Family Counsel (The Samuel Collins Series Book 2) (10 page)

Later that day, I was messing around with my boys in the front
yard when Jake came out of his house and headed across the street. Three fawns
scattered in different directions, causing a chain reaction of wildlife
movement, as a couple of squirrels zipped up a tree trunk, sending a bunch of
squawking grackles towards Mrs. Howard’s house. Jake had a big smile on his
face like he had just won the lottery.

“Check it out,” Jake said, holding two hands in the air.

And as I was still processing the significance, Oliver
exclaimed, “Hey look! He found his hand!”  Then he turned to Max, “Look, Max!
He has two hands!”

Max was equally enthusiastic. He squatted down then jumped up
like a jack-in-the-box, then he started yanking on my pants. “He has two
hands!” he exclaimed. He concentrated for a second while he made his fingers
into a V, then held them up and shouted “Two!”

It was hard to match that kind of enthusiasm, but I was equally
keen.

“Dude, I got my new prosthetic hand. Check it out,” Jake said,
turning the hand from one side to the other so we could get a good look.  “It’s
got individually powered fingers, so I can grip things, and I’ll be able to
type and text, and tie my shoelaces, things like that.”

“That’s amazing,” I said, checking the thing out.

“It looks real,” Oliver commented.  “Can I touch it?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he offered the limb to both of my kids,
freely allowing them to maul it with both hands. 

“And check out what’s underneath,” he said.  “Help me get the
glove off?” he asked me.

We peeled the outer skin-glove off and the robotic hand
underneath looked like something straight out of Terminator. Oliver was
intrigued; Max, not so much. He backed up right next to me and wrapped his arms
around my leg and looked up at me with a worried expression.

“Hold me.”

I didn’t blame him. It was shiny black metal, and it looked
evil and menacing. I picked him up.

“You want to touch it, Max?” Oliver asked.

“No,” he whined. “Don’t want to touch,” he said, burying his
head into me.

Three boys rode past on bikes heading toward the community
center and one called out to Oliver.

“We’re going to the pool for Free Swim Pizza Night.  Are you
coming?”

Oliver looked up at me hopefully and asked, “Are we coming?”

“Sure.  We’ll go down in a little bit,” I told him and he
shouted back in the exact same tone of voice, “Sure, we’ll go down in a little
bit!” 

As the boys rode off, we were distracted by the sound of sirens
headed to our part of the hood. Now, in the Park, that’s not a true indicator
that an “emergency” is actually taking place, since our police and fire
departments will assist residents on anything from a blazing inferno to getting
a kid out of a locked bathroom.  But the sound of a siren closing in will
typically draw neighbors out, just to see what’s going down. In minutes, the
rescue vehicle, a fire truck and two police cars had pulled up three doors down,
which is actually a long way away in the Park. Mrs. Howard and my
next-door-neighbors, the Johns’, had come outside and they all converged in my
yard at the same time Maddie and Morgan came out. I did a double-take when
Kitty joined us, having to revise my initial assessment of her appearance. She
was actually quite attractive.  In fact, it was hard to believe she was the
bedraggled mom I’d met before. She had long, brown curly hair pulled into a
side ponytail with long strips of colorful cloth and feathers tying it in
place. Not a look I would typically be fond of, but on her it totally worked.

“What’s going on?” Maddie asked in her sweet southern drawl.
She had Morgan on her hip, and as soon as they got within five feet of me,
Morgan reached out her arms to Big Bad Dad. Part of me wanted to gloat, but the
more mature side prevailed.

“Hey, little girl,” I said. I held her up and blew on her
tummy, making a farty sound like my dad used to do, and she rewarded me with a
giant giggle. I held her up to my shoulder and returned my attention to the
emergency at hand.

“That’s the Olsen’s house,” Mrs. Howard piped in. “Mighty Olsen
used to be mayor, back in the day. He must be 90 years old now.  Married a gal
named Minnie, 30 years younger when he was 60.  You see them out walking every
morning; he’s the guy all hunched over like he’s looking for arrow heads. And
she wears
those shoes,
” she said, raising her eyebrows for effect.

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “I know exactly who you’re talking about.
They’re like 4-inch heels.”

“And three cats follow behind them,” Maddie added.

“That’s them,” Mrs. Howard confirmed.

