The Boys Club
Attorney Coyne's voice began to drift and Max could actually feel his future following. The whole experience seemed like some cruel joke. At one point in his life, not so long ago, Max sat on top of the world. Now, for a list of once avoidable reasons, he sat in a stiff wooden chair, going over every detail of an agreement that would seal his and Rebecca's separation - for life. Scanning the cold room, Max understood that reality might have turned cruel, but it was no joke, not any of it. Reality made his head pound.
The walls were paneled brown, the floor tiles a blah gray. Even the sun that filtered through the windows seemed dark. Remembering the warm day he and Becka exchanged vows before God, before the people they loved, he shook his aching head. Life was so beautiful then, so perfect and full of hope. Though he could no longer speak for her, he couldn't have been happier then. In those days, even his dreams appeared close enough to touch. There was no brown paneling anywhere.
Fighting his will to be cold, he glanced over at Becka. From the intensity of the conversation, he could see she was engaged in her own conspiracy with Julian Kilroy, who was, no doubt, an attorney better than his own. For a second, she returned the gaze. Max waited. She only snarled. The spiteful anger obviously retained its stronghold. Placing his head in his hands, he wondered again, "How could we have grown so far from each other? How could our marriage have plummeted so far - so fast?"
"Are you listening to me, Max?" Attorney Coyne asked. "It would behoove you to pay close attention, my friend. You're about to lose things that will change your life forever!"
A grin forced its way through Max's clenched teeth. The seedy mouthpiece had no idea. Max had already lost everything that meant anything to him. The rest was merely a formality. AND, they were anything but friends!
They were sifting through a list that Max had worked his entire life to build, everything from his daughter to the furniture was negotiated. "Until we get a date to appear before the judge, this order will only be temporary," claimed Coyne, but in his soul, Max knew it was a lie. Happiness appeared to be the only theory that was temporary. The rest, the child custody, the property settlement, all of the material objects - Becka would take most of them. The way she was, before long she'd undoubtedly be sharing it with another man. Thinking about Abby, their young daughter, Max choked on the tears that clawed to be free. Coyne pretended he never noticed the muffled outburst.
~*~
Darren Coyne was already at the bar when Julian Kilroy came in from the rain. As the longhaired gray fox shook out his fancy umbrella, Darren noticed how poorly time had treated his wrinkled, hunchback friend. Julian had always been a tall, impeccably dressed charmer with a libido that bordered on the obnoxious. He was also the type of egomaniac that went to any means to win. Lacking any real moral or ethical makeup, the occupation of attorney-at-law suited him better than most. For years, he'd been called "Killer." In Julian's mind, this was merely a term of endearment, pointing directly toward his reputation with the ladies. To the rest of the world, however, the nickname simply indicated his eagerness to take away a person's livelihood. Remembering the countless souls Julian had trampled over, Darren thought it amazing that the predator was still alive.
"Pick your poison," he told his cunning colleague. Julian ordered his usual; a three olive martini, along with the barmaid's phone number. The drink was quickly served, but the second request was met with a repulsive snort. Darren felt embarrassment for his friend, but Julian paid it no mind. Julian was a man used to playing the odds and had obviously faced his fair share of rejection. Just in case, Darren ordered a few appetizers, then suggested they shoot a game of pool. Julian nodded, rolled up the sleeves on his white satin shirt and smiled. He always loved a challenge.
Darren was eyeing the two twenty-dollar bills resting on the pool table's side rail when he scratched. Julian grabbed the stick and laughed, "It's like deja vu, my friend. Only the stakes have grown over the years!"
In spite of himself, Darren returned the laughter. Julian was right. The first time they ever matched skills was at the Bedford Street Boys Club. After a tense game in front of fifteen other kids, Julian won the quarter and bragging rights for nearly a year.
"Those were the days," Julian added, removing Darren from his flashback, "with Stevie Cabral, Joey Arruda, Paul Duhon and the Manchester brothers. Remember those two nuts?" Julian's eyes grew distant. He was taking his own trip back to the old neighborhood.
Darren grabbed the stick. "From what I hear, Billy, the older one, is racing stock cars now. They say Randy just made First Sergeant in the Air Force!"
"No shit!" Julian giggled in delight. "Who would have thought?" Adding to his joy, he finished, "And who would have guessed you and I would become lawyers?"
