The Rainmaker (31 page)

I place my legal pad on the podium and look up at Judge Hale, who, for the moment, seems awfully interested in whatever I’m about to say. I’m scared to death at this point, but there’s nothing to do but press on.

This is a simple lawsuit. Great Benefit’s denial has robbed my client of the only medical treatment that could save his life. The company’s actions will kill Donny Ray Black. We’re right and they’re wrong. I’m comforted by the image of his gaunt face and withered body. It makes me mad.

Great Benefit’s lawyers will be paid a ton of money to confuse the issues, to muddle the facts, to hopefully strangle the judge and later the jury with red herrings. That’s their job. That’s why Drummond rambled for thirty-one minutes and said nothing.

My version of the facts and the law will always run shorter. My briefs and arguments will remain clear and to the point. Surely, someone down the line will appreciate this.

I nervously begin with a few basic points about motions to dismiss in general, and Judge Hale stares down incredulously as if I’m the biggest fool he’s ever listened to. His face is contorted with skepticism, but at least he keeps his mouth shut. I try to avoid his eyes.

Motions to dismiss are rarely granted in cases where there’s a clear dispute between the parties. I may be nervous and awkward, but I’m confident we’ll prevail.

I slog my way through my notes without revealing anything new. His Honor is soon as bored with me as he was with Drummond, and returns to his reading materials. When I finish, Drummond asks for five minutes to rebut what I’ve said, and his friend waves at the podium.

Drummond rambles for another eleven precious and valuable minutes, clears up whatever was on his mind but does so in such a way as to keep the rest of us in the dark, then sits.

“I’d like to see counsel in chambers,” Hale says, rising and quickly disappearing behind the bench. Since I don’t know where his chambers happen to be located, I stand and wait for Mr. Drummond to lead the way. He’s polite as we meet near the podium, even places his arm on my shoulder and tells me what a superb job I did.

The robe is already off by the time we enter the judge’s office. He’s standing behind his desk, waving at two chairs. “Please come in. Have a seat.” The room is dark with decorum; heavy drapes pulled together over the window, burgundy carpet, rows of heavy books in shelves from floor to ceiling.

We sit. He ponders. Then, “This lawsuit bothers me, Mr. Baylor. I wouldn’t use the word frivolous, but I’m not impressed with the merits of it, to be frank. I’m really tired of these types of suits.”

He pauses and looks at me as if I’m supposed to respond now. But I’m at a complete loss.

“I’m inclined to grant the motion to dismiss,” he says, opening a drawer, then slowly removing several bottles of pills. He carefully lines them up on his desk as we watch. He stops and looks at me. “Maybe you can refile it in federal court, you know. Take it somewhere else. I just don’t want it clogging up my docket.” He counts pills, at least a dozen from four plastic cylinders.

“Excuse me while I visit the can,” he says, and steps to a small door across the room, to his right. It locks loudly.

I sit in a dazed stillness, staring blankly at the pill bottles, hoping he chokes on them in there. Drummond hasn’t said a word, but as if on cue rises and perches his butt on the corner of the desk. He looks down at me, all warmth and smiles.

“Look, Rudy, I’m a very expensive lawyer, from a very expensive firm,” he says in a low, trusting voice, as if he’s divulging secret information. “When we first get a case like this, we do some math and project the cost of defending it. We give this estimate to our client, and this is before we lift a finger. I’ve handled a lot of cases, and I can hit pretty close to the center of the dartboard.” He shifts a bit, prepping for the punch fine. “I’ve told Great Benefit that the cost of defending this case through a full-blown trial will run them between fifty and seventy-five thousand dollars.”

He waits for me to indicate that this figure is impressive, but I just stare at his tie. The toilet flushes and rumbles in the distance.

“And so, Great Benefit has authorized me to offer you and your clients seventy-five thousand to settle.”

I exhale heavily. A dozen wild thoughts race before me, the largest of which is the figure of twenty-five thousand dollars. My fee! I can see it.

