“Michael.” Jane grabbed his hand before he could leave. “I need you to help me sue Jolly Boy. I want to represent Tommy and his family, but they don’t trust me. They trust you.”
Michael pulled his hand away and shook his head.
“I should go.” Michael stood. “I’ll see you later.”
Jane stood up, confused.
“What the hell, Michael?” Jane watched as Michael starting walking away. Jane shouted at him. “This was your big idea. You started all this. Now you’re taking off?”
Just like I always do, Michael thought, disgusted with himself, but not disgusted enough to stop walking away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Kermit took the empty bottle away from Michael, and then put a full one on the bar.
“Sounds insane, dude,” Kermit said. “It’s one thing to do a drop-in for a week or so, but it’s another thing to step back into the world of black robes and gavels, like all full-time and such.”
“Then why do I want to do it?” Michael picked up a cut lemon wedge, squeezed its juice into his Corona, and then shoved the wedge into the bottle. “It makes no sense. I was there for a few days and the feds were on me. Vatch isn’t going to stop until he puts me in prison.”
“But it’s righteous, yo.” Kermit let his dreadlocks dangle. “Even though you give the cool vibe, deep down you’re a legal warrior. You can’t stop it. You’re addicted.”
“I’m not addicted,” Michael said.
“You’re addicted.” Kermit laughed. “You love out-foxing those dudes. You love making the feds crazy, and you love winning.”
Michael shook his head.
“Sounds like ego.”
“Sounds like you don’t run from a fight.” Kermit nodded, agreeing with himself. “Might be the only thing you don’t run from, mi amigo.” Then he turned, walked into the back kitchen and fetched a basket of chips and guacamole. He put it on the bar next to Michael, pulled up a chair next to him, and then started snacking.
The bar was closed for the night, so there were no other customers to serve. Kermit and Michael were alone.
“You want to help Pace and his momma, too, dontcha?”
Michael thought about it, and then nodded.
“My dad was gone when I was little. It was just me and my mom, and then cancer got her.”
“Kinda like little Pace.” Kermit grabbed a few chips and ate them. “Like I was sayin’, you love to fight for the underdog. You want to do right. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Except it’s insane, which is what you told me a few seconds ago.” Michael looked around and lowered his voice. “And I’d be jeopardizing this place if the feds get me.”
“True,” Kermit said. “But maybe not. The possibilities are infinite. Maybe this thing would just resolve one way or the other. It wouldn’t hang over you, man, like a cloud when you want the Sunny D.”
“I think you’re the first person to suggest prison might be freedom.” Michael took sip of beer while Kermit scooped up some guacamole with a chip and shoved it in his mouth.
“There’s two types of freedom, mi amigo. The freedom of your body and the freedom of your mind.” Kermit thought a little bit more about the wisdom he was imparting. “I’d say the freedom of your mind is the utmost, but you gotta decide.”
They sat for awhile, eating and drinking.
“You know what Alfred Korzybski says?” Kermit asked.
“No, but I do know who he is, which causes concern.”
Kermit ignored Michael’s slight disparagement of the founder of general semantics.
“Korby says we are a time-binding people. It means that every day we learn from our experiences and the experiences of others. No other animal on the planet really does that. No other animal learns from its mistakes quite like we do or transfers knowledge from one generation to the next the way we do.”
Kermit shoved the remainder of the chips and dip in his mouth, and then continued.
“The ‘you’ of today is different than the ‘you’ of yesterday. We change. We evolve. All of these concepts are not exclusive of one another, mi amigo. They can co-exist, like all the different colors in my Froot Loops. We have to adapt to the new you. I can’t treat you like the Michael Collins I met when you stumbled into this resort. You’re different now. So you need to treat yourself differently, think of yourself differently than you did in the past. All this angst is driven by your own desire to keep yourself within the same construct of the past. You need to live the now, man. Figure out what’s right in the present not would have been right in the past.”
