TO WIT: CAPTAIN LEX
Once upon a time there was a lawyer who, although he was busy and successful, had become very impatient. He was upset that matters of law moved oh so slowly. “Justice delayed is justice denied,” he believed, and as he got older, he became more and more impatient.
He was sitting in his office one day, in the prime of his impatience, when his secretary came in to announce a client. “It’s been 13 years since we filed suit,” the sweet beshawled old lady said. “When do you think we’ll get back the security deposit for the apartment my late husband and I shared? I could use the money to bury my cat.”
“I’m not quite sure,” he replied, shaking his head sadly. “The state Supreme Court has not yet set a date for oral argument on the landlord’s appeal from the Superior Court’s refusal to allow the interlocutory appeal from the trial court’s denial of his motion to dismiss the complaint. After argument, if we prevail, it should be only another year or so until we can compel him to file an answer, and then only 18 months until the trial. What happened to your cat?”
His next appointment didn’t make him feel any better. “My husband has moved out to live with another woman,” she told him. “He refuses to give me any support. I have nine kids to feed and I have no money for rent or food or clothes. Whatever shall I do?”
I’ll file a non-support action,” he said, “we’ll get a hearing, attach his wages, and we’ll have everything straightened out in 2, maybe 3 months.”
“And in the meantime, how do I fee the kids?”
He resisted the temptation to inquire as to whether she had ever tasted feline surprise, and instead he wrote her out a check for $100. “We’ll settle up later,” he told her.
That night, he was helping his wife do the spring cleaning. “What’s this,” he said, when he came upon a strange costume hanging in his son’s closet.
“This is the old Zorro costume Tommy used to wear,” she replied. “Remember how he used to run around the neighborhood, righting wrongs. He was so precious.”
Later that night, when the still moon was bright, he had an idea.
Three days later, at the rental offices of Tuchas Real Estate, a caped and masked figure appeared. The intruder was dressed entirely in black, with a large “L” emblazoned on his chest, and he was carrying a sword. “I am Captain Lex,” the caped crusader announced to the startled receptionist, “and I am here for justice.’ He brandished the sword about, cornered old man Tuchas in his private office, and compelled him to remove $400 from the petty cash drawer. He made good his escape by leaping from the first story window into the front seat of an all-black convertible, but not before he had carved an “L” into the thin plaster walls.
The day after that, at the apartment of an unidentified manicurist, he appeared again. This time, he caught a middle-aged, balding man in flagrant delicto. At swordpoint, he compelled the man to fork over $300 cash and advised as how he would be back again on the first day of every month, when he was least expected, to right an ongoing series of wrongs. Again he made good his escape in an all-black convertible, but not before he had carved out another “L”, this time, out of a lack of proficient swordsmanship, on the victim’s inner thigh.
Though the press had a field day with his escapades, the local bar association was not amused. In a release issued to the newspaper, the President of the Bar said, “We cannot permit this character to intrude into the orderly functioning of the system of justice. That’s the sole province of the Bench and Bar.”
Flushed with success, the lawyer began to think about justice, not just for his clients, but, get this, for everyone. In search of one fell swoop, he donned cape and mask, leapt into his steed, and presented himself at the offices of the appellate court. In addition to his sword, this time he carried a balance scale, primarily for dramatic effect. He was assigned a number by the secretary and directed to the waiting room reserved for caped crusaders. When his number was called, he was shown into the courtroom.
“You have 15 minutes,” said the presiding judge without looking up. “Confine your indignation to the law. We already know the facts.”
He raised high his sword, but as he did so, he dropped the scales. He became so entangled as he tried to regain some semblance of balance, he could not fend off the clerk who tackled him, bound him and led him to an antechamber where the President of the Bar, who had a hunch where he might strike next, was waiting to make a lawyer’s arrest. He was convicted of reckless injusticement and sent away for a long, long time.
MORAL: IF JUSTICE IS THE PATH YOU CHOOSE,
BRING NOTHING THAT YOU CANNOT USE.
© 1985 – S. Sponte, Esq.