Deep Six

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWOI left the fake World War I French restaurant, hopped in my old purple Mustang convertible, and rejoined the ugly reality of twenty-first century College Park and good old Route One. I could’ve taken the Baltimore-Washington Parkway instead of Route One, but frankly I was screwed either way. Traffic in this area is a b***h no matter what road you take. Since they began making improvements on the Parkway, the traffic has become even more annoying, no matter what time you’re on it.

The trip back to my palatial sublet office took me well north of the University of Maryland campus proper, right into the thick of Beltsville. Older suburbs of brick ranchers. The kind of houses they don’t build anymore, because people are looking to buy bigger houses that are made more cheaply. Lovely.

Through some miracle, I found a place to park out front of the old Victorian house where I sublet, instead of having to pull into the lot in back and walk around to the front door. I know, I know . . . I sound lazy, but I walk all the time. And I ride a bicycle to stay in shape, so no one can say I’m not working it.

Once I’d parked, I grabbed my shoulder bag and marched up the walkway, then climbed the three short, gray-painted wooden steps to the little porch before the front door. To the right, a small slanted ramp ran alongside the steps. My landlord, the accounting firm of Milt Kressler & Associates, had installed the ramp, requiring a complete architectural redesign of the front porch to accommodate disabled employees and clients in accordance with the Americans with Disabilities Act. They’d also had to get permission from various Laurel zoning and historical authorities. Milt Kressler must really love having his business in Laurel to go through all that s**t, huh?

I entered the waiting area where Sheila, my landlord’s elderly receptionist, was nodding and making “umm-hmm” sounds into her headset while typing on her keyboard. I waved hello and kept going toward the stairs leading up to my plush digs on the second floor. Sheila punched the hold button, apparently, because her head swiveled and she said, “Hang on. We need to talk.”

Oh, s**t. I froze in place. I could’ve ignored her, but why put off the inevitable?

Once Sheila finished nodding and murmuring into the phone, she hung up and turned to me and said, “Sam, could you step outside with me, while I take a short smoke break?”

How interesting, I thought. Sheila keeps her silver-gray hair tied back in a bun, giving her the look of a skinny, chain-smoking librarian. One who’s never felt any compunction about smoking in the office, despite the law that says you shouldn’t. That woman smokes like . . . well, a house afire. Obviously, she wanted to talk to me where certain busybodies couldn’t hear her.

So Sheila and I went outside and huddled on the small porch together.

Not one to waste words, Sheila got right to the point. She said, “I hate to bring this up, but Milt is getting on my ass about the rent.”

I nodded. “I know, Sheila. You guys have been more than kind to cut me so much slack during this tough time. But I’ve got what looks like a promising client. Just give me a little more time to square my accounts with you, okay?”

She took a long pull on the cigarette, and the exhaust fumes streamed from her nostrils. “I could loan you part of what you owe.”

I held up a hand. “No. Don’t even think of it. That’ll just complicate an already bad situation. But I appreciate your offer.”

Sheila peered at me through the smoke, with clear blue eyes that didn’t miss much. “Sam, you’re our only tenant. I don’t want to see you go out of business or move, simply because Milt Kressler is too greedy to see that you’re an asset, not a drain on us. If you need help, find it and find it quick or you may not have a choice.”

*****

Back at my desk, I pondered my options: finding a new office I could actually afford and moving all my s**t; begging for a loan I’d have to pay back eventually (with or without interest); finding a part-time job to supplement my income; or, taking the damn zoning case, $8,000 retainer and all.

I decided to call Jamila.

Much to my surprise, I managed to catch her between meetings and putting out the fire du jour. “How’s it going, Sam?” she said. “I’ve only got a moment to talk, but it’s great to hear from you.”

“Yeah, me too.” The words slipped out, even though they made no sense. “I just have a quick question. What do you know about zoning law?”

“Zoning? That’s not really my thing. I could hook you up with someone here who does that, if you have a question.”

Well, that was better than nothing, I supposed. I stared out the window and breathed deeply, trying not to freak out.

“Sam, are you okay?”

“Well … not really.” I sounded like my vocal chords were paralyzed. I explained the situation to Jamila as quickly as I could. “Now, this case has come along and it involves an old friend, but it would pay the bills. However, I’m not a zoning expert, so I’d really need to know there’s someone I could count on to assist me with the down-and-dirty details.

“I’d be more than willing to cut your firm in for a percentage of the fee,” I continued, “since you or whoever at your firm would essentially be consulting with me on this. I’d much rather do it this way than borrow money and create yet another debt to be paid. This way, your firm will get something, I’ll get something, and my client will get an attorney. How does that sound?”

“Well, that sounds reasonable.” Jamila paused. “I wonder if I should refer you to our zoning department or if I could liaise with them and work with you.”

“That would be great,” I blurted, sounding like a beggar. Gathering my wits, I said, “I’d love it if we could work on this together.”

“Let me run it by the zoning department and my supervising partner. I’ll get back to you real soon.”

“How soon? Today? Tomorrow?”

“Uh … I’ll try to make it later today if I can. Or tomorrow if I can’t, okay? Boy, you’re in a hurry, huh?”

“Jamila, I’m nearly broke.”

That’s when I couldn’t hold back any longer. The tears started and they wouldn’t stop.

*****

After the dam broke, Jamila offered to take me to dinner, but I was still stuffed with filet mignon. Frankly, all I wanted was a friend to talk to, not more food. So, we made plans to meet at a nice restaurant with a bar called Rinaldi’s near her office. I’m not a serious drinker, but I could sure use a glass of wine. Jamila offered both wine and friendship. What more could I ask?

When I arrived at Rinaldi’s, Jamila was seated in the waiting area. She jumped up when I entered, ran over to me and hugged me like I was her long-lost sister and we’d finally been reunited.

“Um, hello,” I said.

“How are you doing?” she murmured.

“I . . . I’m not bad, actually.”

She let me go and stood back, checking me out. “That’s not how you sounded on the phone earlier.”

Suddenly, I felt like s**t. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Yes, I’m having money problems. But it’s not the end of the world, okay? I’m going to get through this. I know I can. I could just use some help right now.”

Jamila stood there, looking at me. She looked like Halle Berry in a well-tailored suit in a muted brown plaid that suited her complexion perfectly. She was always so cool and perfectly appointed. I admired her courage and strength of character. Her brother’s murder when she was a child had to have hurt as deeply as the loss of my parents back when I lived in the worst part of Brooklyn. Life hadn’t been a picnic in the park for either of us.

Finally, she smiled. “Let’s go get a drink and talk. Okay?”

So, we went to the bar and ordered our drinks. Between sips of wine, I explained everything: how slow business had been, how far behind on the rent I was, and the phone call from Linda.

“Here’s the thing, Jamila,” I said. “I’m not flat broke. Not yet. I’m just afraid of being broke. I have a little money saved up, but if I use it, it’s gone. Then what? I have no other backup. No life insurance. No house to mortgage. Nobody to depend on. Just me. And my freaking cat. That’s it. I need this case, but I can’t handle it alone.”

Jamila placed her hand on my arm. “You know you’re my closest friend, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Same here.”

She put her arm around my shoulders. “I’ll do it. I’ll make the arrangements, no matter what it takes. I’ll consult with you personally on this, okay? Everything will be fine.”