“I actually think I need another drink, right now, in the present.” Michael drank half of his beer, took a breath, and then took another long draw from the bottle.
“Get serious, yo.” Kermit frowned. “I’m talking straight.” Kermit stood up. His voice louder. “Does the Michael Collins of today want to do this or not? It doesn’t matter what I think. It doesn’t matter what the old Michael Collins would do. The logic and reasoning of the past is not the present. Break the construct of your mind.”
Kermit was breathing hard. He was excited. They stared at each other, processing. A moment passed, and then Kermit said, “Dude, I’m really hot. Wanna shed these clothes and go for a moonlight skinny dip?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Elana Estrada lived in the lower level of a faded white building in San Corana.
She and the family moved there after Tommy went to the United States and started sending money home. Even though Tommy wasn’t paid anywhere close to minimum wage by Jolly Boy, it was still higher than the three dollars a day he had earned in the fields nearby. The extra money moved the family out of the tin shanties and into the main part of town. San Corana’s center was often crowded, but it was safer than the shanties, closer to relatives, and had running water.
Pace opened the door. He was proud of where they lived, and he was proud that, as the oldest boy, he was making a little money at the resort and contributing.
“Tea?” he asked.
Both Jane and Michael accepted. A refusal would have been rude.
Pace nodded and smiled. He pointed to the table where he wanted Jane and Michael to sit, and he busied himself preparing the tea.
Elana came in from the back room. She wore all black, still mourning the loss of Tommy. She sat down at the table, and nodded at Jane and Michael.
Pace brought a pot of hot water from the kitchen, set it down on the table, and then went back and got cups and loose tea leaves.
Pace’s younger sisters were playing in the back room. They started to get loud. Pace shouted at them to quiet down while he distributed the cups. Then he sat down next to his mother. Pace was the man of the house now.
They all exchanged pleasantries, and then Jane explained what she wanted to do in Spanish. Elana sat quietly, listening.
Michael wondered what she was thinking.
Elana Estrada had never lived any place else. She had never visited any place else. Her life had always been San Corana, and it consisted mostly of survival. When Jane talked about lawsuits, lawyers, witnesses, depositions, discovery, motions, it confused her. Elana didn’t understand what Jane wanted her to do.
Finally, Michael stepped in.
He had agreed to arrange for the meeting. He hadn’t promised Jane anything else. But now he was going to go further. Looking around, he knew that Elana wouldn’t be able to afford the rent much longer without her husband, Tommy. He wasn’t sure she’d even be able to afford food.
Michael thought about all the money in his bank account. He thought about all the food at the resort, enough to feed Elana and her family for months. What was he afraid of? Whatever was going to happen would happen, regardless. He needed to help whoever he could help.
“I’m going to hire Pace, full-time,” Michael said. “I need an assistant manager at the resort. He’s getting old enough and Kermit needs help cleaning and maintaining the place.”
Elana
didn’t smile. She was reserved, but Michael saw relief wash across her face. Pace, on the other hand, nearly bounced out of his seat.
“But we also need justice for Tommy,” Michael said. Elana understood justice. “You need to trust us.” Michael looked at Jane. “Let Jane help you, and I’ll help the both of you. Okay?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
It took 13 months.
Michael had known from the start that it would take that long. It wasn’t like the movies or on television. There, the gorgeous actor filed the lawsuit and the next day they’re in court, picking a jury and trying the case. In real life, it was a slog.
Along with their lawsuit against Jolly Boy, there were hundreds of thousands of other lawsuits. The underlying facts of these lawsuits related to any event in a typical life that had gone horribly wrong. There was no way for the system to handle that many trials, and so barriers had been erected. The Court’s Rules of Civil Procedure had been designed to slow down litigation. Motions had to be filed. Parties were required to submit to mediation “in good faith.” Information and documents must slowly be extracted from each party related to their theories of the case, witnesses, and proof.