“Maybe he had a heart attack,” Maddie said.

“Maybe she fell off her shoes,” I said.

“Well, why are we standing here?  Let’s go find out,” Mrs.
Howard said.

“Yeah!” Oliver and Max both said, jumping up and down.  “Can
we?”

I guess Mrs. Howard could sense my resistance because she
walked up beside me, hooked her arm around mine, and physically escorted me
towards the street and everyone else kind of followed.

“It would be rude not to,” she asserted. “That’s the beauty of
living in a small town, Samuel.  And this way, we can find out first hand
what’s going on, so we can get the story straight before we repeat something
that isn’t true.”

“That’s warped logic, Mrs. Howard.”

She patted my arm and changed the subject.  “That little girl
sure loves her Daddy.”

There were men in blue going in and out of the house as our
group got bigger with each house we passed. By the time we reached the Olsen’s
house, we were a gang of 12. The Police Chief waved and came over. 

“Hello Mrs. Howard, Mr. and Mrs. Collins, Andy, Verna,” then he
continued greeting by name every member of the gang until he got to Jake.  “I
don’t believe we’ve met. You’re next door to Sara Howard,” the Chief noted,
extending his hand. 

Jake went to shake with his new bionic Terminator hand, but changed
his mind and shook the chief’s hand with his left.  “Jake Travis,” he said. 

“Welcome to the Park, Jake,” the Chief said.

“What’s happening, Chief?” Mrs. Howard asked, but before he
could say anything, out came Minnie Olsen, sans the 4-inchers, heading in our
direction.

“An attack owl!” she called out, fanning herself with her
hands. “It got Mighty while he was mowing and he had to jump into the pool. 
Swooped down from nowhere, knocked off his hat and clawed his head. ”

I don’t know which impressed me more, that an owl could down a
man, that Mighty still mowed his lawn, or the fact that he could still swim.

 “An owl attacked that man that walks hunched over?  The one
with the cats?” Oliver asked, clearly horrified.

“Apparently,” Maddie said. “But I’m sure he’s going to be
okay.”  She turned to Minnie Olsen for confirmation. “He
is
going to be
okay, right?”

“He’ll be fine.  He’s a tough old coot.  But his blood
pressure’s up, so they’re going to take him to the emergency room to get his
head stitched up and get him all fixed up.” 

“What happened to the owl?” Oliver asked.

“It flew off,” said Minnie. “Disappeared just as quickly as it
appeared.”

Oliver looked up and around, searching the trees for the attack
owl. “Let’s go home.”

An ambulance pulled up and the guys got out with a gurney and
wheeled it inside, then came back out a little while later with Mighty Olsen
strapped down, loaded him in and carted him off to the hospital. 

When we turned to go, the same three boys were back on their
bikes but headed in the opposite direction. 

“What happened to Free Swim Pizza Night?” I asked. 

They pulled off the road and the biggest kid took off his
helmet. He was red-faced and sweaty, his wet hair plastered to his head. 

“Carlsbad’s brother threw up in the pool so they closed the
pool and canceled Free Swim.”

“They closed the pool?” I repeated in disbelief.  “Just because
some kid threw up in it?”

“Yeah, they suck!” said the runt of the bunch, kicking the
ground for emphasis.

“They suck!” Oliver repeated, and I was just about to jump in,
but Maddie beat me to it.

“That’s not appropriate, Oliver.  I don’t want to hear that
again.”

“But he said it,” Oliver argued.

“Not again,” Maddie repeated, and he knew better than to push
it. When my wife says something, she means it.

The three hoodlums rode off on their bikes and our group
disbursed going to our respective homes.  Jake stopped me before he crossed the
street.

“I gotta ask your advice on something,” he said tentatively.

“Okay.”  I stopped and bounced Morgan on my shoulder.

“I’ve got a problem going on at work, and I’m not sure how to
handle it. I think someone’s setting me up.”

“Setting you up how?” I asked.

“I own a landscape company and three properties that I’ve
recently worked on have been burglarized. I think someone’s trying to make it
look like it’s me or someone from my company.”

“Maybe it
is
someone from your company,” I said.

Jake shook his head.  “No way, dude. They’re my two best
friends; I’ve known them all of my life.  There’s no way.”

