28. Bright-line
In addition to hating Mondays, he had never really worked a day in his life.
It was nepotistic.
He went through the days like a ghost who waits for a compliment.
The letters of his name were on the building that housed his enormous office, and his father’s name was on the building as well.
His record in court was %100 victorious.
His lunch hour appeared to vary from day to day based on when his father would call.
“Um, hello, Mr. Hobb, I’m afraid-”
“You’re afraid that the other Mr. Hobb is out to lunch? Is that what you were going to say? Out to lunch at four post meridian?”
“Actually, I have now been instructed by the young Mr. Hobb to say that The Bright-Line Kid is out to lunch.”
“Oh Moses, he realizes that isn’t a positive nick-name he’s acquired, right?”
“Of course not, Mr. Hobb.”
“Yes. Of course not. Call his cellular telephone and tell him there’s a new case for him.”
“But you said… um, well, you had mentioned to me that there would no longer be any-”
“And I wasn’t lying, Abby.”
“Oh. I see. I’ll try to contact him for you. And… are we still on for tonight?”
The Hobb & Hobb Law Firm’s growth over the last six months had led to the decision to no longer take on any low-profile cases wherein a bright-line rule was applicable, and any high profile cases of the same category could not be assigned to the Mr. Hobb, the younger.
Abigail, the receptionist, sighed for the fifth time in as many minutes and decided to let this final call go to Voice Mail:
The Bright-Line Kid is currently busy feeling way proud about his 9 consecutive wins. So leave a message and I’ll try to pencil you in between victories.
Abigail rolled her eyes for no one to see and impatiently waited to hear a beep.
The bright-line is a rule or guideline that is more or less set in stone, allowing little to no wiggle room for a context to change the ruling of a crime.
Mr. Hobb had successfully represented 9 plaintiffs who had undergone statutory rape, with a great variance in punishments ruled, though all defendants were technically guilty.
“I’m sorry to disturb you on a Monday, Mr., um, The Bright-Line Kid, but you should probably put a suit on and come in today as your father is eager to discuss the details of your next case, which he wants to go over in his office at 5:30, so if you expect to be late, I would recommend contacting him directly.”
“Fuck my life,” said The Bright-Line Kid, flipping his cell phone shut, his other hand still cradling his penis.
Inside his sink were six different, dirtied mugs that all stated: I Hate Mondays!
“Damnit, now I’m all limp – aaaarrrgghh!”
Behind the blinds was a sunny day.
He stomped the bleached hard wood floors of his large apartment with his feet as he slowly mad his way to the shower, where he would try to clear his head by way of ejaculation.
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