The VP and his lawyer

Unexpected vipers

*Isabella*

The Pacific Ocean sprawls out to my right, waves lapping the shore, as I drive along the coastal highway towards Point Morro. The salty air fills my lungs, a bracing contrast to the smoggy congestion of San Francisco that I left behind.

As I pull into the heart of the town, I see it’s vibrant and alive, teeming with people going about their daily business. The buildings are quaint, with a charm that’s distinctly Californian, but there is a sense of community here that the city lacked. But also a feeling of stepping a bit back in time.

I can’t help, but notice that motorbikes are parked everywhere. Each one is rugged, a testament to countless miles and stories I can only guess at. I notice the riders, too. Most of them are men, their bulky forms adorned with cuts that read ‘Iron Vipers’ over two snakes entwined.

A chill runs down my spine. I can’t help but wonder what I have gotten myself into. To be honest, bikers are not really on the top of my list of people I wish to associate myself with. From my experience, most are criminals.

Turning onto a side street, I find my destination. A small, worn sign reads ‘Manfred Smith Law Practice’. The office is as rustic as the town, the paint peeling slightly, but it’s welcoming in its own way. I take a deep breath, steel myself, and step out of my car. This is my new beginning, for better or worse.

I push open the door to the office, the bell above jingling cheerfully. It’s a cozy little space, cluttered with stacks of paper and filled with the scent of old books.

A man, presumably Manfred Smith, rises from behind a teetering pile of documents. He looks slightly older than I expected, with a shock of white hair and a pair of spectacles perched precariously on his nose. However, his eyes are bright and inquisitive and his smile welcoming, though slightly frazzled.

“Ah, you must be Miss Isabella Green,” he says, extending a hand. “Welcome to my humble office, or I guess it is actually yours now.”

I shake his hand, charmed by his eccentricity. There’s an air about him, a warmth that’s infectious. He seems kinda relieved to be handling it all over to me.

Before I can respond, a sweet voice calls from the back, “Mr. Smith, have you found the Peterson file yet?”

A woman appears, her silver hair pulled into a neat bun. Her eyes are kind, her smile gentle and welcoming. She looks at me, her eyebrows lifting in pleasant surprise.

“Is this the new owner, Miss Green?” she asks, stepping forward.

“Indeed, it is, Beth,” Manfred confirms. “Beth Carter, my invaluable secretary.”

I offer her a smile. “I am hopeful you will stay on with me, Beth? At least in the beginning till I get a hang of things around here,” “

Her eyes light up. “I would be delighted to, dear. I wouldn’t know what to do without his old place.”

After our brief introductions, Manfred shuffles back to his desk, swaying around a mountain of files and books. “Now, where did I put that Peterson file? I can’t leave without finding it.” He mutters, rummaging through his desk drawers.

Beth, taking my arm gently, leads me to a small seating area. She pours me a cup of tea from a porcelain teapot, the steam rising in gentle spirals. “You will have to excuse Manfred,” she says. “He is brilliant, but organization isn’t exactly his strong suit.”

I watch as Manfred, still engrossed in his search, knocks over a stack of papers, sending them fluttering to the floor. “Botheration!” He exclaims, but his tone is more amused than frustrated.

Beth just shakes her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. “He is quite a character, but he is also the best lawyer in town. He has a heart of gold and he genuinely cares about the people here.”

Manfred grunts a huff. “I am the only lawyer in town… or was. Not really hard to be the best under those circumstances.”

I nod, sipping my tea. The room is filled with a sense of comfortable chaos, a sharp contrast to the corporate law firms I’m used to. But there’s a unique charm to this place, a promise of a different pace in life.

“Could you maybe tell me more about the kind of cases I will have to handle here, Beth?” I ask, setting down my tea.

Beth leans back in her chair, her eyes gleaming with a sense of purpose. “Well, Isabella, most of our work here is what you would expect in a small town. We handle property disputes, small claims, a few criminal cases here and there. We also help out with wills, contracts, and other legal documents.”

She pauses, a thoughtful expression on her face. “But we also have our fair share of unusual cases. This town may be small, but it has its quirks. We have had cases involving everything from livestock theft to arguments over secret family recipes.”

I can’t help but laugh at the thought. “Now that is something you don’t see every day in San Francisco.”

Beth grins, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “That is what makes this job so interesting. There is never a dull moment.”

