The reporters practically swooned as he stood on the courthouse steps and talked about the importance of the legal system vis-à-vis medical advances.
I can’t wait for the case to be over, so he can be my official PFLOML! I wonder if he has a smoking jacket with velvet lapels that he wears in the evenings. Does he ever dress casually? Would it be weird of me to ask him? I was thinking about this while Sven answered reporters’ questions, and Amber stepped in to speak on behalf of QUIRC.
As the hammerhead was being interviewed, Sven came to me and said, “You’re doing a marvelous job, Jennifer. Is it unreasonable for me to be jealous because my case takes up all your time?”
I repressed the urge to giggle because he gave me the jim-jams. “Amber’s got everything under control. I’ve got to get back to the office. I’ll call this week to update you.”
“Till then. Adieu.”
No shit, he actually said that, and I realized that an elegant accomplished man who said “adieu” was much more romantic than a confusing lumberjerk.
I returned to the office in Quinty’s Town Car. My boss removed his monocle and said, “You did an excellent job framing the case. ReplaceMax will immediately feel the pressure of public opinion, especially when Dr. Morigi’s cause is so sympathetic.”
“It’s going to be a challenge, sir, letting them squirm before settling, because the victims are suffering and we don’t need to add more stress to those on our witness list.”
Quinty gave me a somber look. “I made a decision last night, Jennifer. We’re not settling. I want to see ReplaceMax demolished in court.”
My mouth dropped open in preparation to saying “Whoa!” but Quinty had anticipated my reaction, because he added, “I believe you’ve met my daughter Kate. She has a degree of fortitude that astonishes me. She bears her grueling days with a smile, but when she talks about the ReplaceMax victims, I can see her anguish. We need to demolish ReplaceMax in court to tell the world that there is no tolerance when the lives of children are at stake. Can I count on you, Jennifer?”
I always tell my clients, “Never automatically reject advice from someone who has far more experience, even when the advice runs counter to your initial reaction,” so I said, “Yes, sir. I shall proceed with a jury trial as my desired outcome. However, I reserve the right to reassess my strategy if I feel that the health of the victims is being compromised by delaying a resolution.”
Quinty said, “The ReplaceMax victims are already doomed, and our priority is to see that others don’t suffer their fate.”
“Sir, I am not willing to abandon hope for the current ReplaceMax victims in order to protect theoretical victims.”
Quinty drew down his eyebrows and then said, “You can take the girl out of the public sector, but you can’t take the pro bono spirit out of the girl.”
“No, sir. Will that be a problem?” I asked as I felt my heart speed up. I was trying to decide whether it would still count as meeting my goal if I lost this job, but Quinty said, “No, it’s not a problem.”
The driver stopped the car and opened the doors for us.
I wanted to jump out and shout “Kapow!” It’s really amazing when I can do the right thing and meet my goals.
My elation wore off by the time I returned to my office. I asked Donner to hold my calls, and then I went to my meditation room, locked the door, kicked off my shoes, took off my skirt, and sat cross-legged on the floor. I thought and thought, and this is all I came up with to help Mavis:
INFECT HER WITH GAMMA RADIATION
PROS: GR infection will cause her to be superstrong and will heal her damaged heart. She will also have great hair and an interesting fashion sense.
CONS: No child has ever been infected, and it’s unknown whether she would survive. If survives, she may not ever grow up at normal human rate. Puberty as a hulk may endanger the planet.
PLACE HER IN SUSPENDED ANIMATION TO AWAIT MEDICAL BREAKTHROUGH
PROS: Painless way to pass time.
CONS: Must overcome mother’s objections, religious or otherwise, and mother will age even as Mavis does not. Initial suspension process feels like a million ants are eating your body. No guarantee on when medical breakthrough will occur.
TRANSPORT HER TO PLANET WITH ATMOSPHERE THAT WON’T TAX BODY
PROS: Most kids dream about interplanetary travel. She’ll be able to add cultural experience to her college applications. She may learn another language.
