Caleb 64 The Trouble With Lawyers

Author's note.

As always, I'd one like to thank those who have stuck with me, throughout this story. It's a long old tale, and from my own experience people tend to lose interest. The fact that so many of you have stayed with me is very gratifying.

Thanks also to Dr Mark for his amazing editing work and Theswiss for running my server.

PM

Chapter 64 -- The Trouble with Lawyers

I had just walked into the bedroom with the intention of going to bed when I heard the front door crash open. Immediately I turned around and ran back into the living room to see what was going on.

I almost laughed when I made it into the living room. The three men who had stormed into my house, wielding baseball bats, had already been very comprehensively dealt with by the people that had been sitting watching the television.

Thug one was currently on his face on the floor, with Gracie kneeling on his back, her gun pressed to the back of his head. Thug two was nursing a pair of burned hands. For some reason, his bat had inexplicably burst into flames as he'd made it through the door.

It was Thug three who both amused and concerned me in equal measure. He had sat down on the doormat and was beating his own legs with the bat. He was howling in pain and yet still continued to beat at his own legs. It was probably fortunate that he wasn't really able to get a good swing given he was so close, and so although painful, I didn't think he'd do much more than cause himself a good amount of pain and some bruising.

"That's enough," I said to Sarah, and she looked at me. For a moment I saw a look of defiance in her eyes but then she nodded and relinquished control of Thug three.

"You can let him up," I said to Gracie, having taken control of all three thugs. She was less inclined to argue and simply let him up, holstered her weapon, which for some reason she hadn't yet put away. Normally she put it in the safe as soon as she arrived home, but not tonight. It was perhaps fortunate, although I didn't think it would have made much difference in any case.

I Compelled all three of them to sit on the sofa.

Firstly, I looked at them with my healing. Thug one had no injuries. Thug two had superficial burns to his hands, but nothing serious. Thug three suffered worst of all. Despite the lack of decent leverage, he'd actually managed to break a bone in his foot with the bat since he was only wearing light sneakers. It wasn't displaced and I pushed a little healing into it to knit it back together. It would be sore for a couple of weeks but otherwise he'd be fine.

I didn't even bother asking any questions. I simply looked into their minds and searched for the information that I wanted. Thugs one and two were brothers and had been tasked with breaking into our house and giving me a beating. Thug three was a friend who they'd roped in to help. Once the beating was delivered they were told to tell me to 'remember my place.'

I searched for the identity of the person who'd sent them, thinking I'd know the answer but was surprised to find it wasn't Trevor's father Walter Greenwood, as I'd suspected, but a lawyer they knew who'd represented them in the past. Although they'd done time, he had given them some work once they were released. They were small time thugs and it seemed were often used for such 'jobs.'

I got the name and office address of the lawyer from them.

"What are you going to do with them?" asked Dana. I wondered what she'd thought about my very unconstitutional interrogation. If she had any problems with it, she didn't bring it up.

"We could call the cops," I said, "but it might take some explaining as to what went on here, and how they got the particular set of injuries that they did."

"You could Compel them to go turn themselves in," said Josh.

"For what?" asked Amanda. "If we're going to get the cops involved, we may as well just call them."

"Why not," said Louise with an evil glint in her eye, "get them to go into the police station with their bats, and start smashing up the place. They'd get arrested then and no involvement from us."

"Or they could get shot," said Dana. "And that would be Caleb's fault."

"Can't you arrest them?" Sarah asked Gracie. "You are FBI after all."

"It's not really our thing," she said. "If we weren't involved, all I would do if I had come across this would be to detain them and call local LEOs and hand them off. I'd be treading on the local's toes if I started going around arresting people like that."

"What do you think we should do with them?" I asked Dana. I was interested in her thoughts.

"Can you take away their memory of coming here tonight?" she asked.

"I could but that would be somewhat of a violation," I said. Dana looked conflicted.

We all looked up, startled as there was a knock on the door.

"Police."

I'd pushed the door closed but it only took a little pressure for the officer to push it open again, since the lock was broken. She came in, weapon drawn, followed closely by her partner.

