“Do I have your complete attention?” Colby asked. He walked to the window and gazed out at his view of Bartlett Square.
“Of course.”
“From now until the day this case ends, your ass is mine.”
“Completely, sir.”
“Good.” He turned, facing his new amanuensis, and inhaled deeply. “Do you smell what I smell?”
Mark was flummoxed. He didn’t smell anything. Should he try to fake it? For some reason, he took the safer route and admitted his ignorance. “No, sir. What do you smell?”
A smile creased Colby’s placid face. “Money.”
Chapter 7
CHRISTINA MARCHED INTO BEN’s office and let a flurry of pink message slips flutter down onto his desk. “Word is officially out.”
Ben scanned the tops of the slips. Channel Two. Channel Six. Channel Eight. A couple of channels he didn’t know existed. And the Tulsa World. “What do they want?”
“They want to talk to the man,” she answered. “And you’re the man. For the moment, anyway. They want to hear your plan for bringing one of the largest corporations in the state to its knees.”
Ben frowned. “Pass.”
Christina slid into the nearest chair. “Ben, I think you should consider talking to them. Just make a brief statement.”
“No way. Only sleazebags try their cases on television.”
“You don’t have to deliver closing argument. Just tell them what it’s all about.”
“The Rules of Professional Conduct strongly disfavor lawyers talking to the media about pending cases. Judges don’t like it. And neither do I.”
“Ben, think for a moment.” She reached out across the desk. “Once the public gets wind of this suit, the media will be all over Blaylock, trying to find out if they really poisoned the water supply in Blackwood. That’s not going to be good for their public relations—or their stockholders. If you put the heat on them, they’re much more likely to give you a favorable settlement.”
Ben considered. “A generous early settlement would be nice. I’d give about anything not to have to try this sucker.” He paused. “But I don’t think it’s going to happen. And I won’t do it, in any case.”
The interoffice phone buzzed. “Very insistent reporter from Channel Two on line one,” Jones said via the intercom.
Reluctantly Ben picked up the receiver. “I’m not giving interviews.”
There was a moment’s hesitation before the male voice on the other end of the line spoke. “Oh, I don’t want an interview. I just need a spot.”
A spot?
“Yeah. You know, ten seconds. Twenty, tops. Just tell us succinctly why you think Blaylock contaminated the Blackwood water supply and what you intend to do about it.”
Ben pursed his lips. “You’re looking for a sound bite.”
“Not a sound bite. A spot.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Sound bites are cheesy and uninformative. This’ll be a first-class feature. It’ll just be short, that’s all.”
“Sounds like a sound bite to me.”
“Obviously, you’re not in the industry. I only do spots.”
“Well … out, out, damned spot.” Ben started to hang up the phone.
“Wait!” the reporter shouted. “Don’t you at least want to respond to Colby’s accusations?”
“Colby?” Ben felt his blood quickening. When he had been at Raven, the other lawyers had referred to Colby as “the King.”
“Accusations?”
“Sure, haven’t you heard? Don’t you watch television?”
“Actually, no.” Not entirely true, but there was no reason to confess his secret passion for Buffy the Vampire Slayer to this jackal.
“Well, turn it on. It’ll run again on the noon news.”
Ben hung up the phone and walked out to the reception area where Jones kept a small thirteen-inch TV. He switched to Channel Eight and waited.
He didn’t have to wait long. Not five minutes later, the talking head announced the lawsuit filed against “corporate giant H. P. Blaylock by eleven Blackwood parents.” Then they cut to counsel for the defendant, Charlton Colby, for comment.
Colby was sitting in a law library, back by shelves of impressive-looking legal tomes in matching colors. His face was calm and handsome, but his voice was one of moral indignation. “These charges are utterly baseless. An unscrupulous lawyer is taking advantage of the vulnerability of grieving parents and manipulating the media to blackmail one of Oklahoma’s finest corporate citizens and line his own pockets. We will not let this happen. We will fight this to the fullest extent.”
Ben checked his watch. Not bad. Colby pretty much covered all the bases—and he managed to do it in less than fifteen seconds.
Christina whistled softly. “He really is the King.”
Ben nodded. “The King of sound bites, anyway.”
“You see what he’s trying to do, don’t you? He knows that most people’s natural sympathies will go to the parents who lost their children. He’s trying to turn that around by casting them as innocent victims of a crooked lawyer who bullied them into bringing baseless claims.”
“With me in the starring role.”
“Yeah.” She punched him on the shoulder. “Shame on you for being such a bully.”
Jones called out from his desk. “You’re very popular for a crooked bully, Boss. Another call on line one.”
“Take a message.”
“No … I think you’ll want to take this one yourself.”
That sounded ominous. Ben crossed over to Jones’s desk and grabbed the phone. “Yes?”
“Please wait for Charlton Colby.”
Ben’s teeth set on edge. In all the world, there were few things he hated quite so much as assholes who were so damned important they couldn’t even dial the phone for themselves.
“Colby here.”
Ben tried to suppress his irritation. “Kincaid here.”
“Yes, Ben. Good to talk to you. How have you been?”
Ben couldn’t believe it. Did the man actually think they were going to engage in amiable small talk just after he’d called Ben a crook on television? “I’m okay.”
“Glad to hear it. Don’t see much of you these days, since you left the firm. We should get together sometime, play eighteen holes. Nothing I enjoy as much as spending an afternoon with fellow professionals. Perhaps out at the club.”
“I’m not a member of any club. I don’t play golf. And if you’re going to spend any time with a lawyer, I’d recommend a libel lawyer.”
There was a soft chuckling on the other end. “I guess you’ve been watching television.”
“I guess so. And I didn’t appreciate it.”
“Now, Ben. You know it’s all part of the game.”
“I’m not playing a game. I’m representing eleven parents who lost their children because your client couldn’t keep its waste in the trash can.”
“Now, Ben, I must warn you, if you continue to make accusations of that nature—”
“Warn somebody who cares. Was there a point to this phone call?”
“Uh, yes. I’m afraid so.” He released a soft exhalation of air, which Ben supposed was intended to indicate regret, although he didn’t believe it for a moment. “I’m calling to inform you that I’m filing a Rule 12(b)(6) motion to dismiss, as a courtesy.”
As a courtesy? “What kind of crappy tactic is that?”
“It’s no tactic, Ben. Your Complaint is groundless.”
“You’re just trying to run up the bill and spin us around. Make things difficult.”
“Litigation is never easy, Ben. That’s why we get paid the big bucks.”
“That’s why you do, you mean. You get paid for pleasing your corporate masters by making life miserable for anyone who has the audacity to sue them.”