by James Ross
“What?” J Dub complained. “Three miles an hour is the quiver of a foot.”
“You said you knowingly set the cruise control three miles over the limit.”
J Dub looked at the cop, amazed. “You’re kidding?” He continued to read the ticket.
“We’ve had complaints about people speeding on this stretch of the road.” J Dub looked out his window. The road was straight with foliage on both sides.
“There is no danger or population here. What’s this other stuff?”
“When I approached the car I noticed that you weren’t wearing your seat belt.”
“I unbuckled it to get my license out of my pocket.”
“No you didn’t.”
“That’s your opinion.”
The officer looked at the rear windows. “The other violation is too much tint on your windows.” He glanced at J Dub. “If you’d like I’ll ask you for your registration and insurance.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“I’m doing what the boss tells me.”
“Who is giving you you’re marching orders?”
“Captain O’Callahan.” The cop paused. “He said that it is part of our new revenue enhancement program.”
J Dub jerked his head, dumbfounded, as he thought about what he just heard. “You guys are so broke down there that you need to give a citizen a ticket for going three miles over the limit along with this other nit-picky crap?”
The cop shrugged. “It’s all part of safety.” He turned to walk back to his car and abruptly stopped. “Have a nice day.”
J Dub mumbled something that was inaudible. He started his car and continued to work which was only a mile up the road. The weather was ideal, but for some reason the sunrise just didn’t look as enjoyable. B2 jumped up and down his leg and he shooed the dog away. The smell of coffee brewing made him almost want to throw up.
He walked to the cart barn and pulled carts to the front loading zone. B2 continued his playful ways. J Dub wanted none of the dog. He had never gotten a speeding ticket in his life and now he got one at 5:30 in the morning for going three miles over the limit!
J Dub knew Doyle O’Callahan. He would give him a call. The course had hosted several fundraisers in the past for the police department. The day hadn’t started very well, but business was business. The boys would be rolling in any minute. He had to get things ready to go.
Fred was the first one through the door. It was customary for him to bring in a box of doughnuts and today was no exception. He placed them on the counter, grabbed one full of chocolate cream and continued to the booth that had his imprint in the cushions. “How are you doing today?”
“Same old stuff, different day. I got up on the wrong side of the bed I think.”
Within minutes nine more of the guys made their way through the door. J Dub worked the register, served cups of coffee and eavesdropped on the banter.
“Look at this,” Fred said as he picked up the morning newspaper. Normally he took it into the can with him but his system must have been working a little slow. “That guy got off on the double murder charge.”
“Where have you been?” Paco asked. “It’s been all over the news.”
“Working! Some of us have to do that once in a while.” Fred held down the night supervisor job in maintenance at the auto plant. Typically he got things running smoothly, went into his office and slept in his easy chair. He continued reading the article. “I thought they had that guy going to the gas chamber.”
“This state did away with that years ago.”
“Sorry, I live in Missouri.”
“It says that this Blum fellow created reasonable doubt during the trial and in the closing arguments. The jury foreman said they didn’t have any choice but acquit.”
“Good lawyers can do that.”
“And it sounds like the cops botched the crime scene and the prosecutor had a few holes in the investigation.”
J Dub couldn’t resist. “Half the time the cops don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground.”
“Either that or somebody is pulling their chain to take things in a different direction.”
“Hey, J Dub,” Elia yelled, “isn’t that guy the B in that ABC law firm?”
J Dub was disgusted. “Yeah, I know them well.” He looked at the door as Julie entered. “Don’t get me started. The day hasn’t started off too well and if I start bitching about lawyers Julie might have to send me home for a sick day.”
“You hate them too?” Captain Jer asked as he walked up to the counter. He turned to Julie. “Fix me one of those Bloody Marys that you do so well. Put all that hot, spicy stuff in there with a celery stick.”
“I’ve had my fill of them,” J Dub blurted.
“Trot does too. He’s got a whole show just for all of those rotten bast…”
“Jerry! It’s too early for all that!” Julie yelled as she poured vodka over the ice.
“There’s a lot of stuff that I don’t understand in this world,” J Dub continued. He didn’t speak too much but when he did he got an audience that would listen. “Is this country going broke or what?”
“We don’t have a country anymore,” Paul said. He was watching BowTye buff the top of his shoes. “The Chinese and Arabs own us. If we ever had to fight them they would have to finance the war.”
“That’s a sad state of affairs,” J Dub said. “How did our politicians let all of that happen?”
“Don’t get us started,” Paul said. “We talk about it almost every day that we play golf.”
“The lawyers think that they are smarter than everyone else,” Doc started. “Most of the politicians are attorneys. The judges are too. Same with the prosecutors.”
“Then their rotten asses get elected to legislate,” BT added.
“And they can’t even balance the budget,” Paul continued.
“Then they raise the taxes and make us feel all the pain for their lousy decisions. This state is broke.”
“What do they do in Springfield all day long? Balancing a budget is their job!” Doc continued the rant. He took a breath. “What we really need is legislation to put all of the politicians in prison for not serving the public responsibly.”
“But that’s the problem,” Trot butted in. “They are all lawyers—part of the same fraternity. They all take care of each other.”
