[2013] Consequential Damages

by Joseph Hayes

  “Love you, too. See you soon.”

  There was no point in alarming Amanda, especially at this hour, Jake thought. He needed more time to sort this out. He would talk to Demetrius in the morning.

  CHAPTER 41

  Shooter was glad he had reached Jake the night before. He was convinced that the white-haired “investigator” was up to no good, but he had done all he could. The guy had not returned, and Shooter didn’t expect him to.

  The evening’s basketball games had just finished. As was his custom, Shooter lingered with the teenaged ballplayers in the parking lot afterwards. This was what Reverend Lonnie called rap time, which Shooter saw as one of the most important aspects of his job. It was a time to visit with the kids and just talk, about whatever came up. There was no agenda, other than to get to know the kids and have them get to know him. That built trust. Sometimes Reverend Lonnie joined him, but most nights Shooter was on his own—just him and a bunch of teenagers. Sometimes the kids would ask about his past, or Reverend Lonnie’s. That was an opportunity to impart life's lessons without sounding preachy or forcing it upon them. That's when they might really listen.

  There were six of them hanging out with Shooter that evening. Four of them he knew fairly well, the other two, Lamarcus and Rashid, were newcomers. They talked tough and acted tough. They were loud and boastful, not unlike he had been at their age. Shooter’s instincts told him they were trouble, but he had learned patience, and had come to view tough cases as a challenge. It was kids like these that needed direction most.

  After nearly an hour, Shooter was ready to lock up the gym and call it a night. As he played with the keys in his pocket and started dropping hints that it was time to move on, three cars careened around the corner and screeched to a halt. Doors flew open and bodies leapt out before the cars had even reached a stop.

  Shooter assessed the situation in an instant. “Y'all split,” he yelled to the kids gathered around him. “To the gym—now!” No further encouragement was needed, as the young ballplayers bolted to the gym. Shooter held his ground, as the screaming mob raced toward him waving tire irons, chains and knives. He kept his hands in his pockets, and walked slowly toward them, trying to look as casual as he could. He knew that any word or action perceived as a challenge would be a serious mistake.

  “Out of the way, motherfucker! We want Lamarcus Jackson,” said a large bald man leading the pack. Gangbangers seeking revenge for something, Shooter surmised.

  “This is a church. It ain’t a place for violence.” Shooter replied, in a voice that was loud, but calm.

  “Church, my ass! Where's Jackson?” The bald man brandished a shiny switchblade, inches from Shooter’s face.

  Shooter’s impulse was to thrash this punk, but there were too many, and they had weapons. More important, it was no longer his way. He had vowed to himself to set the right example for his kids.

  “You heard of Lonnie Cole?” Shooter asked the group. “This is his church. Like I said, this ain’t a place for fighting. We don't want no trouble here. Why don't you –”

  Two gunshots rang out. Another gangbanger emerged from the crowd, a silver handgun pointed toward the sky. He lowered the gun and pointed it directly at Shooter. “The next bullet is for Lamarcus Jackson. If you don’t get his sorry ass out here, it'll be for you!”

  Shooter’s mind raced, as he desperately tried to find words that might defuse the situation. He raised his hands, palms outward, in a gesture intended to show that he was unarmed and not looking for trouble. Suddenly, sirens blared nearby. The crowd made for their cars and the man with the gun glared at Shooter, then turned and sauntered back toward the street, gun at his side.

  “This is a church,” Shooter yelled after him. “Don’t come back, unless you’re coming to pray!” The man whirled quickly and fired a single shot. Shooter gasped, as pain seared his abdomen, the force of the blow knocking him backwards and off his feet. He tried sitting up, and slowly peeled back his shirt so that he could examine the wound. He could see blood gushing from a hole just beneath his ribcage. He felt a burning sensation, but worse than that he could feel that something was torn up inside. The world began to move in slow motion. He saw faces looking down at him. He saw Reverend Lonnie standing over him, saying something, but it was just sound. He couldn’t understand the words. Then the sounds ceased, and he heard no more. The faces became blurry, and started to fade. Then all was black.

