“Mr. Rutledge did sound exuberantly youthful.”
“His teaser isn’t going to work that easily,” said Deke. “I’ll need to find out more about him.”
“He sounded like a polite young man.”
“That’s a good reason to not call him back. I’m sure he wants something.”
“He used my first name several times during our conversation,” said Diana. “I deal with some people who have never used my first name, and I’ve been taking their messages for a decade or more.”
“He’s probably raising money for some politician.”
“In West Virginia?”
“Call me skeptical,” said Deke.
“I thought you said teasers were an old tactic of yours.”
In the sanctity of his office, and out of sight of Diana, Deke smiled. There had been a time when his name hadn’t opened doors or gotten him any callbacks. His teasers had been one of his first successful techniques for getting people to take notice of his name.
Deke called out, loud enough so that Diana could hear without the intercom, “I’ll bet you he calls again within the hour, and I’ll bet he has a brand-new kind of bait.”
He looked at his watch and was sure Diana was looking at hers. She liked to remind him when he was wrong. But he was pretty sure about his time frame. It was his spot-on reads of people, as much as anything, that had helped him succeed in his career and his life.
An hour later, Deke walked out of his office, looked at the message Diana was writing, and said, “I told you he’d rise to the challenge.”
Jake Rutledge had called back, as Deke had predicted, and he’d also offered up another come-on. But Diana wasn’t about to credit Deke’s gift of prophecy. “If you’d have just called him back the first time, he wouldn’t have had to call back.”
“But I wouldn’t have gotten a look at his alternate strategy if I’d done that,” said Deke. “And I wouldn’t have been able to join in his cat-and-mouse game. The truth is, he’s managed to get my interest.”
Diana couldn’t help but notice the smile on Deke’s face. “Interesting message,” she said. “And he was very specific about it. Tell Mr. Deketomis, ‘Cowboy up.’”
“Cagey character,” said Deke.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean that in all sincerity. This kid has promise.”
“In what way?”
“His new pitch was a clever way of telling me he’s done his homework. I kind of like him already.”
“Then I think you should call him,” said Diana.
“I think I will.”
When Jake answered his cell phone, Deke didn’t offer any pleasantries. He entered the conversation in trial-lawyer mode.
“Okay, you win,” he said. “What is Zombieland?”
“Visit me in West Virginia and I’ll show you Zombieland. I’ll be your tour guide.”
“You’re not answering my question.”
“Some things need to be seen. And you need to see Zombieland, Mr. Deketomis. My hometown has become Zombieland, but there are thousands of other towns just like Oakley. Big corporations created these drug addicts—these zombies. And now these towns are struggling to stay alive.”
“Opioids,” guessed Deke.
“Poison dope,” said Jake. “It’s now our national nightmare.”
“Agreed. But how do you intend to make that into a lawsuit?”
“That’s what the defendants I’ve sued—I started with the biggest corporate drug distributor, and now I’ve upped the ante to include the biggest three—have been doing their best to argue. They’ve tried to shoot me down not once, but twice, in West Virginia and Ohio. And guess what? Two incredibly conservative federal judges sided with me, and both times have allowed my cases to continue. So to answer your question, Mr. Deketomis, I don’t intend to create a lawsuit. I already have created a lawsuit.”
Deke covered the phone with his hand. He didn’t want the kid to hear him laughing. Then he called out to Diana and said, “I want you to listen in on this conversation.”
With Diana on the line, Deke said, “Our firm has no doubt crossed paths with the defendants you’ve sued, so I already have a pretty good idea about what you have to do to get where you want to go. Who are you representing?”
“I convinced county commissions in West Virginia and Ohio to let me represent their interests in an action against the biggest three Fortune 50 pharmaceutical companies.”
“You must be a good salesman.”
“It’s easy when you’re selling the truth.”
“If only that were true,” said Deke. “Okay, Mr. Rutledge, what’s your case? Just give me the quick CliffsNotes version.”
“These defendants targeted communities like mine. First, they laid the groundwork by creating a myth that they had revolutionized the way that both acute and chronic pain could be safely and nonaddictively treated. They did that with deceptive literature created by the best doctors Big Pharma money could buy, as well as doctored-up clinical studies put together by highly paid physicians and scientists. Those efforts made it appear that their specific kind of opioid wasn’t addictive. By the time this information was debunked, they had a ten-year foothold. Doctors all over the country believed their fantasy science and began liberally prescribing opioids. But once people’s addictions got out of control, they began having to turn to less ethical doctors—pill mills. And because the pills were so easy to get, people started reselling them on the black market to make money. The pharmaceutical companies kept feeding the demand far beyond what anyone could have thought was being legitimately sold. What most people miss about this case is that both federal criminal statutes and state criminal statutes specifically required these companies to have a distribution review program to prevent excess numbers of narcotic opioids from reaching the market. But here’s the kicker—the industry itself was the only gatekeeper. It should come as no surprise, then, that they turned a blind eye to all the abuses going on. These so-called gatekeepers created an all-out cash-cow criminal enterprise. It wasn’t only that they didn’t monitor or restrict their legalized dope; they failed to intervene and correct problems of systemic addiction as they were required by law. That resulted in their knowingly and intentionally opening up the floodgates and selling as much as ten thousand percent more drugs than what they were legislatively permitted to sell. I know that individuals wearing three-thousand-dollar Brioni suits don’t look like bottom-feeding drug pushers, Mr. Deketomis, but that’s exactly what they are.”