"Hey, Debs," I said.

"Caleb," she said. "What's going on? We got a report from your neighbor that three men with baseball bats had kicked your door in and were inside."

I indicated the three sitting on the sofa.

"These three gentlemen," I said, "decided to come calling. Apparently, our doorbell didn't work so they kicked in the door and came in waving bats around. Fortunately, our friendly neighborhood FBI agent was still carrying and she persuaded them to put the bats down and take a seat. We were just deciding on our next move when you arrived."

"Do you know these men?" she asked.

I shook my head. Never met them before.

"Steve," she said. "Call up a bus. We can't take all three of them."

Debs arrested each of the men, using plastic cuffs to restrain them since she didn't have three pairs of normal cuffs.

A van arrived a few minutes later, the three were loaded inside, and driven away.

Debs and Steve stayed for a little while taking our statements. We were carefully vague but generally followed the story I'd told when they'd arrived.

"You need us to call up a contractor to come and secure your door?" she asked. I was about to reply, when there was a knock on the front door. Tom Pritchard was standing on the porch, technically in breach of the restraining order, but he was carrying a tool bag.

"I saw what happened," he said. "I was a carpenter by trade. If you like, I can secure your door at least for the night until you can get a proper tradesman to come fix it tomorrow. You'll pay a fortune calling someone out at this time of night."

I looked at Mary and she at me. I took a little peek into his mind, trying to see what his angle was, and was surprised at what I found out.

Pritchard was a lonely man. He'd had to retire from work early to stay home and look after his wife who'd had a stroke. He nursed her for three years until she passed about six years ago. Too old to return to work, and not really needing the money, he'd found himself alone. Although they'd had friends, his wife's illness had caused them to become isolated. They'd had no children.

To fill the gap in his life, and try and alleviate his loneliness, he'd started the HOA. It had given him purpose, given him some people to talk to, and some connection to the community, although his initial overtures of friendliness to the residents of the street had been rebuffed. Ours was not a particularly social road. We'd been here over a year and we only really spoke to our Alan and Anne, who kept themselves to themselves, terrified of being outed. Even our taciturn neighbour on the other side barely nodded at us in the street.

Over the intervening period, his enforcement of the HOA rules had become more and more draconian. He became increasingly bitter at being excluded from the community, even though there wasn't really much of a community to be involved in. He assumed that everyone else on the street were friendly to each other, and just ignored him, and it made him angry.

He'd approached us in that frame of mind. He wasn't surprised when we rebuffed him and so he retreated into his go-to behavior. If he couldn't socialize with us, then at least we'd know he was there, and be forced to acknowledge him. It gave him some control. He hadn't been prepared for what came next though and things had unraveled both rapidly and catastrophically for him. When I'd got his HOA disbanded, he'd lost the last thing that had given him purpose. He needed to do something to show us, or more importantly show himself, that he still mattered.

He'd been convinced that it was me who'd been vandalizing his car, but having seen our cars being vandalized twice in quick succession had come to the conclusion, erroneously as it turned out, that he'd been wrong. For the first time since his wife died, he felt something other than anger. He felt guilt.

When he'd seen my altercation with Walter Greenwood in the street, his instincts had been to record it. He'd stepped up to give a witness statement and show proof of what had actually happened.

Tonight, he'd been watching the street having decided, in the absence of the HOA, to try setting up a neighborhood watch. He'd seen the three men bursting into our house and he called the police.

Now he was standing on our doorstep, tool bag in hand, in blatant breach of a restraining order that could easily see him arrested, and offered to help.

"Mr. Pritchard," I said, "thank you, that would be very helpful. Also, thanks for your help earlier and for watching out for us as you have. It is much appreciated."

He stood for a moment looking a little stunned. He fully expected me to turn him down, perhaps even to ask the police to enforce the restraining order. It took him a second to realize that I'd said 'yes'. Starting a little out of his trance, he nodded. "I'd best get to it," he said, and then turned around and began working on the door.

Debs frowned at me.

"Isn't there a..." she began but I interrupted.

