[2013] Consequential Damages

by Joseph Hayes

  Rick donned blue jeans and his red Indiana sweatshirt. There were bound to be plenty of sports fans there, and some of them would certainly remember him as an Indiana University basketball star. It would be a good icebreaker.

  He arrived at Riley’s Pub around nine o’clock. It was packed. As luck would have it, Jimmy was still tending bar, and he immediately recognized Rick from their prior meeting. He introduced the former basketball star to the handful of people at the bar, and Rick was welcomed like a visiting celebrity. He chatted with his new friends, played darts and shot a few games of pool. He found that he was actually enjoying the evening.

  After several hours of this, Rick decided it was time to get to work. He walked up to a crowded table that included several people he had shot pool with earlier in the evening. “I guess pool’s not my game,” he announced with a broad smile and a modest shrug. “Lost again.”

  “Better stick with basketball, Rick,” said Robbie, a skinny guy wearing a striped rugby shirt, with a tone of good-natured superiority. He had beaten Rick at pool earlier in the evening.

  “I don’t know, I think Rick might be hustling you guys. He’s probably the best pool player in this joint,” said Kim, a flirtatious blonde who looked too young to be in a bar, flashing a becoming smile.

  “I wish,” replied Rick. “No, I’m done. I’m tired of losing!” he laughed.

  A balding, round-faced man gestured to an empty chair. “Have a seat, Rick. Let me fill you up.” He grabbed Rick’s half-empty glass and poured beer from a pitcher.

  “Thanks, don’t mind if I do.”

  Someone asked Rick what had brought him to Riley’s. He explained that he was supposed to meet a friend, but the guy hadn’t shown up. Someone else asked about basketball, and why he hadn’t gone pro. He did his best to sound modest, and said he simply wasn’t good enough. Then Rick decided it was time to steer this conversation in the right direction.

  “So Curt, what kind of work do you do?” he asked the round-faced man who had invited him to sit down.

  Curt explained that he worked for a small accounting firm. His father and two brothers were partners in the business, and they officed about a mile up the road.

  “How about you, Robbie?” Rick asked.

  “I’m a fireman,” Robbie replied. “The pay’s not great, but you can’t beat the hours. Lots of free time—I love it.”

  Rick looked at Kim. “Let me guess. You must be a model, right? Haven’t I seen you in the Victoria’s Secret catalog?” They all laughed.

  “I like the way you think. I’d love to get paid for parading around in my underwear.” She looked at him suggestively. “Unfortunately, I work for the IRS. I don’t think they would approve of that.”

  That prompted an onslaught of teasing, which she handled graciously. “How about you, Rick? What do you do now that you’ve moved on from basketball?” Kim asked.

  Sounding as nonchalant as he could, Rick replied, “Well, I’m like Robbie. I’m lucky enough to have a job that I truly enjoy. I’m a lawyer.”

  “A lawyer? That sounds worse than working for the IRS,” Curt remarked. Other good-natured ribbing and bad jokes followed. “You actually like that?” Curt asked.

  “It’s great,” said Rick with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “Partly, I like it because it’s like sports. It’s competitive, the stakes are high, and I love to play the game. But there’s another reason, too. I like it because I can really make a difference for people. When someone gets hurt or is treated unfairly, I can help. I fight for them. Sometimes I can win big bucks for them. It’s like being Robin Hood.”

  “What kind of cases do you handle?” asked a young man named Larry, who had been listening quietly until that point. He had greasy black hair and several days of stubble on his pale face.

  “I focus on representing the little guy who’s been wronged by someone bigger and more powerful. The type of wrong doesn’t really matter. If someone’s been fired unfairly or otherwise treated badly by his employer, if someone has gotten hurt, if a doctor’s been negligent, I’ll fight that fight. And I love it, I really do. I play to win, and there’s nothing more satisfying than winning big bucks for your client. I can really change their lives for the better.” He said this with such sincerity that no one dared make any more lawyer jokes. Then he quickly changed the subject. “Well, enough about me! Who needs a refill?”

