Most mornings I’d put on one of these beautiful suits and head to the criminal court building on Brannan where I was on the 987 panel. The numbers referred to a section of the Penal Code that authorized the appointment of a state-paid lawyer for indigent defendants when the Public Defender had a conflict of interest and couldn’t take the case. I’d check in with the clerk and sit there, hoping for an appointment. Like everything else in San Francisco, though, 987 appointments were doled out based on who you knew. I didn’t know anyone. Until I’d gone into rehab in the city, I’d lived and practiced in a small university town thirty miles south of the city where my drinking had left my reputation in tatters. So, in San Francisco, I wasn’t part of the old boys’ network and, to the extent people recognized my name, what they knew about me wasn’t positive. Most days I went back to my office from arraignments empty-handed. The phone didn’t ring much either. I knew I needed to join the local bar association and put myself out there, but lawyers’ gatherings invariably involved drinking, sometimes, a lot of drinking, and I wasn’t ready to face that yet. Financially, each month was a juggling act and more often than not I dropped a ball. Larry was right, I needed work. Any work.
I got to my tiny office and searched my desk for the slip of paper where I had written the name and number of his insurance pal: Myles Landon. I picked up the phone and punched in the number before my second thoughts got the better of me. A secretary answered, took my information and put me on hold. An insipid version of California Dreamin’ was well into the second chorus before a male voice came on the line.
“Myles Landon,” he announced confidently.
“Mr. Landon, I’m Henry Rios. I think our mutual friend Larry Ross talked to you about me for a claims investigator job?”
“Oh, Henry, yes, of course. Larry spoke very highly of you. Sold me on you, in fact. The job’s yours if you want it.”
I was taken aback, having expected an interview and an, okay, thanks we’ll let you know.
“Uh, you don’t want to ask me about my experience?”
He chuckled. “What experience? According to Larry you’re a criminal defense lawyer looking to moonlight for some extra cash. That right?”
“That’s about the size of it. I don’t know the first thing about insurance except that my malpractice premium is too damn high.”
He laughed again. “You should insure with us. Look, what I need is someone who asks tough questions, is a good judge of credibility and can deliver a succinct report of his findings. That’s what trial lawyers do, right?”