Page 5 of Danny Hall Gets a Lawyer (Goose Run #1)

DANNY

I t was dinnertime when someone started hammering on the front door like I owed them money.

Probably that fucking fuck from next door, come to put a chainsaw through the walls. I wouldn’t put anything past him.

To say I was pissed at Harlan didn’t even come close to describing the rage bubbling in my veins. Every time I thought about the tree I got so mad that I had to stop whatever I was doing, clench my fists, and scream, “Motherfucker!” at the top of my lungs until I felt better.

When I’d rushed outside into the weak predawn light after being ripped from my sleep this morning, I’d been greeted by the sight of Harlan wielding his chainsaw with terrifying efficiency.

He’d been two-thirds of the way through the trunk of the big tree, and he’d continued to cut the maple down, ignoring me completely despite me screaming at him and okay, maybe throwing a branch at his head.

I’d started filming him, but he’d ignored that too.

When the main trunk of the tree had hit the ground with a solid whump , my stomach had hit my knees with roughly the same impact. I’d stared in disbelief at the remains of the maple. It was old as hell and had been there for as long as I could remember.

Harlan was goddamn lucky he was also old as hell, or I might have punched him right in the face.

The guys hadn’t been as restrained. Wilder and Chase had been wild—Chase especially, but that was Chase all over.

Hell, even Cash had been riled up enough to mutter under his breath, which was more than anyone usually got out of him.

But Harlan had ignored all of us and walked away like he hadn’t just massacred my grandma’s tree.

Then I’d had to call Bobby and tell him I’d be running late since the tree was now blocking the driveway, and he’d come by in his rattling old pickup to collect me with his pet goose flapping around in the cargo bed.

I’d been on edge my whole shift, wondering what Harlan might do next or what my roommates might do in return, and I’d been relieved as hell to get home and discover that nothing had changed except someone had cut a chunk out of the tree so at least we could use the driveway again.

The guys had still been simmering away like pots on the stove, but at least no more shit had gone down since the morning.

We were just sitting down to a rare dinner where we were all eating at the same time—just beans and rice but that was about as fancy as we ever got—when the pounding came on the front door.

Cash dropped his fork, and it clattered to the floor.

“What the fuck now ?” Chase said, narrowing his eyes.

Wilder was up and halfway down the hallway to the front door before I grabbed him by the shirt to slow him down.

“Hold up,” I said. “I got it.”

I didn’t know what I was expecting when I opened the front door a crack—Harlan with a flamethrower, maybe—but it was some blond guy around my age wearing a Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses, and a grin.

“Hey,” he said and gave me a little wave. “Are you Danny Hall? I’m Marty. I’m your attorney. I’m here about the tree.”

“What?” I asked. “I didn’t call—I can’t afford an attorney.”

“Don’t worry about it, bro,” the guy— Marty —said, an easy grin spreading over his face. “It’s quid pro quo, dude.”

“Pro bono!” another voice called, and I opened the door a little wider to see a second guy hurrying up onto the porch, clutching a leather satchel.

He was hot . He was taller than me, with that trim build you associate with runners or swimmers.

He had dark hair that was carefully styled away from his face, dark lashes that framed deep brown eyes, and a jawline that made you think of lumberjacks and superheroes.

He also looked like he was about half a second away from strangling Marty.

“And you’re not an attorney!” He elbowed Marty out of the way and stuck his hand out toward me.

“Danny Hall? I’m Miller Clarke. I will be your attorney, if you agree to that. This is Marty O’Brien. He’s an intern.”

“And tree law specialist,” Marty said.

“Intern,” Miller repeated. He tipped his chin toward the mess of branches and sawdust littering the driveway. “I’m guessing that’s the tree in question? Is it okay if we come inside and talk about what’s happened and what the process is if you agree to engage me?”

I just stared at him.

Wilder poked me in the back. “Dude, it’s a free lawyer. Let him in.”

So I let him in.

I showed them into the living room. It was kind of sparse.

Like, it was obvious it was just us guys here, you know?

When Grandma had lived here, the living room had been warm and welcoming and put together like a picture from a magazine, if that magazine had been printed in the 1980s.

Now we had the couch, an old recliner, a sagging beanbag, the TV, and a bookshelf that had like, three books and mostly collected dust and empty beer cans.

Oh, and we had a rug that Cash had found in a dumpster.

But we’d washed it, so it was fine, right?

“Uh,” I said, looking at Miller’s nice suit and our not-nice couch. “Sorry about the mess.”

