The Fall of the House of Zeus (30 page)

Scruggs was their ultimate meal ticket. If he could be persuaded to lend his name to their initiatives, it would serve as a message to the world that Patterson and Balducci were members in good standing in the big leagues and legitimate players at the table when the big licks were divided.

So it was vital to stay in Scruggs’s good graces, and against that backdrop, Balducci soon paid another call on Judge Lackey.

    
The conversation between the judge and his friend opened on a strange note. Patterson had undergone surgery the day before to reduce his weight, and Balducci described the procedure in clinical detail. Patterson’s health was good, he said, but he had been “grossly obese” for years and hoped to lose one hundred pounds as a result of the operation. The doctors had cut the size of his stomach—“they pinch off a portion of it”—to ensure that he could not eat as much. On doctor’s orders, Balducci’s partner had been kept on a liquid diet for two weeks prior to the operation. The diet was necessary “to shrink your organs, to shrink your stomach, shrink your liver, your pancreas and your gallbladder and all that” so the surgeons “could get in there and maneuver easier.”

“I’ll be darned,” the judge remarked, amazed at the wonders of modern medicine.

Balducci then waxed philosophical about the essence of law. He said he had once been given a piece of wisdom by Jack Dunbar, the Oxford attorney who represented Scruggs in the Luckey and Wilson cases. “Jack’s sort of a scholar and a gentleman of the law, and he told me something that stuck with me. He said: ‘The law typically is what it ought to be.’ And, you know, I found that to be true.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” the judge agreed. Then Lackey offered his own curious parable.

“My father-in-law had this old black gentleman that worked for him. He was just like a member of the family, you know. Burley couldn’t read and write, and it wasn’t his fault. It was the system’s fault because he was bright as he could be. They were feeding the hogs one day
and Burley asked him, ‘Mr. Henry, who named the hog?’ And he said, ‘Well, Burley, I don’t know who named the hog. Why?’ And Burley said, ‘Well, whoever named him, named him just right ’cause he eats just like one.’ ”

The two men laughed. They were dancing around the purpose of their meeting, as though neither wanted to bring up an unpleasant subject.

Lackey eventually steered their conversation to the business at hand by thanking Balducci for coming.

“Shoot, Judge, I’m glad to listen,” Balducci said, warming to his mission. “You and me, we tight now. There ain’t no other way to put it now. We gonna figure out what we need to do here. Ain’t no problem. I want you to tell me—because I understood what you said on the phone the other day. You’re in a position where you need a little help. I wanna help. But I got to have some kind of parameter to operate in, Judge. I need to know where we are.”

“What I need—and it may be more than Mr. Scruggs or whoever would even consider—but to get me over a hump, I need forty,” Lackey said.

The judge had chosen the figure on his own. Forty thousand dollars was a substantial amount, but not outlandish. A favorable decision might save Scruggs millions, but the country judge was reluctant to call for a larger payoff for himself. To ask for a million in tribute would put him in the company of high-rolling trial lawyers who dealt with big money, and Lackey had no interest in joining their ranks. So he opted for a reasonable figure. In Mississippi, $40,000 was still more than many people earned in a year.

“You need it pretty soon?” Balducci asked.

Lackey said he faced a deadline for his debts in nine days, on October 1. If it were inconceivable to raise that much, he said, “I could probably get done what I need to get” with a partial payoff. “Then the remainder by the first of November.”

Balducci told him it should be no problem, but he needed to figure out a way to get the money to the judge. “Are you gonna have to have it in cash?”

“I would like to have it, Tim.”

“Just let me take care of it,” Balducci said. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t want a nickel from you,” the judge said.

“That’s not what it’s gonna be. I’m gonna get you the help you need, and we gonna take care of it.”

“To show my commitment,” the judge said, “just bring me the order that he wants signed, and I’ll sign it.”

“That’s fine. That’s fine.”

“I’ve been wishy-washy in this, and other things have been bothering me,” Lackey said, moving their intimate talk to his thoughts of retirement.

“I wanna talk to you,” Balducci said. “I wanna lay the corn on the ground. What are your plans, Judge? What are you thinking you’re going to do? How much time you got left in your term?”

“Three years. But with my health situation, my defibrillator, and my pacemaker, I don’t see me going to the end of the term.”

Balducci indicated that he understood the politics behind Lackey’s decision to resign. The judge would wait until the completion of the 2007 election, coming up in six weeks, in order to ensure that his place on the bench would be filled by an appointment made by Lackey’s fellow Republican, Governor Barbour, who was gliding to reelection.

“I really haven’t given that much thought, to tell you the truth,” Lackey said. “I’ve been having more physical problems than I’d like to admit. It’s impacting a lot of things, and I hate to be in this position.”

The judge’s words prompted Balducci to return to the idea of bringing Lackey into his firm. “I’m not encouraging you,” the younger lawyer said. “I’m not doing anything. I’m not trying to sway you. I’m not doing any of that. I’m just asking, as I have said before. When you make the decision for yourself, for your health or for whatever reason—that you’re tired of fooling with it and you’re tired of living the rat race of it—when you make the decision to lay down that gavel, I want you to join our firm, if you will, of counsel.” Balducci masked his financial difficulties. “We’ve got a great, great deal going right now.”

Lackey considered the offer. “It would be fun,” he said, “because you’ve got some fun people working with you.”

“Zeus” ascending—a young Dick Scruggs, in flight gear, as a navy pilot.
(photo credit i15.1)

“If I get the same response … I won’t call again.”—After being rebuffed in previous attempts to get a date with Diane Thompson, Dick Scruggs persevered and eventually married her.
(photo credit i15.1)

“The King of Torts” and his court—Dick Scruggs (
seated, center
) surrounded by Democratic state office holders following 1995 elections. They include Lieutenant Governor Ronnie Musgrove, who would become governor (
seated, left
); Attorney General Mike Moore (
standing, far left
); auditor Steve Patterson (
standing, second from left
); and insurance commissioner George Dale (
standing, far right
).
(photo credit i15.1)

The aftermath of the “Mardi Gras massacre”—The reconstituted Scruggs law firm, featuring (
from left
) Dick Scruggs, Sid Backstrom, and Zach Scruggs.
(photo credit i15.2)

“Commander for life.”—U.S. Senator Trent Lott not only rose to become leader of Senate Republicans, he also presided over a vast network of his Sigma Nu fraternity brothers.
(photo credit i15.2a)

“To hobnob with celebrities”—On the high seas off New Zealand, Dick and Diane Scruggs host the sailing champion Dennis Conner on their yacht,
Emerald Key
, during the America’s Cup competition in 2000.
(photo credit i15.2)