"I think we might be working toward a better relationship with our neighbors," I said. "Baby steps."

She nodded.

Debs and Steve took their leave, and we sat for a few minutes watching Pritchard work, all of us sitting in silence. Then Ness stood.

"Mr. Pritchard." She said approaching him. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?"

He looked at her, surprise and a little gratitude in his eyes.

"That would be welcome," he said. "Cream and no sugar please."

She nodded to him and went into the kitchen and made us all coffee.

By the time she came out, he'd finished working on the door and accepted the drink.

"I've secured it as best I can," he said. "It will be okay for tonight, but really you need a new lock, and the frame needs to be repaired."

"Thank you," I said, "I'll call a contractor tomorrow and..."

"I'd be happy to fix it properly tomorrow," he said, "for the cost of materials. Like I said, I was a carpenter so I know what I'm doing."

"Are you sure?" I asked and he nodded. Still looking a little concerned that I'd turn him down.

"Then thank you again," I said. "I'm around tomorrow morning, if you have time."

"Shall we say about ten?" he asked.

"That would be perfect," I answered him and, smiling, he packed up his tools and, after a quick clean around where he'd made a little mess, took himself off home.

"Well," said Josh. "That was not exactly expected."

"No, it wasn't," I said, looking thoughtfully at the door which Pritchard had secured for the night.

The next morning, as soon as I considered it to be a reasonable hour, I called Melissa Wragge once again.

"Morning, Caleb," she said. "Let me guess. You want another favor?"

"More like some advice," I said.

"Fire away," she said.

"I want to know what to do to get the restraining order against my neighbor lifted." I told her.

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a minute.

"Lifted?" she asked, as if she hadn't heard me correctly.

I explained the events of the previous day, and also summarized what I'd learned from him the previous night.

"I think," I said, "that we got off seriously on the wrong foot and it escalated massively. He's an old, lonely guy who went about things the wrong way. I think he sees that now, and since he's coming over to fix my door this morning..."

I heard her tapping on her computer for a few minutes. Then she laughed.

"The restraining order lapsed in any case," she said. "It was only a temporary order lasting 30 days. If you'd needed it to continue, you needed to apply for a permanent order, which you didn't do."

"So the order is gone now?" I asked, smiling a little at my own stupidity.

"It certainly is." She said and then added cheekily. "I hope you and he are very happy together."

I snorted.

"Why don't you come over for dinner," I said. "Maybe Saturday. I don't think you met my sisters yet?"

"I heard about Melanie," she said, "from Jeevan. He and Dad seem to be spending quite a bit of time together these days. You have another sister?"

"And a brother too, although he doesn't live with us."

"Your sisters do?" she asked. "Are they...?"

"Melanie has joined our family," I said. "Sarah hasn't, and I don't think she will. She's also a Telepath so I was hoping you might be able to give her some pointers."

"And there it is," she said laughing. "The ulterior motive. You only invite me over when you want something."

"Well," I said. "I might want something. But maybe not the something you think?"

"Really?" she said, purring down the phone. "Don't tease me, Caleb."

"Let's not make any definitive plans," I said. "But come over for dinner at least?"

"I will," she said. "Saturday?"

"Perfect," I said. "Six thirty?"

"See you then," she said, and I ended the call.

I let the girls know that we'd be having company for dinner on Saturday. I felt Amanda's reaction through the connection and grinned. She definitely wanted to see more of Melissa. I remembered it had been a while since Mary and Amanda had shared. This might be a good opportunity.

I was sitting on the deck, working on the first draft of my plan for my senior thesis, when Prichard knocked on the door.

"Morning," I said to him, opening the door. He was holding onto his tool bag again.

"Morning," he said. "We said ten?"

"We did," I said. "Come on in."

He entered the house and put his tools down behind the door.

"In the daylight," he said, "the door looks worse than it did last night. I can shore it up some, but a new door would be a good idea. If you get one pre-mounted in a frame it will be a lot more secure as it will have a multipoint locking system which, once I secure it to the frame of the house, will be much more robust.

I nodded, having already come to that conclusion.

