IT is 2am when Jim gets the call. The voice down the phone rapidly reports that a man has been arrested and charged with the possession of dangerous drugs. He will arrive at a police station near Jim's house in a few minutes, the voice says. The accused has yet to find a legal representative, the voice continues, and Jim might be able to do some business.
Jim , the 30-year-old see yeh, or solicitors' clerk, agrees. He puts down the phone and quickly dons his Armani suit and designer shirt. As he makes for the door, he pockets his mobile phone and heads for his BMW.
Within minutes he is parked outside the police station, waiting for his prey - the accused. He duly arrives and Jim pounces. Jim presents his business card, introducing himself with a reassuring line of legal patter as he begins negotiating with a relieved and all too-willing customer already terrified by his arrest.
Jim is pleased. He understands the desperation of his new client. He also knows, but quietly dismisses, the moral dilemma it poses; that the financial fortunes of his latest client will be forever changed by this pre-dawn encounter.
Inside the police station, Jim remains at the side of his customer as the process of arrest and recording of charges is completed. Jim then explains to the defendant that he has a good chance of acquittal but only if Jim remains as the representative of his interests.
There is, however, a small matter to be discussed; the fee. It will be $5,000 for Jim and the solicitor's appearance in the magistrate's court, required in any criminal proceeding; and $10,000 or more if a barrister is required for the case.
Desperate, the defendant nods in agreement, and in doing so becomes trapped in a financial web which has cost many a past recipient of Jim's patter dearly.