Entry 7: Legal Advice Part 1

It was another Wednesday at The Café. Kookie was half way through his hot chips with sriracha sauce, which meant that this was a Good Day – meaning he was happy with how his week was tracking. Louis didn’t enquire what piece of shoddy entrepreneurship or scamming was behind this particular bout of satisfaction. What did it matter anyway? Even when things went horribly wrong, as they always did in the end, Kookie would be briefly stunned by the wreckage before forgetting and becoming re-absorbed in complacency.

This line of thoughts suggested Louis was becoming dangerously cynical about his investigation. It frustrated him that Kookie could get away with everything, simply on account of being a bird outside the rules of man-made laws. Between that superb loophole and the surprising benefits of the Cwazy Gene (which helped him live a long life and make near-death escapes, see: Entry 1), Kookie was enjoying life at the grand age of 127 years old. Now, as Louis looked on in exasperation, Kookie was slurping a vanilla milkshake.

If Louis had a bit more self-awareness, he would realise that the main source of his frustration was jealousy at Kookie’s ability to brush things off when any other sane bird would experience extreme stress in a similar situation. Just the other day, for example, Kookie mentioned how he was chased down by a speeding motorbike manned by a raging debt collector. After eating a gourmet meal for breakfast, Kookie felt too heavy to fly. So he ducked into a hat store and hid inside a beanie. Reflecting back on the experience, Kookie’s main take-away was that the beanie was itchy and he should have opted for a fedora.

“You must escort me to the corner park,” Kookie said as he finished the last of his milkshake.

“Huh?” Louis blinked as he came out of his brooding reverie.

“The corner park, of course. I need your help to carry a collection of painted stones I am buying from the local markets.”

Louis shook his head, not curious enough to ask any questions about Kookie’s dumb trip to the local park.  “Sorry Kooks, I have an appointment straight after lunchtime.”

Kookie peered into Louis’ face with more interest than Louis was used to. It made him uneasy.

“What appointment is that?” Kookie asked.

“Umm, ah, well – the dentist, dunno,” Louis was flustered at his hasty choice of excuse. It was ridiculous as a bird to go to the dentist.

“Okay,” Kookie said, nodding upon reflection.

“Shoe polish shines shoes similar to the work of dentists on teeth,” Samson muttered.

Louis nearly jumped out of his feathers, he had completely forgotten about Samson. 

In reality, Louis was heading to seek legal advice. He had built up his case slowly but surely and wanted to understand all the various options to bring Kookie to justice. It was likely premature – there were still so many leads to follow up – but Louis was getting antsy and wanted to move on from this investigation to brighter pastures. And then there was the small matter of his expanding debt to the Duck.

The solicitor that he had booked in was a pelican who specialised in human criminal law. The pelican had an office in a human building too, and it was never clear to Louis how a bird was able to legitimately practice law, particularly given the subject of the legal advice that Louis was seeking.

After waiting in the lobby of  Cranston, Cranston and Curbludgeon, Louis was called into Curbludgeon’s office. Curbludgeon was a pelican of immense stature and a bright orange beak so long that he had to clear a path down the middle of his desk to avoid it from colliding with objects. As Louis entered, Curbludgeon stared him down with his beady eyes and continued to silently review him as he took his seat. 

“Hmm, you just came from a lunch with a friend who devoured half the menu while you sustained yourself on black coffee?” Curbludgeon queried, without prefacing the question with a greeting of any kind.

Louis regarded him incredulously. So not only was this pelican a seasoned lawyer, he was a detective too – perhaps on par with the great Sherlock Holmes, Louis’ idol and the personification of his career ambitions? This was definitely not a “Good Day”.

“How’d you know?” Louis asked, for it was expected that one responded to such observational prowess with such a question.

“You reek of coffee. Your very low body mass index suggests you’re not a fan of junk food, yet there’s stains of vanilla ice cream and sauce on the cuff of your jacket, which you must have grazed against the wider table – suggesting the presence of a much weightier friend.”

“Well played,” Louis conceded. “So you’re a lawyer and an investigator?”

Curbludgeon gazed at the lorikeet, unimpressed. “My friend, a good lawyer is always a good detective. One cannot practice law with any notion of success, without the ability to solve the riddles of the law, as well as those of the human psyche to which it applies.”

“That’s actually a great lead-in to my question – I’m here to ask, Mr Curbludgeon, if there are any circumstances under which human laws could be applied to a bird?”

Curbludgeon re-examined Louis, “What crimes have you committed, lorikeet?”

Louis had never felt so offended. “I’m not a criminal. This is about another bird, a kookaburra, called Kookie Banjo Jr.”

“Ah forget it,” the pelican jerked his beak like a human would wave their hand dismissively.

There was a long, silent pause, then Louis said, “Surely you want more details before reaching a conclusion?”

“No need for details, lorikeet–”

“My name’s Louis, or Louie for short.”

“You won’t be here long enough to bother with names.”

“Okay…”

“Kookie Banjo Jr. has already been the subject of prior legal advice. I had another client who sought to know the applicability of human laws to this entrepreneurial bird from the further south. What – you thought you were the first in this kookaburra’s long, wretched history to seek to bring him to justice! Not by a long shot, my lorikeet friend.

Anyway, I went and did some creative digging. Turns out, some human laws can be applied to a bird that engages in the trade of human goods or services, if the extent of their white collar crimes hits a particular threshold. And they most certainly do here,” Curbludgeon chuckled and smiled up at his own portrait hanging from the wall.

“So what’s the issue then?”

Curbludgeon reclined back in his chair, “The issue is that the applicability is then neutralised by any diagnosis of insanity.”

Louis groaned, “Of course.”

“Yes, of course. There is a certificate,” the pelican paused and from the depths of a filing cabinet behind his desk, hauled out a massive binder. He flicked between the tabs with his beak until he found the document he was looking for. Pulling it out, he handed it to Louis. Louis read the large print centred on the page out loud:

‘It is hereby declared by this certificate that KOOKIE BANJO JR. has been awarded with the gaining of the Cwazy Gene, and to certify that therefore, this bird cannot be held liable for any or all actions.’

Louis looked up in confusion, “This makes no sense. How can someone be “awarded” with an illness?”

The pelican shrugged, “Those certificates are churned out like water slops out of a shoddy bucket out in the neck of woods that that kookaburra hails from. It is inexplicably accepted as a legitimate diagnosis of craziness, so Kookie cannot be pursued by the human laws, is the crux of it my fine friend.”

“Well, I guess he is crazy without a doubt.”

“And there’s more,” the pelican motored on, intent on crushing the last of Louis’ hopes, “There’s precedent that involves Kookie himself.”

“Oh, great.”

“Let me read out a summary note by another lawyer who unsuccessfully pursued him – if I may. The jurisdiction is foreign, but I have strong reason to believe a similar conclusion would be reached here.”

Louis sighed, “Let’s hear it.”

 TO BE CONTINUED.