Law and Addiction

by Mike Papantonio

  “It does, Your Honor,” Ailes said, “and I thank you, but I must admit to being surprised by these particular inquiries, and I cannot help but wonder at their relevance.”

  “The relevance,” said Judge Perry, “will depend upon the answers provided.”

  Ailes didn’t seem reassured by the remarks from the bench. Still, he took the opportunity to confer with Monger and Richards. As the three men carried out their whispered conversation, Deke rose to his feet.

  “What is it, Mr. Deketomis?” asked Judge Perry.

  Even though his voice didn’t sound welcoming, Deke was glad to see the judge reposition his glasses higher up on his nose.

  “Permission to speak, Your Honor.”

  Perry nodded.

  “If the plaintiffs have any problems answering your questions about those cities and counties where the most opioids were sold, my team would be glad to provide them to you. We would also be happy to discuss costs incurred by those cities and counties as a result of the opioid epidemic.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Deketomis,” said the judge.

  Deke sat down and pretended not to notice Ailes’s dagger eyes directed his way.

  “They’re on the defensive,” whispered an excited Jake.

  Deke nodded. Truth to tell, though, he wasn’t sure how he felt about the progression of the hearing so far. Judge Perry’s questions had cut into some of the territory that Deke had planned on exploring. He hoped the judge hadn’t prematurely exploded his side’s ammunition; Deke liked to parcel out his bombshells for maximum effect. Then again, the judge’s questions might be intended to get the state attorneys general to acknowledge the incredible insignificance of their settlement from six years before.

  “You would think the lawyers at the top of the food chain in West Virginia and Ohio would look a little less like circus clowns,” said Paul.

  “I’m sure P. T. Barnum wouldn’t like you disparaging circus clowns that way,” said Deke.

  The three-man conference broke up, and Ailes and Richards returned to their seats. From the podium, Monger cleared his throat. His shoulders were even more hunched now, and the vulture pose more pronounced.

  “I regret to inform you, Judge,” he said, “but at this time we will be unable to provide the court with the specific information you requested. Because we want to be sure of our facts, we’ll be scheduling a conference call with all seven of the state attorneys general who participated in the settlement. That said, our contention remains that getting answers to your questions will be moot. As we have already argued in our briefs and pleadings, this court has very limited jurisdiction to take any action because the cities and counties that are claimants in this case have no standing to bring civil actions against these distributors. Doing such is the domain of the state attorneys general.”

  “I would tread very carefully, Mr. Monger,” said the judge. “Are you saying that you will not be providing me with the answers that I have requested?”

  “Not at all, Your Honor,” Monger said. “As a courtesy to this court, we will meet with all relevant parties and do our best to provide as much statistical data as possible to Your Honor within the next few weeks.”

  “One week, Mr. Monger,” said Perry. “In addition to fully addressing my questions, you will also provide me any and all emails, memos, briefings, or letters that you and the six other attorneys general created to communicate with the counties and cities about the settlement negotiations you were having with the opioid manufacturers before you signed your release.”

  If Monger had had a tail, Deke guessed it would be firmly planted between his butt cheeks. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Now,” said Perry, “let’s return to the subject at hand. I’d like you to be specific about the precedent and case law that supports your argument that cities and states have no legal standing to proceed.”

  Monger nodded and inhaled deeply. “Your Honor,” he said, “I would direct you to page eight in our brief. There are six cases cited that all stand for the proposition that attorneys general are the only constitutional officers that can speak for counties and cities within their state. That’s the law, and we believe it’s very clear.”

  “Final answer, Mr. Monger?”

  The attorney general nodded.

  “Then for the time being,” the judge said, “you may go and sit down.”

  As Monger walked away from the podium, Perry’s gaze turned to Deke.

  “Mr. Deketomis,” he said, “I understand that you are arguing on behalf of your trial team. My strong advice to you is, do not spend your time rehashing what you have already outlined in your briefing. Instead, use this opportunity to put your case on record.”

  Deke understood what all good trial lawyers come to understand and to practice: never oversell your case when you believe you’re winning. At the same time, though, Deke wanted to go on record. The right bullet points, he knew, would be picked up and circulated by the media. It was important that he connect the dots showing the cozy relationship between the cabal of the state attorneys general and the opioid distributors.

  With measured steps, Deke made his way to the vacated podium. He carried with him carefully culled files that had been selected for these opening remarks.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” he said. “There are several points I believe I must make to protect any record on appeal, as well as to provide the court a closer look at what this hearing is actually all about.”

  The microphone amplified Deke’s words, although the device was unnecessary. He made sure his voice was heard in every corner of the room.

  “I would like to submit a few items for the court’s review in light of what we just heard from Mr. Monger, or should I say . . . Mr. Ailes?”

  Deke held up a small stack of papers for the judge to see. “What you’ll find in these cases, Judge, refutes Mr. Monger’s assertion that state attorneys general have the exclusive right to bring cases on behalf of cities and counties within their state. I was hoping they would point these cases out to Your Honor at the hearing today, because for some reason none of them were included in the massive brief that they filed with this court. What you will notice as you review these cases is that there have been at least a half dozen cases that concluded just the opposite of what Mr. Monger represented to this court.”

