John Grisham - The Rainmaker

He waits for me to indicate that this figure is impressive, but I just stare at his tie. The toilet flushes and rumbles in the distance.

“And so, Great Benefit has authorized me to offer you and your clients seventy-five thousand to settle.”

I exhale heavily. A dozen wild thoughts race before me, the largest of which is the figure of twenty-five thousand dollars. My fee! I can see it.

Wait a minute. If his pal Harvey here is about to dismiss the case, why is he offering me this money?

And, then, it hits me — the good cop/bad cop routine. Harvey lowers the boom and scares the hell out of me, then Leo steps in with the velvet touch. I can’t help but wonder how many times they’ve played tag-team in this office.

“No admission of liability, you understand,” he says. “It’s a one-time offer, good for only the next forty-eight hours, take it or leave it right now while it’s on the table. If you say no, then it’s World War III.”

“But why?”

“Simple economics. Great Benefit saves some money, plus they don’t run the risk of some crazy verdict. They don’t like to get sued, you understand? Their executives don’t like to waste time in depositions and court appearances. They’re a quiet bunch. They like to avoid this kind of publicity. Insurance is a cutthroat business, and they don’t want their competitors to get wind of this. Lots of good reasons for them to settle quietly. Lots of good reasons for your clients to take the money and run. Most of it’s tax-free, you know.”

He’s smooth. I could argue the merits of the case and talk about how rotten his client is, but he’d just smile and nod along with me. Water off a duck’s back. Right now Leo Drummond wants me to take his money, and if I said nasty things about his wife it wouldn’t faze him.

The door opens and His Honor exits his private little rest room. Leo now has a full bladder, and he excuses himself. The tag is made. The duet moves along.

“High blood pressure,” Hale says to himself as he sits behind his desk and gathers his bottles. Not high enough, I want to say.

“Not much of a lawsuit, kid, I’m afraid. Maybe I can lean on Leo to make an offer of settlement. That’s part of my job, you know. Other judges approach it differently, but not me. I like to get involved in settlement from day one. It moves things along. These boys might throw some money at you to keep from paying Leo a thousand bucks a minute.” He laughs as if this is really funny. His face turns bloodred and he coughs.

I can almost see Leo in the rest room, ear stuck to the door, listening. It wouldn’t surprise me if they have a mike in there.

I watch him hack until his eyes water. When he stops, I say, “He just offered me the cost of defense.”

Hale’s a lousy actor. He tries to seem surprised. “How much?”

“Seventy-five thousand.”

His mouth falls open. “Geez! Look, son, you’re crazy if you don’t take it.”

“You think so?” I ask, playing along.

“Seventy-five. Jeez, that’s a buncha money. That doesn’t sound like Leo.”

“He’s a great guy.”

“Take the money, son. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and you need to listen to me.”

The door opens, and Leo rejoins us. His Honor stares at Leo, and says, “Seventy-five thousand!” You’d think the money was coming out of Hale’s office budget.

“That’s what my client said,” Leo explains. His hands are tied. He’s powerless.

They serve and volley for a while longer. I’m not thinking rationally, so I say little. I leave the room with Leo’s arm around my shoulder.

I find Deck in the hallway, on the phone, and so I sit on a nearby bench and try to collect myself. They were expecting Bruiser. Would they have tag-teamed him the same way? No, I don’t think so. How did they plan their ambush of me so quickly? They probably had another routine planned for him.

I’m convinced of two things: First, Hale is serious about dismissing the lawsuit. He’s a sick old man who’s been on the bench for a long time, and is immune from pressure. He couldn’t care less if he’s right or wrong. And it might be very difficult to file it again in another court. The lawsuit is in serious trouble. Second, Drummond is too anxious to settle. He’s scared, and he’s scared because his client has been caught red-handed in a very nasty act.

Deck’s made eleven phone calls in the past twenty minutes, and there’s no sign of Bruiser. As we speed back to the office, I replay the bizarre scene in Hale’s office. Deck, ever the quick-change artist, wants to take the money and run. He makes the very good argument that no amount of money will save Donny Ray’s life at this point, so we should grab what we can and make things a bit easier for Dot and Buddy.

Deck claims that he’s heard many sordid tales of badly tried lawsuits in Hale’s courtroom. For a sitting judge, he’s unusually vocal in his support of tort reform. Hates plaintiffs, Deck says more than once. A fair trial will be hard to obtain. Let’s take the money and run, Deck says.

Dru is in tears in the lobby as we enter. She’s hysterical because everybody’s looking for Bruiser. Her mascara runs down her cheeks as she curses and cries. This is just not like him, she says over and over. Something bad has happened.

Being a thug himself, Bruiser hangs out with dubious and dangerous people. Finding his fat body stuffed into the trunk of a car at the airport would not surprise me, and Deck allows as much. The thugs are after him.

I’m after him too. I call Yogi’s to talk to Prince. He’ll know where Bruiser is. I talk to Billy, the manager, a guy I know well, and after a few minutes learn that Prince seems to have vanished too. They’ve called everywhere, with no luck. Billy’s worried and nervous. The feds just left. What’s going on?

Deck goes from office to office, rallying the troops. We meet in the conference room — me, Deck, Toxer and Ridge, four secretaries and two flunkies I’ve never seen before. Nicklass, the other lawyer, is out of town. Everyone compares notes of their last meeting with Bruiser:

Anything suspicious? What was he supposed to do today? Who was he supposed to see? Who talked to him last? There is an atmosphere of panic in the room, an air of confusion that’s not alleviated in the least by Dru’s incessant bawling. She just knows something’s gone wrong.

The meeting breaks up as we silently file back to our offices and lock our doors. Deck, of course, follows me. We talk aimlessly for a while, careful not to say anything we don’t want overheard if in fact the place is wired. At eleven-thirty, we ease out a rear door and leave for lunch.

We will never set foot in the place again.

I doubt if I’ll ever know whether Deck actually knew what was coming down, or whether he was just amazingly prophetic. He’s an uncomplicated person without too many layers, and most of his thoughts are close to the surface. But there’s a definite degree of weirdness, aside from appearances, that’s coiled tightly within and clings to secrecy. I strongly suspect he and Bruiser were much closer than most of us knew, that the sweetheart deal on the Van Landel settlement was a result of Deck’s lobbying and that Bruiser was issuing quiet warnings about his demise.

At any rate, when my phone rings at 3:20 a.m., I’m not terribly surprised. It’s Deck, with the double announcement that the feds raided our offices just after midnight, and that Bruiser has skipped town. There’s more. Our former offices are now locked by court order, and the feds will probably want to talk to everyone who worked in the place. And, most surprising, Prince Thomas seems to have vanished along with his lawyer and friend.