“Had he an appointment?”
“Unbreakable.”
“A mission of mercy.”
“Doubtlessly the court is now prejudiced in his favor.”
“You’re not about to tell me he was lying to the court?”
“Well, he told us, or, rather, he told Mr. Haller, that while he was in court, the dog, waiting to be brought to the dentist, was howling so in pain, a neighbor shot him.”
Fletch shook his head. “He needn’t have rushed.” He salted his peanut butter-banana-and-mayonnaise sandwich. “Tell me, did he call up and cancel the dentist’s appointment?”
“He didn’t say.”
“I’m trying to gauge the degree of this man’s honesty, you see, his concern for the social contract.”
“In meetings, I am not allowed to put forth such questions.”
“I forgot. You’re a hanging plant.”
“That, or whatever is put at the base of plants to aid their growth.”
“I’m surprised Mr. Haller, being senior partner in an important law firm, would be interviewing a simple burglar himself. Why would he be taking on a burglar as a client?”
“Ah, Fletch, you are innocent as to how law firms, and thus the law, works.”
“I thought I knew a few things.”
“I’ll bet you thought law firms practice law.”
“They don’t?”
“That’s not their primary function.”
“It isn’t?”
“No. What they actually practice is something called cooling the client.”
“Do they teach that in law school?”
“No. Which is why starters, such as myself, work in law firms a few years at just enough above the minimum wage to keep us in clean collars. Because it is not being taught in law schools, we must learn this technique essential to keeping the law firm afloat.”
“So what’s ‘cooling the client’?”
“When a client first knocks on the door of a law firm as ambitious as Habeck, Harrison and Haller, the law firm’s first job is to discover how much the client—the client, not the case—is worth. It takes experience and wisdom to make such an assessment.”
“I don’t see how what the client is worth has to do with what the case is worth.”
“Suppose it’s a simple, straightforward case. But the senior partner, who conducts the first interview, discovers the client is rich. Under the circumstances, what would you do?”
“Practice law.”
“How little you know. You cool the client. The senior partner, having made an assessment of the client’s worth, decides how much of his wealth the law firm will take from him in fees, regardless of how simple or complicated the case is. It would amaze you to know how a talented law firm can complicate the most simple case by creating setbacks, other delays, filing wrong or useless motions, petitions, initiating incorrect lines of argument, et cetera. The object, you see, is to keep the case going as long as possible, all the while milking the client for nearly every penny he or she may be worth. If, despite the law firm’s best efforts, the case is ever brought to a conclusion, and if the law firm has done a masterful job of cooling the client consistently throughout his ordeal, the client ends up impoverished and very, very grateful.”
“Pardon me, Counselor, but isn’t that called robbery?”
“In the law, it’s called building a solid reputation.”
“Supposing, Counselor, in the initial interview, the senior partner discovers this particular client isn’t rich enough to be worth robbing?”
“One of three things happens. First, the client could be persuaded that his case could be handled just as well, and more cheaply, by a smaller, less prestigious law firm. Which law firm, incidentally, is expected to kick back to the recommending law firm a percentage of whatever fees the poor client is able to pay.”
“The rich get richer.”
“And the poor get screwed. Or, second, if the case has any value to the partners socially, or if it might generate beneficial publicity, or whatever, even if the client doesn’t have sufficient wherewithal to be worth robbing, the case is taken. It is then handled with such dazzling speed and efficiency the world is breathless as it watches. The old-boy network is used. Private deals are struck. A settlement is arrived at swiftly, and cheaply, not always to the client’s complete benefit.”
“And the law firm’s reputation becomes even more solid.”
“I’m giving you the internal workings of your average, greedy law firm. At least of Habeck, Harrison and Haller. How some lawyers look at the law, you might say.”
“You’re robbing me of my innocence.”
“The third thing that might happen is that which happened this morning, which is what I’m trying to tell you about.”
“If a person who engages himself as a lawyer is a fool, what’s a person who engages Habeck, Harrison and Haller?”
“You can see why violence is not always an illogical solution.”
“A solution discovered by an increasing percentage of our population,” Fletch said. “Have you heard the complaint, The courts don’t work’?”
“Once or twice,” Alston admitted. “The third thing that can happen with an impecunious client is what I saw happen this morning. A burglar rushes from the court and finds himself being interviewed by Mr. Haller.”
“The presumption can be made that if the burglar had enough money to afford Habeck, Harrison and Haller, he wouldn’t be a burglar.”
“A lot of burglars do afford Habeck, Harrison and Haller. There’s a system to everything, you see.”
“The legal system.”
“Burglars, obviously, must be represented.”
“They have their rights.”
“They are in a hazardous profession. No telling when their presence might be requested in a court of law.”
“That’s the breaks. And entering.”
“So Mr. Haller, this morning, after pretending to listen to the bare bones of our new burglar-client’s difficulty, explains to the burglar that many of his colleagues in the burglary business retain Habeck, Harrison and Haller on an annual basis. A kind of occupational insurance, you see. Just in case their earning a living is threatened by an arrest, conviction, and jail sentence. For example, Mr. Haller explains, if our burglar this morning had already paid such a retainer to Habeck, Harrison and Haller, a Habeck, Harrison and Haller lawyer, such as myself, would have been waiting for him at the police station when he was arrested Saturday night, to do the proper and necessary. He wouldn’t have even had to set bail for himself.”
“How much of a retainer?”
“Ten thousand dollars. Not much, really, when you consider that a burglar in prison is no good to anyone. Not to his family, not to his friends, not to the economy, and not to Habeck, Harrison and Haller. In jail, he can’t make a living.”
“Alston, if this guy had ten thousand dollars Saturday, why would he go burglarizing Saturday night?”
“That’s not the idea. He wouldn’t have ten thousand dollars. The law firm would have ten thousand dollars. So the man can go earn his living without fret. Peace of mind, Fletcher, is worth almost any price.”
“I’ve heard.”
“So our burglar-client is told this morning by Mr. Haller that if he comes up with ten thousand dollars within ten days—that is, before his next court appearance—he may look forward to the full services, support, and talents of Habeck, Harrison and Haller. If not, Mr. Haller can recommend to the burglar a smaller, cheaper, less prestigious firm which can be counted on to represent the burglar to the best of their limited resources.”
“How the hell is a two-bit burglar supposed to come up with ten thousand dollars within ten days?”
“Guess.”