  Deke stepped away from the podium. He wasn’t going to be bound by its confines.

  “Had Mr. Monger been more accurate in his argument to this court,” he said, “he would have had to explain that there is almost a straight fifty-fifty split within the jurisdictions of Ohio and West Virginia as to whether or not a city or county has the right to proceed in a claim like this without involvement of the state attorney general.”

  He stopped in midstride. “Fifty-fifty,” he repeated. Then he made his way back to the podium and said, “I leave it to you, Your Honor, to decide whether that omission was simply an oversight on the part of Mr. Monger and Mr. Richards.”

  “Objection, Your Honor.” A red-faced Jazz Hands was on his feet.

  “You are not an attorney on record here, Mr. Ailes,” said the judge, “so I will not even deign to overrule you. Sit down, Mr. Ailes, and I don’t expect to have to remind you of that again. Mr. Monger and Mr. Richards are both capable of mouthing their own objections, and I’m sure I’ll hear from them at the appropriate time.

  “Now, Mr. Deketomis, please proceed.”

  “Thank you, Judge,” said Deke. “During his address to the court, Mr. Monger referenced how he and six other state attorneys general signed a gentleman’s agreement barring cities and counties from proceeding against the opioid manufacturers.”

  Once again, Deke wasn’t content to stand at the podium, but moved into a position directly in front of Monger.

  “Let’s agree to the fact that both of these champions of the people settled some claims in their twenty-five-million-dollar firesale giveaway six years ago. I’m sure I don’t need to tell anyone in this courtroom that a l
ot can go on in six years. What Mr. Monger and Mr. Richards would have us believe is, ‘That’s just water under the bridge.’ They would have us ignore all the opioid deaths, and all the economic devastation that mushroomed even after their dog-and-pony settlement. As we sit in this courtroom, we have not only the right to recover all the losses suffered by cities and counties between the time of that settlement and today, but we in fact have the obligation to do what the attorneys general didn’t have the character or courage to do.”

  The more Deke talked, the more he could see from the corner of his eye that Nathan Ailes’s face was changing colors. Monger was pretending to be color-blind, but Ailes finally made a strangled noise he couldn’t ignore.

  With some reluctance, he got to his feet and said, “Objection, Your Honor. Much of what Mr. Deketomis is saying is speculation, with statements more prejudicial than probative.”

  Judge Perry turned to Deke. “Mr. Deketomis?”

  “If you would allow me a few minutes of the court’s time, Your Honor, I would like to air a presentation created by our legal team that will provide you with incontrovertible facts and figures showing just what has happened in the six years since the attorneys general entered into their travesty of a settlement.”

  The judge considered Deke’s request. “You may proceed, Mr. Deketomis.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  Deke nodded to an AV tech, and moments later the lights dimmed and a video screen lowered from the ceiling and settled to the right of the judge’s bench.

  A familiar face appeared on the screen—Monger’s. He was identified by name and by his title. The interview had taken place six years before.

  Monger’s voice blared through the courtroom as the video played. “I would categorize our settlement with the drug manufacturers as a huge victory for the seven states that pursued this action. Through negotiations and sanctions, we have taken the important first step toward ending the opioid addiction crisis. I believe this is the beginning of the end of the opioid problem. This plague will soon vanish.”

  Deke had been tempted to follow up Monger’s statement with black-and-white footage of Neville Chamberlain waving a peace treaty signed with Hitler, and proclaiming, “Peace for our time.” Paul and Jake had talked him out of that, though. They had argued that the old footage of Monger was controversial enough.

  On the screen, a graph materialized that showed statistics from the Centers for Disease Control. The numbers were clear for all to see, but Deke offered them with some oratory.

  “In the six years since Mr. Monger’s victory,” said Deke, “between ninety and one hundred and fifty men, women, and children have died every single day from opioid overdoses.”

  Deke let that figure sink in, then tried to personalize those deaths. “Last Thursday one hundred and seventeen individuals died from opioid overdoses. Those individuals were sons, daughters, fathers, and mothers. Some lived right in this community. We collected as many of those one hundred and seventeen pictures of the dead as we could, and while we show you their faces, I will tell you how this terrible tragedy came to be, and how it continues to impact us.”

  One by one the faces of the dead came up on the screen as Deke spoke for them. But he wasn’t yet finished. He concluded by putting up a map of the United States created by the National Center for Health Statistics showing drug poisoning mortality data in the country. The age-adjusted death rate went from dark blue to dark red, with dark blue signifying fewer than two deaths per one hundred thousand people, and dark red signifying more than thirty deaths per one hundred thousand people. The first map shown was from 1999; it was almost completely blue. With each passing year, the complexion of the map changed—the blues morphing into greens and yellows and reds. As twenty years passed, red blotches popped up everywhere. It was almost like the graphics were bleeding out for all to see. By the time the last of what Deke called the “death maps” were put on the screen, the courtroom was deathly silent.

