Boy Scout

One day later, Nick closed on the sale of his marital home, using a power-of-attorney from his wife to sign as her attorney-in-fact. She really should have read everything she had signed. Thanks to the separate financial power-of-attorney, Nick was able to deposit the home sale profit check in his personal account, after endorsing on behalf of his wife as her attorney-in-fact, and close the joint accounts. Three days after that—still in the first week of Linda's trip to La Belle France—the construction crew had leveled the house. They cleared the debris in a few days. The site preparation work began after that. Unfortunately, the tree with the tree house that was perfect for children had to go. The new plat had a gazebo going there.

Unfortunately, at that point, when the entire site of what had once been Nick and Linda's happy home was just a big square of dirt, construction stopped. Seems that something had gone wrong with the permitting process. Nick, and his law school friend who worked in the county permitting officer, were certain that the problem would resolve itself a couple of days after Linda got home from France, just as soon as the proper forms were received and approved.

In all this time, Nick did not take any calls from Linda. He stopped sending her text messages, did not respond to e-mails, and did not respond to voice mails. Some of her friends and family called. Nick sent curt message in reply that he was busy and travelling, mostly to keep them from trying to drive by the house and see him. El Diablo called him on the burner phone and told him that Linda and Dwayne seemed to be under stress and was not looking so good. Maybe she suspected something was wrong. Nick asked how he knew that. El Diablo just said that he had friends and family all over the place, even in Europe.

He did ask Nick if he was interested in recovering Linda's engagement and wedding rings. When Nick said no, El Diablo asked if he minded if someone else acquired them.

"Hell no!"

"Good. I might know someone who would like them."

On a Wednesday, two days before Linda was due back from Paris, Nick was in Harry's office.

"I don't know how the heck it happened, but here is the divorce decree. It's way faster than normal for this kind of case, and Seth wouldn't tell me anything. I don't want to know, and I'm not asking. Count your lucky stars, and congratulations on being single again. Here's a copy I'm going to send to your ex-wife. I'm sure she'll be thrilled."

As Nick got to his car outside Harry's office, his phone rang. He did not recognize the number but, when he answered, he recognized El Diablo's voice.

"Nick, you should take a vacation. Right now. Go to the kind of place where there are lots of people. People who know you and can say you were there."

El Diablo hung up. Nick realized that it had been a while since he saw some college friends who lived in New York City. Fortunately, their schedules were light over the next few days, so he went up by Amtrak that same day, went to some shows, went to some museums, and went with various combinations of friends to lunches, coffees, and dinners, much of which he paid for by credit card. He also tipped generously at his hotel so that all the staff knew who he was. While there, he express-mailed a copy of the DVD showing him burning her wedding dress and wedding album to the house of Linda's parents.

Late on Sunday afternoon, after enjoying a coffee and cake in Little Italy in Manhattan, Nick's phone rang. It was his father-in-law.

"Nick? Where are you? Linda's going crazy. She's in the hospital."

"Yeah? What's wrong with her?"

This was getting interesting.

"She got back from her trip on Friday, but she and a coworker apparently got kidnapped from the airport. They were both drugged and only got out this morning. The coworker was beaten nearly to death. And Linda . . ."

Here, her father's voice faltered. Once upon a time, Nick would have been sympathetic.

"What happened to Linda?"

"She woke up to find herself covered head to toe with tattoos. Tattoos saying horrible things. Like that she is a slut and a whore. And as soon as she woke up to see that, some guy with a mask came in and punched her in the nose, breaking it, and then gave her two black eyes."

Impressive, Nick thought. Really, it was a cherry on top of the sundae. He would have been happy with Linda's realization that he had betrayed her in court, just like she had betrayed him in the marriage, but this just was a rainbow-unicorn orgasm of joy. It would have been worth an immortal soul, if he had one to give.

"Sorry to hear that. I'm out of town at the moment. What would you like me to do?"

Nick could tell there was surprise on the other end of the line.

"You're her husband! She's your wife!"

"Sorry, no. We got divorced. The order was issued last week. She's been cheating on me with the guy she's travelling with."

