"Pan win," the mechanical voice says.
T
he federal courthouse was tucked neatly
between two old-fashioned turn-of-the-century buildings in downtown L.A.
Herman was dressed in his best pinstripe, decked out all in 4s:
the black-and-white ensemble. He had brushed his unruly hair to one side,
plastering it over with water. But as it dried the curls began rising like gray
smoke, until, now, his do was in a sort of modified Bozo.
He sat in the attorney's room with Susan and Dr. Deborah DeVere.
Dedee was nervous but ready. Herman thought she looked good in her tailored
blue dress.
"You were supposed to be wearing the backless hospital
gown," she said. "I've been looking forward to that all
morning."
"Visual orgies of that nature have to be enjoyed
episodically," he deadpanned.
She laughed, deep throated and lusty and Herman liked her laugh.
"Seriously, are you feeling better?" She pulled her
smile down like a poster after a show, leaning in and studying him.
"Ready to kick butt." He looked at Susan, who was
searching through their pretrial motions, putting them in order. "Susie,
did you file the application for the amended complaint?"
She nodded, "The court clerk got it this morning. Judge King
should have it by now."
"Good." Herman felt strong, his heart was in battle
rhythm, his head
clear. So why, he wondered, was Deborah DeVere looking at him with one eyebrow
raised?
"An amended complaint?" she asked.
"It's nothing. We just made a change on the plaintiff's list.
No big deal. Now, Dedee, it's important that we get across to the jury the
devastation that this bio-corn is going to cause the monarch population.
Everybody can remember their first butterfly hunt, looking at it up close,
seeing its feelers waving gracefully in the air, its tiny little head and big,
beautiful eyes. . . the orange-and-black perfection. Everyone can remember
thinking how delicate and tiny it was. We've got to make them remember; we've
got to make them wonder what the world will be like without this wonderful
species sharing the planet with us."
There was a knock on the mahogany door and a young man from Elite
Messenger Service entered carrying a glass terrarium with three beautiful
monarchs fluttering inside. Herman had actually netted the butterflies in the
field next to Barbra and Jim's house over the weekend. Herman and Susan had
spent last night at the hospital, so Herman had sent the messenger to pick them
up from the housekeeper in Malibu. He peeled off some bills and handed them to
the man, then signed the delivery slip and waited in silence until the
messenger left. Dedee looked closely at the terrarium while Herman tapped on
the side. The butterflies landed and were now sitting on twigs, apparently
unaware that their entire subgroup was facing biological extinction.
"Okay," Herman said. "Let's go barbecue some
USDA-Prime."
The courtroom was an ornate,
old-fashioned job with Doric columns and spindled balconies. The U.S. and State
of California flags flanked the bench against a curtained wall where the
government seal was affixed. The room was large and overpowering; the building
material mostly dark, polished mahogany.
Herman watched as the jury he had voir dired two days ago was led
in. He thought it was a pretty good bunch.
Herman never used jury specialists. The gaggle of defense
attorneys opposite him had employed a virtual choir of experts during the three
days of jury selection. Throughout that entire process they'd been huddled in a
semicircle poring over demographic spreadsheets, graphs, and background checks.
Herman used a much more primitive method. All he would do is look at each
potential juror and try to decide whether he would like to go out to dinner
with them. Would this person be fun to spend a few hours with? Herman looked
only for a sense of warmth and humanity. Race, color, creed, sex, or financial
condition meant nothing to him.
The jurors filed past and sat in their upholstered swivel chairs.
Herman stole a look at his opposing counsels—all ten of them. Some were
government lawyers, others were hired by the three private research labs. The
lead counsel was legendary Joseph Amato—the Count Dracula of the legal
community. He was dressed in hit-man black and seemed oblivious to his
co-counsels, who were eagerly gathered around the defense table like orphans at
a picnic, all of them scrunched together, their legal books piled around them,
briefcases open, miniature tape recorders ready for last-minute whispered
reminders.
The Institute for Planetary Justice had only Herman and Susan . .
. and, of course, the butterflies. The glass terrarium sat covered with a
hospital towel, awaiting the appropriate moment in his opening statement to be
introduced to the
jury.
"Oyez, oyez, oyez. Federal District Court Fifteen is now in
session. The Honorable Judge Melissa King, presiding. All rise," the
bailiff called out.
The courtroom rose in unison as the back door opened and Melissa
King strode into court.
Jesus! The woman is ready to give birth
any minute,
Herman thought as she waddled through the door and around the
mahogany platform, then labored up the three steps to the bench. Her narrow
shoulders were thrown back for counterbalance. She had gained thirty pounds
since she
had thrown his
last case out. A dishwater blond with a pinched expression and narrow eyes, she
looked uncomfortable and angry in her last month of pregnancy. She eased
herself into the big, high-backed judicial swivel, looked down at the court,
opened a folder, and then while everybody waited began reading documents.
Aside from the jury and the attorneys, there was the usual array
of courtroom groupies: old men and women who preferred daily legal jousts in
air-conditioned comfort to the eighty-degree L.A. heat in the park across the
street. They sat like a row of vultures in their baggy street clothes, cutting
up apples with penknives and drinking tap water out of recycled Evian bottles.
