| A. Whistler, Attorney-at-Law |
[Sep. 12th, 2007|05:13 pm] |
Whistler awoke at the crack of dawn to incessant knocking on the door to his double-wide. He stumbled out of bed, not bothering to dress more than the deadhead t-shirt and boxer shorts he'd crashed in (how Gerald ended up wearing his hat as the gnome stood guard duty outside, Whistler would probably never know). The Agent was greeted by an overly cheerful UPS delivery man with a rectangular box.
He didn't tip.
Inside was a leather briefcase containing transcripts and degree from the University of Michigan Law School, as well as papers declaring that he'd passed the bar. After four attempts.
As well, there was a hotel room key emblazoned with the Bally's logo. Apparently the Powers felt it better if he was a hired gun brought in from out of town to handle Blanchard's case. This also indicated he was in for the haul (minus a side trip to Defiler-ville, no way the Agent was going to miss that fight).
He shook the box again. A credit card fell out. Embossed (as the other documents) was the name 'A. Whistler'. Great, he'd have to come up with a first name. Only two living people knew his real monicker and he preferred to keep it that way.
Whistler waited another thirty minutes to see if someone would deliver him some decent suits.
None came.
He grabbed a shower, packed a duffel (making sure to include his cell phone charger and DVD copy of 'My Cousin Vinny') and, one his way out the door, took back his hat from the ungrateful gnome. "If Rhiannon or Hannah drop by for a visit," he instructed the security system, "tell 'em I'm at Bally's. Everyone else gets the treatment. Okay?"
Gerald stood stoically.
"I'd take ya if I could. But I don't think the judge would accept ya as co-counsel."
Christ. A judge. The Agent had been in front of the law before, but usually to protest his innocence. He hoped the one hearing Samantha Blanchard's case wasn't one he'd met before. |
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