The Runaway Jury Part 17

"Yes. Unfortunately I smoked for twenty years."

"So you wished you'd never smoked?"

"Of course."

"When did you start?"

"When I went to work for the company, 1952. Back then they encouraged all their employees to smoke cigarettes. They still do."

"Do you believe you damaged your health by smoking for twenty years?"

"Of course. I feel lucky I'm not dead, like Mr. Wood."

"When did you quit?"

"In 1973. After I learned the truth about nicotine."

"Do you feel your present health has been diminished in some way because you smoked for twenty years?

Or course.

"In your opinion, was the company responsible in any way for your decision to smoke cigarettes?"

"Yes. As I said, it was encouraged. Everybody else smoked. We could purchase cigarettes at half price in the company store. Every meeting began with a bowl of cigarettes pa.s.sed around. It was very much a part of the culture."

"Were your offices ventilated?"

"No."

"How bad was the secondhand smoke?"

"Very bad. There was always a blue fog hanging not far over your head."

"So you blame the company today because you're not as healthy as you think you should be?"

"The company had a lot to do with it. Fortunately, I was able to kick the habit. It wasn't easy."

"And you hold a grudge against the company for this?"

"Let's just say I wish I'd gone to work in another industry when I finished college."

"Industry? Do you carry a grudge against the entire industry?"

"I'm not a fan of the tobacco industry."

"Is that why you're here?"

"No."

Cable flipped his notes and quickly changed direction. "Now, you had a sister at one time, didn't you, Mr. Krigler?"

"I did."

"What happened to her?"

"She died in 1970."

"How'd she die?"

"Lung cancer. She smoked two packs a day for about twenty-three years. Smoking killed her, Mr. Cable, if that's what you want."

"Were you close to her?" Cable asked with enough compa.s.sion to deflect some of the ill will for bringing up the tragedy in the first place.

"We were very close. She was my only sibling."

"And you took her death very hard?"

"I did. She was a very special person, and I still miss her."

"I'm sorry to bring this up, Mr. Krigler, but it is relevant."

"Your compa.s.sion is overwhelming, Mr. Cable, but there's nothing relevant about it."

"How did she feel about your smoking?"

"She didn't like it. As she was dying she begged me to stop. Is that what you want to hear, Mr. Cable?"

"Only if it's the truth."

"Oh it's true, Mr. Cable. The day before she died I promised I would quit smoking. And I did, though it took me three long years to do it. I was hooked, you see, Mr. Cable, as was my sister, because the company that manufactured the cigarettes that killed her, and could've killed me, intentionally kept the nicotine at a high level."

"Now-"

"Don't interrupt me, Mr. Cable. Nicotine in itself is not a carcinogen, you know that, it's just a poison, a poison that gets you addicted so the carcinogens can one day take care of you. That's why cigarettes are inherently dangerous."

Cable watched him with complete composure. "Are you finished?"

"I'm ready for the next question. But don't interrupt me again."

"Certainly, and I apologize. Now, when did you first become convinced that cigarettes were inherently dangerous?"

"I don't know exactly. It's been known for some time, you know. It did not then and does not now take a genius to figure it out. But I'd say at some point in the early seventies, after I finished my study, after my sister had died, and shortly before I saw the infamous memo."

"In 1973?"

"Somewhere in there."

"When did your employment with Pynex cease? What year?"

"In 1982."

"So you continued working for a company which made products you considered to be inherently dangerous?"

"I did."

"What was your salary in 1982?"

"Ninety thousand dollars a year."

Cable paused and walked to his table where he was handed yet another yellow legal pad which he studied for a second as he bit a stem of his reading gla.s.ses, then he returned to the lectern and asked Krigler why he'd sued the company in 1982. Krigler didn't appreciate the question, and looked at Rohr and Milton for help. Cable pursued details of the events leading up to the litigation, hopelessly complicated and personal litigation, and the testimony slowed to a virtual halt. Rohr objected and Milton objected, and Cable acted as if he couldn't understand why in the world they'd object. The lawyers met at the sidebar to haggle in private in front of Judge Harkin, and Krigler grew weary of the witness stand.

Cable hammered away at Krigler's performance record during his last ten years with Pynex, and hinted strongly that other witnesses might be called to contradict him.

The ploy almost worked. Unable to shake the damaging aspects of Krigler's testimony, the defense chose instead to blow smoke at the jury. If a witness is unshakable, then beat him up with insignificant details.

