The Runaway Jury

"Yeah, lemme see. About four years ago, an old man slipped and fell on a wet floor. He sued. I gave a deposition."

"Did it go to trial?" Taunton asked with great interest. He had reviewed the court file, had a copy of it in his thick briefcase, and knew every detail of the old man’s claim.

"No. The insurance company settled out of court. I think they paid him twenty thousand or so."

It was twenty-five thousand, and Taunton wrote this figure on his legal pad. The script called for Teaker to speak at this point. "Damned trial lawyers. They’re a blight on society."

Taunton looked at Lonnie, then at Teaker, then said defensively, "I’m not a trial lawyer."

"Oh, I know that," Teaker said. "You’re one of the good guys. It’s those greedy ambulance chasers I hate."

"Do you know what we paid last year for liability insurance coverage?" Taunton asked Lonnie, as if he might be able to provide an intelligent guess. He just shook his head.

"Listing paid over twenty million."

"Just to keep the sharks away," Teaker added.

There was a dramatic pause in the conversation, or at least a pause aimed at drama as Taunton and Teaker bit their lips and showed their disgust and seemed to appear to contemplate the money wasted for protection against lawsuits. Then Taunton looked at something on his legal pad, glanced at Teaker, and asked, "I don’t suppose you’ve discussed the trial, have you?"

Teaker looked surprised. "I don’t think it’s necessary. Lonnie’s on board. He’s one of us."

Taunton appeared to ignore this. "This tobacco trial in Biloxi has serious implications throughout the economy, especially for companies like ours," he said to Lonnie, who nodded gently and tried to understand how the trial might affect anyone other than Pynex. Teaker said to Taunton, "I’m not sure you’re supposed to discuss it."

Taunton continued, "It’s okay. I know trial procedure. You don’t mind, do you, Lonnie? I mean, we can trust you on this, can’t we?"

"Sure. I won’t say a word."

"If the plaintiff wins this case and there’s a big verdict, it will open the floodgates of tobacco litigation. Trial lawyers will go crazy. They’ll bankrupt the tobacco companies."

"We make a lot of money off tobacco sales, Lonnie," Teaker said with perfect timing.

"Then they’ll probably sue dairy companies claiming cholesterol kills people." Taunton’s voice was rising and he was leaning forward across the table. The issue had struck a nerve. "There has to be an end to these trials. The tobacco industry has never lost one of them. I think their record is something like fifty-five wins, no losses. Folks on juries have always understood that you smoke at your own risk."

"Lonnie understands this," Teaker said, almost defensively.

Taunton took a deep breath. "Sure. Sorry if I said too much. It’s just that this Biloxi trial has a lot at stake."

"No problem," Lonnie said. And he really wasn’t bothered by the talk. Taunton was, after all, a lawyer, and he certainly knew the law, and perhaps it was okay if he spoke of the trial in broad terms without going into specifics. Lonnie was satisfied. He was on board. No problem out of him.

Taunton was suddenly all smiles as he packed away his notes and promised to give Lonnie a call midweek. The meeting was over and Lonnie was a free man. Ken drove him to the airport where the same Lear with the same pleasant pilots sat idling and ready.

THE WEATHERMAN promised a chance of afternoon showers, and that was all Stella wanted to hear. Cal insisted there wasn’t a cloud to be seen, but she wouldn’t take a look. She pulled the shades and watched movies until noon. She ordered a grilled cheese and two bloody marys, then slept for a while with the door chained and a chair propped against it. Cal was off to the beach, specifically a topless one he’d heard about but never got the chance to visit on account of his wife. With her safely boarded up inside their room on the tenth floor, he was free to roam the sands and admire young flesh. He sipped a beer at a thatched-roof bar and thought how wonderful the trip had become. She was afraid to be seen, thus the credit cards were safe for the weekend.

They caught an early flight Sunday morning and returned to Biloxi. Stella was hungover and weary from a weekend of being watched. She was apprehensive about Monday and the courtroom.

Chapter Thirteen

The hellos and howdies were muffled Monday morning. The routine of gathering by the coffeepot and inspecting the doughnuts and rolls was growing tiresome, not so much from repetition but more from the burdensome mystery of not knowing how long this all might drag on. They broke into small groups, and recounted what happened during their freedom over the weekend. Most ran their errands and shopped and visited with family and went to church, and the humdrum took on new importance for people about to be confined. Herman was late so there were whispers about the trial, nothing important, just a general consensus that the plaintiff’s case was sinking in a mire of charts and graphs and statistics. They all believed smoking caused lung cancer. They wanted new information.

Nicholas managed to isolate Angel Weese early in the morning. They had exchanged brief pleasantries throughout the trial, but had talked of nothing substantive. She and Loreen Duke were the only two black women on the jury, and oddly kept their distance from each other. Angel was slender and quiet, single, and worked for a beer distributor. She kept the permanent look of someone in silent pain, and she proved difficult to talk to.

Stella arrived late and looked like death; her eyes were red and puffy, her skin pale. Her hands shook as she poured coffee, and she went straight to the smoke room down the hall, where Jerry Fernandez and Poodle were chatting and flirting as they were now prone to do.

Nicholas was anxious to hear Stella’s weekend report. "How about a smoke?" he said to Angel, the fourth official smoker on the jury.

"When did you start?" she asked with a rare smile.

"Last week. I’ll quit when the trial’s over." They left the jury room under the prying gaze of Lou Dell, and joined the others-Jerry and Poodle still talking; Stella stone-faced and teetering on the brink of a breakdown.

Nicholas bummed a Camel from Jerry, and lit it with a match. "Well, how was Miami?" he asked Stella.

She jerked her head toward him, startled, and said, "It rained." She bit her filter and inhaled fiercely. She didn’t want to talk. The conversation lagged as they concentrated on their cigarettes. It was ten minutes before nine, time for the last hit of nicotine.

"I think I was followed this weekend," Nicholas said after a minute of silence.

The smoking continued without interruption, but the minds were working. "Say what?" Jerry asked.

"They followed me," he repeated and looked at Stella, whose eyes were wide and filled with fear. "Who?" asked Poodle.

"I don’t know. It happened Saturday when I left my apartment and went to work. I saw a guy lurking near my car, and I saw him later at the mall. Probably some agent hired by the tobacco boys."

Stella’s mouth dropped open and her jaw quivered. Gray smoke leaked from her nostrils. "Are you gonna tell the Judge?" she asked, holding her breath. It was a question she and Cal had fought over.

"No."

"Why not?" asked Poodle, only mildly curious.

"I don’t know for certain, okay. I mean, I’m sure I was followed, but I don’t know for sure who it was. What am I supposed to tell the Judge?"

"Tell him you were followed," said Jerry.