“And the problem perpetuates itself,” Paul added. “The politicians, legislators, judges are the biggest crooks and scam artists that we have in this country. They are on the public dole getting cost of living increases every year and perks from each and every one of our tax dollars.”
“Since when did it mean that when you get elected to serve the public you’re entitled to come out of office set up for life as a multi-millionaire? Aren’t they supposed to be serving us rather than being self-serving?” Doc questioned.
“Did you see where that broad spent seventy million dollars of her own money to get elected governor in one of those states back east?” Fred asked.
“And she inherited the money!” Elia said. “She never had to work for it in the first place!”
“How can she justify spending that kind of money to get elected?” J Dub asked. “Is the job worth that much to her? Will she make that back once she is elected?”
“A lot of these idiots have an ego that has to be fed on a daily basis,” Doc offered. “It’s disgusting how they’ve sold us all down the river.”
“All they’re doing is taking care of themselves and their constituents,” Paul said.
Trot picked up a broomstick.
“Uh, oh,” Captain Jer said as he took a sip of his Bloody Mary, parted his lips, blew out some air, circled his tongue and winked at Julie. “Now we’ve got him fired up.”
“This is a couple of minutes from one of my shows, lady,” he said as he acknowledged Julie, “and gentlemen.” Trot was masterful. He knew how to work the audience. For a little guy with a huge nose and a face that looked like
it had been worked over with a jackhammer he brimmed with charisma.
“Do you know how many lawyer jokes there are?” Trot paused and looked at the blank stares around the clubhouse. “Just two. All the rest are true.”
“Trot!” Julie hollered as all the guys laughed.
Captain Jer turned to his favorite bartender and whispered, “Don’t stop him. He’s just starting.”
“Did you hear about the young attorney that took over his dad’s practice and came home to tell his dad he just settled the old Winfield lawsuit?” He paused. “The old man said, ‘Settled it! I gave that to you as an annuity for life!’”
The guys rolled.
“Do you know what the difference is between a porcupine and a limo full of lawyers?” Julie was at a loss for words. “With the porcupine all the pricks are on the outside.”
“Oh Trot! That’s as old as the hills,” Julie roared.
“Sshhh. Let him go.”
Trot turned to Doc. “Ever wonder what you’ve got when you have a lawyer buried up to his neck in wet cement?” Doc shook his head. “Not enough cement.”
“Please!”
“I’ve got a memory that’s full of them,” the comedian said as he turned to J Dub. “What’s black and brown and looks good on an attorney?” He let J Dub ponder. “A Doberman pinscher.”
The guys rolled with laughter. “Come on, Trot! Knock it off. We need to play golf,” Fred said.
“Okay, okay. One more.” He had one hand on the middle of the broomstick and the other on the top of it. He looked like he was on stage. “Paul, you fish don’t you?” Paul nodded. “What’s the difference between a lawyer and a catfish?” Paul shook his head. “One’s a slimy, bottom-dwelling, scum sucker. The other is a fish.”
The guys were holding their sides. The laughter wouldn’t stop. “Come on guys. Let’s go hit ’em.” The gang headed out the door wiping tears out of their eyes.
CHAPTER 38
Later that day Curt entered the office with a visitor. J Dub was busy making calls and lining up several special events for later in the golf season. He put a finger to his lips to signal to them that he would be another minute and motioned for the pair to have a seat.
When the call was consummated Curt had an introduction to make. “J Dub, I’d like for you to meet Oliver Pudge.”
“The golf pro stood up and extended his hand. “J Dub Schroeder. Nice to meet you.”
“Oliver is going to be our new attorney,” Curt announced. “After interviewing a host of possibilities I think that he will be our best choice.” In actuality the brothers had no options. Between conflicts of interest, busy schedules and a number of other reasons the course was more or less stuck with Pudge’s services.
If J Dub was tall, thin and lanky, then Oliver Pudge was the exact opposite. He stood five foot eight, tipped the scales at two hundred seventy pounds and had a physique that mirrored a pumpkin. The lawyer, in his mid-fifties had eyebrows that looked like a caterpillar. He was bald and wore glasses with dark round rims. A double chin was more like a face that had been placed on his shoulders.
His legs were short and squatty, the shoes unpolished and at least three inches of extra inseam gathered atop his shoe strings. The waist line had to measure close to sixty inches around. His belt was hidden from view by an overlapping belly. The knot in the tie was loose with the length of it far above the buckle. Oliver Pudge would not be confused with a high-powered corporate attorney.
J Dub was skeptical, but realized he had to respond to the lawsuit. “What has Curt told you?”
“He’s filled me in on the basics. I’ve read the complaint.”
“Complaint? It’s a lawsuit!”
Pudge fumbled a bit as he backpedaled. “That’s a figure of speech,” he chuckled nervously. “Don’t take it literally. We’ll file a response.”
“Look, we have insurance. We want this to go away. A guy flipped a cart over. The request for millions of dollars is nonsense.” J Dub stared back at the attorney. Then an idea hit him. “Can we counter sue? I mean this thing is frivolous. It’s almost harassing.”