CONS: Mother may want to keep her on Earth and/or won’t be willing to accompany her. Unless she’s sent via a time/space fold, her body won’t survive the travel.
TRANSFER HER CONSCIOUSNESS TO ANDROID BODY
PROS: Android body will be very low-maintenance and can come in terrific models.
CONS: She will have to undergo routine transfers to age-appropriate bodies. Mother may object to android body.
MAGIC HER TO GOOD HEALTH
PROS: Instant results, and she will be the same human girl but healthy.
CONS: Magic always has unintended consequences, usually deleterious. Mother may object due to religious and/or philosophical reasons.
All in all, magic seems like the best remedy despite the possible side effects. Sometimes I wish we had a truce with Dr. Doom, because he’s skilled at magic, although he prefers scientific solutions, which have more predictable outcomes. He’s also brilliant at creating androids, and they’re phenomenal until they mutiny against him. Well, I can’t say that I blame them.
As determined as I am to help Mavis, I’m not going to contemplate any deal with VvDoom, even if I knew how to find him. Really. There must be alternatives that don’t involve bargaining with a verbose, paranoid, everyone-hates-me-guess-I’ll-just-eat-worms-and-blow-up-a-planet villainous genius. I don’t need to rush to a solution, since Mavis’s condition seems stable.
APRIL 5
COLLEAGUES-WITH-BENEFITS COUNTDOWN: 50 of the 60 days have passed already. How am I going to have an answer for Fritz when I’m in the whirlwind of the work, etc.?
The ReplaceMax lawsuit had all the things the media liked: cute sick kids, heartbreaking stories, corruption, a stunning plaintiff for the prosecution, and a powerful and gorgeous team seeking a legal remedy. Okay, so maybe Amber Hammerhead is more gorgeous than I am. Gorgeouser. Whatever. Regardless, I looked very sharp in news footage with my stylish suits.
Our story got knocked out of the headlines by the infestation of weirdly fluffy frolicsome daytime rats that appeared near the Chrysler Building and were immediately exterminated. I found that a little disturbing, and the director of tourism said, “They’re not only unhygienic, but they’re freaking everyone out. Rats are like cyborgs: the only good ones are dead ones.”
I called the mayor’s office immediately to state my objections re: cyborg bigotry, but my logical mind still can’t convince my girly mind that rats aren’t gross and skeevy.
Sven is the ideal client. He and his media handler made the rounds of the major networks. He looks more like an actor playing a noble scientist than a noble scientist. He presents his case eloquently and effortlessly pivots a conversation to avoid traps set by the reporters. He’s perfect in his somber suit. I’m so glad that I refrained from asking him to wear a white lab coat.
The ReplaceMax spokesperson’s “No comment at this time” might as well have been an admission that they drown puppies and laugh bwaa-ha-ha.
Even with the media attention, I was still surprised when, in an unprecedented act of expediency, our case manager scheduled a May 1 court date.
Holy moley! We have only one month to prepare. How am I supposed to find an apartment now? I am reassessing my priorities, and the apartment has dropped down the list. Called Holden and left a message saying, “In light of the expedited blah blah blah, my apartment hunt is on hold, blah blah blah, and I appreciate your understanding, etc.”
I called Mavis and told her I couldn’t come to story time. All she said was “Okay” and then her mother was on the lin
e. “I’m sorry, Ms. Walters, she’s just disappointed. I’ll explain that you’re busy.”
“I’ll absolutely try to visit when I can.” I tried to think of a way to ask her about alternatives for Mavis, but I didn’t think saying “And what are your feelings about transferring human consciousness to a robotic body?” would be a good way to introduce the topic.
The only way I could prevent other children from being in Mavis’s situation was to focus on the case. I told Dahlia over a dinner, “I don’t know how I’m going to complete all the EBTs, interrogatories, and requests for admission in a month.”
“Refresh my memory. What’s an EBT?”
“It stands for examination before trial. It’s a New York thing. Everyone else says deposition.”
“Okay, what are requests for admission?”
“We send a document that basically says, ‘Admit that you’re a lying douchebag.’ ”
“Does anyone ever admit it?”
