by A. Turk
Gerst—$600,000
These settlement offers are made in accordance with Rule 408 of the Tennessee Rules of Evidence, are confidential, and are not admissible in any proceeding, shall remain confidential, and may not be used for any purpose.
Benjamin Davis
Everyone in the room tried to do the math mentally. Pinsly pulled out his calculator from his briefcase and began punching numbers. After he finished his calculation, he announced: “That’s a total of $5 million. Our share would be $1,250,000. He wants more than four times our last offer.”
“That’s within my coverage,” said Herman. “I’ve got $1,980,000 left—”
Pinsly abruptly cut Herman off: “Read your contract. My company calls the shots of this negotiation. Don’t interfere.”
Herman felt helpless as Tennessee Mutual controlled his fate. No one pointed out that Dr. Herman was a shareholder, and technically Pinsly worked for him. It was all about the money in classroom 35, except for Jack Barnes, who was sitting in the corner; he was just watching the dog and pony show play out.
The bow-tied McCoy was certainly all about the money. He reminded Pinsly about the expenses under Rule 54.
Pinsly turned to him angrily: “I know there’s expenses, but let’s just focus on the settlement. What evidence did the hospital lose?”
“You don’t want to know,” McCoy cut in.
Herman knew, but he could tell that Jack Barnes, who suddenly became alert in his corner, didn’t know what the hell McCoy was talking about, and McCoy quickly closed the subject.
Feeling ignored, Herman decided that he needed to speak up: “I sure as hell want to settle these cases. Next month is my disciplinary hearing, and if I’m found guilty by the board, that’s not going to sit too well with a future jury.”
McCoy came to his aid. “Dr. Herman’s right. If the board finds intentional or reckless conduct, those findings would be admissible in the Malone case and all the other cases. If a jury finds intentional or reckless conduct, there could be a substantial award of punitive damages. Lars, as I’ve told you, punitive damages are not covered under your policy.”
Pinsly agreed, and Herman became nervous. After a long debate, the defendants countered with a take-it-or-leave-it set of offers totaling $1,500,000. Tennessee Mutual’s share was $375,000 plus expenses. The other defendants agreed to the amount and the unconditional terms. It was more than a twenty percent increase over their last offer.
McCoy walked the offer over to Davis, Steine, and Littleton, who were in room 11 with Mr. and Mrs. Darsinos. Twenty minutes later, Davis returned with the plaintiffs’ response.
Herman couldn’t understand how Davis responded so quickly.
McCoy read the response out loud: “Nuts, we’ll see you in court in July.”
“What the hell is ‘Nuts’?” Pinsly asked.
“It’s what an American general told the Germans who had him surrounded at Bastogne during the Battle of the Bulge,” Herman remarked. He was very familiar with the battles of World War II.
Barnes turned to Pinsly. “I think you started World War III.”
It was four minutes to two when Herman entered the phone booth at the high school. He took a slip of paper from his wallet and dialed. “Hello, Charlie. It’s over, and we didn’t even get close. Davis wanted $5 million, and the suits offered him $1,500,000.”
“Do those idiots from the insurance companies know what Davis is sitting on?” Charlie moaned.
“My guy doesn’t. In his opening offer, Davis made reference to the slides, but my lawyer, McCoy, told the Tennessee Mutual guy, ‘You don’t want to know,’ and he chose not to.”
“I bet Pierce hasn’t told my company either. You can bet that little weasel Douglas must have told upper management.”
“Look, Charlie, two things need to happen. First, we need to get back those slides, and second, you need to come home and face these board charges, or you’ll be on the run for the rest of your life.”
“Call me tomorrow, same time and number, and we’ll figure this out.”
“We’d better, or I’ll be joining you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
WILDHORSE
SATURDAY, JANUARY 8, 1994
For the last twenty months, since she arrived in Nashville, Sammie lived in either the loft or the Davis home. Morty returned to work, and then the heart attack prompted the change in her living arrangements. She spent most waking hours either working with her uncle or being with his family. With free room and board, she saved almost $18,000 for law school. She loved getting to know her cousins Caroline and Jake. She had become particularly close to her aunt Liza, eleven years her senior, whom she had never known before moving to Nashville.
