Bruce Wagner - Memorial

Chester sighed, thinking things over.

“You still with me?” laughed Remar. “Still on the line?”

“Yeah. And I hear you, Remar, I really do. And I appreciate it. But I’ve been thinking about this a lot and I’m pretty sure it’s the way I want to go.”

“This isn’t about the girl, is it? Or anyone else? Have you been discussing the case with anyone, Chester?”

“No, man. It’s just about me.”

“Because that’s like poison. People’s opinions are like assholes, OK? You heard that one. But right now, I’m the only asshole you should be listening to.”

“I haven’t been talking to anyone.”

“Can we discuss this tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“OK, cool. Now get back up in the trees.”

Remar laughed again. Chess could hear music and the low sound of voices. A faraway laugh.

“But I really think I want to end this thing.”

“Listen. You’re not a young guy. You’re not old, my friend, but you’re not young. This is your life we’re talking about, your security. We’re talkin about you never having to work again, OK? Remember that? A little thing called getting up every day and working for a living? Well, that’s a pretty big deal. People usually don’t get this kind of opportunity handed to them on a silver tray. Aw-ite? They offered $50,000. A fuckin insult! But we try to settle out now, and I’m not so sure we’re gonna get much more. And my friend, that would be tragic. Aw-ite? And remember, my fee is a 3rd. The doctors will have to be reimbursed. Even if you were covered, the health insurance folks would want to be made whole. So you’re cutting your nose to spite your face and why you’d want to cut your nose to spite your face at this point when everything is comin up roses and you’re about be crowned Miss Fucking America, I don’t know. Miss West Hollywood. Aw-ite? So think about it. This is your life, Chester Herlihy, not mine. I happen to have a very nice one and this particular case ain’t gonna rock my world one way or another. At the end of day, and the night, it’s your life. So think about it in those terms. Do you want to cash a check that may very well be negligible? Just to line your pockets with a little bit of green? Now when I say ‘little bit’ I mean little bit! Hell, what we’re talking about isn’t even enough for pockets, we’re talkin pock- ette! So do you want to line your pock- ette? Or do you want to play in the major leagues? Here’s another thing, Mr Herlihy: what if maybe next month, or next year, or 5 years down the line —what if you need some medical work to improve your quality of life? What if this thing— which is causing you a fair amount of pain, from what all you’ve told me, and has you rattlin those Vicodin bottles like a voodoo doctor — what if this thing, which don’t seem to be gettin any better, unless there’s something you’re not telling me — what if this thing comes back and bites you on the ass, hard, and you need surgery? So far (correct me if I’m wrong) so far I haven’t heard the doctors saying, ‘Oh, you’ll be fine! Thing’s going to heal itself.’ You know, nerve damage can be funny, Chess. Aw-ite? And I don’t mean ‘joke’ funny. Hard to test for. It’s important to have the resources to do something about it if it flares. So I want you to carefully consider. Or reconsider. I don’t want you left holding the bag. Because more than not, the bag will have shit in it.”

“I hear you, Remar.”

“I hope you do. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

“OK,” said the coldfooted plaintiff, worn out. (That’s why he was a good attorney.) But Chess knew he’d made the right decision. It was the only decision possible.

“Over and out.”

“One more thing,” said Chester. “What about taxes? Will they come out of the settlement?”

The voices and music at Remar’s grew louder.

“Not really — we’re not talking about much income lost here. As you know. There may be. But nothing substantial. That’s something I’ll have to get into.”

Before hanging up, the lawyer tried one more tack.

“Chess, if you need money, I told you. Let me advance you some. Just don’t be a fool.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Are you sure? Because the firm can help — it wouldn’t be the 1st time. But before we do, you’d have to make an agreement to go all the way with this. We are not a lending institution. We consider you to be an investment. A rock-solid one. We consider you an asset. And I just wish you’d start thinking of yourself that way. Stead o’ goin all hangdog on me. I’m lookin at you as a Wal-Mart superstore, and you’re over there thinking you’re a K-town mini-mart.”

“Thanks, Remar. Thanks. I’m cool.”

“I know that to be true.”

“And I’m sure this is how I want to go.”

There was a longish pause, then a sigh, almost of disgust.

“It’s just such an about-face, man. I mean, I thought we were on the same team. But now it’s like you’ve crossed over to the other side. You’ve crossed over!”

The last was followed by a deep, syrupy laugh, à la Al Green preaching gospel. His tone became jocular.

“Don’t go to the dark side, Chess! Come to the light, baby, come to the light!”

SHE bought a lottery ticket at Riki’s then drove to Wells.

She had an appointment with Agent Marone and the lady. The lady called to remind her, and said she had spoken to Joanie. Marj already knew that, and thanked her.

When she got to the bank, there was a double door installed — something new. She came in from the street and it shut behind her but when she tried the 2nd door, it wouldn’t open. A disembodied voice boomed that Marj needed to hold up her purse. She was confused and the voice repeated its command. Once she held up the purse, they buzzed her in. Well, that was the silliest thing. Did they think she was going to rob the bank? “I’m not Ma Barker,” she muttered.

She found a chair by the closest desk and sat down to wait, as she’d been told. She was there almost 20 minutes but no one approached. The old woman began to think the arrest might have already happened, or that maybe she’d gotten the time wrong. It was beyond belief but she’d left her cellphone at home again. The muleheaded stupidity of it made her groan. She waited another 10 minutes before getting in line to check on her money. It was habit, a way to kill time.

The teller, some sort of Persian who Marj could barely see behind the thick, smudged security glass, told her the balance had been “zeroed out.”

“But what is the balance?” asked Marj.

The Persian said there was “none,” adding, “You have closed the account.”

There was a time delay because of an inferior sound system. The voice of the teller dipped in and out.

Marj reached in her bag and got the business card from the lady. She read the name to the teller, saying she wanted to speak with “Cynthia Mulcahy, Vice President, Customer Relations.” She slipped the card under the glass for the imbecile to examine. Marj said she had an important appointment with Miss Mulcahy and a gentleman from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The Persian called someone over, a prim-looking African-American. The black began to speak but her voice was low and kept fritzing out as well. She studied the card and asked Marj which branch the lady she wished to see worked out of. This is the silliest thing! Can’t you read? This is not Ebonics, Miss! This is Wells Fargo, not McDonald’s. Just please read the card! The woman on the card is your boss!