The Summons (Page 32)

"I prefer to deal in cash," Ray said, staring right back. "If that’s acceptable."

The first hint of a smile. "In my business, cash is always preferred."

Crawford filled in some blanks in a contract.

"Would they tap my phones, stuff like that?" Ray asked.

"We’ll search everything. Get another cell phone, digital, and don’t register it in your name. Most of our correspondence will be by cell phone."

"What a surprise," Ray mumbled, taking the contract, scanning it, then signing.

Crawford put it back in the file and returned to his notepad. "For the first week, we’ll coordinate your movements. Everything will be planned. Go about your normal routine, just give us notice so we can have people in place."

I’ll have a traffic jam behind me, Ray thought. "It’s a pretty dull life," Ray said. "I jog, I go to work, sometimes I go fly an airplane, I go home, alone, no family."

"Other places

"Sometimes I do lunch, dinner, not a breakfast guy though."

"You’re putting me to sleep," Crawford said and almost smiled. "Women?"

"I wish. Maybe a prospect or two, nothing serious. If you find one, give her my name."

"These bad guys in Mississippi, they’re looking for something. What is it?"

"It’s an old family with lots of stuff handed down. Jewelry, rare books, crystal, and silver." It sounded natural and this time Craw-ford bought it.

"Now we’re getting somewhere. And you have possession of the family heirloom?"

"That’s right."

"It’s here?"

"Tucked away in Chaney’s Self-Storage, on Berkshire Road."

"What’s it worth?"

"Not nearly as much as my relatives think."

"Gimme a ballpark."

"Half a million, on the high side."

"And you have a legitimate claim to it?"

"Let’s say the answer is yes. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to give you the family history, which could take the next eight hours and give us both a migraine."

"Fair enough."

Crawford finished a lengthy paragraph and was ready to wrap things up. "When can you get a new cell phone?"

"I’ll go now."

"Great. And when can we check your apartment?"

"Anytime."

Three hours later, Crawford and a sidekick he called Booty finished what was known as a sweep. Ray’s phones were clear, no taps or bugs. The air vents hid no secret cameras. In the cramped attic they found no receivers or monitors hidden behind boxes.

"You’re clean," Crawford said as he left.

He didn’t feel very clean as he sat on his balcony. You open up your life to complete strangers, albeit some selected and paid by you, and you feel compromised.

The phone was ringing.

Forrest sounded sober – strong voice, clear words. As soon as he said "Hello, Bro," Ray listened to see what kind of shape he was in. It was instinctive now, after years of phone calls at all hours, from all places, many of which he, Forrest, never remembered. He said he was fine, which meant he was sober and clean, no booze or drugs, but he did not say for how long. Ray was not about to ask.

Before either could mention the Judge or his estate or the house or Harry Rex, Forrest blurted out, "I got a new racket."

"Tell me about it," Ray said, settling into his recliner. The voice on the other end was full of excitement. Ray had plenty of time to listen.

"Ever heard of Benalatofix?"

"No."

"Me neither. The nickname is Skinny Ben. Ring a bell?"

"No, sorry."

"It’s a diet pill put out by a company called Luray Products, out of California, a big private outfit that no one’s ever heard of. For the last five years doctors have been prescribing Skinny Bens like crazy because the drug works. It’s not for the woman who needs to drop twenty pounds, but it does wonders for the really obese, talking linebackers, defensive ends. You there?"

"I’m listening."

"Trouble is, after a year or two these poor women develop leaky heart valves. Tens of thousands of them have been treated, and Luray is getting sued like crazy in California and Florida. Food and Drug stepped in eight months ago, and last month Luray yanked Skinny Bens off the market."

"Where, exactly, do you come in, Forrest?"

"I am now a medical screener."

"And what does a medical screener do?"

"Thanks for asking. Today, for example, I was in ‘a hotel suite in Dyersburg, Tennessee, helping these hefty darlings on to a treadmill. The doctor, paid by the lawyers who pay me, checks their heart capacity, and if they’re not up to snuff, guess what?"

"You have a new client."

"Absolutely. Signed up forty today."

"What’s the average case worth?"

"About ten thousand bucks. The lawyers I’m now working with have eight hundred cases. That’s eight million bucks, the lawyers get half, the women get screwed again. Welcome to the world of mass torts."

"What’s in it for you?"

"A base salary, a bonus for new clients, and a piece of the back end. There could be a half a million cases out there, so we’re scrambling to round them up."

"That’s five billion dollars in claims."

"Luray’s got eight in cash. Every plaintiff’s lawyer in the country is talking about Skinny Bens."

"Aren’t there some ethical problems?"

"There are no ethics anymore, Bro. You’re in la-la land. Ethics are only for people like you to teach to students who’ll never use them. I hate to be the one to break it to you."

"I’ve heard it before."

"Anyway, I’m mining for gold. Just thought you’d want to know."

"That’s good to hear."

"Is anybody up there doing Skinny Bens?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Keep your eyes open. These lawyers are teaming up with other lawyers around the country. That’s how mass tort stuff works, as I’m learning. The more cases you have in a class, the bigger the settlement."

"I’ll put out the word."

"See you, Bro."

"Be careful, Forrest."

The next call came shortly after 2:30 A.M., and like every call at such an hour the phone seemed to ring forever, both during sleep and afterward. Ray finally managed to grab it and switch on a light.

"Ray, this is Harry Rex, sorry to call."

"What is it?" he said, knowing too well that it was not good.

"Forrest. I’ve spent the last hour talking to him and some nurse at Baptist Hospital in Memphis. They’ve got him there, I think with a broken nose."

"Back up, Harry Rex."

"He went to a bar, got drunk, got in a fight, the usual. Looks like he picked on the wrong guy, now he’s getting his face stitched up. They want to keep him overnight. I had to talk to the staff there and guarantee payment. I also asked them not to give him painkillers and drugs. They have no idea who they’ve got there."

"I’m sorry you’re in the middle of this, Harry Rex."

"I’ve been here before, and I don’t mind. But he’s crazy, Ray. He started again about the estate and how he’s getting screwed out of his rightful share, all that crap. I know he’s drunk and all, but he just won’t leave it alone."

"I talked to him five hours ago. He was fine."

"Well, he must’ve been headed for the bar. They finally had to sedate him to reset his nose, otherwise it would’ve been impossible. I’m just worried about all the drugs and stuff. What a mess."