Carl Hiaasen - Skin Tight

Kipper Garth said, “I just wanted to bring you up to date on the malpractice case.” Matter-of-factly he told Mrs. Nordstrom about the emergency court order to freeze Dr. Graveline’s assets.

“What exactly does that mean?”

“It means his money won’t be going anywhere, even if he does.”

Mrs. Nordstrom was not receiving the news as exuberantly as Kipper Garth had hoped; apparently she could not appreciate the difficulty of what he had done.

“John and I were talking just last night,” she said. “The idea of going to trial… I don’t know, Mr. Garth. This has been so embarrassing for both of us.”

“We’re in it now, Mrs. Nordstrom. There’s no turning back.” Kipper Garth tried to suppress the exasperation in his voice: Here Rudy Graveline was on the ropes and suddenly the plaintiffs want to back out.

“Maybe the doctor would be willing to settle the case,” ventured Mrs. Nordstrom.

Kipper Garth put down the coffee cup with a clack and folded his arms. “Oh, I’m sure he would. I’m sure he’d be delighted to settle. That’s exactly why we won’t hear of it. Not yet.”

“But John says-”

“Trust me,” the lawyer said. He paused and lowered his eyes. “Forgive me for saying so, Mrs. Nordstrom, but settling this case would be very selfish on your part.”

She looked startled at the word.

Kipper Garth went on: “Think of all the patients this man has harmed. This alleged surgeon. If we don’t stop him, nobody will. If you settle the case, Mrs. Nordstrom, the butchery will continue. You and your husband will be wealthy, yes, but Rudy Graveline’s butchery will continue. At his instruction, the court file will be sealed and his reputation preserved. Again. Is that really what you want?”

Kipper Garth had listened intently to his own words, and was impressed by what he had heard; he was getting damn good at oratory.

A few awkward moments passed and Mrs. Nordstrom said, “They’ve got an opening for a coach over at the jai-alai. John used to play in college, he was terrific. He even went to Spain one summer and trained with the Basques.”

Kipper Garth had never heard of a Scandinavian jai-alai coach, but his knowledge of the sport was limited. Ooozing sincerity, he told Mrs. Nordstrom that he hoped her husband got the job.

She said, “Thing is, he can’t tell anybody about his eye. They’d never hire him.”

“W hy not?”

“Too dangerous,” Mrs. Nordstrom said. “The ball they use is like a rock. A pelota it’s called. John says it goes like a hundred and sixty miles an hour off those walls.”

Kipper Garth finished his coffee. “I’ve never been to a jai-alai game.” He hoped she would take the hint and change the conversation.

“If you’re playing, it helps to have two good eyes,” Mrs. Nordstrom explained. ‘Tor depth perception.”

“I think I understand.”

“John says they won’t let him coach if they find out about the accident.”

Now Kipper Garth got the picture. “That’s why you want to settle the lawsuit, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Nordstrom said yes, they were worried about publicity. “John says the papers and TV will go crazy with a story like this.”

Kipper thought: John is absolutely right.

“But you’re a victim, Mrs. Nordstrom. You have the right to be compensated for this terrible event in your life. It says so in the Constitution.”

“John says they let cameras in the courtrooms. Is that true?”

“Yes, but let’s not get carried away-”

“If it were your wife, would you want the whole world to see her tits on the six o’clock news?” Her tone was prideful and indignant.

“I’ll speak to the judge, Mrs. Nordstrom. Please don’t be upset. I know you’ve been through hell already.” But Kipper Garth was excited by the idea of TV cameras in the courtroom-it would be better than billboards!

Marie Nordstrom was trying not to cry and doing stolidly. She said, “I blame that damn Reagan. He hadn’t busted up the union, John’d still have his job in the flight tower.”

Kipper Garth said, “Leave it to me and the two of you will be set for life. John won’t need a job.”

Mrs. Nordstrom wistfully gazed at the two sturdy, silicon-enhanced, Lycra-covered cones on her chest. “They say contractures are easy to fix, but I don’t know.”

Kipper Garth circled the coffee table and joined her on the love seat. He put an unpracticed arm around her shoulders. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “they look spectacular.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, “but you just don’t know-how could you?”

Kipper Garth removed the silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and gave it to Mrs. Nordstrom, who sounded like the SS Norway when she blew her nose.

“Know whatI think?” said Kipper Garth. “I think you should letmefeel them.”

Mrs. Nordstrom straightened and gave a stern sniffle.

The lawyer said: “The only way I can begin to understand, the only way I can convey the magnitude of this tragedy to a jury, is if I can experience it myself.”

“Wait a minute-you want to feel my boobs?”

“I’m your lawyer, Mrs. Nordstrom.”

She eyed him doubtfully.

“If it were a burn case, I’d have to see the scar. Dismemberment, paraplegia, same goes.”

“Looking is one thing, Mr. Garth. Touching is something else.”

“With all respect, Mrs. Nordstrom, your husband is going to make a lousy witness in this case. He’s going to come across as a selfish prick. Remember what he said that day in my office? Bocci balls, Mrs. Nordstrom. He said your breasts were as hard as bocci balls. This is not the testimony of a sensitive, caring spouse.”

She said, “You’d be bitter, too, if it was your eye that got poked out.”

“Granted. But let me try to come up with a more gentle description of your condition. Please, Mrs. Nordstrom.”

“All right, but I won’t take my clothes off.”

“Of course not!”

She slid a little closer on the love seat. “Give me your hands,” she said. “There you go.”

“Wow,” said Kipper Garth.

“ What’dItell you?”

“I had no idea.”

“You can let go now,” Mrs. Nordstrom said.

“Just a second.”

But one second turned into ten seconds, and ten seconds turned into thirty, which was plenty of time for John Nordstrom to enter the house and size up the scene. Without a word he loaded up the wicker cesta and hurled a goatskinjai-alai ball at the slimy lawyer who was feeling up his wife. The first shot sailed wide to the left and shattered a jalousie window. The second shot dimpled the arm of the love seat with a flat thunk. It was then that Kipper Garth released his grip on Marie Nordstrom’s astoundingly stalwart breasts and made a vain break for the back door. Whether the lawyer fully comprehended his ethical crisis or fled on sheer animal instinct would never be known. John Nordstrom’s third and final jai-alai shot struck the occipital seam of Kipper Garth’s skull. He was unconscious by the time his silvery head smacked the floor.

“Ha!” Nordstrom exclaimed.

“I take it you got the job,” said his wife.

Willie the cameraman said they had two ways to go: they could crash the place or sneak one in.

Reynaldo Flemm said: “Crash it.”

“Think of the timing,” Willie said. “The timing’s got to be flawless. We’ve never tried anything like this.” Willie was leaning toward trying a hidden camera.

Reynaldo said: “Crash it. There’s no security, it’s a goddamn medical clinic. Who’s gonna stop you, the nurse?”

Willie said he didn’t like the plan; too many holes. “What if the guy makes a run for it? What if he calls the police?”