Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

  84 - READY, WILLING AND ABEL I’d never seen a larger gathering around #1 Broken Heart Park.   Kachingas told us we gotta evacuate the premises in a few days.  I wasn’t sure what was hurting worse, my feelings or my ass. Suddenly, a big ol’ cloud of dust rose behind a car racing up the drive.   The beat up Chevy skidded to a halt in front of the official double-wide.   Like a magician stepping out of a puff of smoke, there emerged before us a sweaty little man.   He was dressed in polyester.   His belly hung over a white belt that matched his scuffed-up shoes.   (If the Good Will store had a catalogue, he’d be a featured model.)   I knew I’d seen this man before. “Howdy, folks, Abel Chase at your service.”   He started handing out business cards. Oh, yeah:   Abel Chase, Esquire, Junior Partner of Lynch & Levy, Defenders of the Rights of the Civilly Disadvantaged Since 1978 for Cash.   He was the pesky lawyer who ...

  85 - THINK THEY’RE READY FOR US? With Deputy Sheriff Whitey looming over me, I hardly heard Maggie’s sweet voice calling from behind. “Honeypot, my personal stake in this Chinese fire drill has dropped to zero, but I think Christos Kartone should be informed of these developments.   And I want to be there when he is.”   From behind I felt Maggie pulling on my arm.   “Come on,” she urged, “let’s go for a ride.”   Maggie glanced over her shoulder, “Mr. Chase, I think you’re hired.   And as our attorney, why don’t you join us?” “Gladly, yet…” his voice held a trace of hesitation, “...there is still the small matter of my restrainer.   Normally I work on a 30% to 80% contingency in cases of this magnitude.   Fortunately, as it so happens, I am in possession of the normal, standard, prerequisite contractual agreement form.” Mr. Chase reached into his hip pocket and pulled out some crumpled papers, which he handed to Maggie.   She unfol...

  86 - BEARING WITNESS We walked across the street and up the creaky stairs.   I opened the door to the office to let everyone else go in first. Again, Doll-Face sat cross-legged on her perch at the end of the metal desk.   Again Sinatra played in the background.   Glancing up, she gave us the once-over.   She returned to filing her nails and let out a yell in that pack-a-day voice of hers, “Hey, Frank!   It’s your Anti-Christos Tabernacle Choir.” From behind the Army blanket wall came the broken cry of Christos.   “Oy!   Just send dem in.   No doubt dey come to put da end of a broken bottle into my guts.   Well, I’m ready to go.   I want it.   Really.” The four of us silently entered. “So, you brought help dis time to dance on my grave?   Who ’ s dis?” “Please allow me to interject myself,” our legal rep began, “I am Abel Chase, Esquire.”   With a slight bow, Mr. Chase reached into his pocket and, with ...