Dark Money

by Larry D. Thompson

  “How did you know Mr. Irasmus?”

  Maurice looked at Whatley. “A little background might be helpful. I was born and raised in New Orleans.” He pronounced it Nawleans. “Started playing the trombone when I was nine. By the time I was sixteen I was pretty good. Started filling in for some bands in the quarter. One of them was Ike’s band. Wasn’t long before I was full time with him. We were living the good life. Ike was on his way to being a super star. He could play and sing and write music. I thought he would be the next Louis Armstrong and I would be set for life. That all changed when he had that trouble with the law and ended up in Angola. Still, I spent my whole career playing in bands. Would probably still be doing it if I hadn’t come down with lung cancer a few years back. I beat the big C but lost a lung in the process.”

  Jack could see that Maurice liked to talk. Unless he was very specific in his questions, they could be there all day. He got to the point.

  “You’ve already provided us with sheet music to We Was Doing All Right.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who wrote that song and arrangement?”

  Maurice looked at him with surprise. “I done told you on the phone a couple of months ago that this man right here, Ike Irasmus, wrote it.”

  “Understand, Mr. Wilkins, I just need you to say it under oath.”

  “Oath, no oath. Doesn’t make a damn. Ike wrote it. I ought to know. I played it until I came down with cancer.” He nodded at Ike for emphasis.

  Jack reached into a pile of papers in front of him. “I’m handing you Exhibits A through F to your deposition. Can you identify them?”

  “Yes, sir. I certainly can. Those are the sheet music to more songs that Ike wrote. See there at the bottom. He signed every page. Little faded now, but even with my bad eyes I can make out his signature.”

  Whatley had started shifting and a slight twitch appeared in his left eye, the one that always popped up when he realized that a lawsuit suit was not going well.

  “Now,” Jack continued, “I’m handing you Exhibit G. It’s a list of the songs on T-Buck’s latest album. Can you identify any of those?”

  “Absolutely. There’s A through F and We Was Doing All Right. Ike also wrote the rest of them. There’s still a bunch of the old boys around Nawleans. I’ve got them looking for the sheet music. I expect to find music for all of them, written thirty-five, forty years ago. But, I can sit right here with God as my witness and swear that he wrote them all.”

  Whatley had been slowly tapping his pen on the table. With the last answer, he dropped it. “Jack, I see you have an office back there. Maybe we could take a short recess.”

  Jack smiled his agreement. He winked at Ike as he rose from the table and led the way back to his office. After shutting the door, he motioned for Whatley to take a seat. He went around the desk and leaned back in his chair. “So, what’s on your mind?”

  Whatley crossed his legs and tried to appear relaxed. “Look, Jack, I checked you out even before we had that hearing. I called a few friends in Texas. I know your reputation. Looks like that if we try this one, you’ll be bringing half of New Orleans to back Ike. You haven’t heard T-Buck’s side of this. He’ll also tell a very convincing story. So, let’s split the writer’s royalty fifty-fifty. It’ll be more money than Ike ever thought he would have in his life.”

  “Not good enough, Nick. You’re not going to win in Fort Worth. The jury will find that your client stole from mine. I might add that we will also be seeking punitive damages for the theft of personal property. Case like this, that could be in the millions. Here’s what I’ll recommend. We’ll allow T-Buck to have the artist’s royalties. Ike gets the writer’s, from the time the album first came out and T-Buck started singing Ike’s songs in concerts. We’ll drop our claim for punitive damages. And one more thing to sweeten the pot. If Ike can get his personal life settled down, he would like to start writing again. He’ll give T-Buck the right of first refusal for five years. We’ll want a full accounting of receipts brought current and then monthly, and Ike will be listed as the writer with ASCAP and any other similar agencies. That’s a good deal for both sides.”

  Silence filled the room while Whatley considered his options. Finally, he replied. “I’ll need to talk to my client or his agent.”

  “That’s why I asked you to have his agent on standby. I’ll step to the front. Jack walked around the desk and stopped at the door. “Oh, and tell the agent that if we leave here without a deal, the next step will be the courthouse. No more negotiations.”

