Attorney Needed

Blood thirsty spirits weren't used anymore, just lawyers.

Imagine, getting a protective order against an honest ghost buster; prohibited from approaching closer than 100 yards.  For all of its marble grandeur, the District Court for the Southern District of New York looked like a house of flimflam to me.

"You haven't heard the last of me," I snarled.  Even I had to admit, it sounded hollow.

Figuring that fire was needed to fight fire, I placed a small ad in the Voice.

"Labor Attorney wanted - knowledgeable in ectoplasm; respond to [e-mail]".

Many of the responses were from first year graduates of night school law, but one intrigued me.

"Attorney of record for 'Casper vs. NYPD Patrolman Benevolent Association'; represented Casper, but could've helped the cops more."

That case was the start of the slippery slope that put my career at risk.  I agreed to a meeting at the Pergu Club for drinks.  Your typical ultra-modern glitzy SoHo watering hole.

A vision in the classic "little black dress", very little, waited for me as I was brought to our table.  My reaction was obvious.

"If this isn't professional enough, how about...?" asked the now shark looking barrister.  "You can call me Brett."

"A lawyer from the other side to represent me isn't a problem," I responded.  "Looks aren't important; a strategy to allow me to do my work is."

Would you believe it, Brett came up with one.

"Professionals have successfully sought protection for their 'right to practice'.  We'll argue that you aren't harassing anybody, just meeting your contractual obligations," was the winning argument Brett made.

So now I can protect clients from things that go bump in the night.

If I could only convince Brett that the little black dress was very attractive.