Suzy's Case: A Novel (14 page)

A: Correct.

Q: Now, Doctor, can we also agree that the presence of an asymptomatic and quiescent brain lesion predisposes a person to sustaining a greater injury from a subsequent trauma than a person with a healthy brain?

A: That’s true, too.

Q: Doctor, have you seen any medical records inclusive of doctors’ office records or hospital records that in any way indicated that Connie Cortez had no sense of smell or taste prior to this accident?

A: No, I have not.

Q: So, Doctor, let’s see if we can put this all together for the jurors from your perspective, shall we?

A: Okay.

Q: Can we agree that from your perspective Connie Cortez, prior to the accident, had a frontal brain lesion that was asymptomatic and quiescent, predisposed her to injury, and she had full sense of smell and full sense of taste, agreed?

A: Agreed.

Q: Since this is your opinion, you must also be of the opinion that the trauma from this accident must’ve aggravated this quiet condition and been a substantial factor in causing Connie’s brain lesion to become symptomatic and causing her to lose her senses of smell and taste, agreed?

A: Agreed.

Q: No further questions, Doctor.

As I walk back to my chair I pretend-cough. Not just any kind of cough, but the fake cough-cough clearly signaling a secret message. As I do so, I say under my breath, but loud enough to be heard by defense counsel, “Orchiectomy, cough-cough; orchiectomy, cough-cough.” His face turns beet red. I look up at the doctor before sitting down and can tell he just realized he was the unwitting patient of a courtroom nut-ectomy.

Before my duff hits the chair, I hear
bang, bang, bang
. I look up to see Judge Dixon smashing his gavel on the top of his bench. “Both counsel, in the back to my chambers. Doctor, you wait here. Officer, take the jury into the jury room.” These orders set everyone into motion—that is, everyone except for June, whom the insurance guy just passed on his way out to the hall to report the new developments to the higher-up money guys at his office.

We get into the back and Judge Dixon immediately takes off his judicial robes and hangs them up. He’s wearing suspenders, button-style. He sits down at his desk, with defense counsel and me seated across from him. He looks at defense counsel. “Go get that insurance guy in here now,” he orders. My adversary hops to it. Dixon and I just look at each other as we sit there. It’s improper for us to have an ex parte conversation, but I know he’s itching to say something to me. He appears angry.

While we wait I can’t help but notice a long bundle of hair jutting out of Judge Dixon’s nose. I can’t believe I never noticed it before now. Why wouldn’t he clip that? It’s, like, an inch out from the rim of his right nostril and clumped together.

“What are you staring at, counselor?” Judge Dixon asks curtly.

“Oh, nothing, judge. Not really focused on anything in particular.”

“I see.” He begins to twirl his nasal hair between his thumb and finger. I get it now.

Moments later, my adversary returns with Money Man.

“Sit down,” Judge Dixon commands. I look over at Money and see he’s got a smidgen of sauerkraut on his suit lapel. It seems these defense guys are sloppy eaters, but more important, it means the hot dog vendor in front of the courthouse is an early riser. Seeing the stain triggers my hunger for a dirty-water dog, which I intend to get just after I settle this case.

Judge Dixon looks at me. “You plan that?” he asks.

“I had an outline with two points on it.”

“That wouldn’t have happened if I had prepared the witness. You’re a lucky man I took to the bench.”

“I feel lucky about that, Your Honor.”

Judge Dixon turns to defense counsel and Money. “You know he can’t lose now, right?”

“Well—” defense counsel sputters.

“No ‘well’ about it. He can’t lose. His doctor said the accident caused a new brain lesion resulting in the loss of the senses of smell and taste, and your doctor says the accident caused an aggravation of an old asymptomatic brain lesion resulting in the loss of the senses of smell and taste. Game over. The accident caused the loss of the senses of smell and taste. Now that you’ve played, it’s time to pay. I have no alternative but to instruct the jury in my damage charge that they must accept as a matter of law that the accident caused the injury.”

We spend the next thirty minutes negotiating a settlement in Judge Dixon’s chambers for nine hundred and fifty thousand dollars. For most of that time I am considering whether I’ll order a dog or one of those fat spicy sausages when I get out of there. I decide if it is going to be a dog I’ll get it with mustard and kraut. If it’s a sausage I’ll get it with mustard and smothered with onions. The judge brings back the court reporter, I bring back Connie Cortez, and we put the settlement on the record.

Afterward, Connie and I walk into the courtroom from the judge’s chambers. The only person still there is June, right where we left her. She stands up. “So? What happened back there?”

I look at Connie. “Connie Cortez, this is June Williams. What you
two have in common is that both of you came to me from Henry Benson.” They shake hands. “Connie, it’s your settlement, so if you want to discuss it with June that’s fine with me but it’s not my place.”

Connie turns to June and begins jumping up and down in excitement. “
Dios mío, Dios mío
. I getting so much money.” They hug like they’ve known each other forever. Connie goes on to tell her how much and what she intends to do with all her money. This can’t be good.

On our way out of the courtroom I turn to June. “How did you find me?”

“Yesterday there was a piece of paper with the heading ‘Verdict Sheet’ sitting on the edge of your desk, so I looked at who the judge was. I called the court this morning to verify and here I am.”

“I see.” That was resourceful.

I hold open the big, squeaky door for us all and we make our way out. Sitting on a bench ten feet away from the courtroom door is Maddy with Melissa. Connie runs over and hugs her daughter and Maddy. They start shrieking in rapid-fire Spanish, just like Ricky Ricardo when he’s excited with Lucy. This reminds me of Winnie McGillicuddy’s pending motion to dismiss Suzy’s case. I understand enough to know Connie told them about the big money and that she intends to buy a condo in San Juan overlooking the water. I love water views, too. June and I sit down on the bench and wait for them to finish their celebration.