After Morty recovered enough from his heart attack, in June of last year, to return to live alone at the farm, she had moved back into the loft in September. She cherished her independence since leaving the Davis residence. After all, she was twenty-seven years old, had attended the University of Florida, a real party school, and she hadn’t led a sheltered life in Miami. In the loft, she could have a social life.
Yet she didn’t have many close friends because of her intensive and sometimes unpredictable work schedule. She sometimes met them in a restaurant or bar downtown, but when she wanted to be more on her own, she liked to go to the Wildhorse Saloon. The recently opened bar, occupying a historic warehouse, attracted tourists as well as locals. It had a great atmosphere, with often-famous bands or singers performing, scheduled and unscheduled. The dance floor was a bonus and almost always full.
She still had the taste of the failed mediation in her mouth and felt a little depressed. They had worked hard on Plainview up through the mediation and would have to work harder to get the Malone case ready for trial. She was also concerned by how extended the Plainview cases had become, exposing her uncle.
Tonight, she was putting Plainview behind her. It was her night to have fun. If Mr. Right presented himself, she might not put out all the way, but she would certainly give him the impression that she might. It had been more than ten months, and she was just plain horny. For Sammie, finding a sex partner had never been a problem. All she had to do was want it, and she got it.
For her seduction, she put on a very short denim skirt that showed off her extremely long legs. At one end were her red cowboy boots and at the other, her shapely ass. Her cowgirl red-checkered shirt, tied at the abdomen, was somewhat provocative. Her bra pushed her girls up, revealing more than two inches of cleavage. Since it was January, the cold air was sure to make her nipples erect. She wore very little makeup because she didn’t need any. She would be hard to resist.
The Wildhorse was only two blocks away, but the minute she walked out the back door of Steine’s Department Store, Sammie knew that she needed more than her black duster coat to keep from freezing her ass off.
As soon as she entered the saloon, the warm air hit her smack in the face. She could smell the seated crowd on the dance floor. The noise level, from both conversations and music, was at a much higher decibel than on the street. A DJ played the Allman Brothers’ “Sweet Melissa,” and several patrons were dancing. She strutted over to the fifteen-foot oak bar, with an equally long brass rail along the bottom, placed a red cowboy boot on the rail, and ordered a shot of Tequila Gold. The bartender responded immediately. Sammie usually didn’t have to wait to be served. He brought a salt-shaker and a sliced lemon with the shot. She asked him to leave the bottle.
Two shots of tequila later, she got on the dance floor and began line dancing with about two dozen others. She figured her sensuous movements would soon attract an available male. She executed the move perfectly, and as she anticipated, a man by the name of Rex, no last name, appeared out of nowhere. One minute she was dancing without a partner; the next minute she was dancing next to him and smelling the heat of his body and his cheap cologne.
Sammie was over six feet with her boots. Rex, also in cowboy boots, was at least four inches tal
ler. He had sandy colored hair and dark brown eyes. He was dressed in a denim shirt and extremely tight jeans. He seemed close to her age.
After they danced for thirty minutes, they returned to Sammie’s bottle at the bar and downed a few shots together. A few minutes later, they were walking up the Alley toward the back entrance of her building and the loft. Sammie remembered a long embrace in the elevator, which ended with Rex ripping off her panties. Once in the loft, they drank more tequila from his silver flask, and after that the details went completely blank.
She woke in her recliner, shirt and skirt still on, but no panties. Her head was splitting, and there was a bad taste in her mouth. She tried to place it but was too hung over to even think. She sat up slowly in the chair and regretted her sudden movement. The room was spinning, and she struggled to free herself from the recliner.
She moved as fast as she could to the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet when she lost it. She slid to the floor and leaned against the bathtub, her head throbbing. She worked her way up to her knees, turned on the cold water, and splashed some on her face. It did very little good. What the hell is that taste? It’s overpowering, despite the fact that I threw up.