“It’s fine,” he said and took a seat on one end of the couch.

I took a seat next to him, still wondering what the hell was going on.

“Oh, sweet ,” Marty said, checking out the games stacked underneath the TV.

“Marty,” Miller said and pointed at the couch.

Marty went and sat.

Wilder leaned in the doorway with Cash peering into the room from behind him. Chase came and collected a few beer cans from the bookshelf. Better late than never, I guessed.

“I didn’t call a lawyer,” I said.

Miller pulled a tablet out of his satchel and tapped at the screen. “Someone called Bobby Merritt called and said you needed a lawyer, so here I am.”

“It’s that easy?” I asked dubiously. There had to be a catch.

“My boss, Callahan Fisher, is apparently an old friend of Bobby’s,” Miller said.

“He’s a bro,” Marty said.

Miller shot him a look. “Callahan believes in giving back to the community, so he’s happy to take your case pro bono. So, my job here today is to see what sort of case you have and, if you agree to have me represent you, to move forward on getting you a resolution.”

Those seemed like a lot of words that weren’t really saying anything.

“What sort of resolution?” Wilder asked from the doorway. “We had a tree and now we don’t.”

“Well, we’d probably be looking at monetary compensation,” Miller said, “since it’s unlikely the damage can be made whole.”

My stare must have been blank.

“He means if your neighbor can’t replace the tree in the exact same condition it was in, he’d better open his checkbook,” Marty said. “And that was a big-ass tree.”

I waited for Miller to chide Marty again, but he nodded. “That’s basically it, yeah.”

Marty beamed like he’d just won first prize at the class spelling bee and the teacher had given him a pat on the head and a sticker.

Miller almost smiled in return. Then Marty said, “Like, just think of how many squirrels are homeless now!” and it was gone again.

But Cash made a small, sad sound, and I realized he was thinking of the squirrels. He liked to feed them. Harlan had yelled at him for it more than once.

“And this won’t cost me any money?” I clarified.

“Like one of those ‘no win, no fee’ deals?” Wilder asked.

“No, that’s called a contingent fee case,” Miller said. “That means if we win, I’d get a percentage of the settlement. Pro bono means that I’m working on your case for free, regardless of if we get a settlement or not.”

“We do have a case, though, right?” I asked. “Like, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to just go around cutting down people’s trees.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate that Bobby had sent a lawyer—if for no other reason than there was now a cute guy in a suit at my house—but I didn’t want to start anything if it was going to be a waste of time.

If we lawyered up for no reason, we’d still have no tree and a pissed-off Harlan to deal with.

Miller opened his mouth. “I think?—”

“Okay, so in Virginia we have this thing called the Hawaii Rule,” Marty said, his face lighting up, “even though we’re nowhere near Hawaii.

Imagine how cool it would be if we were, for like, spring break?

Anyway, the Hawaii Rule says that even though trees aren’t usually the bad guys, they might be if they’re causing an imminent danger of harm to the neighbor’s property.

So like if your neighbor told you that it was and you didn’t do anything about it, then you might be shit out of luck. ”

Miller pinched the bridge of his nose. “Marty, we don’t tell potential clients they might be shit out of luck.”

“Oh,” Marty said. “Sorry.”

“Harlan did complain about the tree dropping leaves,” I said warily, feeling my stomach sink.

“Oh, nah, that’s totally cool,” Marty said. “Dropping leaves doesn’t count and neither does fruit or flowers. Or casting shade.” He blinked at Miller’s expression. “What? I told you tree law is like, my jam.”

“Right,” Miller said, ignoring him. “So your neighbor…”

“Harlan Whittaker,” I said.

“Mr. Whittaker cut the tree down without prior consultation or permission, correct?” Miller said.

I nodded and Miller made a note on his tablet, his long, elegant fingers flying over the screen.

“Harlan’s an asshole,” Chase added. “Last week he yelled at me for ten minutes about how he’d told me not to park my bike where he could see it and then called me a liar when I said he hadn’t.” He pointed at Cash. “It’s Cash’s bike mostly. I borrow it sometimes, but not that day.”

Cash’s brow creased at having been included in the conversation, but he nodded.

“Okay,” Miller said. “So you’re the property owner, yes?”

“Uh, no,” I said. “My grandma owns the house, and I take care of it for her. I have a power of attorney, though. Does that matter?”

“What sort of power of attorney?” he asked me, and I must have given him another one of my blank looks because he said, “Can you show me a copy?”