back at the office, he e-mailed the lawsuit and the photograph to the Tribune, the Sun-Times, the Wall Street Journal, Time, Newsweek, and a dozen other publications.
David prayed the photograph would go unnoticed, but Wally got lucky. A reporter from the Tribune called the office and was immediately put through to an ecstatic Attorney Figg. The avalanche of publicity began.
On the front page of Section B the following morning, a headline read: “Chicago Attorney Attacks Varrick Labs over Krayoxx.” The article summarized the lawsuit and said local attorney Wally Figg was a “self-described mass tort specialist.” Finley amp; Figg was a “boutique firm” with a long history of fighting big drug companies. The reporter, though, did some sniffing and quoted two well-known plaintiffs’ lawyers as saying, in effect, we’ve never heard of these guys. And there was no record of similar lawsuits filed by Finley amp; Figg during the past ten years. Varrick responded aggressively by defending its product, promising a vigorous defense, and “looking forward to a fair trial before an impartial jury to clear our good name.” The reproduced photograph was rather large. This tickled Wally and embarrassed David. They were quite a pair: Wally was balding, rotund, and badly dressed, while David was taller, trimmer, and much younger looking.
The story went wild on the Internet, and the phone rang nonstop. At times, Rochelle was overwhelmed and David helped out. Some of the callers were reporters, others were lawyers sniffing around for information, but most were Krayoxx users who were terrified and confused. David wasn’t sure what to say. The firm’s strategy, if it could be called that, was to pick through the net and take the death cases, then at some undefined point in the future corral the “non-death” clients and lump them into a class action. This was impossible to explain over the phone because David didn’t quite grasp it himself.
As the phones rang and the excitement continued, even Oscar came out of his office and showed some interest. His little firm had never seen such activity, and, well, maybe this was indeed their big moment. Maybe Wally was finally right about something. Maybe, just maybe, this could lead to real money, which meant at long last the divorce he so fervently wanted, followed immediately by retirement.
The three lawyers met at the table late in the day to compare notes. Wally was wired, even perspiring. He waved his legal pad in the air and said, “We got four death cases here, brand-new ones, and we gotta sign ’em up right now. Are you in, Oscar?”
“Sure, I’ll take one,” Oscar said, trying to appear reluctant as always.
“Thank you. Now, Ms. Gibson, there’s a black lady who lives on Nineteenth, not far from you, Bassitt Towers, number three. She says it’s safe.”
“I will not go to Bassitt Towers,” Rochelle said. “I can practically hear the gunfire from my apartment.”
“That’s my point. It’s right down the street from you. You could stop by on the way home.”
“I will not.”
Wally slammed his legal pad onto the table. “Can’t you see what’s happening here, damn it? These people are begging us to take their cases, cases that are worth millions of bucks. There could be a huge settlement within a year. We’re on the verge of something big here, and you, as always, couldn’t care less.”
“I will not risk my neck for this law firm.”
“Great. So when Varrick settles and the cash pours in, you will forgo your share of the bonus. That’s what you’re telling us?”
“What bonus?”
Wally walked to the front door and back to the table, pacing. “Well, well, how quickly we forget. Remember the Sherman case last year, Ms. Gibson? Nice little car wreck, a rear-ender. State Farm paid sixty grand. We took a third, a nice fee of twenty thousand for good ol’ Finley amp; Figg. We paid some bills. I took seven grand, Oscar took seven, and we gave you a thousand bucks cash under the table. Didn’t we, Oscar?”
“Yes, and we’ve done it before,” Oscar said.
Rochelle was calculating as Wally was talking. It would be a shame to miss a piece of the lottery. What if Wally was right for a change? He shut up, and things were quiet and tense for a moment as the air cleared. AC rose to his feet and began growling. Seconds passed, then the distant sound of an ambulance could be heard. It grew louder, but, oddly, no one moved to the window or to the front porch.
Had they already lost interest in their bread and butter? Had the little boutique firm suddenly outgrown car wrecks and moved on to a far more lucrative field?
“How much of a bonus?” she asked.
“Come on, Ms. Gibson,” Wally said, exasperated. “I have no idea.”
“What do I tell this poor woman?”
Wally picked up his legal pad. “I talked to her an hour ago, name’s Pauline Sutton, age sixty-two. Her forty- year-old son, Jermaine, died of a heart attack seven months ago, said he was a bit on the heavy side, took Krayoxx for four years to lower his cholesterol. A charming lady but also a grieving mother. Take one of our brand-new Krayoxx contracts for legal services, explain it to her, sign her up. Piece of cake.”
“What if she has questions about the lawsuit and settlement?”
“Make an appointment and get her in here. I’ll answer her questions. What’s important is getting her signed up. We’ve created a hornet’s nest here in Chicago. Every half-assed ambulance chaser in the business is now loose on the streets looking for Krayoxx victims. Time is of the essence. Can you do it, Ms. Gibson?”
“I suppose.”
“Thank you so much. Now, I suggest we all hit the streets.”
T heir first stop was an all-you-can-eat pizza house not far from the office. The restaurant was owned by a chain, a somewhat infamous company that was suffering through a firestorm of bad press caused entirely by its menu. A leading health magazine had analyzed its food and declared it all hazardous and unfit for human consumption. Everything was drenched with grease, oils, and additives, and no effort was made to cook anything even remotely healthy. Once the food was ready, it was served buffet style and offered at ridiculously low prices. The chain had become synonymous with hordes of morbidly obese people feeding at its buffet troughs. Profits were soaring.
T he assistant manager was a plump young man named Adam Grand, and he asked them to wait ten minutes before he could take a break. David and Wally found a booth as far away from the buffet tables as possible, which wasn’t far at all. The booth was roomy and wide, and David realized that everything in the place was oversized-plates, glasses, napkins, tables, chairs, booths. Wally was on his cell phone, eagerly lining up another meeting with a potential client. David could not help but watch the enormous people digging through piles of thick pizza. He almost felt sorry for them.
Adam Grand slid in beside David and said, “You got five minutes. My boss is yelling back there.”
Wally wasted no time. “You told me on the phone that your mother died six months ago, heart attack. She was sixty-six and took Krayoxx for a couple of years. How about your father?”
“Died three years ago.”
“Sorry. Krayoxx, perhaps?”
“No, colon cancer.”
“Brothers, sisters?”
“One brother who lives in Peru. He will not be involved in any of this.”
David and Wally were scribbling away. David felt as though he should say something important, but had nothing on his mind. He was there as the chauffeur. Wally was about to ask another question when Adam threw a curveball. “Say, I just talked to another lawyer.”
Wally’s spine straightened; his eyes widened. “Oh, really. What’s his name?”
“He said he was a Krayoxx expert, and he could get us a million bucks, no sweat. Is that true?”
Wally was ready for combat. “He’s lying. If he promised you a million bucks, then he’s an idiot. We can’t promise anything in the way of money. What we can promise is that we’ll provide the best legal representation you can find.”
“Sure, sure, but I like the idea of a lawyer telling me how much I might get, know what I mean?”
“We can get you a lot more than a million bucks,” Wally promised.
“Now we’re talking. How long will this take?”
“A year, maybe two,” Wally promised again. He was sliding across a contract. “Look this over. It’s a contract between our firm and you as the legal representative of your mother’s estate.” Adam scanned it quickly and said, “Nothing up front, right?”
“Oh no, we front the litigation expenses.”
