by Kim Hamilton
“I was gonna talk to you about it, but he’s kind of embarrassed.”
“Maybe we can help,” Kari said.
I thought if he’s embarrassed it was some bonehead move on his part like shoving a knife in a wall socket. I wasn’t inclined to be pushy. Kari pressed on. “Maybe we can get him some money. You know we’re pretty good at that.”
“That I do know,” Delroy said. “You two like beef jerky?” He pulled a bag of beef jerky out of the plastic bag and started to open it. He struggled with the sealed plastic bag.
“I like beef jerky,” Kari said and sat down beside him.
Delroy, still trying to open the plastic pouch, said, “Well, since I’m here, I might as well tell you.” He lifted the bag to his mouth and tried to gnaw it open with his teeth.
“Delroy, don’t. You’ll ruin your teeth,” I said, reaching my hand out for the bag. “Hand it to me I’ll use a pair of scissors.”
As I walked to Kari’s desk to grab the scissors, Delroy continued. “Marshall, that’s my brother-in-law. He’s married to my sister Lucy. He was in his bathroom. When he flushed the toilet, it exploded!”
“What do you mean, it exploded? Like the water came gushing out?” I opened the beef jerky and handed it to him. He offered it to Kari, who dug in and pulled out a piece.
“No, I mean it exploded. Like it had a bomb inside and kaboom. The whole bowl broke into pieces. Sharp pieces of solid porcelain shot out and one of them nearly cut Marshall in half.”
I had never heard of an exploding toilet, so I wasn’t sure Delroy had the story straight. “What kind of injuries does he have?”
“Lucy said he’s got stitches up and down his left side. He’s gonna miss a couple of weeks of work. That’s all I know.” He reached back in the plastic bag and started pulling out items. “He’s feeling a little low. I got him a couple of bags of this beef jerky, some Skittles, a few Tootsie Pops, and this here men’s magazine.” He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows up and down, holding up a copy of Juggs. Kari worked on a piece of beef jerky. The effort was keeping her quiet.
“I’ll look into this exploding toilet thing to see if other incidents have been reported.”
“Okay. Promise not to mention this to anyone. Marshall won’t like that I told you. But if you can help, I’ll get him to sign up.”
Delroy offered to let Kari keep the open bag of beef jerky. She declined, working her tongue between her teeth to dislodge the stubborn beefy fibers.
After he left, we finished running through our caseload—categorizing, prioritizing, and making sure everything was up to date. I took a stack of files that were ready for settlement. Kari took the ones that wouldn’t settle to Marty. He would have to file suit.
Before starting in on the files, I googled “exploding toilets.” The results were surprising. ‘Toilet explosion leaves residents afraid to Flush,” “Toilet explosion - YouTube,” “Friendly Flush II Recall,” “More Exploding Toilets,” “Professor escapes unhurt in toilet Explosion.” I needed to keep a closer eye on the news. I had never heard of any of this. I spent the next hour reading the results of my search. About three months ago, there was a recall on all toilets containing a flushing system called “Friendly Flush II.” It was manufactured by Sagetech, a company outside of Corning, New York. The flushing system had been used in toilets manufactured by K.L. Meglan, a company in Reading, Pennsylvania. Those toilets had been distributed to and sold by retailers such as Hardware Discount Warehouse, Home Suppliers Inc., and Baltimore’s family-owned Deckles Home Outlet. There was no doubt that this was a legitimate issue. Recalls are not issued lightly.
So what went wrong with the Friendly Flush II? Why was it no longer friendly? I continued reading through articles and what I found made my pulse quicken. Unlike traditional toilets that use gravity to produce an effective flush, the Friendly Flush II uses forty to eighty pounds of water pressure to purge the unwanted waste. This requires a vessel that traps the air. As the vessel fills with water, it creates pressure and compresses the trapped air. The system can burst at or near the weld seam and cause the tank to shatter with outward trajectory.
This posed an impact hazard. Marshall couldn’t be the only person injured in this manner. There had to be more victims. My brain processed the potential and registered dollar signs.