  CHAPTER 42

  The evening following Shooter's phone call, Jake was working late again. He was tired, having gotten little sleep the previous night as he pondered the strange phone conversation. He had decided to tell no one. He didn’t want to alarm his family unnecessarily, and he knew the police would do nothing, since there had been no actual threat. He also decided not to tell Demetrius, because he wasn’t sure it had any bearing on the USH case, and Demetrius would undoubtedly question him about the source of this information. Jake was not eager to call attention to the fact that he had represented a former drug dealer with a felony record. Reporting the matter to Judge Trainor also seemed like a bad idea. The judge was already hostile toward Jake and his firm, and might consider such a report to be some sort of ploy, perhaps an attempt to make unfair innuendoes and disparage the opposing side. Besides, there was no evidence whatsoever that Shooter's information had any bearing on the USH case, and Judge Trainor would certainly point that out. He couldn’t risk antagonizing the judge any further.

  The most logical explanation in Jake's mind was that the opposing side was looking for dirt on him. He had never been involved in a high-stakes lawsuit with a powerful plaintiffs' class action firm, and for all he knew, this could be standard procedure for them. If that were the case, he had nothing to worry about—there was no dirt to be found. Perhaps they wanted him to know that some sinister looking figure was asking questions about him. Maybe their motive was to scare him and distract his attention from the case. That was precisely what was happening, and if he informed others of the situation, the distraction would only grow. So he concluded there was nothing to be done but to follow Shooter's advice to remain vigilant.

  By 10 p.m., Jake decided to call it quits for the evening. He was exhausted and had a pounding headache. It had been another fifteen-hour day of intense trial preparation, and he was operating on very little sleep. He took the elevator to the basement level and exited at the parking garage. The garage was deserted, as it normally was at this hour. Jake felt an aching, numbing fatigue overtaking him as he trudged toward his car, unfocused and oblivious to his surroundings. He climbed in and started the engine.

  “Turn off the ignition.” The voice came from the back seat. Jake was instantly jolted into a state of alertness by a rush of fear and adrenaline.

  “Do not turn around.” Jake glanced into the rearview mirror, and saw a man wearing a black ski mask that completely concealed his face. He held a gun, pointed at the back of Jake’s head. His voice was neither angry nor threatening. It was perfectly calm, and completely devoid of any emotion, which made it all the more chilling.

  “Listen carefully, Mr. McShane. My instructions to you are very simple: Drop the USH case. Find some excuse, but make sure that your involvement with that case terminates immediately. I will be watching. I can get to you at any time. And don’t try to be a hero. I’ll be watching your family, too.”

  Jake was trembling, partly out of fear, and partly out of rage at this intruder and at his own helplessness.

  “Do as I ask, Mr. McShane, and you will never hear from me again. Ignore my request, and I promise, you will regret it.” He opened the rear door. “Stay right here for ten minutes. Do not leave a second earlier. After that, you can go home to Amanda and Anna. And one more thing—tell no one about our little conversation.” The door slammed and he was gone.

  Jake stared straight ahead for several minutes, then tentatively looked around. The garage was silent and empty. He was shaking so badly he didn’t know whether he could drive. He took se
veral deep breaths to calm himself. He could focus on only one thought: his family. The fact that this maniac knew Amanda and Anna by name chased all other thoughts from his mind. A feeling of dread and terror gripped him as he struggled to understand what was happening. Then another realization struck him as the creepy voice replayed itself in his mind. The man had an unmistakable Southern drawl.

  CHAPTER 43

  Jake sat in the parking garage for a full fifteen minutes after the man in the ski mask had departed, then he raced home. The exhaustion he’d been feeling thirty minutes before was long gone, replaced by a state of high alert and high anxiety. He sped through the city streets trying to decide what to do next, but his attempts to think clearly were overcome by a feeling of dread and panic, knowing that his family might be in danger.

  Amanda was sleeping when Jake arrived at home. She awoke when she heard him speaking loudly on the kitchen telephone. He sounded agitated.

