“Have it your way, Mr. O’Brien. We’re owned by the Haskell Foundation.”
After banging my fist on the wall and feeling sorry for myself for a minute or two, I called Rita at her apartment, hoping she might still be there and would give me a lift to Rent-A-Wreck. I caught her just as she was rushing off to meet her client, the kid with the marijuana rap.
“I’d be happy to pick you up, but I’m due at a conference with Bennie, my client,” she said after I explained about my car being in the shop for repairs.
“I thought the kid’s retainer had been canceled.”
“Yes, but Bennie likes me, wants to keep me as his lawyer. He doesn’t care what his uncle thinks. It’s his decision, after all. Don’t worry about the fee, Jimmy. As soon as I get the charges dropped, he’s going to get a job and pay us on the installment plan.”
“We don’t have an installment plan.”
“Oh, Jimmy, you’re always kidding around. Of course we do. I told Bennie it would be okay. Gotta go. Call Mabel, she’ll pick you up.”
Another call, this time to the office. “The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected-”
I slammed down the phone. Goddammit! After taking several deep breaths, I called the phone company. Repair service transferred me to someone who said her hands were tied, and after being placed on hold several times and getting the runaround for an eternity, I finally got a supervisor on the line.
“We canceled the service due to reports of illegal activity associated with this number.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“Frankly, Mr. O’Brien, we were informed that the line was being used to facilitate an illegal horse wagering establishment, and according to the PUC code we were obligated to terminate the service immediately.”
I was shocked. “You’re calling me a bookie?”
“I believe that’s the term.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’m a lawyer with a three-person firm. My God, what the hell’s wrong with you-?”
“Sir, I don’t have to take your verbal abuse. But I will say this: if you only have three people in your office, how come you ordered the installation of thirty new phones recently?”
“I didn’t order the damn phones. The guy just showed up-”
“You got a beef, call the PUC. Goodbye.” The line went dead.
A guy with the Public Utilities Commission located in downtown L.A. explained the routine: I’d have to drive to the office and fill out a complaint form. Once the form was officially filed and approved, the commission would do a complete investigation. If they found in my favor the phone would be turned back on. The man I spoke with added that it usually didn’t take long at all to get these types of issues straightened out, a couple of months at most. Jesus!
Thirty minutes later, after hoofing it to Sol’s building, I was ushered into his office by Joyce, his private secretary.
Sol, sitting behind a desk the size of New Hampshire, glanced up at me when I entered. He waved his hand and pointed to a leather armchair facing him. A man, dressed in a white uniform, stood in front of the desk holding a pink box.
“Have a seat, Jimmy. I’ll be with you in a minute.” He faced the guy in white. “What do you mean, you’re bringing me crumpets?” Sol asked.
“Your secretary said I was to give them to you myself.” The man, obviously a baker, placed the pink box on Sol’s desk.
“She didn’t have the courage to bring me the damn things herself,” Sol said, lifting one of the porous yeast cakes out of the box, holding it up gingerly between the tips of his thumb and forefinger. He handled it like he had a dead mouse by its tail.
Sol opened his fingers and the crumpet dropped to his desk. “Where are my goddamn apple fritters that you’re supposed to deliver every morning?”
The baker answered, “Mrs. Silverman called earlier, sir. Said you’re on a diet and to change the standing order to crumpets instead of fritters. She also said, well sir, she said…” His voice tailed off.
“What else did she say?” Sol demanded.
“Aw, well, she said…”
“C’mon, tell me, damn it.”
“That you’re too goddamn fat.”
Sol cracked up.
As soon as the baker left, I took one of the crumpets out of the box. Sol sat in his desk chair and peered at me while I ate it.
“What’s bugging you?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t come here just to eat a crumpet.”
“I didn’t know you were going to have crumpets.”
“Look, Jimmy, we’ve been friends a long time and I can tell when something’s on your mind. Maybe I can help.”
“Yeah, Sol, I got a little problem. But I’m not going to bother you with it.”
He let out a small laugh. “Yeah, sure. You just happen to pop in here, nothing to do today, so you thought you’d say hello. And, what the hell, as long as you’re here, may as well eat a crumpet. Is that it? Is that what this is all about?”
“I thought you’d have fritters-”
“Jimmy, goddammit, out with it.”
Just because Sol and I worked together on legal cases didn’t mean it wasn’t hard for me to ask him for help on personal matters. But, I had nowhere else to turn and I knew he’d be there for me.
I hung my head and said, “My phone’s been disconnected.”
“You didn’t pay the bill?”
“Nah, that’s not it. They think I’m a bookie.”
Sol started to laugh, harder this time. “Well, hell, that’s not a bad idea. Christ, you could make more money than you do now if you just took my action.”
“Sol, that’s not funny.”
“Yeah, sorry. But why would the phone company think that you’re in the gambling racket?”
“I think it had something to do with my car being repossessed.”
“Jesus, you’re car was snatched, too.”
“Yeah, by a bank that’s owned by the Haskell Foundation.”
He leaned back in his chair, interlocking his hands across his belly. “Obviously Raymond Haskell’s behind your tsores.”
“That’s what I figure.”
“Well, what did you expect?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You shouldn’t threaten billionaires in public restrooms, Jimmy. I figured you would’ve known better.”
“But, Sol-”
“You have chutzpah, my friend. I’ll say that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Chutzpah, it’s Yiddish, means-”
“I know what it means. But we were both there at the dinner. Haskell wanted to meet us in the restroom. You said we should-”
“Doesn’t matter. He’s a putz and I’m glad you read him the riot act. He moved forward in his chair. “I’ll handle this stuff for you. But, that’s it, right? Nothing else going on?”
“Yeah, Sol, that’s it.”
“Okay, no problem. But, goddammit, Jimmy. When things like this come up, call me right away. That’s what friends are for. I’ll never forget what you… well, you know.”
“Do you really think you can get my phone back on? They said I’d have to go to the PUC.”
He let out an exaggerated sigh, like I’d question the obvious. “You hide and watch,” he said, as he buzzed for Joyce.
Her voice came over the intercom. “Do you need something, Sol?”
“Yeah. Get in touch with our guy at the phone company and tell him I want Jimmy’s office phone turned back on, and tell him I want it on right now!”
“Will do,” Joyce said and clicked off.
“Thanks, Sol.”
“A lawyer without a phone is like a monkey without a banana.” He chuckled, then said, “By the way, my friend Vince returned my call. He’s on his book tour right now, but will be back shortly. He’s wants to meet with us as soon as he’s in town.”
“Vince?”
“Vincent Bugliosi.”
“Oh yeah. With all that’s been going on I almost forgot about him.”
“He has some info that might help you get the DA, Joe Rinehart off your back.”
“Rinehart’s not on my back. It’s all over as far as he’s concerned. He’s the one that decided to cut Roberts loose.”