LIW&B Chapter 12

Mel sat in a cold wooden chair against a back stiff and upright. His old spine ached after a short period in the chair. He had entered the office combed and primped, but the aching without alcohol melted the costume and brought Mel back to the usual pained and gristled. The old man cursed the chair for ruining his good first impression. He wanted more than anything to put his best face forward. He hadn't been to see lawyer in forty years.

The last time he needed a lawyer to finalize a divorce. Mel found the business to be conniving and suspect. He had gone so far as to verbally accuse the lawyer of fraud, demanding to see a legal degree. His soon to be ex wife, Rosa, sat apologizing to the lawyer more grateful than ever for his services.

This time Mel felt the lawyer was his only hope to save his son, to save his own life. Mel had wrangled with the police about a pro bono attorney, but he had money saved from years of living frugally alone. Mel would pay any price to go back to just a year ago. New pains were aching other than the familiar arthritis in his bones, pains he feared would mean he was short on time. Mel knew he couldn't take his money with him.

If the old man hadn't been to a lawyer in 40 years then he hadn't been to a doctor in 50. The last time Mel saw a doctor was for his pre marital physicals. Mel had tested to have excellent health. His numbers had been better than Rosa's. The results were good, but not enough to last half a century. Mel wanted to avoid the inevitable, but he hadn't much success as of late.

Mel Stotch felt his life had been full and complete. Abandoned by his own parents when he was six, Mel grew up in the system, in Depression era orphanages overrun and diseased. Some nurses had shown him love, but older kids showed only contempt. Small as a child and a victim of bullies, Mel escaped the children's home unnoticed. He stole to survive until he could work.

Mel had been a crafty child and had taken his licks when he got caught. He sought refuge with father figures ranging from accepting to toxic. He learned and survived as long as he could. When he was fifteen, Mel tried to enter the army with a fake ID. He wanted to escape to the fight in World War II. A doctor reported his feet were flat and told him he couldn't go. Mel hadn't liked them since.

He located an uncle and worked for him helping to sweep the railroads which meant chasing hoboes from freight cars. The Depression was over, but it still had refugees wandering the rails. These men were angry, hopeless, and filthy, dead soldiers from their own war. It was an unglamorous life and one Mel never wanted.

Mel had three high points in his life. The first was the brief love with Rosa. Their marriage lasted a decade but the love had been less than a year. The second was the day he received his inheritance. His uncle passed and left him the acreage Mel had cleared for the dump. It was the best idea Mel had for making money with little work, simply allowing people to dump their waste on his property. Rosa demanded the divorce a year after the inheritance. Mel bought the trailer and kept in touch.

The third high point was Happy and it far outweighed the other two. Happy was the only thing worth fighting for, worth visiting a lawyer and wearing a tie. Mel hadn't worn a tie for thirty nine years. The last time was his appointment with zoning board to approve the license for his dump, for his life of stink and sloth. The board saw nothing wrong with the plan. Mel needed no further encouragement to live his life.

Mel sat stiff in the cold chair tugging his tie that felt so foreign. He was watching the clock on the wall and growing more impatient by the minute. After a lifetime of reflection, a door opened and a man wearing an expensive suit and a more expensive watch stepped smiling into the lobby. He was the lawyer and he looked like every other lawyer Mel remembered.

"Mr. Stotch," the lawyer greeted from his doorway, "I'm pleased you could make it this morning. Please, step into my office and have a seat."
He smiled and disappeared back into his office before Mel struggled to stand. Finally, the old man stood. He stepped into the lawyer's office and had a seat.

"Byron Mittle," the lawyer introduced and offered his hand across the desk. It was no easy task for Mel to meet him in the middle. The old man released a groan that Byron ignored. Byron couldn't afford to waste sympathy on potential clients. First he had to agree to take their case.

Mel explained his situation, starting from the day Happy was found. He produced the letter he now kept in a Ziploc bag. He produced his documents the police officers had given him. Mel called them "receipts" for his son with the greatest disdain.

