innocent corporations from such frivolous lawsuits. Jerry Alisandros was unavailable for comment. Indeed, there were no comments from any of the lawyers suing Varrick Labs. “For the first time in recent history, the entire tort bar has gone silent,” observed one reporter.
The call came at 2:00 on Sunday afternoon. Dr. Biff Sandroni had received the samples of Nasty Teeth by FedEx on Friday morning, about the time David was grilling Dr. Ulander on the stand. Dr. Sandroni had promised to test the samples immediately. “They’re all the same, David, all coated with the same lead-based paint. Highly toxic. Your lawsuit is a cinch. Open and shut, the best I’ve ever seen.”
“When can you finish the report?”
“I’ll e-mail it tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Biff.”
“Good luck.”
An hour later, David and Helen loaded Emma into her car seat and set off for Waukegan. The purpose of the trip was to check on Wally, but there was the added benefit of having the baby finally go to sleep.
After four days of sobriety, Wally looked rested and was eager to leave Harbor House. David recapped the trial and, not wanting to repeat himself and not entirely in the mood for humor, omitted the parts that Oscar and Rochelle had found so funny Friday afternoon. Wally apologized repeatedly until David asked him to stop. “It’s over, Wally. We have to move on.” They talked about ways to unload their Krayoxx clients and the problems this might create. It really didn’t matter how complicated things became-their decision was final. They were finished with Krayoxx and Varrick.
“I don’t need to stay here any longer,” Wally said. They were alone at the end of the hallway. Helen had stayed behind in the car with the sleeping baby.
“What does your counselor say?”
“I’m getting tired of the guy. Look, David, I fell off the wagon because of the pressure, that’s all. I consider myself sober right now. I’m already counting the days. I’ll jump back into AA and hope and pray I won’t fall off again. Hear me, David. I don’t like being a drunk. We got our work cut out for us, and I gotta stay sober.”
With his portion of the meter ticking at $500 a day, David wanted Wally out as soon as possible, but he was not convinced a ten-day detox would work. “I’ll talk to the counselor-what’s his name?”
“Patrick Hale. He’s really beating me up this time.”
“Maybe that’s what you need, Wally.”
“Come on, David. Get me outta here. We’ve dug a hole for ourselves, and it’s just you and me this time. I’m not so sure Oscar will be much help.”
Left unsaid was the fact that Oscar had been the great skeptic about Krayoxx and mass torts in general. The deep hole in which they now found themselves had been dug by Wallis T. Figg. They talked about Oscar for a while, his divorce, his health, his new girlfriend, who was not really that new, according to Wally, though David did not press for details.
As he left, Wally pleaded again, “Get me outta here, David. We have too much work to do.”
David hugged him good-bye and left the visitors’ room. The “work” Wally kept referring to was little more than the imposing task of getting rid of four hundred or so dissatisfied clients, mopping up the remains of the Klopeck trial, grappling with a lot of unpaid bills, and laboring away in a building now burdened with a $200,000 mortgage. In the past month, the firm’s other clients had been neglected, many to the point of hiring other lawyers, and the daily inquiries from prospective clients had declined dramatically.
David had thought of leaving, of opening his own shop, or looking at other, smaller firms. If he walked away, he would, of course, take the Thuya Khaing case with him. Oscar and Wally would never know about it. If the case eventually paid off, David could write a check to Finley amp; Figg for his share of the mortgage on the building. But these thoughts were bothersome. He had run away from one firm and never looked back. If he ran away from the second one, he would always have regrets. In reality, David knew he could not leave Finley amp; Figg with the two partners ailing and a swarm of unhappy clients and creditors pounding on the door.
T he phones rang constantly Monday morning. Rochelle answered a few times, then announced, “It’s all those Krayoxx people, asking about their cases.”
“Unplug it,” David said, and the racket stopped. The old Oscar was making a comeback. He was in his office, door tightly closed, shoving paperwork around his desk.
