Chapter 5 - Legal Retaliation
Freedom, however, is rarely handed over without a fight. Parasites don't let go of their host easily; they thrash before they starve.
On Tuesday morning, I sat in the downtown Little Rock law offices of Sarah Vance, an aggressive civil litigation attorney Gillian had recommended through a hospital board connection. Vance was in her late forties, with sharp grey eyes, impeccably tailored suits, and a reputation for dismantling entitled family members in probate and contract disputes.
She reviewed the dossier, flipping through the Hendrix receipts, the lease agreement, and the printouts of Allison’s Facebook posts.
"Your sister is reckless," Vance said, adjusting her glasses. "The Facebook post accusing you of grand theft auto is actionable defamation per se. She explicitly named you and accused you of a felony crime that she knew you did not commit, given that the vehicle is titled in your name."
"I don't necessarily want to sue her for money she doesn't have," I said. "I just want her away from my family."
"Understood," Vance said. "However, the lease guarantee is a more urgent problem. When does that lease expire?"
"Next month," I replied. "July 31st."
"We will send formal, certified notice to RPM Property Management today, revoking your status as guarantor effective immediately upon lease expiration. If Allison cannot qualify on her own or find another co-signer, the landlord will begin eviction proceedings. That removes your financial liability."
"And Tony’s threat?" Gillian asked, pointing to the printed screenshot of Tony’s group chat message: *Watch your back.*
"It’s vague enough that a prosecutor might hesitate on a terroristic threatening charge," Vance said, tapping the paper. "However, it is more than sufficient to serve as the basis for a formal Cease and Desist, and it lays the immediate groundwork for an Order of Protection if he approaches Dean, you, or Dwayne."
"Do it," I said.
While Vance prepared the legal paperwork, trouble was already brewing on another front.
At 2:00 PM, my phone rang. It was Marcus, the owner and manager of The Joint Theater in North Little Rock, where I had a regular headlining weekend residency.
"Dean," Marcus said, his tone unusually cautious. "You got a minute?"
"Sure, Marcus. What’s going on?"
"I just had a kid come in here about twenty minutes ago. Said he was your nephew, Tony. He was waving around screenshots of some Facebook post your sister made, demanding I cancel your shows this weekend. He told my bartender you were an abusive fraud who steals from single mothers, and he said if we didn't pull you off the marquee, he and his fraternity brothers from Hendrix were going to protest outside the club and leave one-star Yelp reviews on our kitchen."
A cold spike of anger flared in my chest. "Marcus, I’m so sorry—"
"Save it, Dean," Marcus cut in. "I’ve known you for eight years. You’ve never missed a set, you don't drink on the job, and you’re one of the cleanest pros I book. I told the kid to get the hell out of my club before I called the North Little Rock police and had him arrested for trespassing."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Thanks, Marcus. That means a lot."
"Don't thank me yet," Marcus added. "He promised he’d be back Friday night with tickets. He said he bought four seats in the front row under a friend’s name. Dean, if this kid tries to disrupt the room, it messes up the whole vibe. Friday is a big night. A regional talent scout from the South by Southwest comedy showcase in Austin is coming through Little Rock to scout three acts. You’re the main draw."
My heart skipped a beat. A showcase scout was the kind of break regional comedians dreamed of—an opportunity to move from regional club circuits to festival lineups and streaming specials.
"He wants to ruin my birthday, he wants to ruin my credit, and now he wants to ruin my career," I said through clenched teeth.
"Can you handle him if he shows up?" Marcus asked bluntly. "I can have security bounce him at the door, but if he hasn't broken a law yet and holds a valid ticket under another name, it gets messy on the sidewalk. Or... you let him sit down, and if he steps out of line, you handle it on the mic."
I thought about Dwayne’s ruined drawing. I thought about Tony pouring hot coffee with that smug, untouchable smirk on his face. I thought about fifteen years of standing on stage, handling rowdy drunks, hecklers, and aggressive frat boys with nothing but a microphone and razor-sharp wit.
"Let him in, Marcus," I said.
"You sure, Dean?"
May you like
"I’m positive," I replied. "Make sure security is in the wings, but don't touch him unless he gets physical. If my nephew wants a front-row seat to my life, I'm going to give him a show he’ll never forget."
***
