Personal Injuries

How this started," Robbie Feaver said, "is not what you think. Morty and I didn't go to Brendan and say, 'Take care of us.' We didn't have anything to take care of, not to start with. Mort and I had been bumping along on workmen's comp and slip-and-fall cases. Then about ten years ago, even before Brendan was appointed Presiding Judge over there, we got our first real chance to score. It was a bad-baby case. Doc with a forceps treated the kid's head like a walnut. And it's the usual warfare. I got a demand of 2.2 million, which brings in the umbrella insurer, so they're underwriting the defense. They're making us spend money like there's a tree in the backyard. I've got to get medical experts. Not one. Four. OB. Anesthesia. Pedes. Neurology. And courtroom blowups. We've got $125,000 in expenses, way more than we can afford. We're into the bank for the money, Mort and me, with seconds on both our houses.

"The judge we're assigned is Homer Guerfoyle. Now, Homer—I don't know if you remember Homer. He's long gone. But he was a plain, old-fashioned Kindle County alley cat, a ward-heeling son of a bootlegger, so crooked that when they buried him they had to screw him in the ground. But when he finally maneuvers his way onto the bench, all the sudden he thinks he's a peer of the realm. I'm not kidding. It always felt like he'd prefer Your Lordship to Your Honor. His wife had died and he hooked up with some socialite a few years older than him. He grew a fussy little mustache and started going to the opera and walking down the street in the summer in a straw boater.

"Now, on the other side of my case is Carter Franch, a real white-shoe number, Groton and Yale, and Guerfoyle treats him like an icon. Exactly the man Homer would like to be. He just about sits and begs whenever he hears Franch's malarkey.

(concluded on page 138)Personal Injuries(continued from page 108)

"So one day Mort and I, we have breakfast with Brendan, and we start drying our eyes on his sleeve, about this trial coming up, what a great case it is and how we're gonna get manhandled and end up homeless. We're just young pups sharing our troubles with Morty's wise old uncle. 'Well, I know Homer for years,' says Brendan. 'He used to run precincts for us in the Boylan organization. Homer's all right. I'm sure he'll give you boys a fair trial.'

"Nice that he thinks so," said Robbie. Feaver looked up and we all offered the homage of humoring smiles to induce him to continue. "Our case goes in pretty good. No bumps. Before we put on our final expert, who'll testify about what constitutes reasonable care in a forceps delivery, I call the doc, the defendant, as an adverse witness, to establish a couple things about the procedure. Last thing, I ask the usual jackpot question, 'Would you do it again?' 'Not given the result,' he says. Fair enough. We finish, and before the defense begins, both sides make the standard motions for a directed verdict, and, strike me dead, Guerfoyle grants mine. Robbie wins liability by TKO! The doc's to blame, Homer says. He admitted he didn't employ reasonable care when he said he wouldn't use forceps again. Even I hadn't suggested anything like that. Franch just about pulls his heart out of his chest, but since the only issue now is damages, he has no choice but to settle—1.4 mil. So it's nearly 500,000 for Morty and me.

"Two days later, I'm before Guerfoyle on a motion in another case, and he takes me back to his chambers for a second. 'Say, that's a wonderful result, Mr. Feaver.' Yaddie, yaddie, yaddie. And I've got no more brains than a tree stump. I don't get it. I really don't. I'm like, Thanks, Judge, thanks so much, I really appreciate it, we worked that file hard. 'Well, I'll be seeing you, Mr. Feaver.'

"Next weekend, Brendan's guy, Kosic, gets Morty in the corner at some family shindig and it's like, 'What'd you boys do to piss off Homer Guerfoyle? We have a lot of respect for Homer. I made sure he knows you're Brendan's nephew. It embarrasses us when you guys don't show respect.' Monday, Mort and I are back in the office staring at each other. No comprende. Piss off? Respect?

"Guess what happens next? I come in with the dismissal order on the settlement and Guerfoyle won't sign. He says he's been pondering the case. On his own again. He's been thinking maybe he should have let the jury decide whether the doc had admitted liability. Even Franch is astonished, because at trial the judge was acting like he was deaf when Franch had argued exactly the same point. So we set the case over for more briefing. And as I'm leaving, the bailiff, a pretty good sod of the name of Ray Zahn, is just shaking his head at me.

"So like two goofs from East Bumble-fuck, Mort and I put all the pieces together. Gee, Mort, do you think he wants money? Yeah, Rob, I think he wants some money. Somebody had to finance Homer's new lifestyle, right?

"We sit on that for about a day. Finally, Morty comes back to me and says no. That's it: No. No way. No how. He didn't sleep. He hurled three times. He broke out in a rash. Prison would be a relief compared to this. That's Morty. Nerves of spaghetti. The guy fainted dead away the first time he went to court. Which puts the load on Robbie. But you tell me, what was I supposed to do? And don't quote the sayings of Confucius. Tell me real-world. Was I supposed to walk away from a fee of 490-and-some-thousand dollars and just go home and start packing? Was I supposed to tell this family that's got this gorked-out kid, 'Sorry for these false hopes, that million bucks we said you got, we must have been on LSD'? How many hours do you think it would be before they got themselves a lawyer whose word they could trust? You think I should have called the FBI, right then? What's that mean for Morty's uncle? And what about us? In this town nobody likes a beefer.

"So Morty or not, there's only one answer. And it's like tipping in Europe. How much is enough? And where do you get it? It's comical, really. Where's that college course in bribery when you really need it? So I go to the bank and cash a check for 9000, because over 10,000 they report it to the feds. And I put it in an envelope with our new brief and I take it over to the bailiff, Ray. And man, my mouth's so dry I couldn't lick a stamp. What the hell do I say if I've read this wrong? 'Oops, that was my bank deposit'? I've put so much tape on this envelope, he'll have to open it with a hand grenade, and I say, 'Please be sure Judge Guerfoyle gets this. Tell him I'm sorry for the miscommunication.'

"I go to a status call in another courtroom and as I'm coming out, the bailiff, Ray Zahn, is waiting for me in the corridor, and there's one damn serious look in his eye. He strolls me a hundred feet, and honest to God you can hear my socks squish. Finally, he throws his arm over my shoulder and whispers, 'Next time, don't forget something for me.' And then he hands me an order Homer's signed, accepting the settlement and dismissing the case."