  Jack made more coffee and made idle conversation with Whatley’s two young associates who had no idea what was happening. After a long thirty minutes, Whatley came from the back. “We have a deal.”

  Jack rose to shake his hand, a confirmation of agreement among gentlemen. “Now, let’s dictate the terms of our deal to the court reporter. Then I’ll rely on you to draft the papers. I’m not much for drafting contracts, but I can read them to make sure they match our agreement.” Ike looked at Jack. His eyes grew big as he listened to the two lawyers dictate the agreement with the final conclusion that the papers would be signed in thirty days. The first accounting and a check to Ike would follow two weeks thereafter.

  Once the opposing lawyers and the court reporter left, Ike grabbed Jack in a bear hug. “I think I understood all of that, but go over it for me one more time.”

  “Maurice, this agreement is confidential. I didn’t ask you to step outside, but you’ve got to keep quiet about this.”

  Maurice nodded his understanding.

  As Jack went through the agreement again, tears welled up in his client’s eyes as he thought about buying a house with a yard for Trousers. “You sure this is going to go through?”

  “As sure as I can be about any settlement. They don’t want to face us at the courthouse. You figure on staying here in Fort Worth?”

  No hesitation.

  “My life changed completely here. Not going back to New Orleans. I’m going to get with Colby and start looking for a house. I want out of that shelter as soon as I can.” He smiled. “Besides, I need to get in a house so I can make you and your family some of the world’s best gumbo.” Ike got serious. “Jack, there’s going to be enough money that I should pay you a percentage as a fee.”

  Jack shook his client’s hand. “Nothing doing. I told you my fee on this case was gumbo. Nothing else.”

  40

  January came and went. It started with a disappointment. TCU made it to the final four and then lost to USC in the semi-finals. Their quest for a national championship would continue next year, only this time without J.D. who had graduated in three and a half years and was training for the NFL combine and looking forward to the draft. He didn’t tell Tanya, but he really wanted to play for the Cowboys. He figured that Tony Romo was good for a few more years and he liked the way that Romo ran the offense. Colby sold her house. Jack arranged for his clients to tour it and pick out two items each. That drew a story in the Star Telegram since the furnishing were worth well over a hundred grand. Colby showed houses to Ike on the west side of town. He settled on one on Hillcrest, a block south of Camp Bowie, in a neighborhood that had seen several generations of families raise children. The street had been described by more than one person as looking like it had been drawn by Norman Rockwell for the old Saturday Evening Post. Ike liked one with a big porch facing west. He hoped it would still be available when he got his money. He pictured himself, sitting in a rocker on that porch in the late afternoon, visiting with the children who roamed the neighborhood and with Trousers either resting under his feet or chasing squirrels in the front yard.

  It was a sunny day in early February when everything changed. Jack enjoyed the sunshine as he walked across the parking lot to the RV. He turned off the heat and opened a couple of windows in his office. It was mid-morning when he heard the door open. A familiar face appeared. Jack got to his feet.

  “Walt, good to see you. Governor must be in town
. If it’s another fundraiser, count me out.” As he spoke he realized that Walt’s face was grim. “On second thought, let me get you some coffee. Looks like you have a problem.”

  Jack poured a cup and handed it to Walt. So far, Walt had not said a word. They walked back to his office. Walt took a seat and pitched a stack of papers toward his friend. “I’m being sued. In fact, everyone involved is being sued except you. Looks like I did you a favor when I asked you to go to the front to check out that gate crasher; so, you weren’t there when the shit hit the fan.”

  Jack raised his hand. “Hold on, Walt. Let me read through this. Drink your coffee while I do.”

  Jack did as he always did when reading a complicated pleading for the first time. He put it on his desk, uncapped a yellow highlighter and read slowly, trying to absorb it all. Occasionally, he would highlight a sentence or a paragraph. He took so long that Walt went back to the kitchen and retrieved the coffee pot to refill both cups. After twenty minutes he flipped the petition back to the first page and looked at Walt.

