Chapter 6 - Jerry my Lawyer

"Jerry?"
"Randall?" replied my corporate attorney.
"Yeah."
"Caller ID says you are calling from Flagler County Sheriff's office.”
"That's right."
"Get a speeding ticket on A1A?"
"Not exactly. This morning has been a nightmare. I wish I was still in bed dreaming, but I'm not. They think I raped and killed someone."
"Did you?" He asked.
"No, I didn't," I replied sternly.
"You know I just do corporate law."
"Of course I know that, but I don't know any criminal lawyers. Can you help me out?"
"Yes, Pete Cavanaugh is the best I know, but he’s in Miami. I don't know if he has room in his schedule. Criminal cases take up large blocks. I can check with him."
"I'd appreciate that," I said, grateful that he took my call. I had called Jerry on his cell, otherwise we would have played phone tag for hours, and I didn't think the Sheriff would take a message. I had no voice mail and I was totally lost without my Blackberry. I knew his cell by heart; it ended in 9999.

"Can you come down here and see what you can do until you reach Pete?"
"I'm ahead of you I am already headed out of my office and about to get on the elevator, see you in an hour and a half, traffic permitting."
"Thanks!" I said.
"You okay?"
"I'm keeping it together, but I'm not sure for how long."
"Your innocent, no worries...."

The line went dead; he must have gotten in the elevator. Jerry was your typical corporate attorney. These guys were even more boring than accountants – myself excluded of course. They were not the litigators, but the ones who reviewed contracts day after day. They could spend hours word smithing an agreement, or stock option plan, or the like. I went nuts trying to read through those types of documents. I couldn’t imagine doing it all day long.

Jerry was married with kids as you can imagine, and lived the American dream – golden retriever included. He is about five foot ten, fit, has sandy blonde hair, and lives on the fifth tee at a moderately priced gated community in Jacksonville. Outside of corporate law, the Lord Jesus (he never let's you forget his devotion), and his family – golf was his passion and he played at least thirty six holes on the weekend. Either he got two full rounds in on one day – or split the mission between two. Jerry was a scratch golfer, but not the kind that would break a club if he missed a shot. He is very methodical, and emotions would break his concentration.

That's how he practiced law – methodically with undivided concentration. Jerry was a lone ranger, no partners, no secretary – just himself in the Modis building overlooking the St. Johns River and the South Bank of Jacksonville. There aren't many public companies in Northeast Florida, and he is the go to guy in town. He grew up in Jacksonville, went to the University of Florida, which made him an obnoxious Gator, and received his law degree from the same.

If I were a betting man I would say Jerry will arrive wearing khaki’s, white button down shirt, blue and orange stripped tie, a Tommy H. navy blue blazer, and his trademark oxblood Bass Weejuns on his feet. I would definitely win that bet – the only variable would be the tie. He was so predictable. Heck, I was so predictable – that is what kept my sanity, always knowing what came next in a series of carefully orchestrated moves. Then came Rachel and fucked it all up – I am having a hard time feeling any remorse for her untimely departure.