The ploy was explained to the jury, however, by young Nicholas Easter, who'd had two years of law school and chose to remind his colleagues of his experiences during a late afternoon coffee break. Over Herman's objections, Nicholas voiced his resentment at Cable for throwing mud and trying to confuse the jury. "He thinks we're stupid," he said bitterly.

Seventeen.

In response to frantic calls from Biloxi, the price of Pynex shares dipped as low as seventy-five and a half by closing Thursday, down almost four points in heavy trading attributed to the dramatic events in the courtroom.

In other tobacco trials, former employees had testified about pesticides and insecticides sprayed on the crops, and experts had linked the chemicals to cancer. The juries had not been impressed. In one trial, a former employee had spilled the news that his former employer had targeted young teenagers with ads showing thin and glamorous idiots with perfect chins and perfect teeth having all manner of fun with tobacco. The same employer had targeted older teenaged males with ads depicting cowboys and stock car drivers seriously pursuing life with cigarettes stuck between their lips.

But the juries in those trials did not award the plaintiff's.

No former employee, though, did as much damage as Lawrence Krigler. The infamous memo from the 1930s had been seen by a handful of people, but never produced in litigation. Krigler's version of it for the jury was as close as any plaintiff's lawyer had come to the real thing. The fact that he'd been allowed by Judge Harkin to describe it to the jury would be hotly contested on appeal, regardless of who won at trial.

Krigler was quickly escorted out of town by Rohr's security people, and an hour after finishing his testimony he was on a private plane back to Florida. Several times since leaving Pynex he had been tempted to contact a plaintiff's lawyer in a tobacco trial, but had never mustered the courage.

Pynex had paid him three hundred thousand dollars out of court, just to get rid of him. The company had insisted he agree never to testify in trials similar to Wood, but he refused. And when he refused, he became a marked man.

They, whoever they had been, said they'd kill him. The threats had been few and scattered over the years, always from unknown voices and always dropping in when least expected. Krigler was not one to hide. He'd written a book, an expose he said would be published in the event of his untimely death. A lawyer had it in Melbourne Beach. The lawyer was a friend who'd arranged the initial meeting with Rohr. The lawyer had also opened a dialogue with the FBI, just in case something happened to Mr. Krigler.

MILLIE DUPREE'S HUSBAND, Hoppy, owned a struggling realty agency in Biloxi. Certainly not the aggressive sort, he had few listings and few leads, but he worked diligently with what little business came his way. One wall in the front room had pictures of available OPPORTUNITIES OPPORTUNITIES thumbtacked to a corkboard-mainly little brick houses with neat lawns and a few run-down duplexes. thumbtacked to a corkboard-mainly little brick houses with neat lawns and a few run-down duplexes.

Casino fever had brought to the Coast a new herd of real estate swingers unafraid to borrow heavily and develop accordingly. Once again, Hoppy and the little guys had played it safe and got themselves squeezed even further into markets they knew all too well-darling little STARTERS STARTERS for the newlyweds and hopeless for the newlyweds and hopeless FIXUPS FIXUPS for the desperate and for the desperate and MOTIVATED SELLERS MOTIVATED SELLERS for those who couldn't qualify for a bank loan. for those who couldn't qualify for a bank loan.

But he paid his bills and somehow provided for his family-his wife Millie and their five kids, three at the junior college and two in high school. At any given time he had attached to his office the licenses of a half a dozen part-time sales a.s.sociates, for the most part a downhearted bunch of losers who shared his aversion to debt and forcefulness. Hoppy loved pinochle, and many hours were pa.s.sed at his desk in the back over cards as subdivisions sprang up all around him. Realtors, regardless of their talent, love to dream of the big score. Hoppy and his motley gang were not above taking a late-afternoon nip and talking big business over cards.

Just before six on Thursday, as the pinochle was winding down and preparations were being made to end another nonproductive day, a well-dressed young businessman with a shiny black attache entered the office and asked for Mr. Dupree. Hoppy was in the back, rinsing his mouth with Scope and hurrying to get home since Millie was locked away. Introductions were made. The young man presented a business card which declared him to be Todd Ringwald of KLX Property Group out of Las Vegas, Nevada. The card impressed Hoppy enough to shoo off the last of the lingering sales a.s.sociates, and lock his office door. The mere presence of one dressed so well and having traveled such a great distance could only mean serious matters were possible.

Hoppy offered a drink, then coffee, which could be brewed in an instant. Mr. Ringwald declined, and asked if he'd come at a bad time.

"No, not at all. We work crazy hours, you know. It's a crazy business."