"So, this is the butterfly thing . . . CO3769M." Judge
King said, looking at her folder. "Is everyone present? Can we get
moving?" No bullshit from Melissa this morning.
"Yes, Your Honor," Herman said. "The Institute for
Planetary Justice is ready to try its case." "Good morning, Herman.
New suit?"
"Yes, Your Honor. I wanted to look nice for you." She
smiled down at him, but it was a grim, humorless little number that could peel the
paint off a grain silo. Then she snapped her gaze over to the crowded defense
table. "Are there enough of you over there, Mr. Amato?" she quipped.
Joseph Amato smiled and stood. "Your Honor, we represent the
FDA, the EPA, the Department of Agriculture, the Pierpoint Laboratories,
Gen-A-Tec, and Malorite Labs, et al. I've been selected as lead counsel. I
think you've been supplied with a list of my co-counsels.
Judge King held it up. "I have my score card all ready,
Counselor. Let's play ball."
Herman thought she was in fine form—smart-assing her way along. He
had absolutely no traction with the woman. She turned to him. "An amended
complaint form was delivered to me this morning by messenger. What's the
deal?"
"Yes, Your Honor, we have dismissed on behalf of two
plaintiffs and substituted a new one."
"I see you removed the Concerned Scientists. Did they become
'concerned' with your legal tactics?"
"Your Honor . . . uh . . . is it really necessary to . .
."
"Yes, Herman? What?" A clear challenge.
Herman paused.
Shit.
It pissed him off that she had just
insulted him in front of the jury, but he also didn't want to start the case in
a mud fight with the judge.
"Nothing, Your Honor," he said softly.
"And this new plaintiff, the Danaus Plexippus Foundation.
What is that?" She went on reading from the amended complaint before her.
"It is the foremost foundation researching the world
migration and breeding habits of the monarch butterfly."
"The
foremost
foundation?" she said, milking it
for laughs. "In the whole
world?”
"Yes, Your Honor . . . the whole
wide
world."
Herman smiled, trying to keep it light.
"In the whole wide world. Well, fancy that." She heaved
a sigh, tired of him already. "Okay, I'm going to take that under
submission pending demonstration by testimony that the Danaus Plexippus
Foundation does, in fact, have fiscal damages as well as a history of
protecting the monarch butterfly and the public's interest in it." Melissa
King shifted uncomfortably, as did Herman, who didn't like the sound of that.
"Let's get this show-stopper rolling," she continued. "What's in
the box, Herman?"
"Uh, Your Honor, if I might get to that in due course."
"You have some butterflies in there?"
"Your Honor, I really appreciate your help, but perhaps you
might let me put on my opening statement by myself?"
"Sure. Let's do it then. You're up."
Herman looked at Susan, who reached over and squeezed his hand.
He stood and straightened his tie, then moved around in front of
the plaintiff's table. Herman looked at the jury while the street people
swigged their Evian bottles and leaned forward in expectation.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," Herman began. "I
come before you
today to tell you about an issue that may very well affect your lives.
"Most of you have seen butterflies; perhaps some of you, or
all of you, even enjoy them. They are beautiful creatures. They decorate our
lives, and enhance the God-given wonder of our planet." He let that sink
in, pausing for dramatic effect, letting the moment hang there while he put a
look of concern on his flushed face.
"Do you have anything else, or is that it?" Judge King
interrupted, rudely stepping on his heartfelt moment.
"I have more, Your Honor," Herman said, getting pissed.
"Well, let's go then. Get to it."
Herman nodded, composed himself, and went on: "Perhaps you
think about the beauty of the butterfly, or perhaps many of you might not think
of butterflies at all. But in the next few days I am going to ask you to think
about them. I'm going to ask you to pause in your busy day and look at them,
study them. Think about the millions of years of evolution that it took to
beautify them and bring them to this place in the history of our planet. I'm
going to ask you to wonder about the awesome process of their metamorphosis,
from lowly caterpillar to graceful winged beauty. I'll ask you to notice how
effortlessly they take flight, how magnificently they flutter, soft as a
feather, traveling with powerful determination to distant locations. As a
matter of fact, did you know that a butterfly can travel thousands of miles
over the span of their short lifetimes? Incredible, isn't it?"
Judge Melissa King now stifled a yawn
and shifted uncomfortably in her swivel chair. The jury shifted their gaze
toward her. She had broken his rhythm again.
Herman needed some drama to get them back. So he strode over and,
like David Copperfield, snapped the towel off his case with a flourish,
revealing the three beautiful monarchs, which were flying around inside the
terrarium as if on cue. The eyes of the jury were riveted as Herman stood aside
to afford them a better view. "Behold the plaintiff," he said with a
touch too much drama. "In this state
alone monarch butterflies travel a distance of two thousand
miles each year, down the coast of California to the middle of South America,
where they build their homes and raise their families. Amazing, isn't it?
Amazing and inspiring." Herman had planned another
Wild Kingdom
pause
here to allow the jury to study the beautiful species of butterfly, but he
didn't want Melissa King to jump in again, so he
kept going.