John - The Runaway Jury

“You're outta your mind,” Lonnie said, and at the moment, most felt the same way.

“So you want to be famous,” Jerry said, heavy on the sarcasm.

“Not me, but the verdict. Nobody will remember our names next week, but everyone will remember our verdict. If we're gonna do it, then let's do it right.”

“I like it,” Shine Royce chimed in. The thought of dispensing so much money made him giddy. Shine was the only juror ready to spend another night at the motel so he could eat free and collect another fifteen dollars tomorrow.

“Tell us what will happen,” Millie said, still stunned.

“It'll be appealed, and some day, probably two years from now, a bunch of old goats in black robes will reduce it. They'll lower it to something more reasonable. They'll say it was a runaway verdict from a runaway jury, and they'll fix it. The system works most of the time.”

“Then why should we do it?” Loreen asked.

“For change. We'll start the long process of making the tobacco companies accountable for killing so many people. Keep in mind, they've never lost a trial such as this. They think they're invincible. We prove otherwise, and we do it in such a way that other plaintiffs are not afraid to take on the industry.”

“So you want to bankrupt them,” Lonnie said.

“Wouldn't bother me. Pynex is worth one-point-two billion, and virtually all its profits have come at the expense of people who use their products but would love to quit. Yeah, come to think of it, the world would be a better place without Pynex. Who'd cry if it folded?”

“Maybe its employees,” Lonnie said.

“Good point. But I have more sympathy for the thousands of people hooked on their products.”

“How much will the appeals court give Celeste Wood?” Mrs. Gladys Card asked. She was troubled by the idea that one of her neighbors, albeit a person she didn't know, was going to get rich. Sure, she'd lost her husband, but Mr. Card had survived prostate cancer with no thought of suing anybody.

“I have no idea,” Nicholas said. “And that's not something we should worry about. That's another day in another courtroom, and there are guidelines to be followed when reducing large verdicts.”

“A billion dollars,” Loreen repeated to herself, but audibly enough to be heard. It was as easy to say as “A million dollars.” Most of the jurors stared at the table and repeated the word “billion.”

Not for the first time, Nicholas thanked himself for Herrera's absence. At a moment like this, with a billion dollars on the table, Herrera would be raising hell and probably throwing things. But the room was quiet. Lonnie was the only advocate left for the defense, and he was busy counting and recounting votes.

Herman's absence was also important, probably more so than the Colonel's because people would listen to Herman. He was thoughtful and calculating, not prone to emotion and certainly not susceptible to an outrageous verdict.

But they were gone.

Nicholas had steered the talk away from liability and onto the issue of damages, a crucial shift that no one recognized but himself. The billion dollars had stunned them and forced them to think about money, not fault.

He was determined to keep their thoughts on money. “It's just an idea,” he said. “It's important to get their attention.”

Nicholas quickly winked at Jerry, who entered perfectly on cue. “I can't go that high,” he said in his best car salesman routine, which was pretty effective. “It's, well, it's outrageous. I can see some damages, but, damn, this is just plain crazy.”

“It's not outrageous,” Nicholas argued. “The company has eight hundred million in cash. The place is like a mint. All tobacco companies print their own money.”

Jerry made eight, and Lonnie withdrew to a corner, where he began clipping his fingernails.

And Poodle made nine. “It is outrageous, and I can't do that,” she said. “Something lower maybe, but not a billion dollars.”

“So how much?” Rikki asked.

Only five hundred million. Only one hundred million. They could not force themselves to utter these ridiculous sums of money.

“I don't know,” Sylvia said. “What do you think?”

“I like the idea of putting these guys on the ropes,” Rikki said. “If we're going to send a message, then let's not be shy about it.”

“A billion?” Sylvia asked.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Me too,” Shine said, feeling wealthy just by being there.

There was a long pause; the only sound came from Lonnie snipping his fingernails.

Finally, Nicholas said, “Who cannot vote to return any damages whatsoever?”

Savelle raised his hand. Lonnie ignored the question, but then he didn't need to respond.

“The vote stands at ten to two,” Nicholas reported, and wrote this down. “This jury has hereby reached its decision on liability. Now, let's settle the issue of damages. Can the ten of us agree that the Wood estate is entitled to the two million in actual damages?”

Savelle kicked his chair back and left the room. Lonnie poured a cup of coffee and sat by the window, his back to the group, but listening to every word.

The two million sounded like pocket change in light of the previous discussion, and it was approved by the ten. Nicholas wrote this on a form approved by Judge Harkin.

“Can the ten of us agree that punitive damages should be imposed, in some amount?” He slowly went around the table and got a “Yes” from each. Mrs. Gladys Card hesitated. She could change her mind, but it would have no impact. Only nine votes were needed for a verdict. “All right. Now, as to the amount of punitive damages. Any ideas?”

“I have one,” Jerry said. “Get everybody to write their amount on a piece of paper, fold it, keep it secret, then add them up and divide by ten. That way we'll see what the average is.”

“Will it be binding?” Nicholas asked.

“No. But it'll give us an idea of where we are.”

The idea of a secret ballot was very appealing, and they quickly scribbled their numbers on scraps of paper.

Nicholas slowly unfolded each ballot and called the amounts to Millie, who wrote them down. One billion, one million, fifty million, ten million, one billion, one million, five million, five hundred million, one billion, and two million.

Millie did the math. “The total is three billion, five hundred sixty-nine million. Divide by ten, and the average is three hundred fifty-six million, nine hundred thousand.”

It took a moment for the zeros to settle in. Lonnie jumped to his feet and walked by the table. “You people are crazy,” he said just loud enough to be heard, then left the room, slamming the door.

“I can't do this,” Mrs. Gladys Card said, visibly shaken. “I'm living on a pension, okay. It's a good pension, but I cannot fathom these numbers.”

“The numbers are real,” Nicholas said. “The company has eight hundred million in cash, equity of over a billion. Last year our country spent six billion on medical costs directly related to smoking, and the number goes up each year. The four largest tobacco companies had combined sales last year of almost sixteen billion. And their numbers are going up. You gotta think big, okay. These guys'll laugh at a five-million-dollar verdict. They won't change a thing, business as usual. Same ads directed at kids. Same lies to Congress. Same everything, unless we wake them up.”

Rikki leaned forward on her elbows, and stared across the table at Mrs. Card. “If you can't do it, then leave with the rest of them.”

“Don't taunt me.”

“I'm not taunting. This take guts, okay. Nicholas is right. If we don't slap them in the face and bring them to their knees, nothing will change. These are ruthless people.”