“Jess, I’ve got Delroy on the phone,” Kari called.
“Let me talk to him.” She put the call in. “Hey, Delroy, how’s Marshall doing?”
“He’s aching pretty bad. They gave him some potent pain meds, so that’s helping some.”
“Listen, I’ve been researching this toilet explosion thing. I think he had a defective toilet part. Can you go in his bathroom and see if there’s a part called the Friendly Flush II?”
“I’m in the bathroom now. It looks like a bomb went off. Let’s see, what’s this? Hold on a minute. I need my glasses.” I heard him put the phone down. Seconds later, he picked it up and said. “Yup. It’s busted up, but there’s a chunk with a sticker on it. It says Friendly Flush II.”
“Delroy, that’s it! Leave that piece there. This is important. I think Marshall’s got a case. That part was known to be defective and is now being recalled. Do you think you can get Marshall to agree to meet with me tomorrow?”
“I’m sure gonna try. Let me call you back.”
We disconnected and Kari appeared in my doorway. “What’s up with Delroy?”
“He’s about to get us the first Friendly Flush II case in Baltimore.”
#
Around midday, I stepped out of my office. Kari was on the phone, and there was a middle-aged man sitting on the couch. He had a patch over his left eye and was wearing a Red Sox jersey. My mother had called this one right.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“I’ve got a meeting with Marty Ferguson. I’m a little early,” he said.
Before I had the chance to determine whether or not he was the Red Sox fan my mother had called me about, I was distracted by Kari who was holding the phone to her ear with one hand and waving at me like a crazed fan with the other. Her eyes were wide, and she had a big smile on her face.
“Yes, Ms. Snow is in. How are you feeling? That was a nasty fall you took yesterday.”
While she listened for the response, she put her hand over the receiver and said, “It’s Anthony. He’s in the hospital. This is great.” She freed that hand and motioned me toward my office. “Please hold for a moment and I’ll get Ms. Snow on the line.”
I bounded into my office and picked up the phone. “Jessica Snow.”
“Hello Ms. Snow, this is Tony Graham. We met yesterday at Brenner’s. I was lying on the floor while you were chasing off lobsters. Remember me?”
“Of course I remember you. How are you feeling?”
“I’ve got a killer headache and I kind of ache all over. They’ve got me on painkillers. The doctor is worried about a spinal injury, so they’re going to run some more tests today. I was hoping you could come see me to discuss my case. I have health insurance to cover these bills, but I’m missing work and might miss some classes, too. I’d like to know what I might be entitled to. You know, dollar-wise.”
“Sure, Tony. I’m a few minutes away. Should I head over there now?”
“That’s fine. I’m not going anywhere.”
“What’s your room number?”
“It’s 456 on the fourth floor.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
Kari stood in my doorway, ignoring the phone ringing at her desk. She had her handbag, a file folder, a camera, and a big grin on her face. “Come on, Jess, let’s get moving.”
While I was speaking with Kari, I noticed the Red Sox fan leave through the front door. Curiosity getting the better of me, I went to see Marty. He sat behind his desk, a pair of reading glasses resting on his nose. He was staring through them into a file folder. I wrapped on the doorframe, and his head shot up. He removed his glasses, focused on me, and sighed.
&n
bsp; “What do you want?”
“Was that they guy who got hit with the hot dog at Camden Yards yesterday?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I’m curious. Did you take his case?”
He tilted his head to one side and raised his eyebrows in that did-you-really-just-ask-me-that-question look. “Of course I took his case. Haven’t you learned that simple lesson yet? Always take the case. We can dump it later if it’s a loser.” He harrumphed and leaned back into his chair.
“How bad is his eye?”
“He’s got a scratched cornea that will bother him for a few days. He’s a truck driver, so they’ll be lost wages. Also, he was publicly humiliated so I can milk that angle.”
Eager to assure him that I was pulling my weight, I told him that I was on my way to sign up a new client. “The guy’s in the hospital. I’m heading there to see him now.”
“Good injury?”
