Law and Addiction

by Mike Papantonio

  “I didn’t expect you to be up and about,” he said.

  “I guess I got sick of being sick,” she said. “I was even thinking of going outside to get a little sun. I know I’m about as pale as a zombie.”

  “I could use a little color myself,” said Jake.

  “Let’s sit in the backyard, then,” she said. “Spring has sprung.”

  It was a good summation for the day, thought Jake. The sun was out and infusing the afternoon with its gentle heat. The two of them walked through the living room. Gary Fowler had nodded off, even though his right hand was holding tightly to a beer can. He didn’t stir as they walked past.

  Once they were outside, Jake grabbed two Adirondack chairs from under an overhang and brought them out to the lawn. The Fowlers’ backyard was good-sized, and it featured several large shade trees. A big garden bed that had lain fallow over winter circled much of the lawn.

  “The garden used to be Momma’s pride and joy,” said Anna.

  Jake situated the chairs so that they faced the sun, and he and Anna sat down. The rays touched their skin, and Anna sighed contentedly. “Light therapy,” she said.

  “There’s actually something to that,” Jake said. “Some doctors believe light stimulates the release of your own natural opioids. It stimulates your circadian rhythms and helps treat depression.”

  “I’m beginning to be afraid that you’re going to spring a test on me covering all the information you’ve provided on drugs and addiction,” she said.

  “Blame my inner nerd. And my caring about you.”

  “In that event,” she said, “it’s all good.”

  “I guess I went a little overboard while preparing for my case,” said Jake. “I learned way too much about drugs, including all the details about treating addiction.”

  “You should have mentioned OCD in your excuse,” said Anna.

  Jake’s smile matched hers. “I should have,” he agreed. “But while we’re talking about treatment, have you thought about how you’re going to stay clean?”

  Anna shaded her eyes and looked up into the sky. “I hadn’t really considered any long-term plan. I know there are some NA groups in the area.”

  “Support groups have their place,” Jake said with a tentative nod.

  “You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

  “The results are sketchy, I’m afraid.”

  She looked at him. “Then what’s the answer?”

  “There is no one answer,” he said. “It’s truly dependent on the individual. But you’ve already made it through the place that keeps the majority of people from even considering Naltrexone—you went through the necessary detox period. From this point forward, you could get a monthly injection.”

  “My little helper.”

  “There’s no question that it will decrease your need for opioids. How is that a bad thing?”

  “I guess I see it as a failure of willpower.”

  “Is taking a flu vaccine a failure of willpower? Or is it something you do to avoid getting the flu?”

  His analogy made Anna smile. “I’ll consider it,” she said, “especially if relapse seems like a possibility.”

  “You should also be considering recovery housing. Some people find it helpful to live with roommates who are fighting the same battle.”

  Anna shook her head. “That cure sounds worse than the disease.”

  “Different strokes for different folks.”

  “I know me,” said Anna. “The idea of talking about how I’m feeling, and spending every day listening to others discussing the same gives me the heebie-jeebies. Sitting around and yakking is not me. Even though I’m only a few days into recovery, I’m already feeling antsy not doing anything. It’s better if I keep busy.”

  “Yesterday you said the same thing. That’s why I brought you some work today.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “It’s sort of what a paralegal would do,” Jake said, grinning, “but unfortunately, it’s unpaid. Still, you’d be helping me, and doing your part in the war on opioids.”

  Anna smiled. “When do I start?”

  “Not until the two of us get at least the start of a tan.”

  “The sun feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “Too good. I’m afraid I might fall asleep and wake up a lobster.”

  “I won’t let that happen,” Anna promised.

  “Pinkie promise?”

  They shook each other’s pinkies. “While you’re promising things,” Jake said, “how about agreeing to long-term medical follow-up? A doctor really should be monitoring you.”

  Anna nodded. “I can live with that.”

  “Good,” he said. “I know a good doctor I’d like to recommend to you.”

  “Since when did you become a professional angel?”

  He held her eyes for a moment, hoping she’d see the sincerity there. “I wasn’t there for Blake,” he said. “I’m going to be there for you.”

  Anna nodded, then reached out toward him. This time she didn’t extend a pinkie; she offered her hand. Jake took it into his, and they intertwined fingers. They sat there like that for a while, and Jake admitted to himself that he liked the feeling.

  “I talked to Deputy Dunn this morning,” he said after a while, “and then I went over to County Records. As far as I could determine, no condemnation notice was ever sent to your home address or the business address.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “It’s good in that your family is not in imminent danger of losing the business.”

  “But?” she asked, squeezing his hand.

  “But there’s something about this whole process that doesn’t pass the smell test.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All the businesses that were supposedly condemned and were supposed to be up for auction just happen to be in the center of downtown Oakley. Admittedly, values are depressed now, but when our town recovers from the opioid epidemic, and it will, those locations will be in demand.”

  “Isn’t that the rule of business?” she said. “Buy low and sell high?”

