The Runaway Jury Part 26

"Money."

"I figured. How much?"

"I'll name a price later. I take it you're ready to deal."

"I'm always ready to deal. But I gotta know what I get in return."

"It's very simple, Fitch. It depends on what you want. As far as you're concerned this jury can do one of four things. It can deliver a verdict for the plaintiff. It can split and hang and go home, and you'll be back down here in a year or so doing this again. Rohr isn't going away. It can come back nine to three for you, and you get a huge victory. And it can come back twelve to zero, and your clients can relax for several years."

"I know all this."

"Of course you do. If we rule out a plaintiff's verdict, then we have three choices."

"What can you deliver?"

"Anything I want. Including a plaintiff's verdict."

"So the other side is willing to pay."

"We're talking. Let's just leave it at that."

"Is this an auction? Your verdict to the highest bidder?"

"It's whatever I want it to be."

"I'd feel better if you'd stay away from Rohr."

"I'm not too concerned with your feelings."

Another waiter appeared and noticed them. He reluctantly asked if they'd like something to drink. Fitch wanted iced tea. Marlee asked for a Diet c.o.ke in a can.

"Tell me how the deal works," he said when the waiter left.

"It's very simple. We agree on the verdict you want, just look at the menu and place your order. Then we agree on the price. You get your money ready. We wait until the very end, until the lawyers finish their closing arguments and the jury retires to deliberate. At that point, I furnish you with wiring instructions and the money is immediately sent to a bank in, say, Switzerland. Once I get confirmation the money has been received, then the jury returns with your verdict."

Fitch had spent hours predicting a scenario remarkably similar to this, but to hear it come from Marlee's lips with such a cool precision made his heart pound and his head spin. This could be the easiest one yet!

"Won't work," he said smugly, like a man who'd negotiated many such verdict deals.

"Oh really. Rohr thinks it will."

d.a.m.n, she was quick! She knew just exactly where to stick the knife.

"But there's no guarantee," he protested.

She adjusted her sungla.s.ses and leaned forward on her elbows. "So you doubt me, Fitch?"

"That's not the issue. You're asking me to wire what I'm sure will be a large sum of money on the hope and prayer that your friend will control the deliberations. Juries are so unpredictable."

"Fitch, my friend is controlling the deliberations even as we speak. He'll have his votes long before the lawyers stop talking."

Fitch would pay. He'd made the decision a week earlier to pay whatever she wanted, and he knew that when the money left The Fund there were no guarantees. He didn't care. He trusted his Marlee. She and her friend Easter or whatever the h.e.l.l his name was had patiently stalked Big Tobacco to reach this point, and they would happily hand over a verdict for the right price. They had lived for this moment.

Oh, the questions he wanted to ask. He'd love to start with the two of them and ask whose idea this was, such an ingenious, devious plan to study litigation, then follow it across the country, then plant oneself on the jury so a deal could be cut for a verdict. It was nothing short of brilliant. He could grill her for hours, maybe days, about the specifics, but he knew there would be no answers.

He also knew she'd deliver. She had worked too hard and had come too far with their plot to fail.

"I'm not totally helpless in this matter, you know," he said, still holding his ground.

"Of course not, Fitch. I'm sure you've laid enough traps to snag at least four jurors. Shall I name them?"

The drinks arrived and Fitch gulped his tea. No, he did not want her to name them. He would not play a guessing game with someone who had the hard facts. Talking with Marlee was like talking to the leader of the jury, and though Fitch cherished the moment it made the conversation quite onesided. How was he to know if she was bluffing or telling the truth? It simply wasn't fair.

"I sense you doubt whether I'm in control," she said.

"I doubt everything."

"What if I get a juror b.u.mped?"

"You've already b.u.mped Stella Hulic," Fitch said, and drew the first and only very small smile from her.

"I can do it again. What if, say, I decided to send home Lonnie Shaver? Would you be impressed?"

Fitch almost choked on his tea. He wiped his mouth with the back of a hand, said, "I'm sure Lonnie would be happy. He's probably the most bored of the twelve."

"Shall I b.u.mp him?"

"No. He's harmless. Plus, since we'll be working together, I think we should keep Lonnie."

"He and Nicholas talk a lot, you know?"

"Is Nicholas talking to everyone?"

"Yes, at various levels. Give him time."

"You seem confident."

"I'm not confident in the ability of your lawyers. But I am confident in Nicholas, and that's all that matters."

They sat quietly and waited for two waiters to set the table next to them. Lunch began at eleven-thirty, and the cafe was coming to life.

When the waiters finished and left, Fitch said, "I can't cut a deal if I don't know the terms."

Without the slightest hesitation, she said, "And I'm not cutting a deal as long as you're digging through my past."

"Got something to hide?"

"No. But I have friends, and I don't like getting phone calls from them. Stop it now, and this meeting will lead to the next. One more phone call, and I'll never speak to you again."

"Don't say that."

"I mean it, Fitch. Call off the dogs."

"They're not my dogs, I swear."

"Call them off anyway, or I'll spend more time with Rohr. He might want to cut a deal, and a verdict for him means you're out of work and your clients lose billions. You can't afford it, Fitch."