It was all part of the dance. Michael knew it was two steps forward, one step back, and one to the side.
Michael and Jane weren’t zealots. They’d settle if the price was right, but the price had never been anywhere close to being right.
“It’s their best offer.” Judge M. Vincent Delaney looked up at Michael and Jane with sharp crystal blue eyes. Judge Delaney didn’t mind presiding over a trial. In fact, he enjoyed it, although he enjoyed leaving early and hitting the golf course a lot more.
Judge Delaney was in his late sixties with a shock of white hair. At one time, he had been an Olympic swimmer. He was tall and lean, still in fantastic shape. He had seen it all, and he knew how and when to exert pressure. In short, Judge Delaney was good at his job.
He pushed the piece of paper across his large oak desk.
“I know it isn’t what you want,” the judge said. “But settlements are never what either party wants. defendants want to leave without paying one penny and the plaintiffs want to leave with all the king’s gold.”
Jane lifted the piece of paper off of the desk. She looked at Michael. He nodded, assuring her, and then Jane turned it over.
The number and basic terms were written in black Sharpie ink: $15,000 plus costs and confidentiality.
“That’s an insult,” Michael said. “Those attorneys in the other room probably get paid $600 an hour. Win or lose, a trial like this is going to cost them a massive amount in legal fees.”
Michael wasn’t posturing. It was the truth. He knew the life of the big firm lawyer.
Michael vented some more, and Judge Delaney listened. The judge didn’t betray a thought. He merely nodded his head, waiting for Michael to burn himself out.
Eventually Michael did. Judge Delaney waited another moment to be sure, and then he turned to Jane. He leaned back in his high-back leather chair.
“Thoughts?”
Jane shook her head.
“Michael’s right.” She closed her eyes. “It is an insult. I thought that they’d give us a little respect, but –” Jane tried to keep herself calm. She had put everything on the line when she came back to Jesser. Her student loans were in default. Her credit cards were maxed out. She thought of all the things that she needed to really get her law firm going, not just scraping by.
If accepted, the settlement offer would only allow her to pay her debts. The firm could limp along … maybe. But, if they turned it down and lost the case, the firm would have to close. She’d also be in debt, and the debt would follow her.
Jane looked down at the piece of paper again, thinking.
She shook her head, pushing the piece of paper back across the desk toward Judge Delaney.
“I don’t think we can accept this.”
Judge Delaney nodded. He was smart. He knew what was at stake, and you could see the wheels turn in his brain. He was figuring out how to resolve this case. He was also letting the silence work the room.
Judge Delaney looked at Michael and Jane, and then he put both hands down on his desk, positioning himself for a final move. His eyes narrowed.
“That’s your answer – no.”
The judge nodded his head, and then he hit Jane and Michael with the reality of trial. It was a machine gun of dates, times, and obligations.
“So you both want a trial. We’ll have a trial. I can do that, and that’s your right,” he said. “Tomorrow, you need to be here at 8:00 a.m. Don’t be late. I will hear any final pre-trial motions, rule on them, and then we’ll bring the jury pool up at 10:00 am. You will have no more than two hours for jury selection. I won’t allow this to drag on. We’ll take 30 minutes for lunch. Opening arguments will begin, and you’ll call your first witness by the time we adjourn for the day. Then, we’ll get up and do it again and again, every day, until it’s done.”
Judge Delaney took a breath. He held Jane in his sight, waiting for her to crack. He allowed the silence to work, again. He was comfortable in the silence. In a world in which people were constantly talking, texting, or tweeting, Judge Delaney projected an authority and calm above all of that.
He’s a damn good judge, Michael thought. There were over 120 judges in the Eleventh Judicial District serving Miami-Dade County. They could have drawn somebody far worse.
Judge Delaney pushed himself away from his desk, and then he stood. He walked over to his window. It was 15 floors above the sea of people and cars stuttering their way down First Avenue. The Miami Art Museum was just beyond the pulsing traffic.
