping on us? Huh? Get lost and mind your own business!”
“Gentleman, everything’s cool and froody, I can assure you.” Sara said and walked up to the two guys. “I understand you are having trouble with certain religious groups, is this correct?”
The one guy pulled a Magnum out of his pants, fidgeted with it in front of Sara’s face and said: “Listen, rag bag! This is our territory, and you better move your ass someplace else. On the double!”
“Let me take a guess. You sell drugs in this neighborhood, but the nuns over there from the St. Mary Monastery keep watch and constantly report your dealers and the license plates of your cars to the cops, who already have arrested quite a few, I’m sure. And now you sell too little drugs and are short on men in order to defend your position in the neighborhood as the leading gang. And your bosses are not too happy about the decline in sales and request you to deliver much more cash per day than you currently manage. Is this aptly put, gentleman?”
The two guys exchanged a puzzled look. The one with empty hands shrugged. The one with the Magnum turned to Sara and aimed it at her forehead.
“You FBI, huh? Forfuckssake! Are you wired?” he growled.
“I am as much affiliated with the FBI as with the Armenian National Curling Team. I am a lawyer and represent anyone in need. And you seem to be in need of help. My name is Sara Marsaam. Sara without an aitch. Marsaam with one eh and two ehs.”
“What?”
“If you’ll excuse me for a second or two. I ran out of booze and need to replenish my supplies. Back with you in a jiffy.” Sara said and casually walked into the liquor store.
“Hey, there, Sara. The usual?” asked Jake, the store owner, manager and only employee.
“Yo, yeah, gimme.” Said Sara.
Jake put two bottles of prosecco and one bottle of Aperol on the counter. Sara held her credit card against the wireless paying device. Jake put the bottles in a plastic bag.
“Why don’t you accept cash any longer as your brother next door?” Sara asked, “Need a place to spend my donations.”
“Gotta go with the flow, yo.” Jake said.
“Yo, yeah, sure.”
Sara put the Zebras into the bag as well and turned to leave but turned around again.
“What do you know about those retards on the sidewalk trying to sell shit in the neighborhood?”
“The NarcoNauts? They’re having a hard time here.”
“Why’s that? Tariffs too high?”
“The nuns messed them up. Never try to fuck a holy virgin, that’s all I can tell ya.”
Sara nodded a silent thank you and left the store. The two gangsters were still standing next to the yellow Mustang. The one with the Magnum came towards Sara and said: “You’re coming with us. When you scream, I put a nice bullet through your shirt.”
“No need to penetrate my attire. I will gladly follow you to your boss, for I would be duly happy to represent the NarcoNauts against the catholic tyranny of St. Mary.” Sara said.
“What the…?”
The one gangster shrugged again. The other one lowered the Magnum.
“As a first piece of advice, completely free of charge, of course: drive regular cars. A grey prius, for instance. A yellow muscle car is way too conspicuous.” Sara said, “And put that gun away. Someone might call the cops. And you certainly do not want to get arrested with an unregistered firearm, which most likely has been used in numerous crimes. By the way, I can register the gun and clean its record, if you like. All a matter of bribing the right persons. Or threatening them, that is.”
“Er, ahem … I … geez.” The gangster said and finally put his gun away.
“Very good. If you now please lead the way, gentlemen, I will gladly follow you in my car. Looking forward to meeting Big Daddy.”
The gangsters stuck their heads together, whispered and gestured to each other.
After a while, Sara said: “Listen, guys. I appreciate you weighing up the situation thoroughly, and I also appreciate that I’m not yet billing, but a timely decision as to how to proceed would be most welcome.”
The guy with the Magnum cast an angry look at Sara and whispered and gestured some more with the other guy.
Finally, he said: “Okay. You’ll follow us and then we’ll talk. If Big Daddy don’t like what he hears, we dump your body in the sewers.”
“Excellent. Lead the way.” Sara said.
The gangsters got into their yellow Mustang and let the engine roar up. Sara casually got into her Landrover, put the plastic bag with her purchases on the passenger’s seat, fumbled out a Zebra, looked for the lighter and couldn’t find it. Cursing, she put on the very Wayfarer shades John Belushi had worn in Blues Brothers and turned on the old-fashioned Landrover’s cigarette lighter in the middle console. It took it about half a minute to heat up, during which Sara impatiently watched it, then she lit her cigarette with it and contently took a drag directly into her lungs. She turned the ignition key and the diesel engine gargled to life. Then she looked out the windshield and wondered where the drug dealers were. Had they gone ahead without waiting for her? Nothing to be seen in the rear mirrors. Nothing left or right. Then Sara lifted herself up a bit and looked out through the passenger window again. There, a little lower than the Landrover was the Mustang, which could not move, because Sara had double-parked it in. The gangsters were casting an unhappy look at Sara.
