Chapter 5
I walked back to the office, feeling a little better for having both a full stomach and a plan of sorts.
I walked past Brock’s office on the way to mine. He was, indeed, hard at work at his computer. I began to wonder whether I should ever have doubted him – although I wasn’t ready to give him a free pass yet. Not until I figured out where those f-bombs were coming from.
“Hey,” I said, stopping in his doorway. “How was the pizza party?”
Reluctantly, he looked away from his screen. “Hey,” he responded. “Pizza was okay. Would have been better if you’d been there.”
“I had a brainstorm about that over my burrito bowl,” I said, and outlined my idea to him.
Brock shrugged. “I can float the idea to Perry. Not sure the client would be willing to pay for another attorney to staff this matter – not that you’d be part of the team, of course. I know Durant and the Indian would have to split your fee, or however you usually handle that. But if we pitch the idea to Durant as a net savings if the mediation works, he might go for it.”
“Tightwad, huh?”
“Pretty tight, yeah.”
I nodded. “Let me know what Perry says. I’ll be here for a little while yet. Gonna power through some more reports so that I don’t have to come in tomorrow.” Then I blew him a kiss, which got me a grin in return, and headed off to do battle with the paper monster in my office.
Half an hour later, Perry Dorfman himself knocked on my door. The head of the firm’s litigation practice, he was rarely seen walking the halls; usually he had his secretary call subordinate attorneys to his office so he could sit behind his desk and intimidate them. You can do that when your name’s on the front door.
He had a bulbous nose, a bulbous stomach (encased today in a long-sleeved sports shirt with a bolo tie), and a fringe of graying hair that he wore like a tonsure. But for all that he was a caricature, he was a brilliant lawyer.
“It’s an honor, sir,” I told him, letting just a tinge of sarcasm creep into my voice.
“Cut the crap, Witherspoon,” he said, dumping a pile of back issues of American Lawyer from my guest chair onto the floor. (One of these days, I was going to page through them and then send them back to the firm library.) He eased himself into the chair as if afraid it would break under him. Then he leaned across my desk as if it were his office, careless of my haphazard piles of paper and legal pads. “Brock told me your idea. It’s not bad. Durant is a bastard, but he’s a cheap bastard. He might go for mediation if he thinks it’ll save him money in the long run.”
I nodded. “That’s what Brock said.”
He sat back. “We’re going up there tomorrow for a site inspection – Brock, Durant, and me. I’d like for you to tag along.”
“I’d love to.”
“Good. Be here at noon tomorrow or we’ll leave without you.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be here.” Then I went on, “Full disclosure, sir: I’ve met the property owner. He and my friend Shannon had a little business to tend to yesterday, and I went along with her.”
“So you’ve been up to the site?”
I nodded again.
“Good,” he said. “You can be our navigator. Durant told me he’s never laid eyes on the place.”
That’s interesting. Then how come he told Brock it had a killer view? Aloud, I said, with the beginning of a grin, “I hope somebody’s got four-wheel drive. The entrance is at about a seven percent grade.”
He harrumphed on his way out the door.
As soon as I was sure Perry was out of earshot, I called Joseph to give him a progress report. His cell phone went to voicemail, though, so I left him a message and got back to work. Now I had no choice – I had to finish these reports today. There wasn’t going to be time tomorrow.
Following another weird-dream-free night, I hit the front door of our firm at 11:55 a.m. Sunday. Brock, Perry, and the client were making small talk in the lobby, drinking brand-name coffee in paper cups. Brock handed me a latte from a cardboard cupholder on the receptionists’ desk while Perry introduced me.
Leo Durant was quite the fireplug. He was on the short side, with curly red hair and a nose that looked as if it had been broken at least once. He was all smiles today, his flushed cheeks shining as he shook my hand, but something told me it would take nothing at all to make him hit the stratosphere.
“Are we all here? Then let’s go,” he said to Perry. “I’ll sit in the back with Naomi.” His friendly grin was more like a leer.
“No can do, Leo,” Perry said with a hearty laugh. “She’s our navigator. She has to sit up front with me.”
“Too bad,” said Leo.
Not so much, Leo. I’d endure a lot for Looks Far and Joseph, but I draw the line at being groped by you in the backseat of Perry’s Lincoln Navigator.
Wait. When did I come to the conclusion that I would endure anything at all for Looks Far and Joseph?
Bemused, I followed the men out the door.
In the end, I drove my own car and let Perry follow me in his urban assault vehicle. I realized partway down the stairs that there were ethical ramifications for me if I showed up in the same car with Durant. It was bad enough that I worked for the same law firm as Durant Development’s counsel, not to mention being engaged to a member of its litigation team. But I could get around that – I was trained to be objective, right? Furthermore, I reasoned as I drove up U.S. 36, I had a personal relationship with Looks Far, too, which ought to balance out. (Although I wasn’t sure how I would describe my connection with the old man to Perry, if the time came. “We were tapped by the same goddess to save the world” seemed a little too out there.)