She crawled to her bed, which hadn’t been slept in, and spent all day there. How much tequila did she drink? What happened to Rex? Did they have sex? If they did, he must not have thought it was very good. He certainly didn’t hang around for seconds or for breakfast. She couldn’t remember him leaving or even saying good-bye. Maybe it was better that way, not knowing. She certainly wasn’t proud of herself.
After resting all day, eating lightly, and going to sleep by nine, Sammie was ready to face the week, starting with Monday morning at seven. She wasn’t the first to arrive at the office. Both Bella and her uncle were there. She greeted Bella in reception and went straight to her desk. On Friday, she ended her day in the middle of cataloguing the pathology slides against the surgical logs of Plainview Community Hospital. She left the slides in her unlocked briefcase on top of her desk.
When she opened the briefcase, she did a double take; the two boxes of slides were gone. Even though she knew exactly where she left them, she looked all around her office. No luck. Someone must have taken them, either her uncle or Bella.
Sammie stuck her head out of her office, which was almost painful in her condition, and confirmed that Bella hadn’t moved them. Why would her uncle remove the slides this morning? It made no sense. He wouldn’t.
Sammie felt another headache coming on. Who could have taken them? Who had access to her office since Friday night? The cleaning people hadn’t come over the weekend. Who then?
And then it dawned on her: Rex. He was in her loft, which connected to the office by a stairwell. He didn’t even have to use her keys to gain access to the office. He just had to walk down a flight of stairs.
She tried to remember his face and everything she could about him. Yesterday, she put Saturday night behind her and instead concentrated on her hangover and her recovery.
As she tried to focus on Saturday night, an image flashed through her mind that hadn’t registered during her haze on Saturday. It was Rex’s forearm, a tattoo, a Trex with yellow eyes. She began to shake. She tried to get up but couldn’t. She gripped the arms of her chair. That distinctive bad taste returned to her mouth, and she began to gag.
When she could get to her feet, using the wall as support she made her way to the bathroom. A moment later there was a knock at the door. It was Bella.
“You okay, honey? You didn’t look so good.”
Sammie began to cry.
Bella knocked again. “Sammie, let me in.”
When she opened the door, Sammie fell into Bella’s arms and was shaking so hard that both women shook. Bella held the younger woman so tightly that Sammie started having trouble breathing and broke away. In broken sentences, she explained what happened on Saturday night and her discovery of the missing slides that morning.
Sammie wasn’t embarrassed that she had brought Rex back to the loft. She admitted that she had no idea whether they had sex. But she was humiliated that she had been victimized.
“When I got up Sunday morning, he was gone. I woke up sick as a dog. I’m pretty sure he drugged me. I can’t remember what happened, but after I drank from his flask, he took his shirt off and I vaguely remember he had a tattoo, a dinosaur with big yellow eyes.”
It had been four months since her uncle’s beating, but the T-rex tattoo on one of the two reward artist renditions was burned into all of their memories. Bella was visibly upset by Sammie’s story, which made Sammie even more uneasy.
She confided in Bella a few details she remembered before she drank from the flask, including Rex tearing off her underpants in the service elevator. Sammie questioned Bella about whether her panties were in the elevator when she arrived that morning. They concluded that Rex must have taken them as a souvenir.
“You’ve got to tell your uncle. If you want, I’ll sit in, but he’s got to be told immediately.”
Sammie decided that it would be best for her to face her uncle on her own and man up to her mistake. Davis quietly listened and didn’t interrupt as she told her story—the PG-13 version. Even that version was embarrassing enough.
Davis finally spoke: “The bastards have been watching us. I should have anticipated that they would try to get to one of us. We let our guard down. I’m sure they’re watching even that idiot Littleton. I’ve got to warn everyone, including Sister Carson and the other experts.”
Sammie hung her head and in a pitiful voice stuttered, “I’ve lost the slides. They’re irreplaceable evidence. You rejected more than $1,500,000 because you thought a jury would get to see and hold them. Those slides were our ace in the hole, and I blew it.”
