Right now, though, I’m sick of work. I want to get on a plane and find a beach.
Kipler raps his gavel, and this trial is officially over. I look at Dot and see the tears. I ask her how she feels. Deck is quickly upon us with congratulations. He’s pale but grinning, his four perfect front teeth shining. My attention is on Dot. She’s a hard woman who cries with great reluctance, but she’s slowly losing it. I pat her arm, and hand her a tissue.
Booker squeezes the back of my neck, and says he’ll call me next week. Cooper Jackson, Hurley and Grunfeld stop by the table, beaming and full of praise. They need to catch a plane. We’ll talk Monday. The reporter approaches, but I wave him off. I half-ignore these people because I’m worried about my client. She’s collapsing now, the sobbing is getting louder.
I also ignore Drummond and his boys as they load themselves like pack mules and make a speedy exit. Not a word is spoken between us. I’d love to be a fly on the wall at Trent & Brent right now.
The court reporter and bailiff and clerk tidy up their mess and leave. The courtroom is empty except for me, Dot and Deck. I need to go speak to Kipler, to thank him for holding my hand and making it possible. I’ll do it later. Right now I’m holding Dot’s hand as she’s unloading a torrent. Deck sits beside us, saying nothing. I say nothing. My eyes are moist, my heart is aching. She cares nothing for the money. She just wants her boy back.
Someone, probably the bailiff, hits a switch in the narrow hallway near the jury room, and the lights go off. The courtroom is semidark. None of us moves. The crying subsides. She wipes her cheeks with the tissue and sometimes with her fingers.
“I’m sorry,” she says hoarsely. She wants to go now, so we decide to leave. I pat her arm as Deck gathers our junk and packs it in three briefcases.
We exit the unlit courtroom, and step into the marble hallway. It’s almost five, Friday afternoon, and there’s not much activity. There are no cameras, no reporters, no mob waiting for me to capture a few words and images from the lawyer of the moment.
In fact, no one notices us.
Fifty
The last place i want to go is the office. I’m too tired and too stunned to celebrate in a bar, and my only pal for the moment is Deck, a nondrinker. Two stiff drinks would put me in a coma anyway, so I’m not tempted. There should be a wild celebration party somewhere, but these things are hard to plan when dealing with juries.
Maybe tomorrow. I’m sure the trauma will be gone by tomorrow, and I’ll have a delayed reaction to the verdict. Reality will set in by then. I’ll celebrate tomorrow.
I say good-bye to Deck in front of the courthouse, tell him I’m dead, promise to get together later. We’re both still in shock, and we need time to think, alone. I drive to Miss Birdie’s and go through my daily routine of checking every room in her house. It’s just another day. No big deal. I sit on her patio, stare at my little apartment, and for the first time start spending money. How long will it be before I buy or build my first fine home? What new car shall I buy? I try to dismiss these thoughts, but it is impossible. What do you do with sixteen and a half million bucks? I cannot begin to comprehend. I know a dozen things can go wrong: the case could be reversed and sent back for a new trial; the case could be reversed and rendered, leaving me nothing; the punitive award could be cut dramatically by an appellate court, or it could be eliminated all together. I know these awful things can happen, but for the moment the money is mine.
I dream as the sun sets. The air is clear but very cold. Maybe tomorrow I can begin to realize the magnitude of what I’ve done. For now, I am warmed by the thought that a great deal of venom has been purged from my soul. For almost a year I’ve lived with a burning hatred of the mystical entity that is Great Benefit Life. I’ve carried a bitter poison for the people who work there, the people who set in motion a chain of events which took the life of an innocent victim. I hope Donny Ray’s resting in peace. Surely an angel will tell him what happened today.
They’ve been exposed and proven wrong. I don’t hate them anymore.
Kelly cuts her thin slice of pizza with a fork and takes tiny bites. Her lips are still swollen and her cheeks and jaws are very sore. We’re sitting on her single bed, our backs against the wall, our legs stretched out, the pizza box shared between us. We’re watching a John Wayne western on an eighteen-inch Sony perched atop the dresser, not far across the small room.
She’s wearing the same gray sweats, no socks or shoes, and I can see a small scar on her right ankle where he broke it last summer. She’s washed her hair and put it in a ponytail. She’s painted her fingernails, a light red. She is trying to be happy and make conversation, but she’s in such physical pain it’s very difficult to have fun. There’s not much talk. I’ve never suffered through a thorough beating, and it’s difficult to imagine the aftershocks. The aches and soreness are fairly easy to comprehend. The mental horror is not. I wonder at what point he decided to stop it, to call it off and admire his handiwork.
I try not to think about it. We certainly haven’t discussed it, and I have no plans to bring it up. No word from Cliff since he was served with papers.
She’s met one other lady here at this shelter, as it’s referred to, a middle-aged mother of three teenagers who was so scared and traumatized she had trouble finishing a simple sentence. She’s next door. The place is deathly quiet. Kelly left her room only once, to sit on the back porch and breathe fresh air. She’s tried reading but it’s difficult. Her left eye is still virtually closed, and her right one is at times blurred. The doctor said there was no permanent damage.
She’s cried a few times, and I keep promising her this will be the last beating. It’ll never happen again if I have to kill the bastard myself. And I mean this. If he got near her, I truly believe I could blow his brains out.
Arrest me. Indict me. Put me on trial. Give me twelve people in the jury box. I’m on a roll.
I don’t mention the verdict to her. Sitting here with her in this dark little room, watching John Wayne ride his horse, seems like days and miles from Kipler’s courtroom.
And this is exactly where I want to be.
We finish the pizza and snuggle closer together. We’re holding hands like two kids. I have to be careful, though, because she’s literally bruised from her head to her knees.
The movie goes off and the ten o’clock news is on. I’m suddenly anxious to see if the Black case is mentioned. After the obligatory rapes and murders, and after the first commercial break, the anchorman announces, rather grandly, “History was made today in a Memphis courtroom. A jury in a civil case awarded a record fifty million dollars in punitive damages against the Great Benefit Life Insurance Company of Cleveland, Ohio. Rodney Frate has the story.” I can’t help but smile. We immediately see Rodney Frate standing and shivering live outside the Shelby County Courthouse, which of course has been abandoned for several hours now. “Arnie, I spoke with Pauline MacGregor, the Circuit Clerk, about an hour ago, and she confirmed that around four this afternoon a jury in Division Eight, that’s Judge Tyrone Kipler, returned with a verdict of two hundred thousand dollars in actual damages, and fifty million in punitive. I also spoke with Judge Kipler, who declined to be interviewed on camera, and he said the case involved a bad-faith claim against Great Benefit. That’s all he would say, except that he believes the verdict is by far the largest ever awarded in Tennessee. I spoke with several trial lawyers in the city, and no one has ever heard of a verdict this large. Leo F. Drummond, attorney for the defendant, had no comment. Rudy Baylor, attorney for the plaintiff, was unavailable for comment. Back to you, Arnie.”