  “Problems with the case?” she asked sleepily. Then she looked at him more closely. He looked pale and shaken. “Jake, what is it?”

  He hesitated, then told her everything—the call last night from Shooter, the incident in the parking garage and the phone conversation he had just had with the police. Amanda listened in stunned silence.

  “Jake, this is really scary. What should we do?”

  “I don't know. I can’t seem to think straight. The police are on their way. I better let Demetrius know, too.”

  It was past eleven o'clock, and Jake didn’t relish the idea of contacting Demetrius at home with this news. He was confident that Demetrius would be irritated, but he was under standing orders to contact Demetrius, day or night, whenever there was a significant development in the case. To Jake's surprise, Demetrius’s reaction was one of genuine concern rather than annoyance. He made no mention of the case, and focused solely on the safety of Jake and his family.

  “I know the Chief of Police personally, and I'm going to call him right now,” said Demetrius. “I’ll have them station some officers outside your house immediately. Can I do anything for you? Would you like me to come over?”

  “No, I don't think that’s necessary,” Jake replied. “The police are on their way, but thanks for offering, Demetrius.”

  “Let's meet in my office first thing in the morning, at eight o'clock. I'll have the police there. And then we're going to pay a visit to Judge Trainor.”

  Jake was happy to see Demetrius spring into action, since he felt paralyzed. He had reservations about approaching Judge Trainor with this information. He had no proof of anything, and the judge might be skeptical. But he was happy to let Demetrius do the thinking on this point. His thoughts were scattered. The adrenaline was wearing off and exhaustion was setting in. The police arrived within a matter of minutes and Jake repeated what he had already told them by phone. They assured him they would remain parked right outside for the remainder of the evening.

  Jake spent another night with very little sleep, tossing and turning, realizing full well that if someone had a goal of distracting him on the eve of trial, they were doing a fine job.

  At eight o’clock the next morning, he entered Demetrius's office. Walter Tomczak, the Chief of Police himself, was there, along with a man named Webster, whom Tomczak introduced as his finest detective. After introductions had been made, Tomczak said, “I have personally contacted Judge Trainor, and he's asked all of us to meet in his chambers immediately. He has summoned opposing counsel as well. The judge thought it best that all of us hear your story at the same time, Mr. McShane.”

  Demetrius was clever, Jake thought. It must have been his idea to have the Chief of Police call Judge Trainor. The judge would be more likely to receive the news with an open mind if it came through that channel rather than through his law firm.

  By eight thirty, they were all crowded into the judge's comfortable but cramped quarters. Rick Black arrived a few minutes later, and seemed surprised by the group that was gathered there. Judge Trainer looked uncharacteristically somber as he commenced the meeting. “Gentlemen, as some of you know, there was an incident last night that is of the utmost concern to me and to this court. It is also a matter of serious concern to the police, and of course, to Mr. McShane and his family. Jury selection in the USH trial is scheduled to begin tomorrow, and opening arguments are scheduled for Monday. It is my duty to protect the integrity of that process. This trial must be orderly, and free of any distractions or prejudicial influences, but of even greater importance is the safety of the participants. Issues have arisen that are very troubling. I need to know about these events, so I can determine what impact, if any, they will have on this trial. I believe it best that all of us present hear about these events at the same time, so no one feels that anything is taking place behind their back. This will enable all parties to provide whatever input they have about how we should proceed.”

  Rick looked confused. “Excuse me, Your Honor, but I'm in the dark here. I have no idea what you're talking about. Could someone please enlighten me?”

  “I'm sorry to keep you in the dark, Mr. Black,” said the judge. “I haven’t heard the complete story myself yet. Mr. McShane, I'd like you to brief all of us. Tell us everything you can remember about last evening’s events.”

  Jake recounted the story in as much detail as he could remember. He felt every eye staring at him intently as he spoke. Webster took copious notes. He stopped Jake when he had reached the point in his story where the intruder walked away from the car.

