31. The Bondsman Cometh

On the morning of January 2, 2012, Lana Marietta Andersen Andrews waltzed in to the law office of Weinstein and Fetterman where she had been working for the past several years as a paralegal. She was all decked out in her favorite office attire, looking quite lawyerly, thank you very much, in her librarian glasses. He one touch of flair was the boots. She had a thing for leather boots. Apart from this outfit, which was a norm as far as her lawyers were concerned, she was also wearing quite the purple splotch of fingerprint on her left cheek. Since David Weinstein had the office to the left side of the reception area, he was the first to see her face. As she sang out her usual greeting, he was up and out of his office to remark,
“Holy shit, Lana! What happened to you?”
This brought Counselor Fetterman out of his office as well. The two lawyers, David an older man and Stephen somewhat younger, loved her to pieces and vied for her attention somewhat.
“My son of a bitch husband hit me.”
“Yikes,” said Stephen.
“I’m assuming this is what you called about on the 31st,” said David.
“Yes. That’s correct.”
“Well,” said David, “your first project this morning will be to write yourself up an emergency restraining order and then take it down to the Magistrate.”
“Right. You sure you can’t send Stephen? I look a fright.”
“The fright is harmonious with your purpose in filing, don’t you think?” Said Stephen. “So, where’s Scott now, I hate to ask?”
“Wood County.”
“Right.”
“Damn! I’m so sorry for you, Lana.”
“Oh, I’ll live. It’s funny. I’ve been having a hard time with Scott since at least law school. He pushed me into that and then freaked out about some aspect of it. I never quite got a bead on why he didn’t want me to complete the process. The whole time, over that and other things he took umbrage about, I’ve been fretting, leaking tears, burdening my friends, and all of the rest of it. The moment he hit me, maybe even before, actually, the moment he raised his voice over the phone from Oakland, I felt released. I don’t hate him, but the marriage is irrevocably over.”
“Well, we’ll represent you. We’ll cut you a break, too,” said David. “I’ll let Stephen do it. We’ll do a bang up job. Scott won’t know what hit him.”
“Oh, that’s sweet of you, and yes, I do want you to do it. I don’t care which on of you. Whatever is most convenient for the firm. But you don’t need to rake hi over the coals. I’ll take my half or whatever.”
“Sell the house?”
“Hmm. I kind of like the house.”
“Then it’s ‘rake him over the coals’ time.”

That same morning, Bruce called the confinement center, aka, the Wood County Jail to see about bailing Scott out. Lana would be down at the Courthouse even now, most likely. As soon as she had taken care of business, she’d be calling him. As soon as he got the word, he’d take the lugubrious trip to free his partner. This took more legwork than he thought. He didn’t know much about prisons or the judicial system. Who does? Who bones up on this stuff out of the clear blue?
“I’d like to see about bailing out a prisoner.”
“Did you contact a bondsman?”
“No. I don’t know much about it.”
“When someone is arrested, you will contact a bondsman, a private company, and they will take your information and begin the process of getting approval.”
“What about visitation?”
“The person is here at the holding area? Did they call you from here?”
“No, but I assumed that’s where he went at the time of arrest.”
“Can you tell me the person’s name?”
“The name is Scott Andrews.”
“Just a moment.”
He looked out at the woods from his office window at Scott Airstrip. The window was filthy. It made the trees seem ghostly and unreal.
“Sir, that person has been transferred to Regional.”
“Transferred?”
“Yes. We’re just a 12-hour facility. He’d been in here that long, so procedure is to transfer. Would you like the number?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Hold on.”
“It’s 304-873-1384.”
“Thanks.”
Bruce called the number. He learned that the Jail was almost to Salem, near West Union. He learned that there was no visitation on Mondays. He learned, again, that he’d need to contact a bondsman. Almost as soon as he hung up, the phone rang. It was Lana.
“Hey, Bruce. I wanted to let you know that I’m done. Bruce is under a temporary restraining order.”
“That’s good, I guess, Lana, but he’s also still in jail.”
“Yeah. It’s time to bail the man out.”
“Do you know how to do that?”
“Yes. He needs to get himself a lawyer.”
“OK.”
“Tell him to try to get the lawyer to get him released on his own recognizance.”
“What does that mean? I’ve never watched much “Law and Order.”
“That means you likely won’t have to pay bail.”
“Likely?”
“Well, it’ll be up to a pre-trial judge.”
It occurred to Bruce now why Scott had become uncomfortable with the idea of having a lawyer in the family. It was a mind like a bear trap.
“He’s at what she called ‘Regional.’”
“Yeah. Greenwood.”
“Wow.”
“Wow, what?”
“Well you know all this stuff. I mean, it’s not something I usually think of when I think of you.”
“Oh, I know, Bruce sweetie. It’s sick. I should be a wood nymph and a poet, but Scotty wanted me to be a lawyer.”
“And then he didn’t.”
“And then, yeah, he changed his mind.”
“I can see why. You have him by the balls.”
“He hit me in the face.”
“He was pissed off.”
“Too bad. You can’t beat a woman.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Sweetie?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t think of you as being a big fan of violence.”
“I’m not, I’m not…”
“Well, then. Scott was violent.”
“I’m not excusing it. I’m just saying it was one time.”
“I don’t want to wait for the second time. Also, he was violent also in yelling at me. That’s abuse. He hid my books, my property from me. He was fond of telling me what I could and couldn’t do. Abuse and more abuse.”
“Well, he’s stuck down there. It’s no visitors day.”
“He can stew another day. It might also take some time to get a judgment.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. We do family law; we don’t do criminal.”
“Shit. I’ve got a Cessna hangared in Oakland, costing money by the day.”
“You also need to hire a lawyer. Look on the bright side, though, Bruce. In West Virginia, domestic battery is a misdemeanor, not a felony. There is the possibility, without a prior record, and having, as you say, just hit me once, that he’ll get off without a bondsman. If you do have to pay bond, I recommend paying cash if you can. It’s much cheaper that way.”
“I’m thinking I should just go out to Oakland and fly the plane back.”
“Why don’t you? I’d consider going with you.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Well, Scott will be totally pissed.”
The words got out of his mouth before he knew it. It was old habit of thought.
“As me if I give a shit, Bruce. He’s in prison. He can stay there until we get back. I’m sure Dave and Steve will let me take some time off. Besides, I’m still married to the asshole. In the sense that it’s Scott’s income, and I aim to take half of it in divorcing him, I have an interest in seeing that it does no go belly up.”
“Lana, I‘m not sure Anne would appreciate it if I flew cross country with you.”
“That’s an entirely different matter. I’m just too hot to handle I guess. But, OK, I can see your point. Have fun.”
“I’m not saying I’m going to do it. I may wait one more day and get things going with getting Scott out.”
“Suit yourself, my good man.”

