Viv's attorney, Part 1: Mike caught a whiff of ... oh my, a meatball sub from...

didn't really matter; he couldn't have any.  His numbers were up - up enough that his dietary choices would be watched.  President Lllizzz, Mike grumbled, as he reached into the frig for his lunch bag.  This newest round of namby-pamby had gone into effect, not long after President Elizabeth Botox's ... okay, that wasn't nice, Mike sort of recalled a verse in Scripture about respecting the king.  Something like that.  One thing for sure, he was hungry for some real food - and it was about a shure-fire guess, Peggy, his wife, felt the same.

You see, dear reader, the health insurance "reform" went hard after people whose financial situation exceeded x-amount ... ya know, guys and gals who worked hard, saved their money, and accomplished in life.  Our legal-eagle didn't come from money; his dad had managed an apartment unit, his mom had cashiered over at dollar-world.  So, getting through law school, financing the office and such, had been on him.  

His lunch consisted of a sliver of turkey between two skinny slices, a small cup of fruit cocktail - no bananas of course - and oh joy, a cardboard trail-mix cookie.  For breakfast...what did it matter, he was paying dearly for last Sunday's second helping of pork loin, kraut, biscuits, and key-lime pie.

Mike was irritated.  The word was "hangry." He had snapped at, Monica, one of his partners, for really, no better reason, than...well, she was, as usual, getting things done in her office - on a little table, beside her, was an opened little box with a cartoon of a fat toga 'd gentlemen; her half-eaten slice grew cold as she was finishing up some paperwork.  "Okay," she looked up, a perplexed look crossed her face.  A few seconds later, he heard from inside her office, a sniffle and the whoosh of a tissue being drawn from a box not far from her computer.

Feeling double bad for his unnecessary verbage - with a certain colorful word thrown in the mix - he returned to his office, picked up a folder, spread out its contents upon his desk, reached for his pen...which wasn't in its holder.   "Confounded!"  He arose from his chair and walked over to the window, and began counting to ten.  After some four decades in the practice, he still found himself riled whenever someone made off with his pen.  "What the [expletive] deal!" He muttered.  It wasn't like there were no pens available to clients/visitors - there were two, not one, two cups full of pens in his office.  Good pens - not the chinsey ones that skipped...or were known to leak, and ruin shirts.

Unbeknownst to any of the staff, the taking of that pen had not only been intentional, but had carefully planned.

Two days later, the partners were getting ready for their weekly staff meeting.  Bill, one of the other partners was pouring himself a cup of coffee; he called to Mike and asked him if he wanted a cup.  No response; guess not, he figured, while grabbing a few sugar packets. On the way into the conference room, Bill heard a garbled voice, Mike's voice.

"Ma-nicha, pah-lease..ca-ca-aall Pa-egg."  Mike's head hit the table, drops of blood shot out his nose.