Toward the end of Jake’s impassioned talk, Diana had positioned herself so she could be seen by Deke. She offered a big thumbs-up and an enthusiastic nod. Deke shrugged, pretending to be unconvinced, but what he’d heard made him as impressed as Diana. “At this point, I imagine you’ve been exposed to their three-monkey defense,” said Deke.
“Haven’t I?” said Jake. “See no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil. Their counsel swears they couldn’t see anything that looked like a problem, says they never heard anything that sounded like a problem, and now are unwilling to declare they created a problem.”
“And how have you responded to all of that?” asked Deke.
“I’ve told them that monkeys don’t hunt.”
This time Deke wasn’t the only one who had to cover up the phone to hide his laughter. Diana did the same. Both of them knew Jake was paraphrasing Deke’s old standard of “That dog don’t hunt.”
“Cowboy up,” he said to Jake. “Tell me about that particular message.”
“I’d rather hear it from you,” said Jake. “As I understand it, you weren’t much older than I was when you helped take on Big Tobacco. Everyone said there was no way you and that team of lawyers you were working with could win that case, but that didn’t seem to faze you or your partners. I wrote a paper about you at WVU and used you as an example when I wrote about innovation in the practice of law.”
“It’s gettin’ kinda thick in here,” said Deke.
“How about I produce that paper for you?” Jake said. “In it, I quoted what you told all the lawyers in your firm. You said, ‘We all cowboy up or we all go home.’ What they didn’t know at the time was that you were focusing on one particular cowboy.”
Deke was beginning to think the kid might actually have written that paper.
“Before you put a former Marlboro Man on the stand,” said Jake, “you showed commercials of him that had aired, footage of him roping cattle and working the range and smoking his cigarette, and looking like the rugged all-American man. And then a dozen years after that ad campaign had run, you called that honest-to-goodness cowboy as a witness. Everyone saw how the Marlboro Man was now skeletal and sickly and wasting away with emphysema. You shocked the world with a different connotation of the Marlboro Man.”
“I’m flattered you remembered that,” said Deke, “but these days, that’s ancient history.”
“I couldn’t disagree more,” said Jake. “It was a landmark case with all sorts of legal innovations. And now it’s more relevant than ever because there are so many parallels between Big Tobacco and Big Pharma. There is one major difference, though. With tobacco, it takes most people thirty years to die; with opioids, it usually happens within five years.”
Deke felt something stirring in him. His plate was full, and he had more work than he wanted to handle, but the kid reminded him of what it meant to be a young trial lawyer on a mission. Deke liked to go “all in” with every case he worked, but nothing had ever motivated him as much as going to war against Big Tobacco. He’d known how important that case was, and that successfully pulling it off meant saving millions of lives. This opioid case, he realized, had the same kind of life-and-death consequences.
“I’m just guessing,” Deke said, “but it sounds to me like you might have a personal stake in this fight. “What is it?”
“My twin brother, Blake, was an opioid addict who overdosed and died.”
Deke sighed and then said, “Sorry.”
“Thanks.”
This conversation hadn’t played out as Deke had expected. He’d thought he would listen to an eager young lawyer’s pitch and then politely tell him that he would find someone to help him, but that he and his firm would have to take a pass.
Deke considered his too-many commitments and said, “Tell you what, why don’t you send me some of the information you have on your cases and what you’re hoping Bergman/Deketomis can do to help.”
“No,” said Jake.
The kid surprised him again. Deke had thought he’d be delighted that he would even consider his proposal.
“Excuse me?” said Deke.
“I know how busy you are, Mr. Deketomis, but once you see what I’m talking about, you’ll be as moved to action as you were in the tobacco wars. This isn’t something that can be put off till next week or next month. Nearly one hundred and seventy thousand people will die this year, all because of Wall Street’s corporate greed.”
“I’ve been a lawyer for many years, Mr. Rutledge,” said Deke. “During that time, I’ve learned the old axiom is right: Act in haste, repent in leisure.”
“That old axiom will kill a lot of people,” said Jake.
From outside his office, Deke could hear Diana’s intake of breath. By the sound of it, she approved of the kid’s not backing down an inch. Deke found himself nodding in approval even though his answer remained guarded. “I’ll think about what you’ve told me,” he said, “but right now all I can do is promise you that I will get back to you very soon.”
“Thank you for taking my call, Mr. Deketomis,” said Jake. He wasn’t completely successful in hiding his disappointment.
Right after their call ended, Deke punched in the extension for Carol Morris, the head of Safety and Security and Investigative Services for Bergman/Deketomis.
“I’m still waiting on the chemical results,” she said, assuming that he was calling about the weed-killer case they were working on.
