“About twenty years,” Rochelle said.
“So, some of these folks have not been heard from in many years, right?”
“That’s right,” she said. “Some are probably dead; some moved away. A lot of these folks won’t be too happy to get a letter from Finley amp; Figg.”
“If they’re dead, let’s hope Krayoxx got ’em,” Wally blurted and followed it with a loud laugh. Neither David nor Rochelle saw the humor. A few minutes passed without a word. David was thinking about his room upstairs and all the work it needed. Rochelle was watching the clock, waiting on 5:00 p.m. Wally was happily casting a wider net for new clients.
“What kind of a response do you expect?” David asked. Rochelle rolled her eyes as if to say “Zero.”
Wally paused for a second and shook the stiffness out of his signing hand. “Great question,” he admitted, then rubbed his chin and gazed at the ceiling as if only he could answer such a complex question. “Let’s assume that 1 percent of the adult population in this country is taking Krayoxx. Now-”
“Where did you get 1 percent?” David interrupted.
“Research. It’s in the file. Take it home tonight and learn the facts. So, as I was saying, 1 percent of our pool is about thirty people. If 20 percent of the pool has had problems with heart attacks or strokes, then we’re down to about, say, five or six cases. Maybe seven or eight, who knows. And if we believe, as I do, that each case, especially a death, is worth a couple mill, then we’re looking at a very nice payday. I get the sense that nobody else around here believes me, but I’m not going to argue.”
“I haven’t said a word,” Rochelle replied.
“Just curious. That’s all,” David said. A couple of minutes passed, then he asked, “So when do we file some big lawsuit?”
Wally, the expert, cleared his throat in preparation for a mini-seminar. “Very soon. We have Iris Klopeck signed up, so we could file tomorrow if we wanted. I plan to get Chester Marino’s widow on board as soon as the funeral is over. These letters go out today; the phones’ll start ringing in a day or so. With some luck, we might have half a dozen cases in hand within a week, then we’ll file. I’ll start drafting the lawsuit tomorrow. It’s important to file quickly in these mass tort cases. We’ll drop the first bomb here in Chicago, get the headlines, and every person on Krayoxx will toss the drug and give us a call.”
“Oh, brother,” Rochelle said.
“ ‘Oh, brother’ is right. Wait till we get around to the settlement, and I’ll show you another ‘Oh, brother.’ ”
“State or federal court?” David asked, quick to throttle the bickering.
“Good question, and I’d like for you to research the issue. If we go into state court, we can also sue the doctors who prescribed Krayoxx to our clients. That’s more defendants, but also more high-powered defense lawyers causing trouble. Frankly, there’s enough money at Varrick Labs to make us all happy, so I’m inclined to keep the doctors out of it. On the federal side, because the Krayoxx litigation will go nationwide, we can plug into the mass tort network and ride their coattails. No one really expects these cases to go to trial, and when the settlement negotiations begin, we need to be hooked in with the big boys.”
Again, Wally sounded so knowledgeable that David wanted to believe him. But he’d already been at the firm long enough to know that Wally had never handled a mass tort case. Nor had Oscar.
Oscar’s door opened, and he emerged with his usual frown and look of fatigue. “What the hell is this?” he said pleasantly. No one responded. He walked to the table, picked up a letter, then dropped it. He was about to say something when the front door burst open and a tall, thick, burly, tattooed Philistine stomped in and yelled at the entire room, “Which one is Figg!?”
With no hesitation, Oscar and David and even Rochelle pointed at Wally, who was wild-eyed and frozen. Behind the intruder was a tart in a yellow dress, DeeAnna Nuxhall from divorce court, and she yelled, “That’s him, Trip, the short fat one!”
Trip went straight for Wally as if he might kill him. The rest of the firm scrambled away from the table, leaving Wally to fend for himself. Trip made a couple of fists, hovered over Wally, and said, “Look, Figg, you little weasel! We’re getting married Saturday, so my girl here needs her divorce tomorrow. What’s the problem?”
Wally, still seated and hunkering down in anticipation of a beating, said, “Well, I would like to get paid.”
“She promised to pay you later, didn’t she?”
“I sure did,” DeeAnna added helpfully.
“If you touch me, I’ll have you arrested,” Wally said. “You can’t get married if you’re in jail.”
“I told you he was a smart-ass,” DeeAnna said.
Because he needed to hit something but was not quite ready to slap Wally around, Trip backhanded a stack of Krayoxx letters and sent them flying. “Get the divorce, okay, Figg! I’ll be there tomorrow, in court, and if my girl doesn’t get her divorce then, I’ll stomp your chubby little ass right there in the courtroom.”
“Call the police,” Oscar barked at Rochelle, who was too frightened to move.
Trip needed something with more drama, so he grabbed a thick law book off the table and tossed it through a front window. Glass shattered and rattled across the porch. AC yelped but retreated to a hiding place under Rochelle’s desk.
Trip’s eyes were shiny and glazed. “I’ll snap your neck, Figg. You got that?”
“Hit him, Trip,” DeeAnna urged.
David glanced at the sofa and saw Wally’s briefcase. He eased closer to it.
“We’ll be in court tomorrow, Figg. You gonna be there?” Trip took another step closer. Wally braced for the assault. Rochelle moved in the direction of her desk, and this upset Trip. “Don’t move! You’re not calling the cops!”
“Call the police,” Oscar barked again, but made no effort to do so himself. David inched closer to the briefcase.
“Talk to me, Figg,” Trip demanded.
“He embarrassed me in open court,” DeeAnna whined. It was obvious she wanted bloodshed.
“You’re a slimeball, Figg, you know that?”
Wally was about to say something clever when Trip finally made contact. He pushed Wally, a rather benign little shove that seemed tame in light of the buildup, but it was an assault nonetheless. “Hey, watch it!” Wally barked, slapping at Trip’s hand.
David quickly opened the briefcase and withdrew the long black. 44 Magnum Colt. He was not certain if he had ever touched a revolver, and he wasn’t sure he could do so now without blowing his hand off, but he knew to avoid the trigger. “Here, Wally,” he said as he placed the gun on the table. Wally snatched it and jumped from his chair, and the rules of engagement changed dramatically.
Trip blurted “Holy shit!” in a high-pitched voice and took a long step back. DeeAnna ducked behind him, whimpering. Rochelle and Oscar were as stunned as Trip was by the weapon. Wally did not aim the gun at anyone, not directly anyway, but he handled it in such a way that there was little doubt he could and would unload a few rounds in a matter of seconds.
“First, I want an apology,” he said as he moved toward Trip, who had lost his swagger. “You got a lotta balls coming in here and making demands when your girl there won’t pay her bills.”
Trip, who no doubt had some experience in handguns, stared at the Colt and said meekly, “Yeah, sure, you’re right, man.”
“Call the police, Ms. Gibson,” Wally said, and she dialed 911. AC poked his head out and growled at Trip.
“I want three hundred bucks for the divorce and two hundred bucks for the window,” Wally demanded. Trip was still backing away, with DeeAnna practically unseen behind him.
“Be cool, man,” Trip said, both palms facing Wally.
“Oh, I’m very cool.”
“Do something, baby,” DeeAnna said.
“Like what? You see the size of that thing?”
“Can’t we just get outta here?” she asked.
“No,” Wally replied. “Not until the cops get here.” He raised the gun a few inches, careful not to point it directly at Trip.
Rochelle backed away from her desk and went to the kitchen. “Be cool, man,” Trip pleaded. “We’re