Wait a minute. If his pal Harvey here is about to dismiss the case, why is he offering me this money?

And, then, it hits me—the good cop/bad cop routine. Harvey lowers the boom and scares the hell out of me, then Leo steps in with the velvet touch. I can’t help but wonder how many times they’ve played tag-team in this office.

“No admission of liability, you understand,” he says. “It’s a one-time offer, good for only the next forty-eight
hours, take it or leave it right now while it’s on the table. If you say no, then it’s World War III.”

“But why?”

“Simple economics. Great Benefit saves some money, plus they don’t run the risk of some crazy verdict. They don’t like to get sued, you understand? Their executives don’t like to waste time in depositions and court appearances. They’re a quiet bunch. They like to avoid this kind of publicity. Insurance is a cutthroat business, and they don’t want their competitors to get wind of this. Lots of good reasons for them to settle quietly. Lots of good reasons for your clients to take the money and run. Most of it’s tax-free, you know.”

He’s smooth. I could argue the merits of the case and talk about how rotten his client is, but he’d just smile and nod along with me. Water off a duck’s back. Right now Leo Drummond wants me to take his money, and if I said nasty things about his wife it wouldn’t faze him.

The door opens and His Honor exits his private little rest room. Leo now has a full bladder, and he excuses himself. The tag is made. The duet moves along.

“High blood pressure,” Hale says to himself as he sits behind his desk and gathers his bottles. Not high enough, I want to say.

“Not much of a lawsuit, kid, I’m afraid. Maybe I can lean on Leo to make an offer of settlement. That’s part of my job, you know. Other judges approach it differently, but not me. I like to get involved in settlement from day one. It moves things along. These boys might throw some money at you to keep from paying Leo a thousand bucks a minute.” He laughs as if this is really funny. His face turns bloodred and he coughs.

I can almost see Leo in the rest room, ear stuck to the door, listening. It wouldn’t surprise me if they have a mike in there.

I watch him hack until his eyes water. When he stops, I say, “He just offered me the cost of defense.”

Hale’s a lousy actor. He tries to seem surprised. “How much?”

“Seventy-five thousand.”

His mouth falls open. “Geez! Look, son, you’re crazy if you don’t take it.”

“You think so?” I ask, playing along.

“Seventy-five. Jeez, that’s a buncha money. That doesn’t sound like Leo.”

“He’s a great guy.”

“Take the money, son. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and you need to listen to me.”

The door opens, and Leo rejoins us. His Honor stares at Leo, and says, “Seventy-five thousand!” You’d think the money was coming out of Hale’s office budget.

“That’s what my client said,” Leo explains. His hands are tied. He’s powerless.

They serve and volley for a while longer. I’m not thinking rationally, so I say little. I leave the room with Leo’s arm around my shoulder.

I find Deck in the hallway, on the phone, and so I sit on a nearby bench and try to collect myself. They were expecting Bruiser. Would they have tag-teamed him the same way? No, I don’t think so. How did they plan their ambush of me so quickly? They probably had another routine planned for him.

I’m convinced of two things: First, Hale is serious about dismissing the lawsuit. He’s a sick old man who’s been on the bench for a long time, and is immune from pressure. He couldn’t care less if he’s right or wrong. And it might be very difficult to file it again in another court. The lawsuit is in serious trouble. Second, Drummond is too anxious to settle. He’s scared, and he’s scared because his client has been caught red-handed in a very nasty act.

DECK’S MADE eleven phone calls in the past twenty minutes, and there’s no sign of Bruiser. As we speed back to the office, I replay the bizarre scene in Hale’s office. Deck, ever the quick-change artist, wants to take the money and run. He makes the very good argument that no amount of money will save Donny Ray’s life at this point, so we should grab what we can and make things a bit easier for Dot and Buddy.

Deck claims that he’s heard many sordid tales of badly tried lawsuits in Hale’s courtroom. For a sitting judge, he’s unusually vocal in his support of tort reform. Hates plaintiffs, Deck says more than once. A fair trial will be hard to obtain. Let’s take the money and run, Deck says.

