Suzy's Case: A Novel (20 page)

“Hey, Jimmy, how’s it going?”

“Tug,” he says in his raspy voice, “good to see ya, good to see ya.” He lights and takes a draw of his cig, long, hard, and deep. He blows out a cloud, the way one does just before they’re going to say something. “You know that guy don’t have no brain injury on that case we have, you know the one, what’s that guy’s name?”

“My client’s name is Montez, Julio Montez.”

“Yeah, that’s the ticket, Montez, Juan Montez.”

“No, Julio Montez,” I correct.

“Whatever, that guy ain’t got no brain injury.” You’d think practicing law all these decades Jimmy would’ve lost that “ain’t got no” phrase.

“Really?” I respond. “Jimmy, the guy fell two stories, landed on his head, fractured his skull into pieces, had surgery because a collection of blood was compressing his frontal lobes, had a second surgery to place a shunt in his brain to drain out the cerebrospinal fluid that was causing massive intracranial pressure, spent three months in a coma, four months in a rehab center, and now he can’t remember his own name. You took his testimony, you saw the guy. He couldn’t remember the woman holding his hand during your questioning was his wife.”

Jimmy takes a short puff, anxious to retort. “Tug, that ain’t no brain damaged,” he casually responds. “I’ll tell you what brain damaged is. I once defended a case where a wrecking ball smashed a guy’s head off clear across the street—that’s brain damaged, ya see, that’s brain damaged, Tug. And your client should be paying us for not being able to remember who his wife is. What do you call that there—oh yeah—mitigation of injuries.” He takes another long, hard, deep puff, the way one does after having made their point in an important conversation.

“I always enjoy your perspective on damages, Jimmy. I got to go in. I got a depo at Goldman’s office.”

“Oh yeah, they got some fancy digs in here now.” As I leave Jimmy, he’s taking out another cigarette. He’s probably the only guy down here in a suit who’s not in any rush. But like most other defense lawyers around this area, he’s in denial of his client’s legal responsibility to pay out on their legitimate insurance claims. His smoking and wrecking ball comment remind me I got to check in with my mom before she calls me first and guilts me out.

I guess McGillicuddy has added value to the firm since partnering with Goldman & Goldberg. They’ve moved from the lower-rent district of the second floor to the thirty-ninth floor, and there’s expensive brass lettering on the oversized mahogany door.

Before I get a chance to grab the handle, the door opens and out walks Michael Goldberg. “Hey, Mike,” I say. “It’s been a long time.”

“Not long enough,” Goldberg replies, then laughs at his stale old joke. “How’s that case I sent you going, Tug?”

“Still in the works,” I reply, “but it’ll pay. Don’t worry, I’ll guard your referral fee.”

“I’m not worried. That’s one of the reasons I sent you the case in the first place.”

I nod. “So who’s this McGillicuddy you and Goldman made partner?”

“Winnie. We’ve known her for years. She’s a nurse turned lawyer who’s worked in hospital risk management for decades. A real tough egg.”

I nod again. “She didn’t work here the last case we had together and now she’s your partner? You must’ve passed over a lot of next-in-line associates.”

“Passed over and pissed off is a better way to put it, but Winnie brought with her new accounts—and money talks. She came here from her position as in-house counsel and chief of Risk Management at the Brownsville Hospital Center of Brooklyn, and she brought that account with her. She also brought a few other hospital accounts from the facilities she worked at over the years. Winnie pays for herself and lines our pockets. It was a no-brainer, and she’s a damn good attorney, too.”

“She’s obviously got a lot of pull, because she got a witness here with just a few days’ notice.”

Goldberg smiles. “Then I’m sure this witness is just going to sink your case even more. Gotta go.”

I love when lawyers say stuff without knowing. It can only lead to good.

After Goldberg walks away, I look at my watch. It’s sixteen minutes after ten. The deposition was called for ten sharp so I’m one minute late. I like to keep my adversaries waiting exactly fifteen minutes for the main event. It’s no different from the challenger in a boxing match anxiously waiting in the ring for the champ to make his grand entrance. The challenger has to pretend to keep himself occupied and focused by air jabbing and bouncing around the ring on his toes as the champion is announced and slowly makes his way, guided by the applause of the spectators. The slower the champ approaches, the more ridiculous the challenger looks and feels in center ring.