  “Let me try to summarize this. The plaintiffs are Maria Hale, Edward’s widow, six of his adult children from prior marriages, his estate, and Kevin O’Connell, the fundraiser. The defendants are you and the other members of the detail, the Fort Worth cops, Texstate Guardians, the security service that provided the guards, and the DPS, including Colonel Burnside. They’re claiming that all of you were negligent and grossly negligent in carrying out your duty to the public on that night. As to your detail, they say that you abandoned your post when you took the governor and his wife out the back. Particularly, they say that if you had at least left a couple of agents behind, they might have kept the assassin’s head down long enough for others to get off the stage. They call it cover fire, probably a reasonable description. They claim that all of the defendants contributed to what’s called a ‘State-Created Danger’ in that you put Edward Hale, Kevin O’Connell and Governor Lardner in a more precarious position by your actions.”

  Walt stared at the floor and spoke in a barely audible voice. “I told you that there was concern among the detail about what our duty would be to the public if we took Lardner out of harm’s way when others were in danger.”

  “Look, Walt. Just forget that for now. And tell the other members of the detail to keep their mouths shut about that debate. We’ll deal with it later on.”

  “Understood.”

  “Let me go on. The Hales are claiming physical pain and mental anguish for the loss of their husband and father, standard stuff in this kind of lawsuit. Maria and the kids are claiming they lost billions of potential inheritance. Then O’Connell is saying that his PAC lost millions from pledges that were not honored that night and continuing damages because his PAC has had its reputation damaged. He would have benefited to the tune of millions of dollars in fees if you guys had done your job. Interesting that he didn’t name Stepper or SOS. My guess is that he didn’t want any lawyer nosing around in their finances.”

  “Hell, Jack, I make enough to put food on the table for my family and roof over their heads. Same with the rest of the detail and the other cops. It may be time for me to go into some other line of work. You need a private investigator?”

  “Calm down and let me talk. First, the state will be providing the detail and the DPS with a defense. You could be defended by the state’s lawyers; only I want to be defending you. The attorney general has some good lawyers, but most of them don’t know beans about trying lawsuits. And, no, it won’t cost you any money. Even if you weren’t a good friend, you’ve seen that sign in the window. I thrive on big litigation and this one is going to be a barn burner.

  “Next, they aren’t after you. They know you don’t have a pot to piss in. The plaintiffs are looking for money from the state, from the city of Fort Worth, and maybe even that security agency has a big insurance policy. So you don’t need to worry about losing your house. It’s not going to happen.

  “Last, lawsuits aren’t always about money. For example, O’Connell may figure he can win this case and even if he can’t collect a judgment, he can re-establish some credibility with the fat cats in the Republican Party.

  “And one more thing. Discovery in a civil case in Texas is fairly wide open. Doesn’t mean there aren’t some limits, but the rule is that if discovery might lead to something admissible, we can get it. I say that because we still don’t know who was behind the attack. Could be our discovery will start us in the right direction. In other words, we may follow the money and see where it leads. That’s secondary to getting a verdict in your favor, but that knowledge might help us.”

  Walt stood and rolled his head until his neck popped. “Gets that way when I’m under stress. Interesting that it never was a problem while we were dealing with the assassination. Would you be willing to defend the rest of the detail?”

  Jack crossed his arms and leaned back, gazing at the ceiling as he pondered the question and any potential conflicts. “Yeah, I’ll do it if Burnside agrees. It’ll just be one less lawyer that I’ll have to coordinate our defense with. Now, let me check two things.” Jack went back to the petition and a smile broke out on his face. “We’re in Judge Jamison’s court. She and I get along well. That’s definitely a positive. In fact, I just wound up a case for a pro bono client that was in her court.” He flipped to the back of the petition. “Plaintiff lawyer is Cecil Christiansen. He’s with a big firm in Dallas that has connections with the Republican Party. He’s got a Rambo reputation, like a lot of Dallas lawyers.”

  Walt looked puzzled. “What’s that mean?”

  “Means he fights tooth and toenail about every little thing, whether it’s important or not. He wants to show how tough he is. Not a problem for me. I’ve dealt with his kind plenty of times. Just means we’ll be spending more time at the courthouse, fighting about discovery and depositions. All the more reason that I’m glad to be in Judge Jamison’s court. She’ll listen to me. Now, you want to come out to the house and have dinner, or, are you headed back to Austin?”

