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paycheck from his office tucked under the doormat in front of my boat’s main cabin door shortly thereafter. The other thing that seems to be a constant is the lascivious smile on Laverne’s face as she waves to me each time I pass by her boat in the evening. One time she held up a wine glass, beckoning me to join her... I politely nodded and pointed to my wristwatch, trying to signal her that I didn’t have the time at that moment. I’m sure she interpreted it as my asking for a rain check.
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    After a month or two of steady work from his office, one e-mail in particular from Melvin’s staff is curiously encouraging: it suggests that I petition the State Bar for a review of my allegedly unfair suspension sentence, and ask for early reinstatement to active status so that my new employer (Marcel.’ Bradley & Associates) can utilize my services more efficiently – and supervise my conduct in accordance with the Bar’s high standards. The message even offers the free assistance of L. Martin Unger, one of Melvin’s staff attorneys, to prepare all the paperwork. I e-mail back that I’ll think about it, now that Mr. Unger had generously offered to prepare the briefs, points and authorities and other crap that the Bar requires before allowing you to come in and be humiliated by their refusals.
    Thinking about Mel’s suggestion more seriously, I take the big fat file of my case over to his office - the address that appears on his letterhead and checks. It’s only a few blocks away from the Marina, but when I get there I discover it’s one of those private mailbox places. The address is the same as on Melvin’s stuff, and it looks like he’s using the box number as his ‘suite’ number – much like Ricky Hansel, the law clerk who got me suspended in the first place. I hope that this isn’t going to be a rerun of my last disaster, because the next step down for me will be disbarment and criminal prosecution by my ex-wife.
    I think it would be better to visit Melvin personally on his houseboat to get some answers. On the way back to the Marina I stop for a beer or two, finally getting back to the dock at about six thirty in the evening and discover that I’d better stop drinking that much. What convinces me is walking by Laverne’s boat, being smiled at, and thinking that she’s starting to look better.
    Melvin’s boat is locked up for the evening. The only sign of life aboard is that small cat glaring at me through the window.
    Next morning the little girl and her two partners do their daily parade up to the electric car, and I notice that the dog has something in its mouth. This is too good a chance to miss… I follow them as they drive down the sidewalk in their e-car. When they pull up to a mailbox, the little girl gives a command to the dog in some foreign language. The dog hops out of the vehicle, walks over to the mailbox, stands on his rear legs and with one paw pulls open the mail slot. He then deposits the mail from his mouth down into the mailbox. I haven’t seen an animal act like this since reruns of the old Ed Sullivan show, and my curiosity about this trio is really peaking. After the mailbox stunt they drive down the alley to the rear entrance of the private mailbox place where Melvin’s ‘office’ is technically located. I’m able to see through the back door that the little girl is opening up a large post office-type box, mercifully located on a low enough level. She then gets back into the e-cart and drives further down the alley to the rear kitchen entrance of the local Washington Boulevard Chinese restaurant, where all three of them enter the back door. I hope that when they come back out the cat will still be with them. After about twenty minutes of waiting, I give up and go back to work.
    Not being the legal-eagle my ex-wife always wanted me to be, I’m not quite sure of the legality of a minor driving that glorified golf cart, or if it’s even street legal. But as so