3:00 a.m. The running cleared his mind and relieved the stress. He plotted strategy, cross-examined witnesses, argued with Jared Kurtin, appealed to the jurors, did a dozen tasks as he pounded the asphalt in the dark.
Perhaps on this run he might concentrate on something, anything, other than the trial. Maybe a vacation. A beach. But the appeal was already bugging him.
Mary Grace did not move as he eased from the apartment and locked the door behind him. It was 5:15.
Without stretching, he took off and was soon on Hardy Street, headed for the campus of the University of Southern Mississippi. He liked the safety of the place. He circled around the dorms where he once lived, around the football stadium where he once played, and after half an hour pulled into Java Werks, his favorite coffee shop, across the street from the campus. He placed four quarters on the counter and took a small cup of the house blend. Four quarters. He almost laughed as he counted them out. He had to plan his coffee and was always looking for quarters.
At the end of the counter was a collection of morning newspapers. The front-page headline of the
Hattiesburg American
screamed: “Krane Chemical Nailed for $41 Million.” There was a large, splendid photo ofhim and Mary Grace leaving the courthouse, tired but happy. And a smaller photo of Jeannette Baker, still crying. Lots of quotes from the lawyers, a few from the jurors, including a windy little speech by Dr. Leona Rocha, who, evidently, had been a force in the jury room. She was quoted as saying, among other gems, “We were angered by Krane’s arrogant and calculated abuse of the land, by their disregard for safety, and then their deceit in trying to conceal it.”
Wes loved that woman. He devoured the long article while ignoring his coffee. The state’s largest paper was the
Clarion-Ledger
, out of Jackson, and its headline was somewhat more restrained, though still impressive: “Jury Faults Krane Chemical—Huge Verdict.” More photos, quotes, details of the trial, and after a few minutes Wes caught himself skimming. The
Sun Herald
from Biloxi had the best line so far: “Jury to Krane—Fork It Over.”
Front-page news and photos in the big dailies. Not a bad day for the little law firm of Payton & Payton. The comeback was under way, and Wes was ready. The office phones would start ringing with potential clients in need of divorces and bankruptcies and a hundred other nuisances that Wes had no stomach for. He would politely send them away, to other small-timers, of which there was an endless supply, and he would check the nets each morning and look for the big ones. A massive verdict, photos in the paper, the talk of the town, and business was about to increase substantially.
He drained his coffee and hit the street.
__________
C arl Trudeau also left home before sunrise. He could hide in his penthouse all day and let his communications people deal with the disaster. He could hide behind his lawyers. He could hop on his jet and fly away to his villa on Anguilla or his mansion in Palm Beach. But not Carl. He had never run from a brawl, and he wouldn’t start now.
Plus, he wanted to get away from his wife. She’d cost him a fortune last night and he was resenting it.
“Good morning,” he said abruptly to Toliver as he scampered into the rear seat of the Bentley.
“Good morning, sir.” Toliver wasn’t about to ask something stupid, such as “How are you doing, sir?” It was 5:30, not an unusual hour for Mr. Trudeau, but not a customary one, either. They normally left the penthouse an hour later.
“Let’s push it,” the boss said, and Toliver roared down Fifth Avenue. Twenty minutes later, Carl was in his private elevator with Stu, an assistant whose only job was to be on call 24/7 in case the great man needed something. Stu had been alerted an hour earlier and given instructions: Fix the coffee, toast a wheat bagel, squeeze the orange juice. He was given a list of six
Perhaps on this run he might concentrate on something, anything, other than the trial. Maybe a vacation. A beach. But the appeal was already bugging him.
Mary Grace did not move as he eased from the apartment and locked the door behind him. It was 5:15.
Without stretching, he took off and was soon on Hardy Street, headed for the campus of the University of Southern Mississippi. He liked the safety of the place. He circled around the dorms where he once lived, around the football stadium where he once played, and after half an hour pulled into Java Werks, his favorite coffee shop, across the street from the campus. He placed four quarters on the counter and took a small cup of the house blend. Four quarters. He almost laughed as he counted them out. He had to plan his coffee and was always looking for quarters.
At the end of the counter was a collection of morning newspapers. The front-page headline of the
Hattiesburg American
screamed: “Krane Chemical Nailed for $41 Million.” There was a large, splendid photo ofhim and Mary Grace leaving the courthouse, tired but happy. And a smaller photo of Jeannette Baker, still crying. Lots of quotes from the lawyers, a few from the jurors, including a windy little speech by Dr. Leona Rocha, who, evidently, had been a force in the jury room. She was quoted as saying, among other gems, “We were angered by Krane’s arrogant and calculated abuse of the land, by their disregard for safety, and then their deceit in trying to conceal it.”
Wes loved that woman. He devoured the long article while ignoring his coffee. The state’s largest paper was the
Clarion-Ledger
, out of Jackson, and its headline was somewhat more restrained, though still impressive: “Jury Faults Krane Chemical—Huge Verdict.” More photos, quotes, details of the trial, and after a few minutes Wes caught himself skimming. The
Sun Herald
from Biloxi had the best line so far: “Jury to Krane—Fork It Over.”
Front-page news and photos in the big dailies. Not a bad day for the little law firm of Payton & Payton. The comeback was under way, and Wes was ready. The office phones would start ringing with potential clients in need of divorces and bankruptcies and a hundred other nuisances that Wes had no stomach for. He would politely send them away, to other small-timers, of which there was an endless supply, and he would check the nets each morning and look for the big ones. A massive verdict, photos in the paper, the talk of the town, and business was about to increase substantially.
He drained his coffee and hit the street.
__________
C arl Trudeau also left home before sunrise. He could hide in his penthouse all day and let his communications people deal with the disaster. He could hide behind his lawyers. He could hop on his jet and fly away to his villa on Anguilla or his mansion in Palm Beach. But not Carl. He had never run from a brawl, and he wouldn’t start now.
Plus, he wanted to get away from his wife. She’d cost him a fortune last night and he was resenting it.
“Good morning,” he said abruptly to Toliver as he scampered into the rear seat of the Bentley.
“Good morning, sir.” Toliver wasn’t about to ask something stupid, such as “How are you doing, sir?” It was 5:30, not an unusual hour for Mr. Trudeau, but not a customary one, either. They normally left the penthouse an hour later.
“Let’s push it,” the boss said, and Toliver roared down Fifth Avenue. Twenty minutes later, Carl was in his private elevator with Stu, an assistant whose only job was to be on call 24/7 in case the great man needed something. Stu had been alerted an hour earlier and given instructions: Fix the coffee, toast a wheat bagel, squeeze the orange juice. He was given a list of six
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