Darren chuckled again. He would have never dreamt this path for himself, but as far as Julian, it was a no-brainer. If slick Julian hadn't passed the bar on his third attempt, he was destined to be selling used cars for eternity. Darren laughed right up until the last shot. Breathing deeply, he took his time and dropped the eight ball right where it belonged - the side pocket. With one slight movement of the wrist, he was twenty dollars richer.
"Son-of-a-bitch," Julian growled, hurrying to set a new rack. "One more…"
"Can't. I have a deposition at three and…"
"Come on buddy. We'll raise the stakes!" Julian taunted.
Darren continued to put on his coat, but paused to feed his curiosity.
Replacing his grin with a look a serious desperation, Julian revealed his thoughts. "I need you to throw me a bone, Dar."
"What? Are you losing it? I've never thrown a game of pool!"
"I'm not talking about billiards, Minnesota Fats. I'm talking about that plump bitch I'm representing. You know, the Evans' divorce case. I'd give anything to have those chunky legs wrapped around my…"
"You sick bastard! Have you ever even charged money for legal services?" Darren joked.
"A few times. Believe it or not though, I actually prefer the fringe benefits from those who don't have the monetary means, but this one's different. Although she's got a rep for being around the block a time or two, I still need to play her right. She's real pissed at hubby for not understanding her, but there still seems to be some strong feelings there. We don't need them getting back together. That wouldn't be good for anyone - especially me!"
Julian's smile was enough to turn the strongest stomach, but Darren had gotten used to it over the past forty years. "I don't know, Julian. My guy is actually a decent shit. Loves his kid, works hard and…"
"Heck! He's no different from the rest! What do you say? One more game… loser throws the case?"
Darren considered the wager. It wasn't right, but then again, it was no more wrong than the rest of them. That was the system. It had nothing to do with feelings or families, truth or justice. It was all about money and time. Having a male as a client, he was already playing from a position of weakness. And, win or lose, Darren Coyne was getting paid. As for time, there was always much less of that to play with and recently, the caseload was even heavier. Alas, for nothing more than the sake of his busy schedule, Darren reached into his pocket and retrieved a coin. "I don't have time for another game, but I'll flip you for it."
As the silver coin spun end-over-end in the air, Julian extended his quivering hand and yelled the usual, "Head!" His cocky smile said it all. Darren confirmed the loss, took one last draw on his beer and headed for the door.
"I hope she's good," he yelled back to his partner in crime. With a wink, the shyster pocketed his friend's shiny coin. It was a down payment on the promised spoils of war. Life didn't get much better.
Max sat on the end of a long bench, while Rebecca pouted on the other. Julian Kilroy gawked at her like he hadn't eaten in months. Max supposed things like that should no longer bother him, but they did. How disrespectful! If she was going to boink a guy so soon, at the very least, it didn't have to be the man who was helping to destroy their family. Evidently reading Max's thoughts, Kilroy shot him a wink. Max fought to think about the consequences of murder. Serving a prison sentence could never benefit his little girl.
Darren Coyne was firm. "Max, don't be so difficult. I've done the best I can, but if we go to trial, you'll be a lot worse off!"
"Worse off!" Max screeched. The emotions had taken over. "She gets the house, the kid and half my business. I have to pay support, childcare, medical AND alimony! How could it be worse?"
"You have standard visitation with your daughter - every other weekend and one night a week. Your child support is consistent with amounts paid by every other man in the state. As far as the business, she is entitled to half, along with any proceeds and profits generated. Alimony…"
Max raised his hand in order to put a halt to the brutal list. "Yeah, yeah. As long as you did your best Mr. Coyne." Max found it hard to believe this man had done just that; yet, the horror stories of other divorced men were all the same. Regardless of the reasons for the divorce, the women got everything. Surrendering to the sad ways of the world, Max signed the papers. He could not recall a darker day.
~*~
In his boxer shorts, Max met the Dominos delivery boy at the door. Paying the tab along with a generous tip, he grabbed a week's worth of mail from the wall box and returned to his football game. Only two slices of pizza remained when the New England Patriots had just kicked a field goal to win.
Then, Max spotted it. It was a letter from Darren Coyne, Esq. Tearing open the envelope, he scanned the itemized bill all the way to the grand total: $3050.25.
"Three thousand dollars to lose everything," Max complained. Then, something odd struck him: twenty-five cents? Studying the bill line for line, he couldn't find it. Each phone call cost $75. Court costs totaled $2400. Documents drafted were $100 a pop and each item was the same; a rounded figure. It didn't make sense.
"Where in the heck did the quarter come from?"
