The red paint was peeling off of the front door of the Cactus Motel. In fact, the whole place needed a new coat of white paint. Nestled out on South Main between a used car lot and junkyard, the Cactus Motel was a dump. Warner reached over into the passenger seat of his car, checked the address again, looked at his watch, then stepped out. He had to walk around a water-filled pothole on the way to the office door, but the blue glow of the Vacancy sign in the front window beckoned him in.
The Cactus Motel was where Warner would meet his new client, James Carter. This was not where Warner wanted to meet, but there was little choice. Carter had no transportation, and Warner had no office. Well, he had an office, but it was owned by his employer, Doug McKinsey & Associates, and it would not be a good idea to let them know that he was going to sign up a new case.
Johnny Warner opened the red door and cautiously stepped in. The first thing he noticed was the large cactus on a small table which was pushed into the corner. There were four folding chairs lined up against the wall and the brown carpet had a path worn in it from the front door to what must be the front desk. Warner was alone in the waiting area, but there was an elderly man wearing a gimme cap on the other side of a thick sheet of bulletproof glass. Warner walked over to the front desk window and saw that the old man was intently studying a magazine. Warner cleared his throat and the startled old guy looked up. His surprised face turned to a curious expression, probably wondering why a well-dressed young man carrying a leather briefcase was at the Cactus Motel.
Warner was wondering the same thing. He wondered whether he should be here at all. He wondered if meeting with James Carter was the right thing to do. But most of all, he wondered what Doug McKinsey would say if he found out.
Johnny Warner had a hard time finding a job right out of law school. The big firms wanted the superstars and the small firms were not hiring. On a lark, he sent a resume to a firm that he had heard about from a recent graduate. The word was that an associate was leaving soon. Warner looked the firm up in the Blue Book, then pulled last year’s Blue Book from the law library. By comparing the two lists of attorneys, he found the name of one who had left. Warner called him up. He learned a lot from that call, including the story of how the hiring lawyer always leaves a crumpled piece of paper in the interview room next to the trash can and then checks to see if the applicant has picked up the trash while waiting for the interviewer to arrive. Warner got an interview, picked up the trash, and got the job. Doug McKinsey was a tough guy to work for, but working for him would do just fine until Warner could save up enough money to go solo.
James Carter was not part of the plan. Warner was going to wait another year or two before crossing over to the other side of the bar, but James Carter would not wait. It was now or never.
"Could you call room 14 for me and tell him I’m here?", asked Warner.
The old man on the other side of the glass reluctantly put his Playboy aside and dialed the phone. After a few moments he hung up and nodded.
Warner did not know James Carter and had no intention of meeting him in a hotel room. It was bad enough that he had to drive out to the Cactus, but Warner was not going to take the chance of getting rolled in a cheap motel room. The deal they struck on the phone was that they would meet in the lobby.
The phone call had come out of the blue. Warner had just returned to the office after an early morning deposition when the receptionist put a call through to him.
"Johnny Warner"
"Mr. Warner, I heard you’re a real good lawyer, and that’s what I need, cause I’m banged up pretty good."
Warner had listened to James Carter’s story, first with impatience, but later with wonder and disbelief at the good fortune which caused Carter to call him.
"So, how did you get my name and number?", Warner had asked.
"A friend of mine knew somebody that you defended on a car wreck case, and he said you were really good."
Car wreck cases were about all that Warner had handled at Doug McKinsey & Associates. Rearenders, t-bones, nose-outs, Warner had handled the defense of a bunch of car wrecks. He had handled them competently and professionally, but not with much personal satisfaction. Warner had poured out many an innocent victim of a rearend collision by convincing judges to give an unavoidable accident instruction and by attacking the plaintiff and the plaintiff’s lawyer as greedy, moneygrubbing opportunists seeking to turn an unfortunate and regrettable accident into a lottery ticket at society’s expense. James Carter was about to free Warner from all of that.
"I got hurt real bad on a jack-up rig when a supply boat dropped a pipe on me and my buddy. It broke my leg, but my buddy got the worst of it. He’s had back surgery and is laid up at his mom’s house. I’ve already had one leg surgery, and tomorrow, the doctor is going to cut on my knee. The only problem is that with this second surgery, I’m afraid that my company is going to stop paying for my medical bills. That’s why I think I need a lawyer. I sure would like to talk to you this afternoon. I don’t want to get cut on tomorrow without having a lawyer."
Warner listened as Carter’s story unfolded. He was an employee of a drilling company whose name Warner immediately recognized. The drilling company had been contracted by a major oil company to drill offshore. Five months ago, a supply boat which was owned by a different company delivered some pipe stem to the rig. Carter and his co-worker were directing the crane operator when the cable broke just before the pipe touched down, scattering the pipe and knocking down the two men on the platform.