“Let’s hope so,” I said. And then it struck me hard. Was I hoping Tony was badly hurt? I struggled with the concept of ‘a good injury.’ It meant that we could make some easy money off of someone’s suffering. That was the sad reality.
It was also what paid my rent.
CHAPTER SIX
We took my car and drove up Charles Street toward the hospital. It was a typical summer day in Baltimore. Sweat beaded on my forehead and Kari stuck her face in the air conditioning vent. Traffic crawled. Pedestrians weaved in between the cars stopped for traffic signals. We entered the parking garage and wound our way up to the fifth level before we found a parking spot. It was a tight squeeze. A massive SUV had parked right on top of the white line. Not to be deterred by a tight situation, I threaded my Honda into the spot.
Kari looked through the passenger window and said, “There’s no way I’m gonna squeeze out of this car without scratching up both these vehicles.”
Kari was not a big woman, but she was no willow, either. Her proudest and most prominent feature was her backyard. A full, well-rounded gluteus maximus. Out of respect for her derriere and the two vehicles involved, I restarted the car and backed out so she could open her door and exit. Then I resumed my tight parking spot, leaving Kari’s dignity intact and the SUV unscathed. We proceeded to the elevator, which smelled like burnt cabbage, down to the covered walkway, and into the main hospital.
“What room is he in?” Kari asked.
“Oh, shit, I forget. Four something. I guess he’s on the fourth floor.”
“You’re not good with details are you, Jess? Didn’t he give you the room number?”
“Yes, he gave me the room number, but I didn’t write it down. All I can remember is the first number was a four. Or maybe it ended in a four. It doesn’t matter. Let’s go to the information desk and ask.”
“I feel like an amateur,” Kari complained.
“We are amateurs. But let’s pretend we know what we’re doing.”
“Hello, Jessica. Kari.” It was a familiar and vaguely irritating voice. We turned toward it to find Stuart Milligan approaching. I cringed. At six foot three, he used his height to his perceived advantage, closing in and peering down at us. He smiled in a manner that suggested he wasn’t at all happy to see us.
“Stuart,” we replied in a manner that suggested we were not at all happy to see him, either.
“Trying to scare up some business, are you?” he said.
“We don’t troll the halls like you, Stuart,” Kari said.
“We’re meeting a client. What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Trolling the halls for new business, naturally. There was a family in a minivan who got side-swiped by a Dodge Ram on the beltway. Really good injuries, maybe even permanent disability. I’m working the dad now. You hear about Harvey Metzger?”
“We heard that he’s dead. What else do you know?”
“There’s rumor that he was running a Ponzi scheme and lost millions. Didn’t Dawson have his money with Harvey?”
“I wouldn’t know.” The lie slipped off my tongue with surprising ease.
Kari pulled me by the elbow. “Goodbye Stuart, we’ve got more important people to talk to.” Out of earshot, she said, “I want to smack that sonofabitch.”
“Me, too.”
“Imagine him getting all excited about that minivan family’s pain and suffering, and taking the dad’s attention away from them while they’re in crisis. That man is a disgrace to the legal profession.”
I wasn’t sure how what Stuart was doing to the minivan family was any different from the way we managed to get Anthony as a client yesterday. I was sure there was a distinction. I didn’t feel dirty, but Stuart sure was.
We found our way to the information desk. Two women wearing hospital staff badges sat behind the counter, chatting away. We stood patiently for a few seconds, hoping to be acknowledged, but they were more interested in discussing where to order lunch than in helping us.
“Excuse me,” I said.
One of them turned toward me without making eye contact and said, “I’ll be right with you.” Then she turned back to her coworker to continue the conversation. A minute ticked by. Kari’s jaw clenched, and she stepped from side to side, struggling to stay patient. When she could take it no more, she slammed her hand on the reception desk. The two women snapped their heads in our direction.
“The sign over this desk says ‘information,’ and we are looking for information. Now. Not after you finish deciding on your lunch order. Now,” said Kari.
I saw that we had attracted some attention from other’s in the lobby, including a uniformed security guard who put down the sports page and headed toward us. I decided to play nice.