“No, either because they’re not lying douchebags or because they are.”
“Then why do you send them out?”
“Dahlia, do you ever ask clients if they’ve colored their own hair, and they deny it, but you can tell they’re lying?”
“All the time. I ask so I won’t be held responsible if their hair falls out like Rodney’s the time he molted.”
“Dogs aren’t supposed to molt. And you wonder why I hate him.”
“I thought you hated him because of his personality.”
“That, too, as well as his frequent noxious emissions.”
D plucked an orange slice off her plate and ate the entire thing, even the peel, before saying, “Rodney can be charming when he chooses to be charming,” which made me laugh so hard that I choked on a mouthful of rigatoni.
After gulping down a glass of water, I said, “I’m deposing Maxwell Kirsch, who’s the Max of ReplaceMax, aka Xam the Man.”
“Xam the Man from Fringe Theory?” When I nodded, she said, “No shit! I heard he’d spontaneously combusted.”
“A lot of drummers do, but not him. He finished his postgraduate work, went to Iceland for a few years to study Arctic biodiversity, and came back to the States and founded ReplaceMax.”
She asked me if Max knew that I was the inspiration for the Gin Cycle, which I am not, and I said, “God, I hope not,” and she told me to stop biting my fingernails.
APRIL 6
Valentine’s Day Resolution efforts are on hold, which is fine since I’m way ahead on points and goals.
We deposed Maxwell Kirsch today. We were in the conference room where I’d been interviewed, which seems like a long time ago. I’d placed his seat so that the glare from the windows would be in his eyes. His water glass was slightly out of reach. His chair was uncomfortable and had a squeak. The idea was to throw him off his game.
As I sat staring at him, a reel ran though my brain of his younger self, Xam the Man. I’d seen him at the concert with his kit set up at the back of the stage, wearing a DO NOT OPERATE WHILE SLEEPING T-shirt, cargo shorts, and huge black-framed glasses. He’d been so skinny, I could practically count every rib through his thin T-shirt. Ellis had told me that I’d like Xam, that he was smart and funny.
He’d since filled out to fit his frame, and his olive skin had a sun-deprived sallowness. His hair was short and sparse across his scalp. He fidgeted uncomfortably in a tweed jacket, and he often referred to a spiral-bound pocket notebook. He seemed like a nice guy, but Shulky awoke inside me because she sensed the fury simmering behind his businesslike veneer.
Max answered our questions succinctly and with “yes” and “no” when he could. It’s always astonishing when people actually follow their attorneys’ instructions. They always say they will, but when it comes time to face opposing counsel, they pull out a freeze grenade or other weapon. Or, more typical with superhumans, they give looong, self-congratulatory speeches with way too much backstory, while I’m waving frantically for them to STFU.
I thought Max might know that I’d dated hooked up with Ellis, which made me feel ooky. Attorneys are used to knowing all the dirt about witnesses, not vice versa. But I couldn’t ask, “Exactly what do you know about my missing pink panties, and when did you know it?” Nevertheless, I tried to maintain my composure as I went through my questions:
ME: What was your response when Dr. Sven Morigi told you of the disparity between his data and your clinical trial report?
MK: I told him that the report was accurate and he must have made an error in his calculation.
ME: How did you know the report was accurate?
MK: I had run the initial numbers myself—three consecutive times to verify them.
ME: What did you do when you were informed of the first organ malfunction, that of Patient A?
MK: Could you be more specific?
ME: When you were told that Patient A was in acute liver failure, did you suspend organ sales?
MK: No.
ME: Why not?
MK: I didn’t suspend organ sales because those organs were biologically healthy and compatible, and because the subjects urgently required transplants.
ME: Dr. Kirsch, are a patient’s chances of survival better if he has an initial transplant with a defective organ and a subsequent traditional transplant, or if he has only the traditional transplant?
Max looked at one of his attorneys, who drew his eyebrows down as a signal.
MK: Transplant surgery has advanced remarkably, but the recovery is still extremely difficult. Each transplant compromises the system.