  15

  THE HOMECOMING KING

  Anna Fowler made sure it was Ruth Smith who answered the phone, and not her husband. “Ruth?” she said, making her voice sound scratchy. “This is Anna. I’m afraid I caught that bug that’s going around. Please tell Clint I won’t be coming in today.”

  “I’m sorry to hear you’re not feeling well again, dear,” said Ruth. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”

  Anna thanked her. When she’d left Clint’s studio that awful day, she’d told herself that she would never be back. Her resolve hadn’t lasted, though. There was no work to be found in Oakley, and little enough in the surrounding communities. Even though she had continued to model for Clint, their relationship was strained. Both tried to pretend that nothing had ever happened; at least they were studiously polite with each other. Still, Anna remembered her terror. Clint had never acted that way before. It was the dope he was taking, Anna thought, probably the same pills she was taking. An involuntary shudder came over her; she could pretend the thought wasn’t disturbing, but it was.

  Clint’s near-assault had caused her to do a lot of thinking. She’d tried to rein in her own pill consumption, but it hadn’t been as

  123 easy as she would have hoped. Ever since her abrupt departure from Clint’s studio, she’d been vomiting several times a day. The moral victory, Anna supposed, was that her usage hadn’t increased, but it hadn’t decreased much either.

  Now she was trying to surmount that mountain, but the pills were fighting back. Dry bread and water were about all she could hold down, and even that came up too often for her liking. Withdrawal was playing havoc on both her mind and body. Even sleep didn’t bring her relief—what little sleep she’d been getting. Anxiety, cold sweats, and muscle aches didn’t allow for much slumber. The only thing that helped was trying to stay busy. That staved off a little bit of the anxiety.

  Still, at least once a day, Anna thought about how there was something she could do to relieve all her symptoms. All she had to do was take another pill or two. But doing that would be giving up, relinquishing control of her life, and she never again wanted to relinquish control the way she had when Clint had used her naked body to paint his nightmare.

  Her nightmare, Anna amended. He’d drawn what she was becoming, and seeing that had scared her as much as Clint’s rage. It was shock therapy, she supposed. There was probably nothing else that would have convinced her to try and get off the pills.

  Anna finished up in the kitchen and brought her father a tray. “Some biscuits and ham, Daddy,” she said, pretending to be cheery. The reality was, the smell of food was bringing her to the brink of nausea.

  Her father merely nodded. “Skipping work today?” he asked. He must have overheard her conversation with Ruth, thought Anna. “I’ve been under the weather,” she admitted, “but it’s more of a mental-health day than anything else. Besides, did you forget what day it is?”

  “What are you talking about?” he said.

  “It’s May Day,” said Anna.

  Her father shrugged, the significance lost on him.

  “Decoration Day, May the first. On May Day, Momma always went to the cemetery to pay her remembrances and do some sprucing up.”

  Decoration Day varied by community. In Appalachia and the south, it was usually celebrated in the spring or early summer. Some called it Cemetery Day. The national tradition of Memorial Day was thought to have resulted from Decoration Day.

  Her father’s face softened. Thinking about her mother always made him sentimental.

  “You going to take some flowers to your momma?” he asked.

  Anna nodded. “I’m going to put together a nice bouquet of wildflowers.”

  “That’s a good thing,” he said, and then coughed, trying to keep his emotions in check.

  “Do you want to come with me, Papa?” she asked.

  Because it was early in the day, Anna was confident she could cope with her withdrawal symptoms and still be able to care for her already mildly drunk fath
er. Much to her relief, though, he didn’t take her up on her offer.

  He shook his head. “Too long of a walk to her gravestone,” he said gruffly. “I’d probably fall.”

  “I’ll tell her you wanted to be there,” Anna promised. “I’ll tell her you miss her.”

  He opened his mouth to offer his thanks, then seemed to reconsider when the words caught in his throat, causing him to nod instead and blink away the tears.

  Anna tried to ignore the roiling of her stomach. Five minutes into her drive, she pulled over on the shoulder but resisted the urge to throw up. Taking deep breaths, she made her way out to an open field and began picking columbine, oxeye daisies, and larkspur. Her mother had loved wildflowers. When she would go out and collect them with Anna, she always quoted from Matthew, saying: “Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow. They don’t toil, neither do they spin.” The wildflowers were so abundant that Anna picked enough for three bouquets. She’d find the other two a proper home even if she didn’t yet know where. It had been too long since her last visit to the graveyard. During her last visit there, she had run into Jake Rutledge. They had talked on the phone a few times since and had made vague plans to see each other, but Jake was busy with his case. It was just as well, she thought. Anna had her own problems she needed to resolve before considering having a social life.

  Decoration Day had started in Oakley after the Civil War, with citizens tending to the graves of the many soldiers who had died. Central West Virginia had felt the pull of both the North and South, so the war had resulted in deep divisions in Oakley. There were families here that had had one sibling wearing blue, and the other, gray.

  As Anna drove her father’s truck into the cemetery, she was surprised to see so few vehicles there. Even in recent years, Decoration Day had been one of the Oakley’s big civic activities. Remembering the dead, it appeared, was no longer a priority.