“That’s always a possibility, but I don’t think that is what we want to do right now.”
“Don’t we have a time frame to do that under?”
“Yeah, I’ll look at the statute.”
“We’re sitting here minding our own business.” J Dub stared at Pudge with wary eyes. “It’s tough enough to eke out a living without worrying about losing everything that you’ve worked for your whole life because some scheister has an attorney that smells blood. Hell, if nothing else I want to counter sue to collect the costs of defending myself.”
“What’s the position of the insurance company?”
“I think they want to get it settled too.” He looked at Curt. “But with the lawsuit it sounds like everyone is posturing to determine their individual liability. Heck, we can’t even talk to our insurance agent now without a damn attorney doing it for us.” J Dub’s blood pressure was skyrocketing as he remembered the session that Trot had conducted a few hours earlier.
Pudge shook his head, understanding. “Okay, okay. I got it.”
“I don’t know if you do,” J Dub said adamantly. “We want this crap to go away! I don’t want to get into a long, drawn out mess where we just keep paying bills to the attorney.” He calmed down for a second realizing that the guy across from him was going to be on his side. “So what can you do for us?”
“Well, first of all I can file a response.” J Dub listened. “Then we can file a motion to dismiss.” Pudge folded his hands and talked as calmly and knowledgably as he could. “Then we can file a request for discovery.” He paused to let it soak in. “We can ask for a change of venue.”
“What’s that?”
“A different court in a different county.” J Dub looked to the ceiling disgustedly.
“And we can ask for the judge to dismiss himself.”
“How much is this going to cost me?”
Pudge figured the numbers in his head, made a few facial gestures and answered. “I’ll need a retainer for ten thousand dollars.”
“For Pete’s sake! That’s ridiculous!”
“The preparation, response, paperwork, it all costs…”
“That’s what we’re trying to avoid,” J Dub butted in.
“Can’t we just make an offer and get this done?”
“It looks to me according to what they have filed that any offer the other side might be willing to accept is in the millions of dollars.”
“That’s ridiculous!” J Dub looked back on how his day had started. He shook his head and wiped his hand across his brow. Then he smiled at the irony. “Some days it’s just not worth getting up.” He looked at Curt. “Is there any wonder that our court system is the way it is?”
“It’s a mess,” Curt agreed.
J Dub turned back to Pudge. “Is there any way that we can recoup some of this money from the insurance company?”
“It’s possible, but we have to file a request.”
“And I suppose that I’m not going to be able to pick up the phone and ask them.”
“It’s probably best to have an attorney do that.”
J Dub laughed at the absurdity of the situation. “Let us work on the retainer. File a response.”
Pudge made a move to get up. “Now remember if we want to fight these guys we’ll need a paralegal, our own crew of investigators, then there will be the cost of litigation and…”
“Let’s not let this thing get that far, alright?” J Dub got up and shook Pudge’s hand. “I’ve got a lot of other things to deal with today. Our cash flow is tight and we’ve got estimated taxes to pay. I’ve got to go to work to cut you a check as soon as possible.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I don’t know if we’ve got enough golfers in town that can get out and play that much to cover all of these bills.” He paused. “Let alone some idiot that wants millions of dollars.”
CHAPTER 39
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The state of Illinois realized that there was a little bit of a problem in the southern part of the state. For years an old, red brick county courthouse that sat in the middle of a town square had been attracting class action lawsuits against corporations faster than a queen bee summoning drones.
It was one of those little towns that years before had its own identity. The Magnificent movie theater with a single screen and the smell of popcorn was the only game in town on a Friday night. Angled parking spaces with meters surrounded the county seat. A local hardware store, First Cornstalk Bank and a drug store that still made homemade malts from a mixer surrounded the perimeter.
Throw in some ancient oak shade trees, a Civil War cannon, a statue of a soldier, a few park benches, delicate blades of bluegrass and some rose bushes popping with red foliage and, well, you get the picture. The sprawl of St. Louis was spilling into small town America. The old school didn’t want the metropolitan development to tear up their heritage.
Instead of bringing corporate dollars into the mix in the form of industry, office buildings and research parks the powers to be in county politics realized that a burgeoning new industry lurked on the horizon. It was simply referred to as the court system. Start with a slick-talking, aggressive, young attorney adept in litigation and call him the ringleader. Toss in an older-but-wiser, good-ole-boy judge. Find a busload of generous citizens with an axe to grind against big business. On top of that bring in county clerks and interns that could process paperwork expeditiously. The formula was as lethal as a Molotov cocktail going through a crowded nightspot. Fear was placed into the heart and soul of every doctor facing a malpractice lawsuit.
Then to take it one step further and raise the stakes of the poker game the wonderful judicial system in southern Illinois took on corporate America. The county that could look across the Mississippi River and see the St. Louis Arch, the gateway to the West and opportunity, realized their own chances were foolproof right at home. They wanted the bigger dollars to roll through their doors. Any high-tech startup, auto manufacturer, food producer, oil company or tobacco industry corporation was fair game for the well-polished attorney and sympathetic, gavel-pounding judge. Southern Illinois was on the radar screen of every CEO in the country.
