Tony Fasano gripped the edges of the podium as if he were at the controls of a mammoth video game. His pomaded, slicked-back hair had an impressive sheen. The large diamond in his gold ring flashed as it caught the sunlight. His gold-nugget cuff links were in full view. Despite his relatively short stature, his boxy build gave him a formidable appearance and his robust, swarthy complexion gave him a look of health despite the courtroom's sallow-colored walls.
After hiking a tasseled loafer onto the podium's brass rail, he began his opening statement: "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I want to express my personal appreciation of your service to allow my client, Jordan Stanhope, his day in court."
Tony paused to glance back at Jordan, who remained impassive and motionless, as if he were a mannequin. He was dressed impeccably in a dark suit with a sawtooth white handkerchief peeking out of his breast pocket. His manicured hands were folded in front of him, his countenance expressionless.
Facing around, Tony regained eye contact with the jurors. His face assumed the expression of the bereft. "Mr. Stanhope has been in deep mourning, barely able to function after the regrettable, unexpected passing nine months ago of his lovely, dutiful wife and life's companion, Patience Stanhope. It was a tragedy that needn't have happened, and it wouldn't have happened except for the disgraceful negligence and malpractice of my opposing counsel's client, Dr. Craig M. Bowman."
Craig reflexively stiffened. Randolph 's fingers promptly wrapped themselves around Craig's forearm, and he leaned toward the doctor. "Control yourself!" he whispered.
"How can that bastard say that?" Craig whispered back. "I thought that was what this trial is about."
"It is indeed. He's permitted to state the allegation. I do admit he's being inflammatory. Regrettably, that is his reputed style."
"Now," Tony said, pointing ceilingward with an extended index finger, "before I provide you good folks with a road map of how I will substantiate what I've just said, I'd like to make a confession about myself. I didn't go to Harvard like my esteemed opposing colleague. I'm just a city boy from the North End, and sometimes I don't talk that great."
The plumber's assistant laughed openly, and the two polyester suits cracked smiles despite their apparent pique.
"But I try," Tony added. "And if you're a little nervous about being here, understand that I am, too."
The three housewives and the retired schoolteacher smiled at Tony's unexpected admission.
"Now, I'm going to be up-front with you good people," Tony continued. "Just like I've been with my client. I've not done a lot of malpractice work. In fact, this is my first case."
The muscular firefighter now smiled and nodded approval of Tony's candor.
"So you might be asking yourself: Why did this wop take the case? I'll tell you why: to protect you and me and my kids from the likes of Dr. Bowman."
Mild expressions of surprise registered on most of the jurors' faces as Randolph rose up to his full, patrician height. "Your Honor, I must object. Counsel is being inflammatory."
Judge Davidson regarded Tony over the tops of his glasses with a mixture of irritation and surprise. "Your comments are pushing the limits of courtroom decorum. This is an arena for verbal combat, but established rites and rules are to be followed, especially in my courtroom. Do I make myself clear?"
Tony raised both beefy hands above his head in supplication. "Absolutely, and I apologize to the court. The problem is, occasionally my emotions get the better of me, and this is one of those cases."
"Your Honor…" Randolph complained, but he didn't finish. The judge waved for him to sit while ordering Tony to proceed with appropriate propriety.
"This is fast becoming a circus," Randolph whispered as he took his seat. "Tony Fasano is a clown, but a deviously clever clown."
Craig regarded the attorney. It was the first time he'd seen a crack in the man's glacial aplomb. And his comment was disturbing. There was a definite element of reluctant admiration.
After a brief glance at his cards in the crook of the lectern's top, Tony returned to his opening statement: "Some of you might wonder why cases like this aren't settled by learned judges and accordingly question why you have to interrupt your lives. I'll tell you why. Because you have more common sense than judges." Tony pointed at each juror in term. He had their full attention. "It's true. With all due respect, Your Honor," Tony said, looking up at the judge. "Your memory banks are jammed full of laws and statutes and all sorts of legal mumbo jumbo, whereas these people" – he redirected his attention to the jury – "are capable of seeing the facts. In my book this is an absolute maxim. If I ever get into trouble, I want a jury. Why? Because you people, with your common sense and your intuitional ability, can see through the legal haze and tell where the truth lies."
Several of the jurors were now nodding agreement, and Craig felt his pulse quicken and a cramp grip his lower bowels. His fear about Tony connecting with the jury was seemingly already coming to pass. It was indicative of the whole sorry affair. Just when he felt things couldn't get any worse, they did.
"What I'm going to do," Tony continued, gesticulating with his right hand, "is to prove to you four basic points. Number one: By the doctor's own employees, I am going to show that Dr. Bowman owed a duty to the deceased. Number two: With the testimony of three recognized experts from three of our own area's renowned institutions, I will show you what a reasonable doctor would do in the circumstance the deceased found herself in the evening of the fifth of September, 2005. Number three: With the testimony of the plaintiff, of one of the doctor's employees, and of one of the experts who happened to be involved in the actual case, I will show you how Dr. Bowman negligently failed to act as a reasonable doctor would have acted. And number four: how Dr. Bowman's conduct was the proximate cause of the patient's sad death. That's it in a nutshell."
Perspiration appeared on Craig's forehead, and his throat felt suddenly dry; he needed to use the restroom, but he didn't dare. He poured himself some water from a pitcher in front of him with an embarrassingly shaky hand and took a drink.
"Now we are back on terra firma," Randolph whispered. He obviously was not as moved as Craig, which was some consolation. But Craig knew there was more.
"What I have just outlined," Tony continued, "is the core of a garden-variety case of medical malpractice. It's what the fancy, expensive lawyers like my opponent like to call the 'prima facie' case. I call it the core, or the guts. A lot of lawyers, like a lot of doctors, have a fondness to use words nobody understands, particularly Latin words. But this isn't a garden-variety case. It's much worse, and that's why I feel so strongly about it. Now, the defense is going to want you to believe, and they have witnesses to suggest, that Dr. Bowman is this great, compassionate, charitable doctor with a picture-perfect nuclear family, but the reality is far different."
"Objection!" Randolph said. "Dr. Bowman's private life is not an issue. Counsel is trying to impugn my client."
Judge Davidson stared down at Tony after taking off his reading glasses. "You are straying afield here, son. Is the direction you are taking relevant to this specific allegation of medical negligence?"