Her smile fades slightly as she adds, “And, of course, we handle all the legal stuff for the Vipers.”

“The Vipers?” I ask, puzzled.

Beth’s glance is significant. “The local biker club, The Iron Vipers. They can seem a rough bunch, but they are mostly nice boys and part of the community. They have their issues, of course, and sometimes those issues require legal intervention. Manfred has been their go-to lawyer for years.”

I blink, surprised. Bikers were definitely not on my list of expected clients. But I guess I can’t really reject them, me being the only lawyer in town.

*Tom*

The rumble of our bikes is a living pulse beneath us, a heartbeat that sings of home and freedom. We ride as one, a snarling beast of metal and horsepower, reclaiming the streets that belong to us. Bright sunlight glints off my rear-view mirror, warming the burnished gold of my otherwise sandy ginger hair.

The formation tightens at my rear, a testament to the unspoken bond that holds us together. Our Road Captain, Nick, a formidable figure with eyes as clear and blue as a summer sky, is a steady presence at the helm.

Flanking him are two prospects, Tommy and LZ, one with a smile that can charm the birds from the trees, the other armed with a wit as sharp as a switchblade.

But the formation is incomplete.

Our SGT. at Arms, my towering best friend, Zac, is conspicuously absent from my mirror. His usual place in the formation is vacant, replaced by the cold metal bars of a jail cell.

The lawyer’s office appears as we turn down the side street, a small, inviting building nestled in the heart of our coastal town. Cutting the engine, I glance at my brothers over my shoulder. “Hold the fort,” I instruct, my voice steady and calm.

My boots crunch against the gravel as I dismount, the comfortable weight of my leather jacket a silent reassurance.

The lawyer has no idea I’m coming, no inkling of the whirlwind about to descend upon his quiet morning. I never was a fan of appointments, preferring to catch people off guard. With a deep breath, I steel myself for the negotiation ahead. I may not have had a lot of time to prepare, but what I lack in preparation, I make up for in conviction.

Zac was arrested last night, and even though it hasn’t been long, it’s one night too many. My gift of the gab will have to work its magic today. I push open the door, ready to bring our brother back to where he belongs.

Stepping into the well-known office, the air-conditioning greets me like a welcome reprieve from the scorching sun outside. The room smells like an old library, a mix of musty paper and dust. The quiet inside is a stark contrast to the roar of bike engines and the open road I just left behind.

Shuffling through a mound of papers, Manfred Smith, the club’s lawyer, sits behind his desk, his shock of white hair a stark contrast against the organized chaos of his office. Over the years, he has evolved into quite an eccentric character, often losing things among his towering stacks of papers. Despite the occasional hiccups, he usually gets the job done. Plus, he’s the only lawyer in town, and he doesn’t prod us with unwelcome questions.

“Tom, my sweet boy,” Beth, his secretary, greets me as I enter. This elderly lady, with her no-nonsense demeanor, could make even the toughest biker behave. I have always had a soft spot for Beth; her motherly aura is a comforting constant amid the chaos that often engulfs this place.

“Beth, my darling.” I tell her, buzzing a kiss over her cheek. “Still not ready to leave this hell hole behind and become my old lady?”

She slaps my shoulder and shakes her head. “You rapscallion, stop flirting with an old woman.”

“Oh sweetheart, we both know you like it.” I tell her before turning my attention to the lawyer. “Manfred, Zac needs you, he…”

He interrupts me with a wave of his hand. “You will need to talk to Miss Isabella Green,” he introduces a woman I had not instantly noticed, who is standing by the window. “She is the new owner of this practice.”

“New owner?” I ask. “I didn’t know you were considering selling.”

My gaze shifts to the woman standing by the window. She doesn’t really fit this rural lawyer’s office… She is too urbane, too beautiful, and exorbitantly sexy. She seems to be in her mid thirties, a brunette, her green eyes glinting in the dim light of the office. Her alluring figure, dressed in a business suit that barely restrains her femininity, is impossible to ignore.

Isabella Green. The name fits her. I can’t help but notice the way her lips curve when she says hello, her voice soft but with a sultry allure to it.

“I am getting old, if you hadn’t noticed Tom.” Manfred says. “I want a couple of years of retirement not having to deal with you boys and your troubles.”

I nod in acknowledgment, my mind racing with unexpected possibilities. This meeting just became a lot more interesting. Let’s see how Miss Isabella handles things.