014 – Granddad’s Collard Greens – SCS
Grandaddy had hooked up an extra ringer to his doorbell in the back yard since he spent most of his time in his garden.
“Come around to the back!” he hollered.
A short, stout man, fiftyish, came up to the gate. His complexion was so black as to be blue. “They say collard greens grown in LA dirt don’t taste nearly as good as greens grown in Misscipi.”
Granddad looked up from his collard greens patch. The man’s suit was probably due to come back in style any year now, but that didn’t stop him from sporting it like he was on this months cover of Jet magazine. The pants were shiny from being ironed too many times, but the peats were crisp. The back slit in his suit coat flared over his butt while the front did similarly over his two-keg tummy. A glint of light indicated that he was probably wearing a belt, but the buckle was almost horizontal to the ground and partly covered by the barely-tucked-in shirt. He also wore a stingy-brim hat and spit-shined shoes which he stepped lightly in up to the freshly hoed row of Oklahoma-orange dirt.
“They say a lot of crazy things. What do you say?” answered Granddad.
“Being that the only greens I taste nowadays are grown in a supermarket, I can’t say exactly if they are right until I get to taste some fresh grown greens from LA dirt,” said the little man, licking his lips.
“Well when you grow some in your LA dirt, you come back and let me know if they knew what they was talkin’ about.”
Granddad returned to his gardening.
“Are you related to Yendor Davis?
The man already had his business card out, so instead of a handshake, he offered Granddad his card. He studied it.
“I’m an attorney.”
“I can read,” answered Granddad.
“Of course you can.” He asked once again, “my name is J. William Brown the second, Esq. Are you a relative of Yendor…”
“I didn’t know attorneys made house calls on weekends.”
“I’m a full service attorney,” answered Attorney Brown, sounding a little testy.
Granddad knew why he was there. He had a rule that he would put pressure on anyone wanting to do business with him. It was beginning to look like Attorney Brown might fail the test. “What’s this about?”
“Is he here?”
Granddad looked back at the card. It was two color; something that might have come out of a high school print shop. In the upper left corner was an illustration of two cars. One had crashed into the other. Bolts of lightning shot out from the point of impact. In the center of the card in bold letters, ‘Accident Claims – Our Speciality’. Granddad flipped the card over, almost expecting to see ‘Medical Malpractice – Our Speciality’.
“I’ve got your number. I’ll call if I need you.” said Granddad, returning to his gardening. The ‘attorney’s’ shadow, didn’t move.
“A passenger in the other vehicle is the daughter of a judge. You’ll need a good attorney.”
That got granddad’s attention. Granddad knew that it wouldn’t be too difficult for anyone to track down Yendor. His name was in too many court records. Since he was not yet 18, those records were sealed, but Granddad figured that this judge could easily break the seal.
“I’ve got your number,” Granddad said once again.
“I’ll put my pager number on the back,” said attorney Brown, handing him a second business card. “He can page me any time day or night.”
As the man walked away, Granddad thought, ‘Ambulance chasers have to eat too’.