"How about," I said, "we take my truck to the hardware store and pick up everything we need? If your offer still stands that is."

"Of course," he said. "That would be good. I couldn't fit a door in my car. Let me take some measurements first."

"Would you like coffee before we go?" I asked but he shook his head. "Perhaps later?"

We made small talk all the way to the hardware store, where we bought a pre-mounted door, complete with frame.

"If you'd had this installed," he said. "Those idiots would never have gotten in. With this door, and its security system, it will take a lot more than just some heavy-footed lout to break through." While we were in the hardware store, I got several copies of the keys for the new lock made.

It was just about lunchtime by the time we got back to the house. I made some lunch, which we ate, before he started work on the door.

I could see by the way he handled his tools, that he really did know what he was doing. It took him a surprisingly short time to remove the old door, strip out the old frame, and install the new one. The longest part seemed to be anchoring the new frame to the fame of the house. It was nearly four o'clock by the time he'd finished. He'd done a really good job and, once he'd cleaned up, it looked amazing.

He was packing his tools away when the girls started to arrive home. They admired his work.

"I know you said you'd do it for materials," I said, "but let me give you something for your time."

He shook his head vehemently. "No," he said. "I enjoyed doing it. It's good to be working with my hands again. I've already done everything I can to my house, other than routine maintenance."

Then how about you come over for dinner," I suggested. "It's the least we can do."

He allowed himself to be persuaded.

"I could do with getting a shower first," he said. "What time?"

"Is five thirty too early for you?" I asked. "We go to the range on a Thursday night, so we tend to eat early."

"That would be fine," he said. "I'll see you then."

He picked up his tools and set off back to his own house.

"He's almost skipping," said Jules, watching the man go. "Poor guy. I feel really bad about what we did to him."

"What I did you mean," I said.

"We were all complicit," she said. "Any of us could have stopped you. Mary did stop you."

"He thinks it was the same guys who vandalized our cars as did his," I said. "So probably best not to disabuse him of that notion."

Jules laughed. "You are a bad man," she said. "Just when I thought you were being nice."

"I am being nice," I said. "But there's no real need to stir up a hornet's nest all over again, is there?"

"I guess not," she said, still laughing.

Ness and I were in the kitchen, making dinner, when Pritchard knocked on the door. It was twenty after five.

Jules was the one to let him in. She got him settled in the living room and offered him a beer, which he accepted.

I left him in her capable hands, getting him introduced to all of the household, and then poked my head in to let them all know that dinner was ready.

"It's kind of an event here," I said. "There's so many of us and, for some reason, we've gotten into the habit of eating together."

"Your grocery bill must be astronomical," he said looking around the table.

"We go to the discount warehouse for most of our shopping," I said. "It works out cheaper that way."

The rest of the meal passed in comfortable conversation, Pritchard just eating his meal, and listening in on the incidental conversations we had with each other as we each talked about our day. Everyone made the effort to include him, asking him 'safe' questions, since I'd told them all about his circumstances.

"So," said Gracie during a lull in the conversation. "You mentioned something about a neighborhood watch plan?"

He nodded. "I thought that given what has been going on recently, with both our cars being vandalized, it might be a good idea for us to keep an eye out for one another. I was reading that household-related crime can be as much as fifty percent less prevalent in a neighborhood watch area."

"So how would it work?" I asked.

"Simple really," he said. "We throw in a few dollars each, buy some signs, and register the area as a neighborhood watch area. Then we just look out for one another."

"Really that simple?" I asked. "Do you think people will go for it?"

"Depends," he said. "If I asked them, then no. But if it came from someone else, then perhaps."

"It's certainly something worth thinking about," said Mary. "Perhaps we can stop all the vandalism that has been going on." She didn't even flick her eyes in my direction but I felt the barb all the same.

"I thought you caught the vandals," said Pritchard.

"We caught one of them," said Mary, "But we're not sure if they were the only ones. Hopefully now that they, whoever they are, know we're more vigilant, it will stop."

"I'm sure it will," I said.

After the meal, Pritchard thanked us and, knowing that we were planning to go out, excused himself to go back to his own house.