At home, Diana came after him. “You've always come on as such an idealist,” she said. “I felt kind of mean-spirited next to you, wanting things. A little angry you never made the kind of money I thought you should, being an attorney.”
He tried to hug her but she pulled away. “See, I consoled myself that I'd married a good guy. Now I hear you've taken on this client, and I hear he's been trying to wrestle money out of his employer for years. He's a fraud.”
“You heard? Where?”
“My sister.”
His wife's sister was also a local attorney. So the news had spread. He sighed. “He's a special case, honey.”
“Yeah, he's special. He's putting all your years of hard work in the dumper.” She gave up after a while, though, and O'Shay, so tired, read the newspaper in front of a cold fireplace. He crept off to bed after she had fallen asleep.
The next morning he ate bacon, eggs, and toast and got to the office before his wife got up and Rosa came in. He spoke with a few people, then called Colby. “I've got the experts,” he said, “but you know, these doctors aren't willing to wreck their standing in the community for your sake. They will say the right things, but they have to convince a judge who understands every nuance, do you understand me?”
“You mean they'll talk careful and he'll hear that they're holding back.”
“Right. Now, right now I can get you some money if we settle. That's the only sure thing right now. You probably should consider a deal.”
“How much?”
“Maybe…” O'Shay tried to name a figure he could get “… up to fifteen thousand.”
Colby snorted. “Half the price of a car and not even a luxury one at that,” he said. “No, I don't think that's going to get me out of the hole I'm in. I'm not sure you appreciate exactly how serious my case is. And I'm beginning to question how committed you really are to my cause, O'Shay.”
“Oh, I know it's serious, Mr. Colby. And I'm doing my best for you. I need you to believe that.”
“Then don't hand me a bag of peanuts and expect thanks. I got lifelong disability. I got to go for the big money, O'Shay. Take it to trial.”
“Jeff,” O'Shay said. “I'm obligated to tell you if we go to trial there's a definite possibility we'll lose and you'll get nothing.” A little of the old O'Shay poked through the Colby-induced fog of deceit and evil, and felt obliged to tell the truth.
Jeff Colby took a marker pen into the kitchen and marked the date of his trial on his calendar. The case was set for ten. Lander's office opened at nine. He needed to get cracking, but there was plenty of time to do the necessary shopping in advance.
“I can borrow from Daddy,” Diana said, “if it's money you're worrying about.”
O'Shay lay on a teak lounge in the backyard, admiring the fine job they had done with the plantings around the edge of their large lawn. A high fence plus fast-growing conifers made the yard very private. Sunshine spilled across the grass. He closed his eyes and smelled the blossoming lemon tree tucked at the back. “There's something ironic about invoking your dad in this case you think has so much to do with integrity. If I only understood irony better.”
“Don't get cute, Patrick. Just don't sell yourself cheap.”
He breathed the sunshine deeply. “I'll make sure we're well compensated.”
“Don't joke about this!” she said, swatting him. “This isn't funny!”
Easing his bare feet onto the patio, he left her behind and walked across the lawn. He picked up the lemons that had fallen to the ground, and the ones that were ripe, holding as many as he could in his two hands. Back in the kitchen, he squeezed them, added sugar, and brought a glass out to her, along with a nice lunch which he laid out on the patio table.
While they ate, he brought up the topic of some thoughts he had about what they might do next summer for vacation. He thought he needed a decent break this year. He might even take three weeks this August. What did she think about that?
She didn't stay silent for long. Diana loved planning trips.
The next morning, O'Shay met with Jerome Castile in person at the insurance company's offices. They had nice rugs, he noticed, and original art on the wall. He admired the fresh green ferns. He and Rosa had long ago settled for artificial. “Here's the thing,” he said, sinking into the soft leather cushion. “I have statistics illustrating a long pattern of patronage and unfair promotion practices at Dunkirk Enterprises.”
Jerome definitely looked startled.
O'Shay flipped through papers that looked official. “Here the owner, Mr. Landers, hired his son, then his cousin, then his brother-in-law. Then his daughter. Not to mention his wife.”