  He walked up to the bar, bought a few drinks, carried them back to the table, and politely excused himself. He had planted some seeds, now he needed to circulate through the bar and plant a few more. It was easy. He was good at working a crowd. His good looks, charm, and friendliness made it easy for him to start conversations with total strangers. By the time the conversation concluded, the person he was chatting with would believe that he was a very successful plaintiffs’ lawyer, without ever feeling like he was hustling for business.

  Later in the evening, Rick was sitting at the bar chatting with the bartender when two young men approached. One was Larry, whom he had met earlier. The other was a carrot-top with a ruddy complexion and crooked teeth, who introduced himself as Ace. “Mind if we pick your brain for a few minutes?” Larry asked. He seemed hesitant and nervous, looking around as if he didn’t want to be overheard.

  “Sure thing, fellas. What’s up?”

  “We were hoping for a bit of legal advice,” said Larry, under his breath.

  “No problem,” Rick replied in his most accommodating voice. “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve both gotten screwed by our employers,” said Ace. “We’d like to know if you think either of us has a decent case.”

  “I’d be happy to talk about it,” said Rick. “Let’s move over there, so we can have a little privacy.” He pointed to a booth near the window that had just been vacated.

  Ace was eager to tell his story, and launched into it even before they had sat down. “I work in construction, for a local home builder.” His demeanor was dark and angry as he began reliving his story. “There’s this Mexican guy that was just hired as foreman. Thinks he knows everything. Thinks his shit don’t stink, you know what I mean? He drives all the guys crazy, he’s so goddamn particular. He’s always on our case, and he’s on me more than most. So a couple of weeks ago, I show up at work one morning and he jumps all over me for leaving the construction site a mess the night before. How was I supposed to know the owners were coming by? No one told me. That’s what I say to him, but the guy gets right in my face and he won’t let it go. So I shoved him and told him to get out of my face. I didn’t hit him, I just shoved him. The son of a bitch fires me right there. It’s not right, man. I’d been working there almost two years and never had no problems until this asshole came along. He provoked me!”

  Rick look steadily at Ace, then at Larry. “Look guys, here’s how it works. You’ve got to put yourself in the jury’s shoes. You’ve got to make sure that they see it your way. Nothing in this world is black and white—not much anyway—especially when it comes to employment decisions. If a guy gets fired because he loses his temper, or because he doesn’t get along with his boss or co-workers, there’s almost always more to the story. You’ve got to be able to tell the jury what the rest of the story is. Is there some subtle form of discrimination going on? Is the employee being retaliated against because he was trying to do the right thing? Those things happen all the time. You’ve got to make sure the jury hears those reasons, and if you tell your story the right way, they will. When that happens, they’ll become furious with the company and want to dole out some serious punishment. You know what that translates to in our system? Big piles of cash!”

  Ace was fired up. “I want to nail that bastard!”

  “Then you need to think hard about all the facts leading up to this incident. Like I said, if your story is that you just got mad and shoved your boss, that’s not likely to impress a jury. Think about anything else your boss did before your termination that was unfair. Also, remember that litigation is w
ar. You need to exploit your opponent’s weaknesses. Think about what pressure you could apply that will make him want to avoid a very public fight.” Then reaching into his wallet, he pulled out a business card and handed it to Ace. “If you want to talk further, feel free to call me.”

  “So, do I have a case?” Ace asked.

  Rick looked at him, unsure whether anything he had just said had sunk in. He lifted his beer mug and clinked glasses with Ace. “In the hands of the right lawyer, any case can be a winner. Just think about what I said.”

  “What about you, Larry?” asked Rick, looking across the table. “You mentioned that you’ve got an issue, too.” Larry had been silent throughout the exchange between Rick and Ace, but despite his bleary eyes, had listened with keen interest.