  “Did you watch him as he walked away?” Webster asked.

  “No, I stared straight ahead, until I felt it was safe to look around.”

  “So you didn't get a look at his size, his build, the way he walks, anything like that?”

  “I'm afraid not.”

  “And you never saw his face?”

  “No. Like I said, he was wearing a dark ski mask that completely covered his face.”

  “So we have no description and no witnesses.”

  “No.”

  “What about his voice? Was there anything distinctive about it?”

  “He had a Southern accent. Georgia or Alabama maybe, I’m not sure. And that leads me to something else.” Jake described the call he had received from Shooter the night before last.

  “That may help. There could be a connection, and maybe we can get a good description from this Shooter guy. Where can I find him?” Webster asked.

  “I don’t know. I hadn’t heard from him in years, but he called me several times earlier this week. My secretary should have his phone number.”

  “Good. I’ll get somebody on that right away. Excuse me for a moment.” Webster made a call on his cell phone and gave someone instructions to find Darnell Tucker and set up an appointment for later that morning.

  Chief Tomczak stood up and looked around the room. “Here’s what I’d like to know: Who would do this? Who has enough at stake in this trial to want to cause trouble for the defendants? Are there plaintiffs that stand to collect big dollars here?”

  Judge Trainor leaned back in his reclining chair. “I’ve been asking myself the same question since I first heard about this. This case has thousands of plaintiffs, Walter— anybody that might have been overbilled by USH. The amount of potential recovery by any particular individual is not likely to be significant. We’re talking about a few hundred dollars in most cases, maybe a few thousand for some. Even if punitive damages are awarded, no single plaintiff is going to get rich off this.”

  Then he looked at Rick. “The biggest winner from a financial standpoint would be Sullivan & Leach, Mr. Black’s law firm. However, I’m sure the attorneys at that firm do quite well financially, and would have no need to stoop to tactics like this. Besides, they would know that I would personally see to it that any attorneys involved in something like this would not only be disbarred, they’d be criminally prosecuted and sent to jail.” He looked steadily at Rick as he said this.

  “Unfortunately, as we all know,
there are a lot of kooks out there,” Rick pointed out. “There’s been plenty of publicity surrounding this case. It’s an emotional subject for many people. A former patient may have very hostile feelings toward the company, even if he doesn’t have a great deal of money at stake in the trial. A former employee may hold a grudge and want to see the company punished. Anything is possible.”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Black is right,” Chief Tomczak said. “It could be anyone. We don’t have a lot to go on.”

  Webster’s cell phone rang. The group waited in silence as he took the call. Webster listened intently, then terminated the call, looking gravely at the group. “Darnell Tucker has been shot, early yesterday evening. It appears to be some sort of gang incident, but who knows? He’s alive, at least for now, but he’s not in good shape.”

  An elderly woman opened the door, and waved a newspaper at Judge Trainor. “I thought you might want to see this, Judge.”

  He beckoned her in, and she handed him the paper, pointing to an article on page three. “Dammit,” the judge muttered, handing the paper to Chief Tomczak.

  “Shit!” Tomczak exclaimed upon looking at the headline. It read, “USH Counsel Threatened on Eve of Trial.” “Some reporter must have picked this up on the scanner last night when the officers were dispatched to Mr. McShane’s house.”

  A grim silence possessed the group as the paper was passed from person to person. Judge Trainor broke the silence. “I will not have this trial become a media circus,” he announced with resolve in his voice. “And I will not allow anything to interfere with the fairness of these proceedings. I would hate to delay this trial any further, but you are the person scheduled to try this case, Mr. McShane, and you are the person most directly affected by these developments. I’d like to hear from you. What should we do here?”

  Jake had been hoping the decision would be made for him. He didn’t want to irritate the judge by requesting a delay. Moreover, he wanted the trial over with, and he was ready to try the case, or at least he thought he was, until last night. “I don’t know that I can answer that question, Judge,” Jake replied. “I’m ready to try this case, but I have to consider the safety of my family. I’m sorry, but that needs to come first.”