Scam

afternoon.”
    “When?”
    “Depends on what cases come in. Some days I’m off by two, some days I work till six.”
    “What about today?”
    “So far I just got the one case. I should knock it off by noon.” He frowned. “So in theory I could work for you then. Assuming nothing else came in. And assuming there was something you wanted me to do.”
    “I want you to find the girl.”
    “I understand. Can you suggest one line of inquiry I might pursue at twelve o’clock this afternoon?”
    He rubbed his forehead. Exhaled. “All right. Try the bar. Tonight. During happy hour.”
    “All right,” I said. “If that’s what you want. But if I don’t get a lead, this will eat up your last hundred bucks. At which point I am done. Unless you have more ideas, more money, or preferably both.”
    “What if you get a lead?”
    “Exactly,” I said. “That’s the point I want to make. If I should get a lead, do you want me to follow It up?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “At fifty bucks an hour plus expenses?”
    “Of course. That’s what we agreed on.”
    “I know. What I’m asking is how far do you want me to go?”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “I mean, what’s the limit? Suppose I get a lead tonight and have to stake out an apartment for ten hours waiting for the woman to come back. You gonna foot the bill?”
    “Ten hours?”
    “That was an example. You tell me how many hours.”
    “I don’t know. It would depend on the situation,”
    “Fine. You want me to call you and ask?”
    He put up his hand. “No, no. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.”
    “What? You’re psychic? You’ll know if I need to talk to you?”
    “No, no. You’re an honest man. I’ll trust you. If you get a lead, you follow it up. I’ll trust you to use your best judgment. I’m instructing you to follow up anything that seems promising. I’ll meet you here tomorrow morning to get your report.”
    “Suppose I’m sitting on a stakeout?”
    “Good point. If you’re not here, I’ll call the number you gave me. You say they can reach you?”
    “Yeah. I have a beeper. They can page me.”
    “Fine. That’s what I’ll do.”
    I frowned. Put up my hand. “Mr. Pritchert. This is all well and good. But I have to tell you, the whole thing’s a long shot. My professional opinion is, I’ll spend two hours in the bar, learn nothing useful, use up your money, and be done.”
    Pritchert held up one finger. Looked very much like a high school teacher about to lecture a naughty pupil. “I don’t like you going in with that attitude. If you expect to fail, you will fail. If there’s nothing to get, fine. But I want you to make an honest effort. Give it a fair shot.”
    I sighed. “All right,” I said, “I will have a positive attitude and give it a fair shot.”
    I don’t think I sounded very convincing.

6.
    B ETTY B RODY BROKE HER LEG.
    Doo dah. Doo dah.
    Betty Brody broke her leg.
    All the doo dah day.
    Yeah, I know. One shouldn’t joke about another one’s misfortune. But in my profession, one can’t help it.
    I handle three or four cases a day, five days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. And they’re all the same. At least, they seem that way.
    First off, they’re all negligence cases. Of these, over half, probably even seventy-five percent, are trip-and-falls. The injury is usually a broken arm or leg. That’s how I can always recognize my clients—they’re the ones wearing the casts.
    For another thing, over fifty percent of my clients are black. That’s because the clients all come from TV ads, and the people who call a lawyer they see advertised on television tend to be economically challenged. Rosenberg and Stone compounds the problem by advertising largely on syndicated black sitcoms. So, as door after apartment door swings open to reveal yet another black client on crutches, I can’t help thinking it won’t be long before there won’t be an African-American left standing in all of New York.
    Needless to say, I revealed none of that to Betty Brody. I never cracked a smile. I treated her injury with the solemnity it deserved, and I had the nice lady all primed to sign the retainer empowering Richard Rosenberg to act as her attorney, when my beeper went off.
    I explained to Betty Brody that I would need to use her phone, but we could complete our transaction first. Richard Rosenberg’s prime directive is sign the clients, and I do not take kindly to interruptions at retainer-signing time. I’m not