DESPERATE STRANGERS

AuthorHouse

Chapter One

"Put him through", Ryan said. He remembered Fuller. A decent guy, good mechanic. After the divorce, he had rebuilt the 460 engine in Ryan's F-250.

"Hey Wayne, how are you? Haven't heard from you for a couple of years. What's going on?"

"Well, it ain't good, Mike," Fuller said, his voice filled with anxiety. "I got a real problem. I'm at Madison jail and I need to see you right away."

The door opened and Cheryl peeked around the corner. "Your 10 o'clock is here," she said quietly.

"Hang on, Wayne. Cheryl, I'm going to put Wayne on the line with you. He's in jail at Madison. I need to get his DOB, social security number and full spelling of his name." That would all be in a file somewhere but it was faster to have her just take it over the phone while they had Fuller on the line. "Then call jail information, get his booking number and any information you can on bond. Check me out of the office when I leave for the 2:00 hearing. I'll go see him directly from court."

She nodded and closed the door.

"Wayne, I can be there about 3:00 this afternoon. We can talk details then. Remember not to discuss anything with anybody until we meet, including family and friends. The calls are monitored. Don't even talk to other inmates. Understood?"

"Understood," Fuller said, sounding relieved. "Thanks."

Ryan put him on hold, transferred the call to Cheryl, and then went out to bring in the clients.

One of the other attorneys, Julie Matthews, was walking a client out, smiled lightly as she passed. They had been classmates in law school.

His meeting concerned the start of a new business. The two men were going in as partners and had been wise enough to do the legal issues up front. They'd had a chance to consider what Ryan had drafted earlier and now discussed possible changes. Ryan took notes, then suggested they call their insurance agent to take out two half million dollar policies to cover a buyout in case of death. That way, they were protected from a spouse who wanted to close the business and sell off the company. They didn't like the idea of the expense but accepted the suggestion as a wise move.

This was typical of the kind of work he did. He neither liked nor disliked his clients; that wasn't his job. They had need of his services and he made a living providing them. His average client was an average person in need of assistance. Most were pleasant and appreciated what he could do, though he encountered his fair share of jerks, as anyone did who was in business for himself.

Career criminals were represented by public defenders as they rarely had the money for a private attorney. Highflying criminals, on the other hand, had the money and hired from among a cadre of well-established criminal defense attorneys. Everyone else with a legal need either went to specialist or someone like Ryan, a jack-of-all-trades able to handle a myriad of issues or experienced enough to know when to call in an expert.

After an early lunch eaten at his desk, Cheryl told Ryan that Barbara Seller had arrived. Her husband was asking for primary custody pending the final divorce and she was opposed to him having any control over the kids.

Half of Ryan's cases were divorces and such domestic issues were his bread and butter. The rest was a mix of business law, them in or legal situations people encountered in life, along with the occasional felony criminal case, usually involving a former client or family member. Like with Fuller.

In divorces, Ryan typically represented the wife so her story was one he'd heard many times before. Women married all sorts of men, had children with them, and then when it ended, wanted their former husband and children's father to vanish, ideally while mailing them a check every month. It didn't happen, at least not as often as his clients wanted.

According to Seller, her soon to be ex had no real interest in the children, but wanted to control her through them as he had done for years.

He would have his side, of course. That was the nature of divorce. However, Ryan's job was to represent his client as she saw her interests. He nodded with understanding. The least he could do was listen, especially when he had unwanted news.

When it came to divorce, he had once told Cheryl he had two priorities after seeing to his client's needs: do his best to see that no one was killed, and get paid.

When Seller finished, Ryan explained that the commissioner would want to set a temporary custody sharing order pending the home study. There was no way around it. He wasn't going to make any decision favorable to her without independent information.

Ryan sat patiently again as Seller repeated her concerns. He had no idea if they were real, manufactured or exaggerations. It didn't matter because it would take a lot more than she had to cut the father off from meaningful contact with his children, now or after the divorce.

When it was his turn, Ryan explained that to her and after a few minutes she reluctantly agreed to some sharing. Apparently, things weren't as dire as she made out. He reminded her of the court location, saying he would meet her there shortly before 2:00 p.m.

As she left, Ryan glanced at his watch. "Anything that needs doing, Cheryl?" he asked over the intercom. "I have a few minutes."

"You're good, Mike."

Cheryl had been his secretary for seven years. She was tall at 5'8", with long raven hair and a dancer's legs. She had a life and a boyfriend she rarely mentioned. Possessed of a sweet disposition she handled the clients deftly and with compassion. Best of all, she was fiercely loyal and protective.

The old adage "Don't dip your pen in the company well" had come to his mind many times since she had agreed to work for him. He had lost one fine secretary that way and did not intend to lose another, no matter how great her legs were.

Ryan leaned back in his chair, pushed aside the residual anger he felt over his own recent divorce, and gazed out the window of the second floor office towards the waterfall and Coi pool in the courtyard of the office complex. The fat fish swam slowly in measured circles from one end to the other, repeating the same journey back and forth, in their colorful red, gold and white coats.

He wondered what the fish thought about their world. Did they think they were in an enormous sea, free to go and do what they want? Or did they comprehend the limits of their existence?

The latter, he decided, if they thought at all. It was like every life, the distant horizon always beckoned while the walls of reality kept you closed in. Live long enough and you found yourself in a box.

Two Mallards had taken up residency below. The birds at least had a choice.

It was supposed to be relaxing, but Ryan always found something vaguely unnatural about it all. If the guy who tended the pool missed a week, feathers would be overflowing and the Coi would be floating upside down in the water.

Ryan sighed and then glanced around the office. There was the small oak conference table with four chairs upholstered in an Indian blanket material to match his own high back chair. Two bookcases held the Arizona Revised Statutes along, with a number...