“Your Honor, we have a motion.” The lawyer for Viatical Solutions, Inc. was standing at the podium. He seemed on the verge of an explosion, which was understandable. One and a half million dollars had just slipped through his fingers. Six months earlier he’d written an arrogant letter to Jessie telling her that her viatical settlement wasn’t worth the paper it was written on. Now Jessie was cool, and he was the fool.
“What’s your motion?” the judge asked.
“We ask that the court enter judgment for the plaintiff notwithstanding the verdict. The evidence does not support-”
“Save it,” said the judge.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” With that, Judge Garcia unleashed a veritable tongue-lashing. From the first day of trial he’d seemed taken with Jessie, and this final harangue only confirmed that Jack should have tried the case to the judge alone and never even asked for a jury. At least a half-dozen times in the span of two minutes he derided the suit against Jessie as “frivolous and mean-spirited.” He not only denied the plaintiff’s post-trial motion, but he so completely clobbered them that Jack was beginning to wish he’d invited Cindy downtown to watch.
On second thought, it was just as well that she’d missed that big hug Jessie had given him in her excitement over the verdict.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, thank you for your service. We are adjourned.” With a bang of the judge’s gavel, it was all over.
Jessie was a millionaire.
“Time to celebrate,” she said.
“You go right ahead. You’ve earned it.”
“You’re coming too, buster. Drinks are on me.”
He checked his watch. “All right. It’s early for me, but maybe a beer.”
“One beer? Wimp.”
“Lush.”
“Now you’re hitting way below the belt.”
They shared a smile, then headed for the exit. The courtroom had already cleared, but a small crowd was gathering at the elevator. Most had emerged from another courtroom, but Jack recognized a few spectators from Jessie’s trial. Among them was Dr. Marsh.
The elevator doors opened, and Jack said, “Let’s wait for the next one.”
“There’s room,” said Jessie.
A dozen people packed into the crowded car. In all the jostling for position, a janitor and his bucket came between Jack and Jessie. The doors closed and, as if it were an immutable precept of universal elevator etiquette, all conversation ceased. The lighted numbers overhead marked their silent descent. The doors opened two floors down. Three passengers got off, four more got in. Jack kept his eyes forward but noticed that, in the shuffle, Dr. Marsh had wended his way from the back of the car to a spot directly beside Jessie.
The elevator stopped again. Another exchange of passengers, two exiting, two more getting on. Jack kept his place in front near the control panel. As the doors closed, Jessie moved all the way to the far corner. Dr. Marsh managed to find an opening right beside her.
It was too crowded for Jack to turn his body around completely, but he could see Jessie and her former physician in the convex mirror in the opposite corner of the elevator. Discreetly, he kept an eye on both of them. Marsh had blown the diagnosis of ALS, but he was a smart guy. Surely he’d anticipated that Jessie would speak to her lawyer about suing him for malpractice. If it was his intention to corner Jessie in the elevator and breathe a few threatening words into her ear, Jack would be all over him.
No more stops. The elevator was on the express route to the lobby. Jack glanced at the lighted numbers above the door, then back at the mirror. His heart nearly stopped; he couldn’t believe his eyes. It had lasted only a split second, but what he’d seen was unmistakable. Obviously, Jessie and the doctor hadn’t noticed the mirror, hadn’t realized that Jack was watching them even though they were standing behind him.
They’d locked fingers, as if holding hands, then released.
For one chilling moment, Jack couldn’t breathe.
The elevator doors opened. Jack held the door open button to allow the others to exit. Dr. Marsh passed without a word, without so much as looking at Jack. Jessie emerged last. Jack took her by the arm and pulled her into an alcove near the bank of pay telephones.
“What the hell did you just do in there?”
She shook free of his grip. “Nothing.”
“I was watching in the mirror. I saw you and Marsh hold hands.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Apparently. Crazy to have trusted you.”
She shook her head, scoffing. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Swyteck? That’s what I couldn’t stand when we were dating, you and your stupid jealousy.”
“This has nothing to do with jealousy. You just held hands with the doctor who supposedly started this whole problem by misdiagnosing you with ALS. You owe me a damn good explanation, lady.”
“We don’t owe you anything.”
It struck him cold, the way she’d said “we.” Jack was suddenly thinking of their conversation on the courthouse steps just minutes earlier, where Jessie had heaped such praise on the kind and considerate doctor. “Now I see why Dr. Marsh performed the diagnostic tests himself. It had nothing to do with his compassion. You never had any symptoms of ALS. You never even had lead poisoning. The tests were fakes, weren’t they?”
She just glared and said, “It’s like I told you: We don’t owe you anything.”
“What do you expect me to do? Ignore what I just saw?”
“Yes. If you’re smart.”
“Is that some kind of threat?”
“Do yourself a favor, okay? Forget you ever knew me. Move on with your life.”
Those were the exact words she’d used to dump him some seven years earlier.
She started away, then stopped, as if unable to resist one more shot at him. “I feel sorry for you, Swyteck. I feel sorry for anyone who goes through life just playing by the rules.”
As she turned and disappeared into the crowded lobby, Jack felt a gaping pit in the bottom of his stomach. Ten years a trial lawyer. He’d represented thieves, swindlers, even cold-blooded murderers. He’d never claimed to be the world’s smartest man, but never before had he even come close to letting this happen. The realization was sickening.
He’d just been scammed.
6
•
Sparky’s Tavern was having a two-for-one special. The chalkboard behind the bar said well drinks only, which in most joints simply meant the liquor wasn’t a premium brand, but at Sparky’s it meant liquor so rank that the bartender could only look at you and say, “
Jack ordered a beer.
Sparky’s was on U.S. 1 south of Homestead, one of the last watering holes before a landscape that still bore the scars of a direct hit from Hurricane Andrew in 1992 gave way to the splendor of the Florida Keys. It was a converted old gas station with floors so stained from tipped drinks that not even the Environmental Protection Agency could have determined if more flammable liquids had spilled before or after the conversion. The grease-pit was gone but the garage doors were still in place. There was a long wooden bar, a TV permanently tuned to ESPN,