  Reluctantly, he released her hand and twisted in his seat to face her. “It is,” he said, “but not if you manipulate the fair market value. I’m beginning to think that just the threat of condemnation is resulting in condemnation blight.”

  Anna shook her head. “What’s that?”

  “Let’s say the government announces the need for eminent domain proceedings,” said Jake. “That means they’re going to be taking land for the public good and doing something with it like building a highway. When the government makes that announcement, it usually results in the devaluation of nearby property values because no one wants a highway running through their backyard. That’s referred to as condemnation blight. For a business owner, that can be devastating. Values and rents can plummet. Often the only recourse for those affected is to go to court and fight to be paid at least fair market value for their devalued property.”

  “Where does that leave Dad’s business?”

  “Right now someone has their eye on getting your dad’s property for almost no money. In West Virginia there are plenty of buildings that have been declared BAD—Blighted, Abandoned, and Dilapidated. For the good of the community, they’re often subject to a wrecking ball. But the Oakley properties weren’t like that. They weren’t decrepit, and they were in a good location. There’s no reason to condemn them except that in a condemnation proceeding, prices go way south. We’re talking being worth pennies on the dollar.”

  “That sounds ugly,” she said.

  “It is ugly,” he agreed. “And I’m sure there are other communities besides Oakley that have been targeted the same way. The case I’m working on is taking up all my time, but as soon as I have some free time, I’ll be starting my own investigation into what’s happened. In the meantime, though, because the county won’t be able to prove they sent proper notice, your father doesn’t have to worry about losing his bu
siness.”

  “Thank you for that,” Anna said. “Now, didn’t you say you were going to have me help you as payment for your work?”

  “I could use your help,” Jake admitted.

  Anna took her index finger and touched the exposed flesh on her arm. In its wake was a patch of white. “It’s time to go inside anyway,” she said. “I’m already beginning to burn.”

  vvv Jake returned from his car with two cardboard boxes full of documents. Anna directed him to put them down on the kitchen table. “That’s a lot of paperwork,” she said.

  “There are three more boxes out in my car. Nick Deketomis has a theme system he uses in depositions and trials that requires a special way of organizing every document we can put our hands on.”

  “And that’s what we’ll be doing?”

  Jake nodded. “We’ll be reviewing reams of emails, memos, and sales data that’s being turned over to us from discovery requests that we filed. One area in particular that I want you to focus on is the mountain of material coming in from FOIA requests we’ve been filing almost every day.”

  “FOIA?” she asked.

  “Freedom of Information Act.”

  “Show me what you want,” said Anna, “and leave the rest to me.”

  For the most part, the two of them worked in silence. Jake had thought this particular work would be good for her. Anna had said she did better when busy, but in addition to keeping her occupied, doing the document review exposed the ugly and insidious side of opioids. Since this was rehab of sorts, Jake wasn’t above using “scared straight” tactics.

  The quiet was interrupted when Anna asked, “How will you use these files?”

  “It’s information,” Jake said. “These documents tell stories that these drug pushers never believed would see the light of day. In court, they’ll try to portray the average opioid abuser as some kind of lowlife. Our goal will be to explain how, at every step of the way, these companies understood the intricacies of how they would get people addicted, and how that would result in bigger sales. We want to expose what is called the ‘oversaturation scheme.’ In these documents we can see how they sold narcotic opioids by promoting their illegal street sale. Their key to success was to distribute multiple millions of narcotic drugs every year to cities and counties with populations between five hundred and one thousand people.”

  “You’re saying they flooded small towns with millions of opioids?”

  “It’s right here in these documents,” said Jake. “They knew the excess pills would move to the street market. As the street sales increased and profits soared, all the Big Pharma distributors internalized these black-market narcotic sales into their business plans. These documents will also help show that from day one, these monsters knew all the science about how it was almost impossible to rehab an oxy addict.”

  “I’m afraid I can attest to that,” Anna said wryly.

  They continued with their document reviews. Nothing was said for hours as they focused on their task; hearing Anna sniffling, Jake finally looked up and noticed the tears falling down her cheeks.

  “Anna?” he whispered.

  She shook her head, cleared her throat, but couldn’t produce any words. Anna held up her index finger, asking for a moment. Finally, she was able to say, “One of the newspaper stories I just read got to me. It was right here in their company files, along with dozens of other stories, like they were keeping a record of all the people they’d hurt.”

  “Which one?”

  “The nineteen-year-old who became a mother for the first time. She had to have an emergency C-section, and there were complications. Things went from bad to worse, and she had to get a hysterectomy. Her doctor gave her opioids for the pain.”

  Anna was forced to clear her throat for a second time. “She had never taken drugs before—not even aspirin, according to her husband. Eighteen months after giving birth, she overdosed and died.”

  Her tears were falling so fast the table was getting wet and threatening Jake’s papers. He picked them up and said, “Why don’t you take a break?”

  Anna nodded. She wiped away the tears and walked to the sink to get a glass of water. After taking a few sips, she was able to speak, if not hide the pain in her voice.

  “That poor little girl would have had her second birthday last week,” she whispered. “I hope someone made her a cake.”