“Maybe there’s been a rash of break-ins in that particular area
and it has nothing to do with you. Were all the homes in the same
neighborhood?”

“Nope.  Different parts of town.”

“Well, do you have any idea who it might be?  Anyone who would
want to set you up?” I asked.

Jake shook his head again.  “No idea.”

“Have the police contacted you?”

“No.”

“Do you think you’re a suspect?”

“Dude, I don’t think so. I don’t think they have any reason to
connect the break-ins at this point.”  He fiddled with the glove, smoothing it
over the Terminator knuckles. The guy was nervous and I wondered if there was
something he wasn’t telling me. I tried to objectively assess the situation,
taking into account that I basically didn’t know the guy at all, neighbor or
not.

“Okay,” I said after thinking it over. “Here’s what I’d do. If
I was one thousand percent certain that it was not someone from my company, I’d
go to the police with what you’ve got.  Tell them that there were break-ins at
three of the houses you recently worked on in different areas of town and that
you think they are connected – that you think someone is setting you up.  And I
think you should tell the Hollywood Park police too. Just put them on notice so
they can keep an eye on your house.”

“What if I tell them and they arrest me?”

I looked at him to see what a cop would see: Hawaiian shirt,
skater shorts, red and black PF Flyers, a mop of shaggy hair, a bionic hand,
and a prosthetic leg.  I had to laugh.  He was so off-the-wall that there was
something utterly endearing about him. I felt almost a brotherly affection for
the guy.

“That’s not gonna happen,” I said.  “Tell you what, I’ll call
as your attorney.”

“Ah dude, seriously?  That’d be great,” he said. “I’ll pay you
for it,” he assured me.

I waved my hand. “Don’t worry about it.  It’s just a phone
call. Get the addresses of the homes that were hit,” I was saying, but I was
interrupted by an explosive fart that I felt through Morgan’s diaper.  The
smell that followed was so putrid that I gagged.

Jake’s eyes got big and his mouth dropped open. “Oh my God,
Dude.  It’s one of those up-the-back craps!  Oh shit! Cosmo did that a couple
of weeks ago. It’s up there on her neck!”  He was fanning the air and stepping
backwards.

“What’s on her neck?” I shouted.  I pulled my hand back and it
was covered in mustard yellow slime. “AHHHHHHHH!” I shouted.

“Put her in the grass,” Jake suggested, not offering to help at
all, and since I couldn’t think of anything better to do, I did. I turned the
hose on full blast and blasted my hand and arm, then I took off my shirt and
threw it down in the grass and rinsed my chest, but I couldn’t shake the
smell.  It seemed to have taken up residence.

All the yelling and commotion roused Maddie, and she came out
front to find me half-naked, Morgan covered in yellow slime, and Jake laughing
his ass off.

“What the . . .” Maddie asked, looking from me, to Jake, and
finally to our daughter lying in the grass.  The mustard slime had migrated to
her head, but she was seemingly unfazed by the whole revolting ordeal. 
“Eeeewwwww!” Maddie exclaimed.

“Yeah,” I said, shaking water off my arm. I was silently
praying that Maddie would step in and take over.  I’d come a long way as a
parent and I was self-sufficient in some ways, but at that moment I was ready
to relinquish parental say-so for the rest of my life if I didn’t have to deal
with the mess. We both stood there staring at our kid, and when no offer was
forthcoming, I said, “I’ll give you a backrub and foot massage every night this
week.”

Maddie thought it over.  “Deal.”

I turned to Jake, “Got to go. Get me that info.”

I had contacted Niki Lautrec and asked him to conduct a small scale
investigation on  Serenity. After considering the matter as objectively as I
could, which meant having to disregard the fact that Felicia Armstrong would be
involved, I wanted to find out if there were grounds for filing a lawsuit. I
was convinced that for once, Maddie’s cousin may actually have a case.

While I had him on the phone, I floated the subject of Earl’s
talents.

“I’ve got this client who has a photographic memory and seems
to be a computer wiz without any formal training,” I said.  “Think you could use
someone like that on your staff?”

“Sounds like a skill set we could use,” Niki said.

“But strictly for the legitimate side of your business,” I
added.

“What other side is there?”

“The side I don’t want to know about.”

Niki laughed. “Have him call me.”