“I’ve got something else to put on your plate. I’d like you to do a background check on Jake Rutledge. He’s a West Virginia lawyer who hails from the town of Oakley. I don’t want anything extensive; just give it an hour and tell me whatever you can.”
“Will do,” she said.
“I just finished talking with Mr. Rutledge,” Deke said. “He called the town of Oakley ‘Zombieland.’ I’d like to take a look at this Zombieland firsthand. And I’m thinking the best way to do that is for you to schedule me a ride-along with the local cops up there.”
“For when?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. And I don’t want to be touring a place called Zombieland by myself. Can I have Bennie Stokes for all of tomorrow?”
Bennie was part of Carol’s investigative staff. He also acted as bodyguard when needed. The full-blooded Seminole Indian had played football at Florida State, and few people were as intimidating in person. Unless provoked, Bennie was a mild-mannered family man. Still, even the flesh-eating kind of zombies might think twice about trying to take Bennie on.
“I’ll arrange that,” said Carol.
“Thanks,” said Deke. “And I’d appreciate it if you could call Bennie and tell him we’ll be flying out midmorning.”
Deke hung up the phone and decided it was time to take a walk. He exited his office and casually strolled over to Diana’s desk.
She looked up from the monitor, smiled, and said, “I told you he was persuasive.”
Diana was a second-generation Cuban; her parents had fled the Castro regime in the sixties.
“It’s your fault,” Deke said.
“Is that so?”
Diana had been organizing Deke’s life for most of her adult life. She was his efficiency expert. On her watch, nothing fell through the cracks.
“Yes,” he said. “You were the one who insisted that I call the kid.”
“Even you thought his ‘Cowboy up’ pitch was clever.”
“Too clever by half.”
“I’d call that a good thing,” Diana said.
“Good thing or not, come tomorrow it’s wheels-up for West Virginia.”
“Tomorrow?” she said.
Deke nodded. “Good luck clearing my calendar. What do I have? Seven appointments?”
“I think it’s nine,” she said. Despite that, Diana was smiling.
So was Deke. His juices were flowing. This case already had him revved up. He always had a gut feeling about cases that compelled him to get involved. The kid had sure gotten his attention.
“Sounds like a good day to play hooky,” he said, even though both of them knew he’d be doing anything but that.
“Should I offer an explanation when I’m rescheduling your appointments?”
“Sure,” said Deke. “Tell them the last time you saw me I was on my way to a place called Zombieland.”
6
SPECIAL DELIVERY
Jake spent the evening second-guessing himself. Instead of trying to ingratiate himself with Nick Deketomis, he’d essentially challenged him.
“I need to know you’re all in,” Jake had said. Even now he cringed at his temerity. He could have welcomed the opportunity to arouse Deketomis’s interest and then done his best to get the lawyer to commit to visiting him in West Virginia. But no, what he’d done was challenge him to an all-or-nothing proposition.
Nick Deketomis had been the youngest lawyer ever inducted into the Trial Lawyers Hall of Fame. He probably had forgotten more about the law than Jake ever knew.
Tomorrow I need to call him up and apologize, thought Jake. I need to tell him that I thought over his words and am willing to accept his terms. But the idea of saying those words roiled Jake’s stomach. The truth of the matter was that he would need a committed Nick Deketomis and the resources of his law firm in order to win.
Mr. Deketomis had told Jake that he would call back very soon. But what if his definition of very soon was a month from now? There was no way Jake could remain on tenterhooks for that
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long. The wait was already agonizing, and only hours had passed. The sound of a car pulling into the gravel driveway surprised him. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and Oakley was no longer a place where you welcomed surprise visitors at night.
Jake pulled up a shade and looked out into the darkness. There was enough light for him to make out two men in suits, one white and one black, getting out of a late-model sedan. Jake’s first impression was that the men were federal agents, but even with the less-than-optimal light, he changed his mind. The suits looked tailored, the men wearing them not so much. They were big and muscled and deliberate. The black man was carrying a briefcase.
Stepping away from the light and into the shadows, Jake tried to hide from any prying eyes. From his front door he heard knocking. Instead of going to the door, Jake waited. “Mr. Rutledge?” called a voice. “We know you’re inside. We’re here with a delivery.”
“Who sent you?” Jake called.
“A friend wanted you to have a gift. But you’ll need to sign for it.” “What is it?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. And I’m not comfortable conducting
business on your doorstep talking through a door.” If the two men had wanted to break in, thought Jake, they could have already. He went to the door and unlatched the dead bolt. Both men smiled—or gave their best attempt at it—as they came inside. Their frowns were part of their faces and seemed to have been formed by a gravity not easily overcome.
“Mr. Rutledge,” said the white man, “today is your lucky day.” “You two don’t look like you’re from Publisher’s Clearinghouse,” said Jake.
His visitors tried to laugh, but that exercise was even less successful than finding their smiles.
“Not exactly,” said the black man, “but that’s not to say you haven’t won a grand prize.”
“What kind of prize are you talking about?”
“The contents inside this briefcase,” he said, extending it toward Jake.
Instead of taking the case, Jake said, “What’s inside?”
Law and Addiction Page 6