  “I’m heading back. I just didn’t want to drop this on you by phone. Mary was worried before. Now, she’s in a panic that we might end up living on the street. I’ll tell her what you’re saying. Maybe it’ll calm her, at least a little.” Walt hesitated. “I gotta tell you I was worried when I was on administrative suspension, but that’s nothing compared to being sued for billions of dollars.” He turned and left the trailer without even shaking Jack’s hand. Jack watched him walk to his car, head down and hands stuffed in his pockets. He sympathized with Walt. He knew from experience that once someone was entrapped in a big lawsuit, it ate at their insides and never left their mind until it was finally over. Walt and Mary would be no different. Only with Walt it could be worse. Jack worried about his PTSD and whether it would flare up again. He considered trying to get Walt some counseling and quickly discarded the idea. If Walt saw a psychologist, it would be discoverable and PTSD would become another issue that could have impacted on Walt’s conduct on the night of the Halloween attack. The only alternative would be that he would have to be Walt’s confidant.

  41

  Jack turned into his driveway and circled around the house to find J.D.’s truck parked there. He had been on auto pilot as he drove home with his mind on the new lawsuit, styled Maria Hale, et al, v. The State of Texas, et al. He would now call it the Hale case. His countenance brightened when he saw J.D.’s truck. He was seeing more of his son now that college was behind him.

  He entered the house and found J.D. and Colby talking in the living room. J.D. had a bottle of water in his hand and Colby had Cabernet on the end table beside her seat on the couch. “What a surprise. We’re finally using the living room. About time.”

  Colby got up and kissed him. J.D. hugged him.

  “What can I fix you, hon?” Colby asked.

  “A beer would suit me just fine.”

  Jack took a seat on the couch. Colby returned with a beer and squeezed his hand as she sat
beside him. Jack took a stiff drink. “Ah, I needed that.”

  “Tough day?”

  Jack hesitated. “Yeah, a little. Looks like I’m right back in the middle of the fundraising fiasco.”

  J.D. moved forward in his seat. “What’s going on now? By the way, my teammates think that you must be one tough mother after that SWAT team assault.”

  “Walt came by the RV today. He and everyone else involved in security that night have been sued by Edward Hale’s family and Kevin O’Connell, the fundraiser. I’ll be defending Walt and the DPS.”

  “They didn’t sue you?” Colby asked.

  “No. They must have figured out that I was in front when the shooting started.” Jack took Colby’s hand and turned to look at her. “Hon, I know we were talking about late spring, but with this new case, it may interfere. I’m sorry.”

  Colby gave him a kiss. “That’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Maybe I’ll join the team if this is going to be such a big case.”

  “This can’t go beyond these four walls. I’m worried about Walt again. From the way he is acting, I think his PTSD is fixing to roar back. We’ll have to support him and Mary all we can. And, no, I can’t let him go to a shrink.”

  The next day Jack received a call from Walt, saying that Colonel Burnside was delighted that Jack would defend the DPS as well as Walt. He insisted on paying for Jack’s time, but Jack declined. Once he hung up the phone, Jack prepared the answer for his clients. In Texas that was easy. All Jack had to say was that the Defendants Walter Frazier and the D.P.S. denied the allegations in the Plaintiff’s Petition. He could always go back and amend the answer to allege what are called affirmative defenses. Jack picked the form from the computer data bank and was about ready to e-file it with the Tarrant County District Clerk when he stopped. Wait a minute, he thought, I need to be the aggressor. If there’s one thing that O’Connell doesn’t want to give up, it’s his list of donors. He touted this as a fund raiser for a social welfare organization. He’ll go ballistic when he finds out I’m coming after the names and addresses and amounts pledged that night. For that matter, I might as well ask for all of the contributors to all of his PACs. Judge Jamison may not go that far. Hell, maybe I’ll even come up with a Constitutional argument that these dark PACs, as most people call them, are a violation of some damn amendment.