Authors: Larry D. Thompson
Johnny looked at the big wall clock, advertising Purina and noted the time was eight a.m. Where was Victor? His starting time at the feed store in Brownwood was always seven-thirty. Victor was never late. When it got to be eight-thirty, he hollered at Don that he was going to drive out to check on Victor.
Don walked in from the loading dock, wiping his face with a bandanna. “You think there’s a problem?”
“Don’t know. Maybe he’s sick. He lives alone and doesn’t have a phone, not even a cell. He’s a good hand. Just checking. That’s all. I’ll be back in an hour.”
Johnny got in his red Ford pickup and turned onto the highway. He turned toward Lake Brownwood and crossed over a bridge spanning a finger of the lake. Two hundred yards past the bridge he turned onto a dirt driveway and parked in front of the small frame house that Victor rented. Victor’s Harley was parked in the driveway beside the house. Johnny climbed out of his truck, and knocked on the front door. No answer. He walked around to the back where he knew Victor always left the door open. Victor’s garden tools were neatly arranged, leaning up against the porch rail.
Johnny knocked and got no answer. As he opened the door, he hollered, “Victor, you home?” Silence.
He walked into the kitchen. Johnny knew Victor was obsessively neat. The kitchen table and counter were as clean as an operating room in a hospital. Johnny looked into the bedroom. The bed was made, which wouldn’t be a surprise except that Victor’s Harley was parked at the house.
Johnny went out the back door and walked around the house before he called the sheriff’s office to report that Victor was missing. Then he drove back to the feed store to report what he found to Don.
Three hours later a sheriff’s car parked in front. Johnny and Don met Luke Simpson, a friend and regular customer, as he exited the vehicle.
“Well, we found him. He’s dead. Body was under the bridge.”
“He drown?” Don asked.
“Doesn’t look like it. We found bruises on his neck. He have any enemies?”
Johnny shook his head. “Not that we know of. Showed up about three years ago. Said he had been a counterman at a Ford dealer that closed in Abilene. He was a loner. Did his job and kept to himself. Did go to the Baptist church down the road here. If he was under the bridge, why was his Harley parked back at the house?”
Simpson took off his cap and scratched his head. “Damned if I know. Key was in it. I started it and it ran just fine. We may never solve this one.”
It had been a week, and Jack still was awaiting his first client. A few cars had driven slowly by the RV. A couple had parked in the lot while the occupants talked before driving off. Each evening about four Jack would lock the RV and go next door. He took his own bourbon and just ordered a glass of ice which he filled to the brim with Wild Turkey, his favorite whiskey since college days. Of course, he always left Moe a tip as if he had drunk at least a six pack of beer. And he enjoyed playing dominos. The domino table could hold eight comfortably and was ethnically mixed among Hispanics, African Americans and Anglos. For each game the players would ante a quarter apiece, winner take all.
One morning Jack had just unlocked the RV and put on coffee when he heard a loud knocking. He opened the door to find a black woman, large and of indeterminate age, dressed in a pink muumuu, a purple scarf around her head and carrying a large imitation leather beige purse. She stood at the bottom of the steps.
“What kinda scam you running? You trying to take advantage of us poor folks?”
“No ma’am.” He grinned at the apparition in front of him. “I’m a retired lawyer and just want to help out folks who can’t afford one.”
“You sure you’re not gonna scam me?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die, if I do.”
The woman sized him up one more time. “All right. Help me up these steps.”
Jack did and invited her to take a seat on the bench at the dining room table.
The woman looked around the interior and settled on the flat screen TV. “You be careful with that. Somebody steals it, they can sell it for five hundred or so.”
“Can I ask your name?”
‘Mona. Mona Thomas Lee.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Jackson Bryant. How can I help you?”
Mona rummaged through her purse and pulled out a citation. “This damn credit card company is trying to bankrupt me. I fell for their gimmick. Signed up for a credit card with a five hundred dollar limit. Times are tough, you know? Got a little behind on my payments. Next thing I know they’ve upped the interest to thirty-five percent and now they’re penalizing me every month. On top of that they’re calling me at all hours of the day and night. Can you believe that?”
