Jerome definitely looked startled.
O'Shay flipped through papers that looked official. “Here the owner, Mr. Landers, hired his son, then his cousin, then his brother-in-law. Then his daughter. Not to mention his wife.”
“It's a family business.”
“Thereby bypassing my client and other worthy long-term employees.”
“He gave the guy a chance at a better job, but he couldn't cut it. Nobody should be forced to keep an employee on when he can't do a decent job. Instead of firing him, they kept him on.”
“Doing work he is no longer physically able to do.”
The attorney took his time, flipped through his own irrelevant papers, and said, “Our clients have done nothing to be ashamed of, but more important, they've done nothing illegal.”
“Oh,” O'Shay said, “talk to them. They're locals, a major employer, and so far, they have such a fine reputation. A short conversation with the Californian will blow all that. Because it's the tip of the iceberg, isn't it? There's lots to write about.” He knew exactly how much more, since his own detective had done a fine job.
“You'd trash a major local employer who pays decent wages and provides good benefits for Jeff Colby, who's a notorious and classic disgruntled employee?”
“Yes.” Play the game with a hardball, always.
“I had heard such good things about you.”
“By the way, I have evidence that this cavalier disregard for fairness is a pattern with you people.”
“Don't tell me you're gonna try to add in a bad faith allegation.”
“Absolutely.”
“So how'd it go with the insurance guy?” Colby asked.
O'Shay, alienated from his staff, unable to talk to his wife, found talking with Colby a strange relief. “Not so well,” he said honestly. Almost immediately, he regretted his candor.
“More bad news?” Colby asked, his voice full of teeth.
“You never know until you are there in court.”
“But no big settlement.”
“No.”
“Huh.” Colby rubbed his chin and looked down, as if deciding something.
“Court at ten tomorrow. Be there on time?”
“Sure,” Colby agreed.
The next morning, O'Shay dressed carefully. He wore a silk navy suit paired with an Hermès tie. He wanted to look subdued but successful. He had three doctors he ordinarily would never use who would testify about Colby's dire injuries. He had a rolling cart in the trunk of his car full of medical reports, job descriptions, legal pleadings, and law books. He had things on Dunkirk Enterprises Jerome Castile knew he would spill to the press, if necessary. He had the requisite chutzpah.
Diana handed him his laptop at the door, refusing to kiss him. “Don't sell out,” she whispered, and he heard it, too, as he opened the garage door and left.
At the courthouse, early, O'Shay met with Castile one last time. He went to work on the insurance defense attorney, trying to reach an agreement that would set the Colby family up for life. They haggled; they fought; they got tough; they compromised; nobody gave enough. He tried again and lost. Bottom line was, the guy said he just didn't believe O'Shay would do what he was threatening to do. “You have a reputation to protect,” Castile said smugly, “in spite of this recent, definite lapse in judgment.”
“We're due in court,” O'Shay told Colby on the telephone. “I'm on my way.”
Something in Colby's voice screamed sirens.
Jeff Colby made a special effort with Sandra and the kids before leaving that morning, hugs and kisses all around, lots of positive words. “I'm stopping by the job site for a quick howdy before heading to the courthouse,” he said.
“Are you sure you don't want us to go with you? Your attorney said it might be good for us to be there with you in court.”
“No need, sweetheart.” He kissed her again, holding her around her narrow waist, marveling that his childhood girlfriend had been so steadfast and true for so many years, and had stood by him through so much. He felt himself flinching at the thought of the next few hours. And he felt righteous.
“What's in the duffel?” his son asked as he walked out the door.
“Stuff and nonsense,” he replied, smiling. “Good-bye, son.”
“It's me, Patrick O'Shay. Is Jeff there?”
“He's gone.”
“Where is he?”
“On his way?”
“You sound unsure.”
“He was stopping by Dunkirk on the way to court.”
“Oh, no.”
“He won't be late,” she said. “He's never late.”
O'Shay got the insurance lawyer on line one. He had a new case just decided by the California Supreme Court to talk about.
“I'll call you back,” Castile said. “Give me ten minutes.”
O'Shay shot into traffic and headed toward Romie Lane, toward the scene of Jeff Colby's latest humiliation. He drove through the construction on Main Street like a man possessed. Somehow, he was not ticketed for turning illegally.
O'Shay thought about the list of people Jeff hated: the receptionist who mocked him; the stock boy who played malicious tricks; the boss who fired him…
Twenty minutes, and their case would be called. Barring a miracle, he couldn't make it back in time at this point. He pulled into the parking lot, frantically scanning for Jeff's car. He couldn't find it. Inside the developer's office, a man drinking coffee hovered over a pretty girl's desk.
O'Shay's phone rang.
“Jerome Castile here,” the insurance lawyer announced officiously. “We need to talk.”
A few minutes later, Jeff Colby pulled up three cars away, stopping to park directly in front of a bland stucco building sporting a boldly lettered sign which read “Dunkirk Enterprises.” If he was surprised to see O'Shay sitting in his car so close by, he didn't show it. “Had a flat,” he said.
“You should have gone straight to court,” said O'Shay.
“Maybe.”
Colby opened the trunk of his car, revealing a canvas duffel. “Why are you here?” he asked, tugging at the bag, bringing it out.
“It's over.”
“What's over?” Colby, distracted, looked toward the entrance of the building, peered through the glass doors.
“Your case, Jeff. You beat them.”
“I-what?”
“You beat them,” O'Shay repeated. Since Colby seemed suddenly incapable of speaking, O'Shay outlined the details of the deal he had finally struck with the insurance company. They would pay for Colby's medical. They would provide a steady flow of income, a pension.
Colby fingered the duffel. “You wouldn't try to con me.”
“No, I wouldn't.”
Finally convinced, Colby was jubilant, ecstatic. He jabbered at O'Shay: he had pulled a fast one, showing them he could work the system just like the best of them! They would be buying his farm, his retirement, his security. They would dig him out of this hellhole. He could start fresh somewhere new. He finally had a stake. He couldn't wait to tell everyone, see their faces. They were stuck in that dump without windows, while he would be breathing the fresh air. Maybe he would spring for a trip to the Caribbean, just to check things out. He'd forgotten all about the duffel.
O'Shay drove away. He had won the biggest settlement he ever had but he'd had to cheat and lie to get it. He had gotten others involved in his tricks. He had disappointed Rosa, Diana, and other professionals who had once respected him. Maybe he had compromised his good name forever.