She was certainly right about that. Whatever she planned to ask for would be a tiny sum compared to the ultimate cost of a plaintiff's verdict.

"We'd better move fast," he said. "This trial won't last much longer."

"How long?" she asked.

"Three or four days for the defense."

"Fitch, I'm hungry. Why don't you leave and retrace your steps? I'll call you in a couple of days."

"What a coincidence. I'm hungry too."

"No thanks. I'll eat alone. Plus, I want you away from here."

He rose, said, "Sure, Marlee. Whatever you want. Good day."

She watched him saunter back down the pier to the parking lot next to the beach. He stopped there and called someone from a cellphone.

AFTER REPEATED ATTEMPTS to reach Hoppy by phone, Jimmy Hull Moke dropped in unannounced on Dupree Realty Tuesday afternoon and was told by a sleepy-eyed receptionist that Mr. Dupree was somewhere in the back. She left to fetch him, and returned fifteen minutes later with the apology that she had been wrong, that Mr. Dupree was not in his office and had in fact left for an important meeting.

"I see his car out there," Jimmy Hull said, agitated, pointing to the small parking lot just outside the door. Sure enough, there was Hoppy's old station wagon.

"He rode with someone else," she said, obviously lying.

"Where'd he go?" Jimmy Hull asked as if he might go after him.

"Somewhere near Pa.s.s Christian. That's all I know."

"Why won't he return my phone calls?"

"I have no idea. Mr. Dupree is a very busy man."

Jimmy Hull shoved both hands deep in the pockets of his jeans and glared down at the woman. "You tell him I stopped by, that I'm very irritated, and that he'd better call me. You got that?"

"Yes sir."

He left the office, got in his Ford pickup, and drove away. She watched to be safe, then raced to the back to free Hoppy from the broom closet.

THE SIXTY-FOOTER with Captain Theo at the helm traveled fifty miles into the Gulf, where under a cloudless sky and amid gentle sea breezes, half the jury fished for mackerel, snapper, and redfish. Angel Weese had never been on a boat, couldn't swim, and got sick two hundred yards from sh.o.r.e, but with the help of a seasoned deckhand and a bottle of Dramamine she recovered and actually caught the first fish of any size. Rikki looked splendidly cute with shorts, Reeboks, tanned legs. The Colonel and the Captain were inevitably kindred spirits, and it wasn't long before Nap was on the bridge talking naval strategy and exchanging war stories.

Two deckhands prepared a fine lunch of boiled shrimp, fried oyster sandwiches, crab claws, and chowder. The first round of beer was served with lunch. Only Rikki abstained and drank water.

The beer continued throughout the afternoon as the fishing alternated between frenzy and boredom, and as the sun grew warmer on the deck. The boat was large enough to find privacy. Nicholas and Jerry made certain that Lonnie Shaver kept a cold beer in hand. They were determined to chat him up for the first time.

Lonnie had an uncle who'd worked on a shrimp boat for many years, before it sank in a storm and the entire crew was never found. When he was a kid, he'd fished these waters with his uncle, and, frankly, he'd had his share of fishing. Despised it, really, and hadn't been in years. Still, the boat trip sounded a bit more tolerable than the bus ride to New Orleans.

It took four beers to knock the edge off and loosen the tongue. They lounged in a small upper-deck cabin, open on all sides. On the main deck below them Rikki and Angel were watching the deckhands clean their catch.

"I wonder how many experts the defense will call," Nicholas said, changing the subject from fishing with near total exasperation. Jerry was lying on a plastic cot, his socks and shoes off, his eyes closed, cold beer in hand.

"They don't have to call any as far as I'm concerned," Lonnie said, gazing at the sea.

"You've had enough, huh?" Nicholas said.

"Pretty d.a.m.ned ridiculous. Man smokes for thirty-five years, then wants millions for his estate after he kills himself."

"See what I told you," Jerry said without opening his eyes.

"What?" Lonnie asked.

"Jerry and I had you pegged as a defense juror," Nicholas explained. "It was difficult though, because you've had so little to say."

"And what are you?" Lonnie asked.

"Me, I'm still open-minded. Jerry's leaning toward the defense, right, Jerry?"

"I have not discussed the case with anyone. I have had no unauthorized contact. I have not taken any bribes. I am a juror Judge Harkin can be proud of."

"He's leaning toward the defense," Nicholas said to Lonnie. "Because he's addicted to nicotine, can't kick the habit, but he's convinced himself he can throw them away whenever he wants. He can't, because he's a wimp. But he wants to be a real man like Colonel Herrera."

"Who doesn't?" Lonnie said.

"Jerry thinks that because he can quit, if he really wanted to, then anyone should be able to quit, which he can't do himself, and therefore Jacob Wood should've stopped long before he got cancer."

"That's about right," Jerry said. "But I object to the part about the wimp."

"Makes good sense to me," Lonnie said. "How can you be open-minded?"

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe it's because I haven't heard all the testimony yet. Yeah, that's it. The law says that we must refrain from reaching verdicts until all the evidence is in. Forgive me."

"You're forgiven," Jerry said. "Now it's your turn to fetch another round." Nicholas drained his can and walked down the narrow stairway to the cooler on the main deck.

"Don't worry about him," Jerry said. "He'll be with us when it counts."

Twenty-six.