Jack nodded solemnly. “Yes ma’am. I can. The government lets credit card companies get away with murder. How much do you owe now?”
Mona pitched the court papers on the table. “They say I owe twenty-nine hundred dollars and they want another thousand in attorney’s fees. What’s going wrong with this country? Can you do anything about it?”
Jack looked over the documents. “Yes, ma’am. While I can’t do much about the country, I believe I can help you with the credit card company. I may even file a counterclaim and get you a few bucks.”
Mona looked at Jack, suspicion in her eyes. “How much you gonna charge?”
“Not a thing, Mona. Didn’t you see that sign in my window? My services are free.” Jack pulled a document from a drawer and scribbled in a few blanks. “I’ll need you to sign this to make it official.”
Mona looked over the contract and back at Jack. “You sure, now?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sure. Now, tell me a little more about these calls, particularly the ones late at night.”
Jack appeared in the County Court at Law, accompanied by his client, Mona Thomas Lee. Jack chose not to dress as a rich lawyer, not for this case. He found an old pair of brown trousers and an equally old brown tweed jacket. He carried a plain, wooden cane. He talked Mona into wearing her Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes, a black dress that was a little too tight around the middle and black pumps. She took Jack’s arm as they entered the courtroom. Among her kind nothing good ever came out of setting foot in court.
County courts in Texas rarely handled big litigation. Their bread and butter was an assortment of fender-benders, foreclosures, homeowner disputes about loud neighbors and barking dogs, and these days credit card litigation where the bank usually just went through the motions to get a default judgment and then accelerated its harassment of the cardholder. The courtroom itself had seen better days. The walls were scratched. Before the days of metal detectors some enterprising young men had carved initials and occasional profanity on the benches as they waited. Clifford Smith, the judge, had been on the bench for thirty years, not because he deserved it, but because no other lawyer in the county wanted the job.
The courtroom was packed as the judge monotoned his way through the docket, accepting agreements and entering default judgments. When he got to Cowtown Financial Corporation v. Lee, he called for announcements. A young lawyer from one of the major law firms rose and said he represented the plaintiff. They were ready for trial. Jack pushed himself up with his cane like he was a cripple and made the same announcement.
“What?” the judge asked. “You’re going to try this case. Mr. Bryant, I don’t believe I’ve seen you in my court before. You’ve asked for a jury trial. You really believe there’s a fact issue?”
“Yes, Your Honor. We believe as a matter of law that the bank’s claim is frivolous and should be dismissed. However, we have a counterclaim that we believe a jury will find most interesting.”
“Very well. You two lawyers go into the jury room and discuss this. Maybe you can find some middle ground, and we can avoid having to waste the time of six jurors for the afternoon.”
Jack told Mona to remain where she was and limped toward the jury room with the young lawyer for the plaintiff not far behind. When the door was closed, Jack eased into a chair and laid his cane on the table. “Sorry, my lumbago is acting up. I didn’t get your name.”
The young lawyer sized up his opponent and figured that he occasionally found his way out of a bottle long enough to make a court appearance. “Name’s Alfred, Alfred P. Goldenberg.”
“Well, Alfred, what do you propose we do? I’m ready to go to trial.”
“So am I, Mr. Bryant,” Goldenberg said with a solemn face as if he tried cases every day instead of being sent to the courthouse to take defaults or cut the best deal he could. “I could waive my attorney’s fees if we could work out a deal, maybe even a payment plan.”
“Not interested,” Jack said as he took his cane from the table and rose to his feet. “I’ve got a counterclaim that’s pretty near a sure thing. Your bill collectors knew it was wrong to harass my client in the middle of the night. That’s a violation of federal law.”
Goldenberg’s shoulders slumped slightly, but Jack noticed. “Come on, Mr. Bryant. Even if you get a verdict, you’ll never make that stand up on appeal. My client says it didn’t happen. You’ve sued for $10,000. I don’t think you can prove Ms. Lee is out of pocket one red cent.”
“As to the $10,000, you know I’ve also pled mental anguish and treble damages. That means that the jury can award my client the $10,000, treble it and then listen to what your client has put her through and treble those anguish damages. Fortunately for you, I can’t get more than a hundred thousand in county court.”
