“What was your other thing?” Chandler said. “Come on, I’m getting stiff here.” They were on the tennis court bench at Polliwog Park, in between sets. “Ah stupid,” Pete said. “But I’ve been subletting my place up north, my one-bedroom in the Marina. 4 grand a month.” “Ho-ly Mackerel.” “Yeah, the market’s gone insane, and that’s cheap. Anyhow, the mope stopped paying, it seems like.” “You’re screwed.” “Jeez, you’re a lawyer. Just like that?” “Yeah, big time. Especially Frisco. Liberal landlord-tenant courts take you forever to evict someone, and they can put in a simple, bogus defence, which really hamstrings the process.” “Now I’m in a very bad mood,” Pete said. “So let’s play. Though again . . . thank you on the first thing.” This was getting uncomfortable, having to keep appreciating the guy, but the fact was you were getting free legal advice right and left just by…