  18

  RUSSIAN NESTING DOLLS

  Eva Whistler looked at her husband, Danny, and sighed. He had come to her and confessed that there was a “little situation” in some Podunk town. Danny had apparently cut some corners. Would he ever learn?

  “Play it again,” said Eva.

  “Thought you should know there’s a lawyer sniffing around the properties. He’s already been able to determine the county didn’t send out any condemnation letters. I’ve been hearing from different people that he’s sticking his nose in all kinds of areas we don’t want him looking. This isn’t what I signed up for. What are you going to do about this?”

  Eva shook her head. The only encouraging thing about the voice mail was that the cop’s voice hadn’t betrayed any nervousness. She wished the same could be said for her husband. To use one of her mama’s favorite quotes, Danny was looking as nervous as a whore in church.

  “You want to explain why you didn’t follow the plan?” she asked. “We were using the family money to buy properties on the cheap, but you decided you didn’t want to go the legal route. You bypassed the city and county in order to pay nothing. You even made up some fictitious auction. Is that right?”

  157 He averted his eyes, afraid to look at her. “I thought I’d expedite the whole process,” he said, “especially when it looked like condemnation wasn’t going to happen.” In an even smaller voice, he added, “This was a perfect spot to put up one of our clinics.”

  “You’ve exposed our whole operation,” she said, “for no good reason. You think saving a buck is worth going to jail over?”

  Danny didn’t answer. His silence, Eva was sure, spoke volumes.

  “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” she asked. “You’ve stolen property and made it look as if the government was involved.”

  “There were no problems,” he admitted, “until now.”

  “Jesus,” said Eva, rolling her eyes and looking up to the heavens. Then she considered how to best deal with the situation. She was never going to be Mother Whistler again.

  “How well do you know the cop?” Eva asked.

  “He seems like a good ol’ boy,” said Danny. “We went out a few times and hit it off.”

  “Is he solid?” she asked. “Can he be trusted?”

  “Hell, yes,” he said.

  “You need to call him back right now,” she said. “We’re going to come up with a story, and you’re going to make sure he’s got it down pat. When push comes to shove, he’s going to have to stick to his story that he received a directive detailing the imminent condemnation of those properties. He can claim that paperwork is now somehow missing and that he has no idea why he was set up in such a way. Make sure he acts baffled as to why someone would have manipulated him. Have him say it makes no sense. Tell him if he does that, no one will be able to prove differently. And, of course, this week’s pretend auction can’t take place.”

  Eva could see that Danny was looking like a fish out of water. Remembering key details wasn’t one of his strong suits. “I’ll bullet-point everything you need to say,” she said, grabbing a notepad, and in precise print she jotted down her husband’s talking points. Then she positioned herself next to Danny.

  The cop picked up on the first ring. “Hey, Paint,” said Danny, “I just got your message. Is the coast all clear?”

  “I’m by myself,” said the deputy.

  “You got me curious. Who’s the snoop?”

  Eva put her ear right next to the phone to make sure she heard every word.

  “The guy’s name is Jake Rutledge,” said the deputy. “He
’s this young lawyer who’s a real pit bull. We go back a couple of years to when his twin brother died of an overdose. That set him off, and he started pressing me with all sorts of questions about drugs and opioids, stirring up trouble. Nowadays he’s that fellow who’s suing the opioid distributors in federal court.”

  Eva nodded. Danny didn’t follow any current events other than sports—he was a big Mountaineers football booster even though he’d flunked out of West Virginia University as a sophomore—but Eva was well acquainted with Jake Rutledge and his lawsuit. The media had played it up and made him out to be this knight in shining armor. Hearing Rutledge’s name made her even more uneasy about Danny’s failed end run around the law.

  As Dunn continued to speak, Eva wrote down questions for Danny to ask. She tapped her index finger on one of those questions.

  “So,” Danny said, “how is it that this Rutledge fellow became involved in the first place? I thought these properties were supposed to be slam dunks.”

  “They should have been,” growled Dunn. “Until recently, the old guy who owned the business ran it as a service station and small store. Now his wife is dead, and he sits at home drunk and disabled from a stroke. What I didn’t see coming was the old guy’s daughter, and her having this lawyer for a friend. The daughter’s a real looker, and I expect Romeo was trying to show off for her by helping out. This was just one of those flukes.”

  Eva tapped the page with her manicured fingernail, and Danny read something else she’d written.

  “You’re right, buddy,” said Danny. “I guess we’ll just have to pull the plug on this whole operation.”

  The silence on the other end suggested Dunn didn’t like the sound of that. No doubt he’d been counting on a big payday.

  “I’ll make it up to you, Paint,” said Danny. “I just need to do some regrouping.”

  Eva signaled to her husband that it was time to end the conversation.

  “Paint,” he said, “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you not to say nothing to no one. Just to be safe, though, you need to keep me in the loop as to what this lawyer is up to.”

  Danny listened to Dunn’s answer and then said, “That sounds good. You take care now.”