Kenneth Schneyer - The Whole Truth Witness

If the jury had had any pity, they’d have waited a decent interval before returning the verdict. But the order to return flashed on Manny’s thumbnail even before lunch had arrived at the café across the street from the courthouse. Elsa saw it and gave him a tense little nod before reaching for her bag. She glanced over at the client but didn’t say a word.

Manny knew his paralegal was right: he ought to warn the client of just how bad it was going to be, but he hadn’t the heart. So Perez got the full impact of the mammoth damage award in the courtroom itself. He bent forward as if punched in the stomach, a hollow wheeze escaping his mouth. On the way out of the building he wouldn’t look at them, and, Manny guessed, probably wouldn’t pay his bill—probably couldn’t pay it; the judgment was going to bankrupt him.

Manny and Elsa walked back to the office in the rain. Even in her high heels, Elsa was about three-quarters Manny’s height and forty percent his weight, and had to splash along beside him to keep up, making her even more visibly impatient than usual.

“That’s the sixth case in a row,” she said, swishing her umbrella back and forth irritably.

“Don’t start,” said Manny.

“No, listen. You’ve got to stop taking cases where the other side has a Whole Truth witness. It’s destroying your practice and your reputation.”

He ground his teeth. “It’s not my fault. You ought to have to notify someone before they speak to a Whole Truth witness.”

“But you’ve tried that argument, no?”

“Yes.”

“And you lost.”

“Yes.”

“And even the Supreme Court—”

Manny made a helpless gesture with the arm holding the litigation bag, wondering whether she nagged her husband this way. “What do you suggest? That we avoid any case where Ed Ferimond is the opposing counsel, or where the other side is any decent-sized corporation? Not to mention most criminal cases?” He sidestepped a large puddle, only to land in another one. “Exactly what cases should I take?”

“You could do more divorces,” said Elsa. Manny didn’t answer; the words hung in the soggy air like a promise of eternal mud.

Dripping on the worn carpet of the office and mopping her face with a paper towel, Elsa checked the incoming messages with the purse-lipped efficiency that made her worth far more than he could afford to pay her. Most of the messages were confirmations of hearing dates or responses to discovery requests, but one was an inquiry from a new potential client: Tina Beltran, who had just been served with a summons and complaint from WorldWide Holdings, LLC. A copy of the complaint was attached to the message.

“Well, what do you know,” said Manny, skimming the document and realizing that he’d missed lunch. “A civil suit under PIPRA, maybe even a case of first impression. Well, well. Do you want to order out for sandwiches?”

“No, you should have a salad,” said Elsa, heating water for a cup of tea and holding her hands over the first wisps of steam. He could see her hair starting to recover some of its frizz as it dried. “Case of first impression; is that good?”

“It could be. If it’s a high-profile case, it might give us a reputation as experts and bring in more business later.”

“If we win, you mean.” Elsa started calling up menus from her favorite salad shacks.

“Yes. You know, I’d really rather have the pulled pork at Tomas’s.”

“I know that’s what you’d really rather,” she said, not deviating from the salad menus. “I don’t suppose WorldWide Holdings has a Whole Truth witness?”

Manny skimmed down to the bottom of the pleading, seeing the name Edward Ferimond, Attorney for Plaintiff. He sighed. “I’m afraid it probably does.”

Although the medical malpractice case against Jerry Zucker did not involve a Whole Truth witness, it was just as hopeless in its own way. The plaintiff was spitting angry, even after seven months of discovery, and wanted to take Jerry for every cent he had. Manny supposed that disappointing plastic surgery would make anyone testy, but Helen Ishikawa was like a child holding her breath.

“Nelson says that Ishikawa isn’t interested in a monetary settlement,” Manny told Jerry over the phone.

“So you called to tell me that we have to go to trial?”

“Not necessarily. Nelson says that she wants you to fix the problem.”

“Fix what problem?”

“Do the work the way she wanted it in the first place.”

Jerry choked on whatever he was drinking. “What, she trusts me to do more surgery after I supposedly ruined her body the last time?”

“It surprises me too. I can’t say I’d trust you, myself.”

Jerry didn’t laugh. “And anyway, what she wanted wasn’t really possible. I mean, some parts of the body just don’t do certain things, you know? It’s a matter of tissue structure and physics; I told her so at the time.”

Manny skimmed his fingers back and forth across the desktop. “I wish you had used a good release and consent form.”

“I’m doing it now, aren’t I?”

“Yes, yes. Well, if there’s no way of pleasing her, then we may have to go to trial after all. She won’t consent to mediation.”

There was a long pause. Manny could hear background sounds of fluid being poured into a glass. Then Jerry started to speak, stopped, started again: “Well… hm…” Manny waited, looking at his empty coffee cup.

Several noisy swigs or swallows later, the plastic surgeon said slowly, “I said that Ishikawa can’t get what she wants by conventional techniques.”

“You did say that, yes.”

“But, well, there’s an experimental technique—”

“Experimental?”

“Yes—involving nanobots.”

Manny puffed air out through his nose, as if he were forestalling a sneeze. These days he detested the mention of nanobots. Nanobots were the basis of the Whole Truth process and the consequent implosion of his trial practice. He took a deep, slow breath, also through his nose. “How do nanobots help?”

“Well, in my early tests, they’re able to sculpt tissue almost like clay, changing size, shape, texture, color. So if Ishikawa really wants her—”

Manny interrupted. “Have you ever tried this on an actual human being?”

“Only in highly controlled experiments with minor variations, part of the preliminary FDA approval process. Nothing as major as what she wants.”

“So she’d be taking it on faith. Faith in you.”

Jerry groaned. “Never mind. It was a stupid idea.”

“Well, no, not necessarily. Would this technique work on Ishikawa, if you tried it? How certain are you?”

“Actually, given the sort of weird cosmetic changes she wants and where she wants them, I’m very certain.”

“You don’t want to buy yourself another malpractice lawsuit, after all.”

“No, I’m certain.”

Manny tapped out a salsa rhythm on the desk with his fingertips. “Let me call Nelson. Maybe we can set something up.”

Tina Beltran turned out to be a nervous, fortyish woman with red hair who reminded Manny of a squirrel harassed by too many cats. “So I guess my case is hopeless,” she said.

Manny steepled his fingers, giving Elsa a sidelong glance. She was taking notes, pretending not to have opinions, but he could tell, from the way her eyebrow twitched, that she agreed with the client.

“Not necessarily,” he said. Elsa’s eyebrow twitched again. “You never actually created a defragmenter, did you? You never wrote any code, assembled any modules, or anything like that?”

“Well, no, not to speak of. But Althoren—”