“How much do you have invested in this case?” Judge Delaney asked the question, but he wasn’t expecting an answer. “Looks like you’ve done 10 depositions. I’d guess you’ve also had,” he thought about it, rubbing his chin, but not turning away from the view, “about five discovery motions, summary judgment motions, and mediation. Then there’s the future costs of bringing in those Mexican witnesses.”
Judge Delaney turned, slowly, and walked back to his chair and sat down.
“Here’s a chance to submit a bill to me for all those costs, which I will approve and they will pay for.”
He smiled and leaned forward. Judge Delaney was about to share a secret.
“I think your organization did a lot of good, and I think your new law firm will do a lot of good. It’d be nice to get off to a strong start. You could get your debt paid, and then get $15,000 for Mr. Estrada’s widow and kids. Fifteen thousand dollars is a big deal to them. That kind of money would go pretty far down there.”
He paused, and then concluded with the biggest reason why they should settle.
“And I don’t need to tell you that you’ve got a major causation issue and a major damages issue. I let it slide with the motion to dismiss, but this is a trial. The case is wrongful death. It’s your burden to prove Jolly Boy knew and killed your client. And even if you do prove it, you’ve got a hell of a job convincing a jury that your client’s life was worth much more than $15,000. He was an illegal immigrant. Don’t get me wrong. I personally think his life is worth a million dollars, but that’s just what I think. What matters to a jury is what you can prove, and you can’t prove much more than $15,000. I had a case where a mentally disabled kid drowned in a hotel pool last year. The jury gave these parents $50,000. Can you believe it? Fifty thousand is all that the life of a child is worth. That’s what you’re up against, here.”
Judge Delaney nodded his head.
“Think about it. Talk to your client. Then tell me what you want to do.”
###
Elana Estrada sat with Pace in a small conference room.
On every floor of the courthouse there were two courtrooms, two chambers for the judges and their clerks, and, at the end of hall, there was also a small reception area with bathrooms and three small attorney-client conference rooms.
When Michael and Jane opened the door, both Elana and Pace sat up. Their eyes got a little wider. Their expressions hopeful that their attorneys had good news.
Michael and Jane sat down at the table across from them.
“Well,” Michael said, “we have another offer, but it’s not what we had hoped.”
Elana didn’t say anything, and then she looked to Jane for a translation. She understood some English, but not a lot.
Jane told her what happened, and her eyes dropped to the table. Her round heavy shoulders also dropped a few inches.
“That’s it?” Elana shook her head. “No more?”
“Probably not,” Michael said. “Once trial starts, there usually aren’t any more offers.” Michael tried to be positive, but his eyes betrayed him. Elana knew that there wasn’t going to be an easy way out. She and her children were going to have to continue to struggle.
Michael had been working closely with Elana and the other witnesses for the past year from Hut No. 7 at the Sunset. He had talked with Jane over the phone and they corresponded a few times a day by e-mail, while she continued to investigate in Jesser and make court appearances.
Every few months Michael had flown to Florida to meet with Jane and help with the latest roadblock that the Jolly Boy attorneys had thrown in their way. Each trip was the same: work, argue about strategy, go to a nice Miami restaurant, and then have sex if they weren’t too tired, which they usually were.
It wasn’t a traditional relationship, but it wasn’t bad, either.
“We have risks,” Michael continued, pausing every few words to allow them to be relayed in Spanish by Jane to Elana.
“At first they offered us nothing, now they’ve offered us this money.” Michael put his hand on Elana’s hand. He looked her in the eye, because there would be no turning back. This was the final decision. “It’s less than what we wanted, but it’s something. If we lose, we get nothing so you need to consider it.”
Elana looked at Pace, and then back to Michael.
“We going to win?”
She asked him like a terminal patient asking her doctor if there was a miracle cure.
J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 02 - No Time to Die Page 10
