Della Treat is parading around Terry Mason's office totally naked. She's combing her fingers through her hair and swinging her tits and hips around provocatively.
"Did you see my Volume 13 of the California Penal Codes anywhere, Della?" Mason asks. "I need to look something up."
Della walks over to the leather couch near the sliding doors to the balcony and lies down. "Fuck the goddam penal codes, Terry darling," she says, inserting a finger into her wet pussy. "Get your ass over here and fuck me silly."
"Volume 13, Della. Very important. There's a poor sweet innocent girl being swindled by an evil and mysterious coot, and with my steely insights into human psychology and supreme knowledge of the California Penal Codes and courtroom hijinks, I know I can save the poor girl from terrible grief, all in about 47 minutes with just four commercial breaks."
(If Paul Snake hasn't ravished her sweet ass already, Della thinks.) "Really, Terry sweetie," Della says, "I need that cock of yours in my pussy, like pronto. I mean, you do have a cock, don't you, or am I assuming too much?"
"Better call Paul, Della. Tell him to get over here right away."
Della sighs and gets off the couch, throwing her silky dress on over her head. "You might be the best fucking lawyer in this town, but you're a hopeless dead fish in the screwing department." She grabs the telephone and calls Paul Snake.
The phone is answered by a man breathing hard. "Yeah, Snake here." Della hears a voice in the background, "Oh, yeah, slide that cock of yours up my ass and give me all you've got." Only she can't quite tell if it's a woman's or man's voice.
"It's me, Pauli baby. Who's that with you, is it a Carl or a Carla?"
"Oh hi, Beautiful. Now you know that's privileged information that only the D.A. and his henchmen would ever be able to beat out of me."
"Hmmm, I'm sure Lt. Dragg would love to do just that," she says. "Listen, Pauli, Terry wants to see you right away. Think you could manage it?"
"Let me just get my pants on and I'll be right down." Then Della hears him say, "You, get the fuck out of here now. I'll call you if I need you."
The "secret" back entryway into Terry Mason's office opens about ten minutes later and in walks Paul. "Hey, Beautiful," he says to Della, and she smiles at him. Mason turns in his chair to face Snake. With his back turned Della raises her dress up to her chin and flashes her naked body at Paul. He stares at her, mouth watering.
"Paul," Mason begins, "I need you and some of your boys to find my Volume 13 of the California Penal Codes. It looks like it might've been stolen."
"Penal Codes?" Paul stammers, still staring at Della, who is now pinching her nipples.
"Yes. Try San Francisco first, then Las Vegas."
"Ummm, San Francisco? Las Vegas? I'm not sure I ever heard of those places," Paul replies, enraptured by Della, who has now turned around and is wriggling her bare ass at him.
"Very funny, Paul," says Mason. "I would laugh if I wasn't so distraught and lost in thought over that poor old man I'm representing who was forced to sign over all his property to that unscrupulous mining company."
"I thought that was last week's case," Della says.
"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. You're right. We really gave it to Burger that time, didn't we!"
Suddenly the main office door opens and in walks Turdy, the receptionist, all disheveled. "There's a ravishing blonde outside who wants to see you, Mr. Mason."
"Did she say who she is, what she wants?"
"No," says Turdy, "but she's got a tongue long enough to go halfway down my throat and a beautiful set of knockers."
"Okay, show her in."
In walks this gorgeous blonde bombshell, wearing a dress at least four sizes too small for her voluptuous body, tits out to here, ass out to there. Paul takes one look at her and gets a worried look on his face. He begins slowly backing up toward the door he came in through when she looks at him and says, "Haven't we met somewhere before?"
"I don't think so," Paul says.
"Say, you're that guy who keeps coming into the strip club I work at putting ten-dollar bills in my G string begging me to give you a blow job when I get off."
"I don't think so," Paul says, and makes a dash for the door, crashing through it, disappearing.
"How can I help you, Miss...." Mason finally asks.
"Patootie, Melody Patootie. I understand you are representing a poor sweet innocent girl being swindled by an evil and mysterious coot. Is that true?"
"I've offered her my services. Just waiting to hear from her," says Mason.
"Well, she's lying to you Mr. Mason, swindling you, canoodling you. She's about as innocent as a five-dollar whore cruising Central Avenue after dark, and everybody knows for a fact there's nothing mysterious about that coot with her at all, that he's some lover boy she picked up and that for some unknown, baffling reason the two of them are trying to ruin her sweet innocent sister who will look to everybody as guilty as sin especially after the lover boy is found dead just before the second commercial break."
"How do you know all this, Miss Patootie," Mason asks.