“Hey, guys.” she said with a smile and backed up to let them out. They sped off with screeching tires. Sara followed them and put on Ritt der Walküren by Richie Wagner on full blast on her car stereo.
The yellow Mustang stopped at an abandoned 8Down Supermarket. Sara double-parked next to them, got out of her car and approached the two guys which were nervously surveying the area.
“No nun to be seen.” she said, grinning.
“Shut up.” the guy with the Magnum said.
“Sure, thing. Just tell me when I can open my mouth again.”.
“I said: Shut up!”
“Okey dokey.”
The gangster let out a deep sigh and nodded to his partner. He turned a few steps away to phone someone. After a short exchange he came back and said to Sara: “Take off your jacket.”
“Nope.” Sara said.
“What?”
“I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request. This is my professional attire. Not gonna look like a dork in front of your boss.”
“This is not a request, you understand, bitch?”
“I believe I perfectly grasp your meaning. But if your gang considers using my services, I need to make clear that this is going to happen on the basis of my general terms and conditions. And these terms very clearly state that I’m not going to undress even partially in front of clients.”
“What the-?”
“I can assure you I’m neither wired nor coming down on any infectious diseases. So, your boss will be perfectly safe facing me in person.”
“I should have put a bullet in your head in front of the liquor store.” the guy with the Magnum mumbled.
“Maybe.” Sara said, “But you were wise not to, because the odds that the cops would have gotten you were extremely high. You are much safer shooting me inside the supermarket. This is another free of charge piece of my professional advice.”
“Oh fucking hell ... whatever ... just shut up and come inside.”
“Lead the way, oh ring bearer.”
“Listen, no more nonsense, alright!”
“Sure thing. I’ll be as silent as the lambs.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just go ahead, bruh.”
Both gangsters threw their arms up and let out silent curses. Finally, they led Sara inside the abandoned 8Down. They passed the dusty cash out desks and went back to the aisles in which frozen food had been stored. Three guys in black hoodies were sitting on camping stools around a cardboard box. On the box were three half empty diet cokes, an open pack of gold bears, a line of some white powder and a razor blade.
“Hey, boss.” the gangster who has phoned them in said, “This is the crazy lawyer who says she can help us with the nuns.”
The three dark figures in the black hoodies turned to Sara and looked her up and down. She was standing there with her hands in her pockets and the Wayfarer shades on.
“You got some nerve, bitch. I give you that.” said the guy sitting in the middle. “I can only hope you know who we are.”
“Big Daddy, I presume.” said Sara, “I’m Sara Marsaam. Sara with no aitch, and Marsaam with one eh and two ehs. As I understand you represent a drug gang trying to maintain their business in this area. As I further understand you’re facing considerable opposition by evil catholic forces. I can help you with that. My hourly rates are obscenely high, but I'm willing to accept the mandate on a quota litis basis.”
Big Boss exchanged a puzzled look with the two guys who have brough Sara here.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he said.
“Let me put it in simple terms. I help you and you pay me ten percent of your drug income of, let’s say, the following six months. Gross income, that is. I presume, you have not registered a tax ID for your business.” Sara said.
“Ten percent?” Big Daddy rose from his camping stool.
“If that’s unacceptable for you, let’s make it a sixth.” Sara said.
Bid Daddy sat down again. He took a red gold bear and held it between his index finger and thumb.
“Listen, Sara without an aitch.” he said, “We don’t dig being fooled by yuppies. We ain’t no stupid dipshits. We doing big business here. You hear me?” Then he squashed the red gold bear in his fist.
“I would never assume that you and your fellow businessmen not were unstupid, to use your grammatical customs.” Sara said, lifting the Wayfarer shades up to rest on her messy hair. “I certainly do not occupy myself with pointless mandates. I believe this could be a situation which would commonly be referred to as win-win.”
At that moment, someone walked into the aisle from behind. All the gangsters turned and drew absurdly large pistols.
“Relax, gentlemen.” Sara said, “This is my assistant. I have called him here to, well, assist me.”
“Hallo.” Sigi said.
“Ffffcksakes!” Big Daddy shouted, “You brought someone with you!” And to his two hoodlums, which have brought Sara here: “Didn’t you check her?” And then to Sara again: “Are you crazy?”