Scott was pondered all that Lana had said, and decided to give his partner some benefit of dubious doubt. He knew that Lana was the victim, embittered, and also, correct about just about everything. He felt a certain inertia of allegiance. So he called the prison again and set up an appointment for non-contact visitation. He waited that one more day, and went to see Scott in the prison near West Union. Prison was a whole new thing. It was and it wasn’t like it was on TV. He’d left early and gotten out at opening, about 9:10 AM. He went to the administration desk and was handed his visitation order. He turned over everything in his pockets. He removed his shoes and these were inspected. He got himself patted down, and finally, he entered the visitor area. Scott was led in, and he was wearing the orange jumpsuit. He looked damned scruffy. He took a seat behind the reinforced glass window. Bruce did the same and leaned in close.
“Hey man,” said Bruce.
“Hey.”
“This sucks. It’s awkward.”
“Yeah, you should try this side of the glass.”
“It’s OK. I’ll pass it up.”
“You do that.”
“So. Have you talked to a lawyer?”
“No. Nobody said anything about a lawyer.”
“Yes, you were informed when they read you your rights.”
“I might have missed that part. I was pretty pissed off.”
“So I gathered.”
A pause. The two men recalled the flashing lights in their own ways.
“You talk to her?”
“Lana?”
“Lana.”
“Yes.”
“She’s still pissed?”
“Scott, you hit her in the face.”
“I take that as a yes.”
“Buddy, you’re going to have to do a little reality check.”
“What reality is that, Bruce?”
“You need to get a lawyer. Ask the guard, however it works.”
“OK, I’ll ask. Then what? This is all new shit for me. Nobody in here tells you anything. There’s a lot of bad shit going on.”
“I can imagine.”
“No, you can’t.”
“Look. I can tell you this: you need to get out of here. Try to do it… Oh, damn. What’s the phrase? On your own…”
“On my own what?”
“The one that doesn’t involve bail.”
“OK. I’ll see what a lawyer says. You got any recommendations? What about those people Lana works for?”
“She said they only do family law.”
“Family law? What the hell does that mean?”
“You know… divorce, custody, restraining orders, stuff like that. You need somebody that does criminal law.”
“So I’m the big criminal now.”
“Dude. You have to get it together in your head. You hit your wife in the face. You are charged with assault. Lana says it may only be a misdemeanor.”
“As opposed to what?”
“A felony.”
“Oh Christ!”
“Hey. I’m not the lawyer.”
“Lana’s the lawyer.”
Scott was not tracking any of this very well. It seemed as though his personality had collapsed to a certain extent.
“Lana’s not a lawyer. She claims that you wouldn’t let her take the Bar.”
“True. I didn’t want her making more money than me.”
“Don’t tell that to the jury, dude. Not if there’s a single female on it.”
“You’re not a lawyer. What do you know?”
“You’re catching on! Get a fucking lawyer!”
The guard called out,
“Hey! No profanity! I’ll cut your time short.”
“Sorry, officer.”
“I’ll get a lawyer, I promise.”
“I am going out to Oakland and rescue the Skyhawk.”
“How long has it been since you flew that plane?”
“You got a better idea?”
“No. I wish I did. Did you find out what happens if I’m… convicted? Do I lose by license?”
“I haven’t looked in to that. If convicted, you’ll lose your gun. If convicted, you’ll be here for a period of time and I’ll have to try to run the business solo.”
“Man. When I mess up, I mess up good.”
The guard said,
“You got five more minutes.”
“Bruce. Talk to Lana. Tell her that I… I’m really sorry.”
Scott was trying like hell to not cry, and Bruce could see that. It was a very spooky sensation. He’d always been intimidated by this guy, and here he was coming unglued.
“OK, buddy, I’ll do it. But if I were you, I’d keep in mind that it’s gonna take her some time.”
“I can give her time. I will.”
This brightened him a bit, but Bruce had a feeling that eons would not be enough for Lana. She was hard to stop once started, and hard to start once stopped.