"So, Mr. Stotch," Byron began, "When you found the child in your truck that morning whom all did you alert?"
Mittle was a slender, bearded man. He had a long torso and leaned over his desk as if trying to face Mel eye to eye. He mastered bogus compassion and a vocabulary of words perfectly scientific and void of any life. Mel didn't like him and knew the war was over.
"Well," Mel tugged his tie as he spoke, "I didn't tell too many. I took him to the store so the checkout girl saw him. And I called my ex wife for some tips."

Byron nodded, wide eyed under a intense, solid brow, "You never contacted any police, any child welfare officers?"

Mel knew where it was going. He knew what he did wrong and it was all intentional. Mel never intended anything more than he intended to keep Happy a secret. Here was this receipt chasing lawyer wanting to pull his secret apart. Mel released his tie and laid his palms on the desk. He scooted his chair closer to lean in as best he could.

"Look, I'll be straight with ya," the old man promised, "I'm an old man. I was an old man when I found Happy. I didn't think any child welfare officers would let me keep him and I was right! I didn't call the police because they would come and take him away. And I was right!"
"This isn't something you want to be right about," Byron corrected. "For your sake, stop boasting about it. You're admitting to willfully breaking the law."

Mel straightened up, disturbed with the statement. "I did what I had to do," he said.
"Those are the words of a vigilante, Mr. Stotch."
"Those are the words of a parent!" Mel was getting loud.

Byron eased back into his chair, considering the old man. "In the eyes of the law you're not a parent," he countered.
"Bullshit!" Mel denied, "His daddy gave him to me the day he was born!" Mel grabbed the baggie with the letter and tossed it across the desk. "There's the proof!"

Byron took the baggie and held it into the light. He opened the baggie and removed the paper. After a moment's glance, he began shaking his head in disbelief.
"No," he refused, "This won't work. There's no way to date this, no way to confirm the signature. If we could find the real dad, the state would just review him for guardianship."
Byron grabbed Mel's heart and squeezed it shut, "You would never come back into consideration as a parent for the boy."

"That's ridiculous!" Mel shouted, "The boy loves me like his father. He's healthy and strong! Why can't I get my boy back?" His palms were upward now, pleading to this suit for his life.

Byron eyeballed the begging old man. It was a losing case with no reason to waste anyone's time. Byron felt it necessary to always be honest and frank about the chances for a client. He felt it necessary to pull the plug.
"Mr. Stotch," the act began, "I'm truly sympathetic to your story and your relationship to the boy."
"Happy," Mel corrected.
"Yes, Happy," Byron continued without a hint of his annoyance, "I hate to hear when good people are treated so badly. That's when I got into this field, to get justice for those who are denied."
Now the truth started and Mel noticed the change in tone.

"But your case has no chance, however just it may be." The lawyer let the words settle before he explored the reasons why.
"First and foremost is your age. Mr. Stotch, no court system will charge the care of a child to a man in his eighties. There are a few judges I could try to isolate who are more giving to elder clients, but then we get to your living environment. Mr. Stotch, no court system is sending a child to live in the city dump."

The truth was crushing to hear. Mel grasped for a life preserver.
"Well, couldn't we work something out? Couldn't we claim age discrimination and make a case out of that?"
Byron wasn't impressed, "Mr. Stotch, I would save those arguments for any charges of kidnapping or child endangerment the state might have up their sleeve."
Mel looked like he'd been slapped in the face. Byron further confirmed it.
"I'm quite surprised you weren't taken into custody already."

That finished it for Mel. That was the end of the road. No charges were filed and the social worker dropped her charges when Happy was removed. Mel would learn all this later, but the pompous seriousness on Mittle's face convinced him it was true.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stotch," Byron ended, "But as an expert on parental rights and law I don't see any attorney in town taking this case. There's no way you can win."
Mel struggled to stand and made it to his feet. He walked out of the office without a word. The smoke from the lawyer's gun still hovered in the air.

Mel didn't seek a second opinion. The lawyer told him what he predicted for the last twelve years. No one would help him and no one gave a damn. They were rules Mel lived by and now he wished to die.