“What? You mean protect his lawyers? No, most judges have forgotten what it’s like to be in the trenches. As soon as they put on the black robe, they forget. Bradbury, he’s different. He remembers what a bunch of creeps we represent.”
“So what happens now? Will DeeAnna get her divorce?”
“She’ll stop by the office this afternoon with the money, and we’ll get the divorce on Friday. She gets married on Saturday, and in six months or so she’ll be back for another divorce.”
“I rest my case. I’m not cut out for divorce work.”
“Oh, it sucks all right. Ninety percent of what we do sucks. We hustle the nickel-and-dime stuff to pay the overhead and dream of the big case. But last night, David, I didn’t dream, and I’ll tell you why. Ever hear of a drug called Krayoxx, a cholesterol drug?”
“No.”
“Well, you will. It’s killing people right and left, no doubt the next big mass tort wave of litigation, and we gotta get in fast. Where are you going?”
“I need to run a quick errand, and since we’re downtown, it won’t take a second.”
A minute later, David parked illegally outside of Abner’s. “Ever been here?” he asked.
“Oh, sure. There aren’t many bars with which I’m unacquainted, David. But it’s been a while.”
“This is where I spent yesterday, and I need to pay my bar bill.”
“Why didn’t you pay it yesterday?”
“Because I couldn’t find my pockets, remember?”
“I’ll wait in the car,” Wally said, then took a long, lustful look at the door into Abner’s.
Miss Spence was on her throne, eyes glazed, cheeks red, in another world. Abner was hustling around the bar, mixing drinks, pouring beer, sliding along platters of burgers. David caught him near the cash register and said, “Hey, I’m back.”
Abner smiled and said, “So you’re alive after all.”
“Oh, sure. Just left court. You got my tab somewhere close?”
Abner fished through a drawer and pulled out a ticket. “Let’s call it a hundred and thirty bucks.”
“Is that all?” David handed over two $100 bills and said, “Keep it.”
“Your chick is over there,” Abner said, nodding at Miss Spence, whose eyes were temporarily closed.
“She’s not as cute today,” David said.
“I gotta friend in finance, he was in last night, says she’s worth eight billion.”
“On second thought.”
“I think she likes you, but you’d better hurry.”
“I’d better leave her alone. Thanks for taking care of me.”
“No problem. Come back and see me sometime.”
Highly unlikely, David thought as they quickly shook hands.
CHAPTER 11
For an unlicensed driver, Wally proved to be a skillful navigator. Somewhere near Midway Airport, he directed David through a series of quick turns onto short streets, delivered them from two impossible dead ends, insisted he drive two blocks the wrong way, and did it all with a nonstop monologue that included “I know this place like the back of my hand” several times. They parked at the curb in front of a sagging duplex with aluminum foil covering the windows, a barbecue grill on the front porch, and a huge orange cat guarding the front door.
“And who lives here?” David asked, taking in the run-down neighborhood. Two sketchy teenagers across the street seemed fascinated by his shiny Audi.
“Here liveth a lovely woman by the name of Iris Klopeck, widow of Percy Klopeck, who died about eighteen months ago at the age of forty-eight, died in his sleep. Very sad. They came to see me about a divorce one time but then changed their minds. As I recall, he was rather obese, but not nearly as large as she.”
The two lawyers were sitting in the car talking, as if they did not want to get out. Only a couple of FBI agents in black suits and a black sedan could have been more conspicuous.
“So, why are we here?” David asked.
“Krayoxx, my friend, Krayoxx. I want to talk to Iris and see if by chance Percy had been on the drug when he died. If so, then voilà! We have another Krayoxx case, worth somewhere between two and four mill. Any more questions?”
Oh, dozens of questions. David’s mind was spinning as he realized they were about to cold-call Ms. Klopeck to inquire about her dead husband. “Is she expecting us?” he asked.
“I haven’t called, have you?”
“No, actually.”
Wally yanked open the door and got out. David reluctantly did the same and managed to frown at the teenagers admiring his car. The orange cat refused to move from the doormat. The doorbell could not be heard from outside, so Wally commenced knocking. Louder and louder, while David continued to glance nervously at the street. Finally, a chain was heard, then a crack in the door.
“Who is it?” a woman asked.
“Attorney Wally Figg, looking for Ms. Iris Klopeck.”
The door opened, and through the glass storm door Iris presented herself. As large as advertised, she wore what appeared to be a beige bedsheet with openings for her head and arms. “Who are you?” she asked.
“Wally Figg, Iris. I met you and Percy when you were thinking about a divorce. Probably three years ago. You guys came to my office over on Preston.”
“Percy’s dead,” she said.
“Yes, I know. I’m sorry. That’s why I’m here. I want to talk about his death. I’m curious about what medications he was taking when he died.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because there’s a lot of litigation over cholesterol drugs and painkillers and antidepressants. Some of these drugs killed thousands of people. There could be a lot of money on the table.”
A pause as she looked at them. “The house is a wreck,” she said. What a surprise, thought David. They followed her inside to a narrow, dirty kitchen and sat at the table. She fixed instant coffee in three mix-matched Bears mugs, then sat across from them. David’s chair was a flimsy wooden model that felt as though it might collapse any second. Hers appeared to be of the same variety. The trip to the door, then to the kitchen, along with the preparation of the coffee, had winded her. There was sweat on her spongy forehead.
Wally finally got around to introducing David to Ms. Klopeck. “David went to Harvard Law, and he’s just joined our firm,” Wally said. She did not offer a hand to shake, nor did Mr. Harvard. She could not have cared less where David, Wally, or anyone else went to college or law school. Her breathing was as noisy as an old furnace. The room smelled of dried cat urine and yesterday’s nicotine.
Wally again expressed his phony condolences for dear Percy’s demise, then quickly got to the point. “The main drug I’m after is called Krayoxx, a cholesterol drug. Was Percy taking it when he died?”
With no hesitation, she said, “Yes. He’d taken it for years. I used to take it, but I quit.”
Wally was at once thrilled by Percy’s usage and disappointed that Iris had given it up.
“Something wrong with Krayoxx?” she asked.
“Oh yes, very wrong,” Wally said, rubbing his hands together. He launched into what was becoming a fluid and compelling case against Krayoxx and Varrick Labs. He cherry-picked facts and figures from the preliminary research that was being touted by the mass tort lawyers. He quoted heavily from the one-sided lawsuit filed in Fort Lauderdale. He made a convincing case that time was of the essence and Iris needed to sign on with Finley & Figg immediately.