Niki had given me a rough estimate of 3-4 weeks to investigate the
hospital.  I had also given him the name of the Faker to see what he could get
on him, but he had called back saying that he hadn’t come up with much of
anything. There were plenty of guys named Rafael Mendez, but nothing stood out
immediately on any of them.

On the home front, I needed to talk to Jake about his burglary
thing.  I’d talked to the police on his behalf and needed to give him a report
and set up a time he could talk with the police. The garbage truck was in front
of my house and everyone’s favorite collector was just wheeling my bin back to
my driveway.  The guy had worked in the Park for like 20 years, and everyone
knew him by his vigorous wave and friendly smile.

“Morning, Mr. Collins.”

“Hey Mateo, how’s it going?”

“Good, good,” he said, but his typical enthusiasm was clearly
lacking. 

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Oh yeah.”

“How’s that granddaughter of yours?”

His face lit up and he became animated. “She’s great!  Thanks
for asking.”  He waved and headed off towards the Johns’ house. I noticed that
Mrs. Howard had left a can of Coke on top of her garbage can for him.

Jake must have seen me coming because he came outside before I
got to his door.  He had a skateboard tucked under one arm and a boyish smile
on his face that seemed to be contagious. 

“Hey, dude!”

“Can you actually ride that thing?”

“Yeah, I’m getting better.”  He held the nose of the board and
dropped it to the ground, then rode it down the incline of his driveway and
into the street.  He went for a whirl past Mrs. Howard’s house and had just
turned to come back when something in the trees caught my eye.  It happened so
fast that before I realized what it was, it was already swooping down. 

I ran out in the street, pointing behind him.  “Duck!” I
yelled.  “It’s the owl!”

It was enormous, with an incredible wingspan.  I was shouting
like a madman, running towards Jake, waving my arms trying to scare off the
owl, but he just kept coming.  Jake turned around to see where it was, and when
he turned back, his eyes were wide. 

“Duck!” I yelled again, and this time Jake covered his head,
leaped off his board, and crouched down in the street.  The owl dive-bombed
him, then swooped back up.  I felt the breeze as it blew past me, within two
feet of my head and it disappeared into the trees.  The skateboard rolled into
Mrs. Howard’s grass.  I ran over to Jake as neighbors came out of their homes
to see what was going down in the hood.

“Holy crap!” Jake exclaimed.

“That’s gonna need stitches,” I said, pointing to a 2-inch gash
on his forearm.

I reached down to help him up, but he waved off any
assistance.  “Nah, I got it.”

“What’s my head look like?” He turned around and showed me the
back of his head.  “There’s four claw marks,” I said. “They’re bleeding, but
they don’t look too bad.”

“Dude!  I got attacked by a killer owl!” he exclaimed, and for
some reason we both started laughing.

Mrs. Howard was on her way down her path and she called out, “I
called the fire department.  You have no business riding that contraption
without a helmet!”

Jake was confused.  “Why’d she call the fire department?”

“You haven’t lived here very long.  The oldies call the fire
department for everything.”

“Well, did you crack your head?” Mrs. Howard asked accusingly,
arms crossed in front of her chest.

“He didn’t crash,” I said.  “It was the owl.”

Mrs. Howard perked up with that.  “Oh my!” she exclaimed.  I
could just see the wheels spinning in her head as she contemplated the best way
to spread the news around the Park.  She looked Jake over.  “Boy, he really did
a number on you!  If you’d given him your fake arm, he wouldn’t have scratched
you all up.”

Jake and I looked at each other. “She’s got a point,” I told
him, and he shrugged his shoulders.

The sirens were getting closer.  By the time the fire truck,
rescue vehicle and a cop car pulled up, Jake and I had gone back to his yard,
and the neighbors were huddled in Mrs. Howard’s yard as she gave them a
blow-by-blow of what had gone down.  The paramedics wrapped up Jake’s arm to
stop the bleeding, and the police made a wildlife incident report.  I drove
Jake to the emergency clinic and he got his wounds cleaned up and stitched up,
and we stopped off at Chuy’s on the way home for a beer. 

I dropped him at his house when we got back and we set a time
for the next day for him to talk to the police about his burglary thing.  He
knocked twice on my hood and nodded his head as he crossed in front of my
Suburban. “Thanks, Dude.  Call you tomorrow after I talk to the cops.”