John Grisham - The Litigators

Helen had been alarmed, but David took a hard, cynical line and argued that such dubious behavior couldn’t touch the cutthroat brand of law practiced by the fine folks at Rogan Rothberg. He had only to mention the Strick River case to win the argument. The Strick River in Wisconsin had been thoroughly polluted by an infamous chemical company represented by Rogan Rothberg, and after decades of brutal litigation and skillful legal wrangling the dumping continued.

Wally was digging through his briefcase.

The skyline came into view, and David looked at the tall, majestic buildings crowded together in downtown Chicago. The Trust Tower was in the center. “I would be there right now,” he said softly, almost to himself. Wally looked up, saw the skyline, and realized what David was thinking.

“Which one?” Wally asked.

“The Trust Tower.”

“I was in the Sears Tower one summer, a clerk, after my second year of law school. Martin & Wheeler. And I thought that’s what I wanted.”

“What happened?”

“Couldn’t pass the bar exam.”

David added that to the growing list of defects.

“You’re not going to miss it, are you?” Wally asked.

“No, I’m breaking into a sweat right now, just looking at the building. I don’t want to get any closer.”

“Take a left on Washington. We’re almost there.”

Inside the Richard J. Daley Center, they passed through security scanners and took the elevator to the sixteenth floor. The place was bustling with lawyers and litigants, clerks and cops, either hustling about or huddled in little pockets of serious conversations. Justice was looming, and everyone seemed to be dreading it.

David had no idea where he was going or what he was doing, so he stuck close to Wally, who seemed quite at home. David was carrying his briefcase, which held only a single legal pad. They passed courtroom after courtroom.

“Have you really never seen the inside of a courtroom?” Wally asked as they walked quickly, their shoes clicking along on the worn marble tile.

“Not since law school.”

“Unbelievable. What have you been doing for the past five years?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I’m sure you’re right about that. This is us,” Wally said, pointing to the heavy double doors of a courtroom. A sign said: “Circuit Court of Cook County — Divorce Division, Hon. Charles Bradbury.”

“Who’s Bradbury?” David asked.

“You’re about to meet him.”

Wally opened the door, and they stepped inside. There were a few spectators scattered through the rows of benches. The lawyers were seated up front, bored and waiting. The witness chair was empty; no trial was in progress. Judge Bradbury was reviewing a document and taking his time. David and Wally sat in the second row. Wally scanned the courtroom, saw his client, smiled, and nodded.

He whispered to David, “This is known as an open day, as opposed to a trial day. Generally speaking, you can get motions granted, routine matters approved, crap like that. That lady over there in the short yellow dress is our beloved client DeeAnna Nuxhall, and she thinks she’s about to get another divorce.”

“Another?” David asked as he glanced over. DeeAnna winked at him. Bleached blonde, huge chest, legs everywhere.

“I’ve done one already. This would be my second. I think she has a prior.”

“Looks like a stripper.”

“Nothing would surprise me.”

Judge Bradbury signed some papers. Lawyers approached the bench, chatted with him, got what they wanted, and left. Fifteen minutes passed, and Wally was getting anxious.

“Mr. Figg,” the judge said.

Wally and David walked through the bar, past the tables, and approached the bench, a low one that allowed the lawyers to almost see eye to eye with His Honor. Bradbury shoved the microphone away so they could chat without being heard. “What’s up?” he said.

“We have a new associate, Your Honor,” Wally said proudly. “Meet David Zinc.” David reached over and shook hands with the judge, who received him warmly. “Welcome to my courtroom,” he said.

“David’s been with a big firm downtown. Now he wants to see the real side of justice,” Wally said.

“You won’t learn much from Figg,” Bradbury said with a chuckle.

“He went to Harvard Law School,” Wally said, even prouder.

“Then what are you doing here?” the judge asked, and appeared to be dead serious.

“Got sick of the big firm,” David said.

Wally was handing over some paperwork. “We have a slight problem here, Judge. My client is the lovely DeeAnna Nuxhall, fourth row left, in the yellow dress.” Bradbury peered slightly over his reading glasses and said, “She looks familiar.”

“Yep, she was here about a year ago, second or third divorce.”

“Same dress, I think.”

“Yes, I think so too. Same dress, but the boobs are new.”

“You getting any?”

“Not yet.”

David felt faint. The judge and the lawyer were discussing sex with the client in open court, though no one could hear.

“What’s the problem?” Bradbury asked.

“I haven’t been paid. She owes three hundred bucks, and I can’t seem to squeeze it out of her.”

“What parts have you squeezed?”

“Ha-ha. She refuses to pay, Judge.”

“I need a closer look.”

Wally turned and motioned for Ms. Nuxhall to join them at the bench. She stood and wiggled herself from between the benches, then proceeded to the front. The lawyers went mute. The two bailiffs woke up. The other spectators gawked. The dress was even shorter when she walked, and she wore platform spiked heels that would make a hooker blush. David eased as far away as possible when she joined the boys at the bench.

Judge Bradbury pretended not to notice her. He was far too occupied with the contents of the court file. “Basic no-fault divorce, right, Mr. Figg?”

“That’s correct, Your Honor,” Wally replied properly.

“Is everything in order?”

“Yes, except for the small matter of my fee.”

“I just noticed that,” Bradbury said with a frown. “It looks as though there is a balance of $300, right?”

“That’s correct, Your Honor.”

Bradbury peered over his reading glasses and took in the chest first, then the eyes. “Are you prepared to take care of the fee, Ms. Nuxhall?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” she said in a squeaky voice. “But I’ll have to wait until next week. You see, I’m getting married this Saturday, and, well, I just can’t swing it right now.”

His eyes dancing from her chest to her face, His Honor said, “It’s my experience, Ms. Nuxhall, in divorce cases the fees are never paid after the fact. I expect my lawyers to be taken care of, to be paid, before I sign the final orders. What is the total fee, Mr. Figg?”

“Six hundred. She paid half up front.”

“Six hundred?” Bradbury said, feigning disbelief. “That’s a very reasonable fee, Ms. Nuxhall. Why haven’t you paid your lawyer?” Her eyes were suddenly wet.

The lawyers and spectators couldn’t hear the details, but they nonetheless kept their eyes on DeeAnna, especially her legs and shoes. David backed away even more, shocked at this shakedown in open court.

Bradbury moved in for the kill. He raised his voice slightly and said, “I’m not granting this divorce today, Ms. Nuxhall. You get your lawyer paid, then I’ll sign the papers. You understand this?”

Wiping her cheeks, she said, “Please.”

“I’m sorry, but I run a tight ship. I insist that all obligations be met — alimony, child support, legal fees. It’s just $300. Go borrow it from a friend.”

“I’ve tried, Your Honor, but—”

“Please. I hear this all the time. You’re excused.”