“You couldn’t have known. Maybe Morty and I should have seen this coming. We knew that they were getting desperate with the board hearing next month and the Malone case breathing down their necks.” Despite his reassuring tone, Davis felt incredibly guilty that he hadn’t taken precautions to prevent another attack on the family by T-rex.
Davis gave Sammie a hug and a kiss on both cheeks. “We’ll get these bastards without the slides. These guys play dirty. You’re not going to learn about these tactics in law school or in a book. These defendants want to win at any cost, and they don’t care if they have to hurt or kill people to do so. Effective immediately, you are moving into our guest room until further notice.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
MEDICAL LICENSING BOARD
MONDAY, JANUARY 31, 1994
Sammie took her seat next to Bella, Davis, and Morty in the front row of hearing room 304 in the Andrew Jackson State Office Building. She would have preferred to sit a bit closer so she could breathe down English’s and Herman’s necks, but there was nothing closer.
The room filled up quickly, and by eight thirty it was at its capacity of two hundred. The audience was composed of people from Plains and Hewes Counties. Both print and television press were there, but Tennessee law didn’t allow the cameras in the courtroom.
Through his Nashville connections, Morty secured coverage in advance of the hearing. The hospital kept the Plainview Gazette and the Hewes City Express silent.
Sammie still didn’t feel like herself. At her uncle’s insistence, she was seeing a psychiatrist to deal with her drugging. A rape test, performed the Monday afternoon after she discovered that the slides were missing, confirmed no semen was present, but that meant nothing. Whatever happened after the Wildhorse left her emotionally scarred. This hearing was the best medicine possible, and she wasn’t going to miss any of it to sit on a couch and tell her problems to a stranger. Liza was her greatest comfort, and the rest of the Davis family did their best to help her too. The kids didn’t know the details, but they knew that Sammie had gone through a traumatic event.
Within days of the disappearance of the slides, Dr. English reappeared. He walked into the Hewes County Courthouse with Amy Pierce
and surrendered himself. Judge Lewis was both amazed and pleasantly surprised. He threw English into jail and told him that he would be serving his contempt sentence until his back alimony and child support were paid in full. A payment plan was never discussed. According to reports, English said nothing and had been a guest of Hewes County ever since.
Although English was dressed smartly in a gray suit, white shirt, and yellow tie, Sammie knew that he had awakened in the Hewes County jail, in an orange jumpsuit, serving his contempt sentence.
All four members of the Davis team were excited about the prospect of Dr. English’s and Dr. Herman’s medical licenses being suspended or revoked. If they were revoked, the bastards would never again practice medicine in Tennessee. If they were suspended, their licenses would be withheld by the state for a specific period of time and certain predetermined hurdles would be imposed when the state agreed to reinstate them.
Sean McCoy, sporting a teal bow tie, represented Dr. Herman at the hearing, and Amy Pierce represented Dr. English. The state prosecutor was a geek named Larry Dillingham. Davis tried to help Dillingham, but the prosecutor was hopeless. He was disorganized and inarticulate—a typical state employee. He had risen to his level of incompetency.
Morty explained that the state had a higher burden of proof than the plaintiff did in the Malone case. He predicted, despite the overwhelming proof, that the state, due to incompetency, would fall flat on its face.
Sammie was also concerned. She had read Dillingham’s pleadings, and she didn’t think much of his writing ability.
From Morty’s explanation, Sammie understood that the state, through the Medical Licensing Board, was authorized to issue and regulate medical licenses. The notice of charges accused the doctors of acts that did not involve the lawsuits filed by Davis. An administrative law judge would render rulings on procedure and evidence.
The finder of fact was a panel of physicians appointed by the governor. Tennessee Mutual insured Dr. Dean, an internist, and Dr. Peabody, a general surgeon. Sammie wondered why those panelists, who co-owned Tennessee Mutual with Herman, weren’t conflicted out. The reason was simple; it wouldn’t be easy to find a physician not insured by Tennessee Mutual to serve on the panel.