  “Yeah, I got fired, too. I worked for a … retail establishment. It was just like you said. They fired me and gave me some bullshit reasons, but something else was going on.” He seemed reluctant to talk about it. “Can I have one of your cards?”

  “Sure, call me anytime.” Rick handed him several business cards.

  “I don’t have a lot of money, Rick,” Larry said, looking troubled. “I haven’t worked since I got fired. How much do you charge?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Rick said dismissively. “I handle cases on a contingent fee basis. That means that if I agree to take your case, it costs you nothing. My fee comes out of whatever money we recover. If we don’t win, you pay me nothing. If we do, I get thirty percent of any settlement, forty percent if the case goes to trial. So there’s absolutely no risk to you, and you know I’ll be motivated. I’ve got every incentive to score as big as we can because my fees are based on what we recover. So if you’ve got a case, even if it’s a longshot, there’s no reason for you not to pursue it.”

  “That sounds great,” said Larry. “I’ll give you a call. I’m a little smashed right now and want to be sure I’m thinking straight when we get into this.”

  “Call me anytime. I’ll be in the office most of next week.”

  Rick drove home thinking about the evening, Larry and Ace in particular. It was obvious to him that they were a couple of losers who probably deserved exactly what they got from their employers. Nevertheless, he had tremendous confidence in his own resourcefulness. If he heard from them, why not take their cases? It would be a real challenge, a test of his ability. He liked playing against long odds. Good practice, too. And why not use his talents to make their depressing lives just a little bit better? Anyway, it was a moot point, he thought. He would probably never hear from them again.

  CHAPTER 18

  It was Monday, four days after his trip to Cook County Jail. Alice buzzed Jake on his intercom and announced that Mr. Tucker was holding. With considerable reluctance, Jake picked up the receiver. “Hello?” He had difficulty concealing the irritation in his voice.

  “I'm out, man. You did it! They dropped the charges.”

  Jake was astonished. “Are you serious?”

  “Jerome stepped up. He told the prosecutor the real story. He ain't happy, man. He's still pissed at me and he's really pissed at you, but he stepped up. You must have gotten through to him. They released me about an hour ago.”

  “That’s great. I'm happy for you, Shooter. I hope Jerome can learn from this and turn his life around. I also hope that next time I see you is on the basketball court and not in jail!”

  “Me too,” Shooter replied. “Hey thanks, Stanford. I really mean it. I owe you, big time.”

  “Don't mention it, Shooter. Best of luck to you. Stay out of trouble!”

  Jake wondered who would be representing Jerome. It sounded like he had confessed, which meant there would be a plea bargain rather than a trial. In any event, his curiosity about that subject was outweighed by his distaste for it, and his desire to put these people in his past as quickly as possible.

  CHAPTER 19

  Larry Doyle sat in the waiting room of the downtown law office, looking at his worn jeans and dirty boots, feeling self-conscious. He had never had an appointment with an attorney before, so the setting felt foreign. On the other hand, Rick Black struck him as a decent guy, and after all, he had encouraged Larry to come see him.

  Larry thought carefully about his story. His boss had told him that his attitude had been lousy for some time. The boss said he had become unreliable, because he frequently arrived at work late or called in sick. That was bad enough, his boss had told him, but when his bad attitude resulted in rudeness to customers, that couldn’t be tolerated. So he was fired after a customer called the store to complain about him.

  Well, the boss didn't have the complete picture. Those crotchety old ladies were insufferable. They ordered him around, they were condescending, and they complained incessantly. He was hired to make their deliveries, which he did. No one told him that he was expected to unpack their boxes, or take out their trash, or stand there and listen to them drone on when he was in a hurry. It had been a bad morning. He was hung over and that nag, Mrs. Leonard, just pushed his buttons, and he snapped. It could have happened to anyone. He should have been given another chance.