By 9:00 a.m., David had composed a letter to be mailed to the four hundred or so clients who only thought they had a lawsuit. It read: Dear : Last week our firm tried the first lawsuit against Varrick Labs for its drug Krayoxx. The trial did not go as planned and was not successful. The jury ruled in favor of Varrick. With all the evidence now presented, it is clear that additional litigation against the company would be ill-advised. For that reason, we are withdrawing as your counsel. Feel free to consult with another attorney. For what it’s worth, Varrick presented convincing proof that Krayoxx does not damage the heart valves, or any other part of the body. Sincerely, David Zinc Attorney and Counselor-at-Law
When Rochelle’s printer began spitting out the letters, David went upstairs to prepare for another fight in federal court, which, on that Monday morning, was the last place he wanted to go. He had a rough draft of a lawsuit to be filed against Sonesta Games and a rough draft of a letter he planned to send to the company’s chief in-house counsel. He polished and tweaked both as he waited on Sandroni’s report.
Varrick’s stock opened at $42.50 on Monday morning, its highest value in over two years. David scanned the financial sites and blogs, and they were still buzzing with speculation about the future of Krayoxx litigation. Since David had no role in that future, he was losing interest fast.
He searched the near-impenetrable Web site of Cook County-Courts-Criminal-Warrants amp; Affidavits and found no record of a complaint for assault filed by one Aaron Deentz. On Saturday, the Hung Juror had blogged about the ending of the Klopeck trial but did not mention getting punched out in the men’s restroom on the twenty-third floor of the Dirksen Federal Building.
Oscar had a friend who had a friend who worked in Warrants amp; Affidavits, and this friend was supposedly on the lookout for a filing by Deentz. “You really decked him?” Oscar had asked with genuine admiration.
“Yes, a stupid thing to do.”
“Don’t worry. It’s just simple assault. I got friends.”
When Sandroni’s report arrived, David read it carefully and almost salivated at its conclusion: “The levels of lead in the paint used in coating the Nasty Teeth toys are of toxic levels. Any child, or person, using this product in the exact manner in which it was designed to be used, to wit, insertion into the mouth, over the real teeth, would face the grave risks of ingesting quantities of lead-based paint.”
For good measure, Dr. Sandroni added: “In thirty years of testing products for sources of poisoning, primarily lead poisoning, I have never seen a product so grossly and negligently designed and produced.”
David copied the six-page report and placed it in a binder with color photos of the original set of Nasty Teeth used by Thuya and photos of the samples David had purchased the week before. He added a copy of the lawsuit and a medical summary prepared by Thuya’s doctors. In a pleasant but straightforward letter to a Mr. Dylan Kott, chief in-house counsel for Sonesta Games, David offered to discuss the matter before filing suit. However, this offer was good for fourteen days only. The family had suffered greatly, continued to suffer, and was entitled to immediate relief.
When he left for lunch, he took the binder and shipped it to Sonesta Games by FedEx, overnight priority. No one else at the firm knew what he was doing. For contact information in the letter, he used his home address and cell phone.
Oscar was leaving as David returned, and his chauffeur was a tiny little woman of dubious ethnicity. At first David thought she was Thai, then she appeared more Hispanic. Regardless, she was pleasant to chat with on the front sidewalk. She was at least twenty years younger than Oscar, and during the brief conversation David got the clear impression that the two had known each other for some time. Oscar, who looked quite frail after an easy morning at the office, slowly folded himself into the passenger’s seat of her little Honda, and away they went.
“Who is that?” David asked Rochelle as he closed the front door.
“I just met her myself. Some weird name I didn’t get either. She told me she’s known Oscar for three years.”
“Wally’s skirt chasing is well-known. I’m kinda surprised about Oscar. Are you?”
Rochelle smiled and said, “David, when it comes to love and sex, nothing surprises me.” She held out a pink