"WHAT?!"

"What part wasn't clear?"

Nick knew that he was being needlessly cruel now but did not care.

"I've got video. I can send you a copy, if you want."

There was silence on the other end of the call. Nick wondered if his father-in-law was having a heart attack.

"She and I are done, so you'll have to take her home. She's not my problem now."

"YOU DID THIS!" his father-in-law screamed.

"Me? I've been up in New York since Wednesday, celebrating the divorce. Look, I know you're upset, and I hope Linda gets better soon, but I don't think we have anything more to say to each other."

He hung up the phone. It occurred to Nick at that moment that the stress of city life was too intense lately. He sent an e-mail to Sven saying that, after all, Sven and the firm could go fuck themselves, respectfully. A quick Internet search revealed that there was an REI store in SoHo, so Nick outfitted himself with brand new hiking and camping gear. Linda had never liked to go camping, so this was a chance to reconnect with his scouting past. The hotel was very accommodating about storing his luggage for a while for a modest fee, and before he knew it, he was on his way up to the Adirondack Mountains to bond with nature until things calmed down. Fortunately, he had his passport, in case he had time for a side trip to Canada. And it turns out he did.

For most of the next eight weeks, he had turned his phone off. At first, it seemed that some crazy woman had stolen his ex-wife's phone because there were dozens, if not hundreds—he wasn't counting—of messages that seemed to involve unhinged screaming and crying. He had only listened to one or two before deleting the rest. Lots of bonkers e-mails, too. Her account must have been hacked. How was he supposed to find time to read all that? He hoped that whoever the crazy woman was that she got the help she so desperately needed.

So it was that eight weeks later, Nick met Frank for a drink. Harry was there, too.

"Just so we're clear," Harry said as they sat down, " I terminated our attorney-client relationship just after I gave you the divorce decree. I notified you by certified letter. You might not have checked your mail yet."

"Not yet," Nick admitted.

"Serious shit storm, my friend," Harry said. "Frank, what would you say?"

"More like a shit typhoon."

"I like that. Shit everywhere anyway. Lots of destruction."

Harry downed his bourbon and asked for another immediately.

"You start, Frank."

"So, Monday morning, the former Mrs. Buford goes by the old homestead with her parents. We had not gotten around to taking the external camera down. When she sees the vacant lot, she has a complete meltdown. Drops down on her knees, sobbing. Goes into a full fetal position. Winds up kicking and screaming like a toddler in a shopping mall in the late afternoon. Then the work crew pulls up with the equipment, and she loses it again. She loses it for a third time when the construction workers see what's tattooed all over her face and start laughing. Got to say, the work is so good, the text shows up very nicely on camera: "Slut," "puta," "whore," "I love cock," and that kind of thing. Face, neck, hands. And that's while she's got the raccoon eyes from getting punched, plus the tape for the broken nose."

Harry picked up the story.

"That afternoon, she and a couple of big firm lawyers show up at my humble office coming on strong. They didn't have an appointment, so I made them wait for 15 minutes. Made sure my Glock was loaded and accessible in my desk. Thank God we're in Virginia, you know? 15 minutes later, they are all yelling at me, talking about emergency motions and bar complaints and contempt proceedings. I have to admit that I had trouble not looking at the ink all over the face. It was done very clearly in red and blue ink so it can be seen at a distance. When I was able to refocus, I asked what exactly the problem is. What statement in any of the pleadings was false? They all stopped and looked at each other. So, I asked whether there was a dispute that your ex had committed adultery. They all said yes. So, I turned on the video, which I had cued up while they were waiting, and good old Linda is clearly bouncing up and down on the sexual organ of someone not her husband in the marital bed. They apparently had not reviewed everything in the case file yet. Everyone just looked embarrassed then. Then, Linda starts yelling that you didn't even give her a chance to explain. And I said you didn't care what the reason was, just that you did it. She recovers and starts goes on about how she never agreed to let you sell the house and what was the story with you burning her wedding gown, photos, and album? That stuff was all her personal property. I showed her the copies of the powers-of-attorney, one of which was for the specific purpose of the sale of the home. I showed her the Property Settlement Agreement, which gave you the right, at your sole discretion, to dispose of her personal effects, and told her she was lucky she had her clothes. I asked if she was denying it was her signature on the documents. She said no, but that she had never agreed to any of what they said. So, then I asked if her whole defense was that she had never read the stuff that she signed. I asked her to imagine how the cross-examination would go, if she challenged anything in court. She stopped talking then. I also pointed out in the affidavit she signed where she admitted that her lover was upstairs at that very moment she signed, and I asked if it was untrue. That was when she passed out. He attorneys tried reviving her, but I just called 911. She refused to go to the hospital with them. But then she started screaming about the tattoos and about her boyfriend getting beaten up, and I said that had nothing to do with you, as far as I knew, and you were out of town anyway, and maybe Dwayne had pissed off some other wife's husband by banging her or some other woman who thought Linda was taking Dwayne away from her. I told them they knew where the Fairfax Police Department was, if they had a criminal case they wanted to discuss."