  Rick strode through the glass doors in a charcoal pinstriped suit, looking very much the part of a successful trial lawyer. Larry immediately felt self-conscious again, but Rick greeted him enthusiastically and immediately put him at ease. Rick appeared to be treating him like an important client, which bolstered his confidence.

  Rick escorted Larry to his office and invited him to have a seat in the dark leather chair facing his desk. The office was impressive. Rick’s Stanford and Indiana University diplomas adorned the paneled walls, surrounded by pictures and newspaper headlines of his glory days as a college basketball star. Larry was a fanatic about college basketball, and they chatted briefly about the teams and players who were likely to be the standouts this year. After several minutes of this, Rick leaned back in his chair, folded his hands and looked directly at Larry. “So, let's talk about why you're here, Larry. I believe you told me on Friday that you lost your job.”

  Larry told his story, just as he had rehearsed it in his head. Rick listened attentively, jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad.

  “Is that it?” Rick asked when Larry had finished. Larry detected disappointment in Rick's voice. “I'm afraid it's going to take more than that to get a jury fired up, Larry.”

  Larry started to say something, but stopped. He had been afraid he would hear that. His eyes darted around the room. He had heard every word Rick said Friday night about having a claim that would incense a jury. He had heard what Rick had said about identifying your adversary's pressure points. Larry hadn't been the smartest guy in school, but he was street-smart, he told himself. He could play this game.

  “Larry?” Rick was staring straight at him, eyebrows arched. “Is there more to this story?”

  “Yeah, there is,” Larry replied, looking at the floor. “It's just like you said the other night. The owner of the store was looking for a reason to fire me. Bitching out that old lady was just a convenient excuse. He had it in for me because of something else.”

  “What else?”

  “This is hard to talk about.” He took a deep breath. “The guy was making passes at me. You know, coming on to me. I ain't no fag, man, so I wouldn't give him the time of day. I think that's why he really fired me.”

  Rick was sitting bolt upright now, looking intensely at Larry. “This is important, Larry. Tell me exactly what he said.”

  Larry's eyes darted around the room again. “I don't remember exactly, it's been a few months now,” he stammered.

  “Then tell me the gist of it, if you don't remember the exact words,” Rick demanded.

  “I don't remember, specifically, I mean ... I was so shocked. He basically made clear that he wanted to perform ... some kind of ... sex act with me.” Larry fumbled for his words. “I'm sorry, this is really embarrassing.”

  Rick ignored the apology. “What kind of sex act, Larry?” His tone
was impatient.

  “Shit, I don't remember. I was so stunned.”

  “Where did this happen? And when? Did you tell anybody?”

  “Hell no, I didn't tell anybody. Would you? It's embarrassing, and humiliating. Who knows what they might think of me. It was in the store. It started a few months before I got fired. It actually happened several times.”

  “Where in the store? Precisely where did it happen, on any of those occasions?”

  “Hell if I know, I can’t remember—in the back room, I think, when no one was around. Does it matter where?”

  Rick put his pen down and leaned back in his chair, studying the man across the desk from him, skepticism written all over his face. He stood, walked toward the window and stared out at Lake Michigan. After a long silence, he turned around. The skeptical look on his face had transformed to one of eagerness and intensity.

  “Larry, first of all, let me say that I'm really sorry for what you had to endure. That's absolutely terrible. But that's why we have laws and a court system. You and I are going to make that bastard pay! But we've got to put together a game plan. And you need to do exactly as I say. Got it?”

  The surprise was evident on Larry's face. The story sounded like bullshit, even to him. Yet here was this hotshot lawyer ready to take on his case. “That's great, Rick. Awesome! I really appreciate it. Just tell me what we need to do.”

  “First, let me get some background information.” He proceeded to ask Larry about the business where he'd worked, its owner, and Larry's employment history, among other things. “Tell me more about your former boss, Larry. What kind of guy is he? What makes him tick? What things are most important to him?”