I check in with reception and am shown into the ring—I mean a large conference room with two surprises waiting. The first is a wall of windows on the far side of the room with incredible river views. I love water views and the Statue of Liberty is jutting up out of the water in all her glory. I put my bag down, stand at attention, salute Lady Liberty, who, frankly, I always felt looks like a transvestite. “God bless America, everybody,” I announce.

My second surprise is the presence of June, Suzy, and Dog. June smiles at my entrance. She and Suzy are dressed in identical outfits as always. Today the boots are white.

Smiling back at June, I walk up to my adversary, Winnie McGillicuddy, and introduce myself. She shakes my hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Wyler,” she offers perfunctorily.

“I hope all good,” I say, opting for unoriginality.

“Not really.”

I go for another cliché. “I’ve never been accused of winning any popularity contests.”

“I can see why.”

Here’s the rule: if I just met you I’m allowed to make fun of myself but you’re not. And don’t call me Wyler. It’s Mr. Wyler, unless of course you’re a Disciplinary Committee judge.

Winnie is tall and thin like my expert Dr. Laura Smith. She’s got to be in her late fifties, early sixties, and has a very distinct look to her face. You know how some people can resemble their pets or other animals? Winnie is one of these people. She looks exactly like a mammal in the genus
Mustela
of the Mustelidae family. The common weasel. Her dyed auburn hair color even resembles the fur of one. How fitting, given her occupation as defense counsel.

June, Suzy, and Dog are across the large oval table, which means if I let things stand, when the deposition begins we’ll be facing into the room with the water view at our backs. No way. I’m going to have to fix this. If there’s a water view to be seen, then I’m the one who’s going to see it.

Kneeling down, giving love and attention to Suzy, is an older black woman with her hair wrapped up in a red, black, and green reggae swaddle. This seemingly harmless and heart-filled Caribbean lady perfectly fits June’s description of Nurse Braithwait. Things are definitely going to spice up in here, because I know Nurse Braithwait could never in a million years connect with Winnie the Weasel the way I know she’s going to connect with me.

I say across the table, “Good morning, June.”

“Good morning, Tug,” June replies.

I approach Suzy, placing my hand on her bony shoulder. I kneel down on the opposite side of the leg braces to Nurse Braithwait. “Good morning, Suzy.”

Suzy responds by flipping her hands. “Sch-weet.” Nurse Braithwait and I look at each other and exchange smiles.

“Oh, mon,” Nurse Braithwait says, “I be tinking she know you, mon.”

“I be tinking da same ting.”

“Oh, you island accent be quite autentic, lawyer mon.”

“Well dat be because I gots many clients from da Isle of Jamaica, mon. Was raised, in sorts, by a Jamaican woman, too, who worked in my home when I was a child.”

“Oh, don’t tell me dat, dat be just special, you know,” she replies.

Before another word is said, I hear Winnie the Weasel. “Okay, that’s enough talking to the witness,” she barks.

“No problem,” I tell her. “She be breaking up the get-ta-know-ya,” I whisper to Braithwait. She grins.

“Ms. McGillicuddy,” I say, “would you mind if I stepped into the hallway for a second with my clients so I can consult with them in private?”

“I’ll step out so you can talk in here.”

“No, I need to take Ms. Williams and her daughter out into the hall, if you don’t mind.” I begin wheeling Suzy toward the door.

Nurse Braithwait starts to follow us, but the Weasel is firm this time. “No, you stay there.”

Steering Suzy out, I manage to bump the wheelchair into a couple of oak chairs, leaving gouge marks. Nice. As I close the door behind us June looks at me. “That was a big pain in the ass. She could have been the one to go out.”

“Water views, baby,” I answer. I glance down at Suzy. “Got that?” Suzy shoots me a look of understanding, or so I think. “June,” I ask, “what are you, Suzy, and Dog doing here anyway? You already gave testimony in this case. I’m here to question the nurse.”

“I wanted to see how you were going to fix things.”

“I’m not sure I can do that. I have no idea what this nurse is going to say because she didn’t make any entries in the hospital record referable to the event.”

“I have only one thing to say to that.”

“And that is?”