“Thank you so much,” Connie says to me, finally.

“Just doing my job, Connie. You deserve the money. Not being able to smell or taste anything is a horrendous injury. I’m glad we settled it because talking about all the foods you can no longer enjoy made me hungry.”

“Oh, you hungry,
abogado
?” Maddy asks. “I got something.” She reaches into her little sack and takes out a perfectly square golden piece of cornbread with real corn kernels baked right in. They stick out from the sides, causing my mouth to water. “Here,
abogado
. You eat this. I bake it myself last night.”

I reach for it. “Thank you. It looks so good I can’t wait to taste it.” I turn it from side to side, deciding where to take the first bite.

I bring it to my nose for a whiff. It smells buttery-corn scrumptious. As I open my mouth, I hear Connie, still brimming with the excitement of the settlement in her voice. “You’re going to love that cornbread!” she exclaims. “I had two pieces last night fresh out of the oven. It tastes just as good as it smells.”

J
une and I leave the Supreme Court building together. We don’t say a word and we don’t look at each other. We just walk side by side down the courthouse steps right up to the hot dog cart. “What can I get you two?” the vendor asks.

“Two dogs, please,” I reply. “One with mustard and kraut and one with … June, how do you take your dog?”

She looks at the vendor. “I’ll take a sausage, yellow and dirty.”

“You got it, lady,” he says. We take our foil-wrapped lunch and go over to the benches that line the walkway in front of the courthouse and sit.

We begin eating in silence. I finish mine and look over at June. She catches my stare. “Yeah? Can I help you?”

“I was thinking of getting that earlier. It smells good with those onions.”

“It tastes just as good as it smells, counselor.” Then she gives me the “you know exactly what I mean” pause.

“Yeah. Cornbread Connie. Who knew?”

“That’s fucked-up. You’re thinking of dropping Suzy’s case, which I know is real, but you go to court on Connie’s, which is fake, and get her close to a million dollars.”

“June, had I known she was faking I would’ve gotten out of it. Do you think I’d knowingly litigate in open court a fake case against the daughter of a federal judge?”

“Say what you want. I still think it’s fucked-up.”

She looks away and pushes the end piece of sausage into her mouth with authority, to punctuate her sentence. Some onion sticks to the corner of her mouth and I give her the international signal for “You got some stuff on your face.” She nods and takes care of it, licking her finger in a way I find … distracting. She’s stretching it out on purpose. And she knows I know.

At the distinct roar of an approaching car, June looks up. “There’s my ride. See you tomorrow.” She stands and walks casually to an old black Impala that’s just pulled up to the curb. The paint and chrome are mirror finish, and there’s a discernable difference in the street noise level once the engine is turned off. Before I’m done taking an inventory of the car, a giant-sized black man gets out of the driver’s side, walks around the front, and opens the door for June. She gets in and he shuts the door like a true gentleman. He walks back around the nose, gets in, and ignites the engine, which rumbles like a well-tuned race car. I hear it shift into gear as it rockets away with a screech, leaving a tiny cloud of smoke. The license plate reads:
THEFIDGE
.

I sit on that bench for two more hours. I eat two dirty sausages as I reflect on the morning’s events. I just pocketed over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars on a fake case, and I can’t say a thing to anybody in an effort to cleanse my soul without breaching my oath of confidentiality, losing my license, and risking a beating from an HIC. Connie’s scam was a secret to me until she admitted enjoying the cornbread. Before that, I was merely representing my client in a zealous manner, in conformity with The Rules, guaranteed to make Disciplinary Committee Judge Piccone proud. This is messed up. They should revise The Rules to cover real-life situations, because the etched-in-stone canons of ethics they contain just don’t work when it comes to preserving the integrity of the system.

I get up to make my journey back to the office. I can’t wait to litigate a Benson case with actual merit. I’m going to make a fortune.

On my subway ride I decide I’m not doing any work when I get back to the office. Instead, I’m going to find a new primary care doctor on my health plan because based on how I feel right now, I’m going to need some drug therapy to quiet my nerves. Unfortunately, my old doctor just lost his license for injudiciously prescribing narcotic medications, which was the reason I chose him in the first place. In any event, I haven’t had a comprehensive physical examination in over three years, so I’m definitely due.

I walk in the office and see Lily. “Do you have that book of doctors that are on our health plan?”

“Of course. Why? Are you finally going to see a doctor for a medical reason, not just to get your pills?”

“Just give me the book.” She does. “Did you call Judge Schneider and get an adjournment on the Williams motion?”

“I called her, and she gave you two weeks.”

I go into my office and open up the directory to the listing of primary care doctors. I start looking for ones within five blocks so I can walk there. I call the first geographically desirable doctor and the receptionist answers. “Hello, Dr. Abel’s office. This is Jean, can I help you?”

“Hi, is Dr. Abel accepting new primary care patients?”

“Yes, he is.”

“Does he have any availability tomorrow afternoon?”

“If you hadn’t called this very minute, you’d have had to wait three months, but I just had a cancellation. See you at three.”

“Three is fine, but before I take the appointment, can I ask you something?”

“Sure. What do you need to know?”

“How tall is Dr. Abel?”

“Hmm. That’s a strange question, but if you must know he’s about six foot two.”

“I see. Forget about it. Thanks anyway.”
Click
.

I make nine more calls using every bit of my charm before I’m able
to find a doctor shorter than five foot six inches tall within walking distance who can squeeze me in tomorrow afternoon.

It’s been a long day so I head directly home, seeking some comfort and security. Upon my arrival my wife meets me a few feet from the front door. “Good, you’re early. Change the lightbulbs in the garage,” she commands.

“Yes, dear.”