“It's a family business.”
“Thereby bypassing my client and other worthy long-term employees.”
“He gave the guy a chance at a better job, but he couldn't cut it. Nobody should be forced to keep an employee on when he can't do a decent job. Instead of firing him, they kept him on.”
“Doing work he is no longer physically able to do.”
The attorney took his time, flipped through his own irrelevant papers, and said, “Our clients have done nothing to be ashamed of, but more important, they've done nothing illegal.”
“Oh,” O'Shay said, “talk to them. They're locals, a major employer, and so far, they have such a fine reputation. A short conversation with the
“You'd trash a major local employer who pays decent wages and provides good benefits for Jeff Colby, who's a notorious and classic disgruntled employee?”
“Yes.” Play the game with a hardball, always.
“I had heard such good things about you.”
“By the way, I have evidence that this cavalier disregard for fairness is a pattern with you people.”
“Don't tell me you're gonna try to add in a bad faith allegation.”
“Absolutely.”
“So how'd it go with the insurance guy?” Colby asked.
O'Shay, alienated from his staff, unable to talk to his wife, found talking with Colby a strange relief. “Not so well,” he said honestly. Almost immediately, he regretted his candor.
“More bad news?” Colby asked, his voice full of teeth.
“You never know until you are there in court.”
“But no big settlement.”
“No.”
“Huh.” Colby rubbed his chin and looked down, as if deciding something.
“Court at ten tomorrow. Be there on time?”
“Sure,” Colby agreed.
The next morning, O'Shay dressed carefully. He wore a silk navy suit paired with an Hermes tie. He wanted to look subdued but successful. He had three doctors he ordinarily would never use who would testify about Colby's dire injuries. He had a rolling cart in the trunk of his car full of medical reports, job descriptions, legal pleadings, and law books. He had things on Dunkirk Enterprises Jerome Castile knew he would spill to the press, if necessary. He had the requisite chutzpah.
Diana handed him his laptop at the door, refusing to kiss him. “Don't sell out,” she whispered, and he heard it, too, as he opened the garage door and left.
At the courthouse, early, O'Shay met with Castile one last time. He went to work on the insurance defense attorney, trying to reach an agreement that would set the Colby family up for life. They haggled; they fought; they got tough; they compromised; nobody gave enough. He tried again and lost. Bottom line was, the guy said he just didn't believe O'Shay would do what he was threatening to do. “You have a reputation to protect,” Castile said smugly, “in spite of this recent, definite lapse in judgment.”
“We're due in court,” O'Shay told Colby on the telephone. “I'm on my way.”
Something in Colby's voice screamed sirens.
Jeff Colby made a special effort with Sandra and the kids before leaving that morning, hugs and kisses all around, lots of positive words. “I'm stopping by the job site for a quick howdy before heading to the courthouse,” he said.
“Are you sure you don't want us to go with you? Your attorney said it might be good for us to be there with you in court.”
“No need, sweetheart.” He kissed her again, holding her around her narrow waist, marveling that his childhood girlfriend had been so steadfast and true for so many years, and had stood by him through so much. He felt himself flinching at the thought of the next few hours. And he felt righteous.
“What's in the duffel?” his son asked as he walked out the door.
“Stuff and nonsense,” he replied, smiling. “Good-bye, son.”
“It's me, Patrick O'Shay. Is Jeff there?”
“He's gone.”
“Where is he?”
“On his way?”
“You sound unsure.”
“He was stopping by Dunkirk on the way to court.”
“Oh, no.”
“He won't be late,” she said. “He's never late.”
O'Shay got the insurance lawyer on line one. He had a new case just decided by the California Supreme Court to talk about.
“I'll call you back,” Castile said. “Give me ten minutes.”
O'Shay shot into traffic and headed toward Romie Lane, toward the scene of Jeff Colby's latest humiliation. He drove through the construction on Main Street like a man possessed. Somehow, he was not ticketed for turning illegally.