“Do your best.”

I smile, and so does she. But her expression is fiercely determined.

We reenter the room, and the Weasel and Nurse Braithwait are seated facing the water, as anticipated. “Would you guys mind moving over to the other side?” I ask. “I had some problems negotiating this wheelchair around the table before.”

“Sorry,” replies Ms. McGillicuddy. “But yes, I mind. Defense counsel sits on this side of the table and your client obviously doesn’t have the mental capacity to appreciate the view anyway.”

Before I get the chance to blast this insensitivity, June goes all
ghetto on her. “You listen to me. My baby knows the difference between looking at a damn wall and New York Harbor. I suggest you stop your minding and move your scrawny ass to the other side of the table before—”

I intervene. “June, settle down.”

“Oh no. I don’t take no shit like that. I got a little girl here with special needs and right now she needs to look out onto that water. You got me?”

Nurse Braithwait now speaks up. “Come, let’s move across. Make da little girl happy. She has special needs, mind ya.”

The Weasel reluctantly scuttles to the other side of the table and we take our seats. The view’s all ours. Before I start my questioning, I lean over. “Damn, June,” I whisper, “you made that lawyer your bitch.”

The court reporter, who’s been sitting quietly, does what she’s there for and swears in Nurse Braithwait, who is very likable, to tell the truth. The floor is now mine.

At least I thought it was. Before I can pose my first question, defense counsel makes herself heard. “I’d like to place a statement on the record before you begin with this witness.”

“Be my guest, counselor,” I say.

“Let the record reflect that nurse Marsha Braithwait is being produced here today voluntarily by the hospital. However, although Nurse Braithwait was employed by the hospital at the time this occurrence arose, she is no longer so employed. It’s our position that she’s a nonparty witness. We produced her here today in the interest of justice to accommodate plaintiff’s counsel, given the pending motion to dismiss.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing further,” the Weasel replies. The striking fingers of the court reporter hit a few more keys, then stop.

“Off the record, please,” I say, and the court reporter interlocks her digits and stretches them out away from her body. They often do this. I look to Nurse Braithwait. “Nurse, since you’re technically here without counsel, I could ask that you leave the room with me and discuss
your proposed testimony outside the presence of Ms. McGillicuddy before I even ask one question in here on the record. But I have faith you came here to be truthful and to tell us what you know. Am I right about that?”

She looks at me earnestly. “Tru dat, mon. I be coming to tell what I know.”

“I believe you, so let’s just begin. Before we do, though, I must ask, did you speak to Ms. McGillicuddy over here about this case?”

“I be talking to nobody until both side be here so it’s be fair and square.”

I turn to the Weasel. “You haven’t spoken to this witness or know what she’s going to testify to?”

“I tried,” the Weasel answers, “but like she said, she wouldn’t talk to me.” Big mistake.

I look to the court reporter. “Back on the record, please. Let the record reflect that despite Nurse Braithwait’s current nonparty status, the hospital is still vicariously responsible for her conduct. So stipulated, counsel?”

“So stipulated,” replies the Weasel.

My laptop is connected to the court reporter’s steno machine just like in court. I hate having the testimony in front of me as we go because it distracts from the job at hand. I know what I need to do and I like to just do it. But since defense counsel uses this new technology, I feel obligated to have it too. This is so I don’t have to explain to my client why they had it and we didn’t.

The first page up on my laptop’s screen is the caption of the case. It starts filling up with my questions and Nurse Braithwait’s answers as we go along. The court reporter also records the colloquy between myself, referred to as plaintiff’s counsel, and defense counsel.

SUPREME COURT OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK COUNTY OF NEW YORK

----------------------------------------- x

Suzy Williams, an infant by her mother and natural

Guardian, June Williams, and June Williams, individually,

Plaintiffs,

—against—

The Brooklyn Catholic Hospital Center and

Dr. Richard Wise,

Defendants.

----------------------------------------- x

EXAMINATION BEFORE TRIAL OF MARSHA BRAITHWAIT, a nonparty witness, in the above-entitled action, held at the law offices of Goldman, Goldberg & McGillicuddy, 3 Whitehall Street, New York, New York, taken before a Notary Public of the State of New York, pursuant to stipulations between counsel.