“Ladies. I’m sorry we startled you. We’re in a hurry and need to find a patient.”
“Well if you need something, you should ask nicely. I won’t be disrespected. I won’t have some crazy lady,” she said, looking at Kari, “banging on my desk and hollering that she wants something from me now. That’s no way to go about asking for help. Right, Marlene?”
I knew this type. She was the master of the hospital’s database, and information was power. She was drunk with power. Arguing with her would get us nowhere. I glanced at her employee I.D.
“Linda, you’re right. We’re sorry for interrupting your conversation. We’re looking for Anthony Graham’s room.”
The two women turned to each other and shared a knowing look. Marlene tried to suppress a smile and started typing into her computer. Linda, whose tone went from pissy to pleasant, said, “How do you two know Tony G-String?”
“Who?” Kari and I asked in unison.
Both women giggled, and Linda said, “Tony G-String. That’s Anthony Graham’s stage name.”
“Stage name? ‘G-String’?” I looked at Kari, who was now giggling along with Marlene and Linda.
“Jess,” Kari said, “we got ourselves a stripper!”
We took the elevator up to the fourth floor. The nurses’ station was deserted. The frenzy of phones ringing and buzzers buzzing was hardly conducive to a patient’s rest. We found room 456. Anthony lay in a hospital bed surrounded by three young female nurses and a slender male nurse. One of the female nurses sat on the side of his bed feeding him a Jell-O cup.
“There’s nothing wrong with my arms. I can feed myself,” Anthony said.
“I know, but you shouldn’t have to,” the nurse who was feeding him said. His admirers giggled in agreement.
“Excuse me, Anthony,” I said from the doorway.
His four devotees shot daggers at me for interrupting their little fan fest.
“Oh hi, Ms. Snow, come on in. Everyone, this is Jessica Snow and her assistant, Kari. They may be representing me for my injuries.”
The four of them sized up Kari and me.
“Well it looks like you’re in good hands Anthony,” I said.
“Looks like too many hands,” Kari said. “You mind giving us some privacy? We have important legal matters to discuss with Mr. Graham.”
The four gave Tony a final sympathetic gesture on their way out. One brushed his hair from his face, one fluffed his pillow, one laid a blanket over him, and the male nurse kissed his forehead. They glided out, promising to return later.
We pulled up a chair alongside Anthony’s bed. He looked quite different from when we saw him flat out on the cold, tiled floor of Brenner’s Market. His face was less pained. He had good color and shoulder-length brown hair that framed his face.
“Should we call you Anthony or Tony?” I asked.
“Call me Tony.”
“Are you really a stripper?” Kari asked.
I gave her a quick kick and a wide-eyed stare.
“What? We need to know his occupation, don’t we? For the lost-wage claim.”
Tony managed a laugh and said, “It’s Okay. I’m a male dancer. Not a stripper.”
“What’s the difference?” Kari asked
“It’s a fine line. Basically, a male dancer keeps his junk under wrap.”
Kari made a note in the file.
“Tony, I need to ask you a few questions about the accident so I can determine whether or not there is a liability issue.”
“Liability?”
“Yes. We have to establish that Brenner’s Market was negligent. In other words, we need to prove that Brenner’s knew, or should have known, that there was water on the floor which created a dangerous condition. The way that tank collapsed when you grabbed it suggests that it was already cracked and leaking, so I think their negligence can be established. But we also need to prove that you were not contributorily negligent.”
Kari yawned and picked at a hangnail. Tony’s eyes glazed over. I suspected all they were hearing was, “Blah, blah, blah...” I forged ahead.
“That means that if they had posted warnings about the water on the floor and you ignored those warnings, you may have contributed to your own accident. Or if the danger was otherwise obvious and you weren’t paying attention to where you were going, they would argue that you should have seen the danger and avoided it.”
“Oh, I get it. Well, you guys were there. There were no signs or barriers around the water. Nothing. And it’s water. It wasn’t visible. I was watching where I was going and I did not see that water.”