"Sorry I missed all that."

"It gets better," said Harry. "So they were still going on, talking about filing a motion for reconsideration and all that kind of stuff. That's when I told them that, just that morning, I had received an anonymous e-mail with links to several videos of Linda and Dwayne in your bed when they started going at it again before Paris. The message said that the videos were going to go to everyone Linda knew and that you, Nick, knew nothing about it and would not be able to stop them from doing this. And that they were friends you had helped once. And that they would protect you. And that they would hit the send button that very day if she didn't just let things go. You know anything about that?"

"I've been out of town, Harry."

"They took off after that. Haven't heard from them since. And nothing has happened in the court house."

It was Frank's turn again.

"They must have gone to the cops because a couple of detectives came around. They wanted copies of the videos and the report. Then they lost interest. Neither Linda nor Dwayne could say what happened. Just that they got into a taxi at the airport, and the next thing the guy knew, he was in the hospital. With Linda, she woke up in a sleazy hotel, got punched in the face, and then went to the hospital. The room was billed to her credit card, too. Plus room service and the minibar."

This time Nick told him that the hotel manager said that New York cops had checked up on his stay at the hotel, and that his New York friends had been contacted, too, but they had all vouched for his very active schedule in the city.

"Word is," Harry said, "that your ex is hiding in her parents' basement while she undergoes laser tattoo removal treatment. Problem is that they charge by the square inch, and she is covered from head to toe. That got to cost tens of thousands of dollars."

"That's a shame," Nick said.

Harry glared at Nick. Frank just kept his lips pursed to avoid laughing.

"And what happened to meathead?"

"I understand he got pretty messed up," Harry said. "Lots of physical therapy in his future. Head's a bit damaged. Multiple concussions. Probably will have some difficulty getting another paralegal job. Their firm let both of them go, too. Seems their relationship fell apart during the trip, and somehow that adversely affected the entire arbitration. Stuff was missed, exhibits were not ready. Witness outlines had problems. They lost on the merits. The client was not happy. The firm had to offer human sacrifices to keep the client for future work."

"Someday, Nick, you'll have to tell us how you managed this," Frank said.

"Managed what? I'm a Boy Scout."

Maggie was waiting in the car when he left.

"I'm a bit jealous. No one asked me whether I actually notarized the documents or whether she read them before signing. I was ready to say that I observed her examine each one before signing, but that I could not estimate how much time she spent doing it."

"We should discuss this at dinner. I need to treat you and the boyfriend to thank you for your help in getting me my freedom."

Maggie turned to him and looked over her sunglasses as Nick backed the car out of the parking lot.

"There is no boyfriend, you idiot."

Nick braked hard and looked at her.

"Really?"

"Now shut up and take me home so you can begin a rather long and grueling process of apologizing to me."

"Okay," Nick smiled, but I have to stop at the Post Office first.

"Why?"

"I'm sending a post card to a friend," Nick said as he pulled it out of the glove compartment. It had the Boy Scout logo on the front. "I'm asking her if she feels safe now."