“Am I crazy?” Sara asked Sigi.
“Ja.” he said.
“Since we have firmly established this, can we come to an agreement concerning me representing the NarcoNauts or not?” Sara said.
“Can I have a Gummibär?” Sigi asked and just took one.
Big Daddy signaled his men to put the heavy artillery away.
“So, you’re a lawyer. That right?” he asked.
“Yep. Last time I checked I was still a member of the bar.”
“What bar? What are you talking about?”
Sara allowed herself a sigh.
“Listen, Mr. Daddy. I can give the nuns some serious butt fucking and tell them to turn their spying eyes on Holy Mary instead of your guys selling shit on the streets. I can sue their chaste cunts and make them give sweet Jesus a bee jay.” Sara said.
“Finally, you make sense.” Big Daddy said, “And how you s’pose to do that?”
“Rest ashured, she always has a plan.” Sigi said. “Not always ze best, but a plan for zertain.”
“Ignore my humble assistant. Leave it all to me, no need to bore you with the details. So, we have a deal. Very good. Excellent. I appreciate your trust in my services. I will not disappoint you.” Sara said.
“You better not. Otherwise ze Sigi may collect your limbs from a dumpster.” Big Daddy said.
“I’d expect as much.” Sara smiled and turned to leave together with Sigi.
Back outside the abandoned 8Down, Sigi faced Sara.
“Am I right zat we ditch ze other cases and concentrate on zis case instead?” he said.
“Of course. This is much more important. We need to face this religious oppression. We are on a holy mission to fight back the forces of the high heavens to restore the freedom of trade in these quarters. Who are these nuns to oppress free trafficking of goods?” Sara said.
“You are not making sense, Sara. As usual.”
“Always confuse the enemy, Sigi. That’s the Zensunni way.”
“No it isn’t, Sara, you know perfectly well zat-”
“Shut up, Sigi. I can already see it before my inner eye. We will be praised by the Chamber of Commerce. By the Columbian drug exporters. And, of course, by Richard Dawkins. It will be great. We will be heroes.”
“If you say so, Sara.”
“With this case we will build our legacy. Come, Sigi. Ride for ruin and the world’s ending. Get in your Listen and find out everything about those St. Mary criminals. We need to find their weakness.”
“My car is a Horch, Sara. A Horch 853. But, of course, you know zat. I get ze joke. Very funny, Sara. Very. You know, by your witty comments you in fact overcompensate for feelings of inferiority and insecurity you were forced to experience as a child. Anyway, I will do my best to find out as much as I can. But if you’d ask me, I’d suggest you ponder about why you are so keen on taking on zis mandate. Maybe you have some unresolved business wiz religion.”
“Sigi.” Sara said and grabbed him at the shoulders, “This might very well be the case of cases. Yes! NarcoNauts vs. God! This is it! This is bloody it, Sigi! It will be fantastic!”
“Sara. You are bonkers.”
“Yes, Sigi!” Sara rejoiced, “I know!”
Sara got in her white UN Red Cross Landrover and watched Sigi drive off in his silver Horch 853, after he finally managed to start it up. Sara sat there, with her hands on her lap, and stared through the side window where Sigi had parked.
“Goddamn know-it-all.” she grumbled to herself, “What does he know about me anyway ... or my childhood ... bastard ... prat ... upper-class twit …”
She remembered the plastic bag on the passenger’s seat. A prosecco with a shot of Aperol would come in handy to cheer her up. But the prosecco was lukewarm as brake fluid. And she had no glass.
Sara shrugged, unscrewed the Aperol and took a sip. While keeping the shot in her mouth, she fumbled the prosecco open. The cork hit the windshield, ricocheted against the back of the seat and landed in the middle console. Unobjectionable!, Sara thought to herself and took two large sips of prosecco. The massive sparkling inside her mouth almost caused her to cough it all out. She mixed the Aperol and prosecco by quickly sliding them from side to side inside her mouth, blowing out her cheeks. Then she swallowed. Not altogether unpalatable, she thought, and then didn’t know where to put the open prosecco bottle. The cork wouldn’t fit into the bottle neck anymore and she had no duct tape. She shrugged again, managed to light a cigarette without spilling any prosecco and put it between her lips. Then she started the car, kept the bottle in her right hand and drove off steering with her left hand, hoping Sigi would not see her.
The yellow Mustang remained parking in front of the abandoned 8Down, because the gangsters were busy eating up the gold bears inside.
TO BE CONTINUED - Stay tuned