DRU IS IN TEARS in the lobby as we enter. She’s hysterical because everybody’s looking for Bruiser. Her mascara runs down her cheeks as she curses and cries. This is just not like him, she says over and over. Something bad has happened.

Being a thug himself, Bruiser hangs out with dubious and dangerous people. Finding his fat body stuffed into the trunk of a car at the airport would not surprise me, and Deck allows as much. The thugs are after him.

I’m after him too. I call Yogi’s to talk to Prince. He’ll know where Bruiser is. I talk to Billy, the manager, a guy I know well, and after a few minutes learn that Prince seems to have vanished too. They’ve called everywhere, with no luck. Billy’s worried and nervous. The feds just left. What’s going on?

Deck goes from office to office, rallying the troops. We meet in the conference room—me, Deck, Toxer and Ridge, four secretaries and two flunkies I’ve never seen before. Nicklass, the other lawyer, is out of town. Everyone compares notes of their last meeting with Bruiser:

Anything suspicious? What was he supposed to do today? Who was he supposed to see? Who talked to him last? There is an atmosphere of panic in the room, an air of confusion that’s not alleviated in the least by Dru’s incessant bawling. She just knows something’s gone wrong.

The meeting breaks up as we silently file back to our offices and lock our doors. Deck, of course, follows me. We talk aimlessly for a while, careful not to say anything we don’t want overheard if in fact the place is wired. At eleven-thirty, we ease out a rear door and leave for lunch.

We will never set foot in the place again.

Twenty-four

I
DOUBT IF I’LL EVER KNOW WHETHER Deck actually knew what was coming down, or whether he was just amazingly prophetic. He’s an uncomplicated person without too many layers, and most of his thoughts are close to the surface. But there’s a definite degree of weirdness, aside from appearances, that’s coiled tightly within and clings to secrecy. I strongly suspect he and Bruiser were much closer than most of us knew, that the sweetheart deal on the Van Landel settlement was a result of Deck’s lobbying and that Bruiser was issuing quiet warnings about his demise.

At any rate, when my phone rings at 3:20 A.M., I’m not terribly surprised. It’s Deck, with the double announcement that the feds raided our offices just after midnight, and that Bruiser has skipped town. There’s more. Our former offices are now locked by court order, and the feds will probably want to talk to everyone who worked in the place. And, most surprising, Prince Thomas seems to have vanished along with his lawyer and friend.

Imagine, Deck giggles into the phone, those two hogs,
with their long grayish hair and facial growths, trying to sneak through airports incognito.

Indictments are supposed to be issued later today, after the sun comes up. Deck suggests we meet at our new offices around noon, and since I have no place else to go, I agree.

I stare at the dark ceiling for half an hour, then give it up. I step barefoot through the cool wet grass and fall into the hammock. A character like Prince spawns lots of colorful rumors. He loved cash, and my first day on the job at Yogi’s I was told by a waitress that eighty percent of it was never reported. The employees loved to gossip and speculate over the amounts of cash he was able to skim.

He had other ventures. A witness in a racketeering trial a couple of years ago testified that ninety percent of the income generated in a particular topless bar was in the form of cash, and that sixty percent of this was never reported. If Bruiser and Prince in fact owned one or more skin clubs, then they were mining gold.

It was rumored that Prince had a house in Mexico, bank accounts in the Caribbean, a black mistress in Jamaica, a farm in Argentina, and I can’t remember the other stories. There was a mysterious door in his office, and behind it there supposedly was a small room filled with boxes of twenty- and one-hundred-dollar bills.

If he’s on the run, I hope he’s safe. I hope he escaped with large sums of his precious cash, and never gets caught. I don’t care what he’s allegedly done wrong, he’s my friend.

DOT SEATS ME at the kitchen table, same chair, and serves me instant coffee, same cup. It’s early, and the smell of bacon grease hangs thick in the cluttered kitchen. Buddy’s out there, she says, waving her arms. I don’t look.