Alfred gulped. “So what do you want, Mr. Bryant?”
“Drop your case and pay my client $25,000, and I’ll waive
my
attorney’s fees.”
Never faced with this kind of decision, Goldenberg excused himself to the hallway and called his boss. “Mary, is Herman around?”
Alfred explained the situation when Herman got on the phone.
“Horseshit,” he said when Alfred finished. “Go try the case. By the way, who’s defense counsel?”
“I know he’s Jack Bryant. Hold on, sir. Let me look at the pleadings. Name’s Jackson Douglas Bryant.”
There was silence on the phone. Goldenberg asked, “Are you still there, sir?”
“What the fuck is Bryant doing in Fort Worth, and why’s he defending some old black woman against our bank? Is he carrying a cane?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s him. That changes everything. I don’t want you facing Bryant in your first case. You’ve got authority to meet his demand. Try to save a little off that $25,000.”
Goldenberg clicked his cell phone off and returned to the jury room. “Look, Jack. I just talked to my boss. I can meet your demand, but I’ve got a personal favor to request.”
Jack nodded.
“I’m already looking bad back at the firm. Could you consider just taking $20,000?”
Jack smiled. “I understand your predicament. Tell you what, I’ll take $22,500. You can tell the client that you negotiated hard.” Jack put his cane over his shoulder and walked to the door. “Let’s go tell the judge we’ve got a deal.”
Jack turned to leave the courtroom when he spotted Colby, seated on the back row. He motioned her to follow him into the hallway. “What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to get an idea of how this pro bono stuff actually worked. Did you really get that woman $22,500?”
Jack leaned on his cane. “Yep. Sure did and got the company to waive its claim on her credit card.”
“And how much of that do you take?” Colby asked skeptically.
Jack looked a little offended. “Maybe you don’t understand the meaning of pro bono. I helped her for free. I get nada, nothing. Didn’t ask for anything and won’t take anything from people like her.”
Colby’s skepticism turned to admiration. “Well, then,” she said as she took his arm, “If you can direct me to a good shop around here, coffee’s on me.
While they waited for the elevator, Colby thought,
Maybe this guy really is someone special.
Colby signed in and walked down the hallway to the nursing station where she found a new nurse. “I’m Colby Stripling. Where’s Irene? I thought she usually worked this shift?”
“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Stripling. I’m Jackie. Irene no longer works here.”
“Had to do with patient care, didn’t it? Decubitus ulcers, among other things, right?”
“I’m not allowed to discuss it.” She pointed to Room 4. “Dr. Winston is in there right now.”
Colby nodded and walked to the door, knocking quietly before she opened it.
Dr. Winston had the covers off the patient and was carefully evaluating him. “Ah, Colby, I’m glad you’re here.”
Colby nodded and walked over to stand beside the doctor.
“Look here, the ulcer is improving. I’m glad you caught it at Stage II. These bastards can be damn near impossible to cure once they get to III or IV.”
Colby looked at the buttock. “It’s certainly looking better. But, I’m still pissed off at this facility. I’ve made a lot of sacrifices and paid a lot of money to put him here. I told that attendant the day I discovered it that he’d be better off dead if this is the kind of care he is going to receive. She didn’t seem to give a damn.”
“Believe me, Colby, I’m extremely sorry about the problem. Once I looked into the situation, I made sure that Irene was terminated immediately. To say the least, she wasn’t happy. Said she wouldn’t be able to find another job,” Dr. Winston added. “I’m afraid I must bear some of the responsibility. I can’t tell you the number of meetings I’ve had with the staff about taking care of patients like this who can’t care for themselves. I’m afraid it’s the caliber of people they hire.”
“I picked this place because it was supposedly the best in the area,” Colby said as she sat down and buried her head in her hands. “I don’t know what more I can do Keeping him here is costing me $5,000 a month. I’m not sure how much longer I can afford it.”
“I’m sorry, Colby,” Dr. Winston said. He hesitated and then continued. “Maybe you just ought to let nature take its course. He’s never going to get any better.”
“You mean let him starve to death like Terri Schiavo? No,” Colby sobbed. “I married him until death do us part. I’m still his wife, and I’m going to be faithful to him and care for him the best I can until God calls.”