Mr. Ringwald smiled and agreed because he too was once in business for himself, not too many years ago. First a bit about his company. KLX was a private outfit with holdings in a dozen states. While it did not own casinos, and had no plans to do so, it had developed a related specialty, a lucrative one. KLX tracked casino development. Hoppy nodded furiously as if this type of enterprise was altogether familiar to him.

Typically, when casinos move in, the local real estate market changes dramatically. Ringwald was certain Hoppy knew all about this, and Hoppy agreed wholeheartedly as if he'd made a fortune recently. KLX moved in quietly, and Ringwald emphasized just how utterly secretive the company was, a step behind the casinos, and developed shopping areas and expensive condos and apartment complexes and upper-end subdivisions. Casinos pay well, employ many, things change in the local economy, and, well, there's just a h.e.l.luva lot more money floating around and KLX wanted its share. "Our company is a vulture," Ringwald explained with a devious smile. "We sit back and watch the casinos. When they move, we go in for the kill."

"Brilliant," Hoppy offered, unable to control himself.

However, KLX had been slow to move on the Coast, and, confidentially, this had cost a few jobs back in Vegas. There were still incredible opportunities, though, to which Hoppy said, "There certainly are."

Ringwald opened his briefcase and removed a folded property map, which he held on his knees. He, as Vice President of Development, preferred to deal with smaller realty agents. The big firms had too many people hanging around, too many overweight housewives reading cla.s.sifieds and waiting for the slightest morsel of gossip. "You got that right!" Hoppy said, staring at the property map. "Plus you get better service from a small agency, like mine."

"You have been highly recommended," Ringwald said, and Hoppy couldn't suppress a smile. The phone rang. It was the senior in high school wanting to know what was for supper and when might Mother be coming home. Hoppy was pleasant but short. He was very busy, he explained, and there might be some old lasagna in the freezer.

The property map was unfolded on Hoppy's desk. Ringwald pointed to a large red-colored plot in Hanc.o.c.k County, next door to Harrison and the westernmost of the three coastal counties. Both men hovered over the desk from different sides.

"MGM Grand is coming here," Ringwald said, pointing to a large bay. "But no one knows it yet. You certainly can't tell anyone."

Hoppy's head was shaking h.e.l.l No! before Ringwald finished.

"They're gonna build the biggest casino on the Coast, probably middle of next year. They'll announce in three months. They'll buy a hundred acres or so of this land here."

"That's beautiful land. Virtually untouched." Hoppy had never been near the property with a real estate sign, but he had lived on the Coast for forty years.

"We want this," Ringwald said, pointing again to the land marked in red. It was adjacent to the north and west of the MGM land. "Five hundred acres, so we can do this." He pulled the top sheet back to reveal an artist's rendering of a rather splendid Planned Unit Development. It was labeled Stillwater Bay with bold blue letters across the top. Condos, office buildings, big homes, smaller homes, playgrounds, churches, a central square, a shopping mall, a pedestrian mall, a dock, a marina, a business block, parks, jogging paths, bike trails, even a proposed high school. It was Utopia, all planned for Hanc.o.c.k County by some wonderfully farsighted people in Las Vegas.

"Wow," Hoppy said. There was a b.l.o.o.d.y fortune on his desk.

"Four different phases over five years. The whole thing will cost thirty million. It's by far the biggest development ever seen in these parts."

"Nothing can touch it."

Ringwald flipped another page and revealed another drawing of the dock area, then another for a close-up of the residential section. "These are just the preliminary drawings. I'll show you more if you can come to the home office."

"Vegas."

"Yes. If we can reach an agreement on your representation, then we'd like to fly you out for a few days, you know, meet our people, see the whole project from the design end."

Hoppy's knees wobbled and he took a breath. Slow down, he told himself. "Yes, and what type of representation did you have in mind?"

"Initially, we need a broker to handle the purchase of the land. Once we buy it, we have to convince the local authorities to approve the development. This, as you know, can take time and become controversial. We spend a lot of time before planning commissions and zoning boards. We even go to court when necessary. But it's just part of our business. You'll be involved to some extent at this point. Once it's approved, well need a real estate firm to handle the marketing of Stillwater Bay."

Hoppy backed into his chair and pondered figures for a moment. "How much will the land cost?" he asked.

"It's expensive, much too expensive for this area. Ten thousand an acre, for land worth about half that much."

Ten thousand an acre for five hundred acres added up to five million bucks, six percent of which was three hundred thousand dollars for Hoppy's commission, a.s.suming of course no other realtors were to be involved. Ringwald watched poker-faced as Hoppy did the mental math.

"Ten thousand's too much," Hoppy said with authority.