ME: Yet you continued to offer your defective organs for transplant knowing that they would fail and require replacement.
MK: They weren’t defective. Each organ was grown in stringent conditions for optimal health and tested repeatedly before being delivered. I would sooner lose everything I have than take even the smallest risk that an organ might be defective.
Max’s attorney placed his hand on Max’s arm and said, “I’d like to take a five-minute break.” I used the opportunity to run to the ladies’ room for a pre-emptive pee so I could be composed through the next several hours.
ME: On what date did you fire Dr. Sven Morigi?
MK: He was not an employee and I did not fire him.
ME: Let me rephrase. On what date did you sever your agreement with Dr. Sven Morigi and tell him that he could no longer use your laboratories?
MK: I believe it was March 12.
ME: What reason did you give for firing him? I’m sorry—I meant severing your agreement.
MK: I believed that Dr. Morigi was tampering with the trial results.
ME: So, less than two weeks after Dr. Morigi reported a problem with the organs to you—organs that subsequently failed—you fired him because you suspected he was tampering with trial results?
MK: Yes. (His lawyer cleared his throat.) I didn’t fire him. I severed the contract.
ME: Did you follow the contract’s requirement to go into arbitration before termination?
MK: No, because the contract could be severed due to criminal activity.
ME: (smiling genially) I’m sorry, but I don’t have any record of you filing any reports or charges of criminal activity against Dr. Morigi.
MK: (looking at the table) I planned to take action once I found sufficient proof.
ME: Have you found any proof?
MK: I haven’t found anything conclusive yet. I’ve been occupied with… other things.
ME: Other things? Do you mean dealing with patients undergoing the organ failures that Dr. Morigi warned you about?
MK: (looking at the table, nodding)
ME: Yes or no, Dr. Kirsch?
MK: Yes.
I kept my tone even and my face impassive the entire time. I’d had to practice that in the mirror for weeks, but now I can make my face completely inexpressive in my sleep. After a few hours, the questions began to wear Max down. He leaned from side to side in the uncomfortable chair, and he looked frequentl
y at the out-of-reach water glass as his voice grew hoarse. He had to half-stand awkwardly to get the glass.
Finally, his brow furrowed and I knew that he was doubting himself. I was pleased that I’d been successful, but it wasn’t a happy pleased. It was more of an I’ve filed my tax returns sense of completion. When the questioning was concluded, we stood and exchanged chilly good-byes. As we left the conference room, Max met my eyes, leaned close, and whispered, “So this is what became of Gin.”
It sounded like something on a tombstone. I glanced around, but no one had noticed him speaking to me. He walked into the hallway before I had a chance to respond.
Not that I had a clever response.
Went home, yanked off clothes, and crawled into bed. After ten minutes, I called Dahlia and told her what had happened.
ME: How come I never have any devastating retorts?
D: Because you waste all your energy on torts, not retorts. Why is your voice so muffled? I told you never to call me when you’ve got a blanket over your head.
ME: (pulling the comforter down to my waist and sitting up against the pillows) My voice isn’t muffled.
D: Not now. Stop sulking, Sulky, and meet us at Society Billiards. The salon team is going well-coiffed head-to-head with other salons in a tourney.
ME: No, I’ve had a hellish day. Max, aka Xam, knows about me.
D: A, you are the whiniest superhero I’ve ever met, and, B, I need your mad skilz on the eight-ball table to help us humiliate Fabulous Follicles.
ME: One, I’m not a superhero—Shulky is—and let me assure you that most of them whine and complain incessantly about what a burden it is being superheroes. Two, the last time I played for your team, you forgot to tell me that you were betting and pocketing the winnings, and, three, I have earned a sulk.
D: A, I refuse to accept your spurious hearsay vis-à-vis superwhininess. B, I didn’t want to taint your innocent joy at the delicate sport of princes by making it seem like a cheap moneymaking venture. C, you know every cent I have goes into the salon, where, D, you get free cuts and use of products. Also, E, you need a trim.
The She-Hulk Diaries Page 21