The terms came back to Warner easily. He understood what Carter was saying, but the legal issues and the right questions to ask were clouded as though in a wet fog rolling in from the sea. Warner could not remember from law school whether or not a worker injured on a jack-up rig was considered a seaman for purposes of the Jones Act, but he recognized a good products liability case when he heard one and knew that a five month old injury was going to be well within anyone’s statute of limitations. He asked some questions of Carter about the location of the rig, whether it was in Texas or Louisiana waters, how far offshore it was, and several others without knowing what effect the answers would have on jurisdiction. He could figure all that out later. Right now, he just had to get as much information as he could on the phone and try to keep his voice calm and professional. It was hard. Warner was excited, nervous and a bit overwhelmed. This was going to be a good case, a valuable case, an interesting case, the first case of his new law firm.
When Doug McKinsey had hired Warner six years ago, he laid a contract out on the desk and told Warner to sign. It set out the relationships of the parties, the job duties, the amount of compensation, the right to terminate Warner at any time for any reason, the requirement that Warner give one month’s notice if he wanted to leave, and a little paragraph that made any case signed up by Warner during the contract the exclusive property of Doug McKinsey & Associates. This was a problem. If an associate ever wanted to leave the firm, he could not sign up any new business until after he has left.
Warner was trying to think of a way to sign up Carter today, rather than in one month, and was not giving his full attention until Carter said something about an advance.
"What did you say, James?"
"I said, I hope you can bring me my advance check this afternoon when you come out to the motel. I’m sure sorry that I don’t have any transportation right now, but the bank took my truck back after I got hurt."
Warner knew about advances against settlements, but was planning on making it a rule at his firm that there would be no advances, no exceptions. He was surprised that he now had to deal with this on his very first plaintiff’s case. He cleared his throat.
"James, I do not make advances. I believe that loaning money to a client places the lawyer into a potential conflict of interest with that client, because the lawyer might be more interested in getting his loan back than fully litigating your case. I’m sure that you would not want any potential conflicts of interest, so it’s really best for you that I not make an advance on the case."
After a long silence, Carter said, "Well, I don’t know what to do now. I thought that lawyers helped their clients out, and I really need some help. I know there are some lawyers who advance money. My buddy told me so. After his back surgery, he talked to some lawyers ‘cause the insurance company only offered him $30,000 to settle. All the lawyers told him they could advance some money while they worked on gettin’ the number up higher. He didn’t hire any of them though, ‘cause he figured we’d just wait until I found a good lawyer and then he’d just hire the same one."
Stunned, Warner leaned back in his chair. If he signed Carter, he could also sign up his buddy. His new firm would be opening up with a couple of six figure cases. He thought about the potential fee. He thought about the money he had been saving to open his own office. He could easily advance a couple of grand to Carter and his buddy, if necessary, and still have money enough to get the office open and running. He didn’t want to start his new firm by breaking the rule against advances, but if he didn’t sign up Carter, someone else would, someone who would advance him money. Why not advance Carter a little money? His case and his buddy’s case will get the new firm started right. Wasn’t that what this money was for?
"James, I could advance you a little money for humanitarian purposes. It’s against my rule. I’m breaking the rule for you, but it does sound like you are really suffering financially because of this injury."
Sounding very relieved, Carter said, "Thanks. Thanks very much. You don’t know what this means to me. I won’t forget you."
Pausing for Warner to murmur "you’re welcome", Carter continued, " I could really use about a thousand, so my wife could get us set up in an apartment close to where the physical therapy place is. I’ll be spending a lot of time there after the doctor puts my knee back together."
Warner’s urge to negotiate was reflexive, and he did so without even thinking. "I could go $300. Would that help?"
"Sure, Mr. Warner, that would help a little bit, but not enough. Could you go $850?"
After some quick give and take, a $600 advance was agreed upon and a meeting set for late that afternoon at the Cactus Motel.
From the row of folding chairs in the lobby, Warner looked out the window and saw a man slowly working his way across the parking lot on a pair of crutches. His progress was slow. A large, red plastic immobilizer was strapped to the right leg over his blue jeans. Walking next to him and watching him attentively was a tall young woman with long, curly red hair that fell onto her bare shoulders. She wore a white tube top and loose blue jeans that hung low on her hips, and she was barefooted.
Warner opened the red door to the motel office and held it while the man on crutches eased through. As his attractive companion stepped in, Warner smelled soap and flowers. Her freshly scrubbed face opened into a smile and she softly said, "Hi, I’m Stephanie. Thanks for comin’ to see us."
Thank you, the pleasure is definitely mine, thought Warner. This man Carter must be a good person to have attracted such a pretty woman. The jury is going to love her, but of course, if this first file of the Warner Law Firm is handled right, a jury will never meet her.
Introductions were exchanged, pleasantries were shared, sympathy was given, and Warner heard the story of the injury again. He wrote down every detail he could get. Dates, names, witnesses, Warner wrote it all down. Carter told him that he was afraid his company would stop paying the medical bills and pleaded that Warner not contact anyone at the company until after physical therapy was finished. Warner asked the name and phone number of the person who had been approving the bills so far, and then wrote it down. Warner confidently told James and his lovely wife that no one was going to cut off his medical care, but reassured him that he would not call his employer or the insurance company.
Out of habit from taking countless car wreck depositions, Warner asked to see Carter’s driver’s license, so he could copy down the number. Carter told him how his wallet had recently been stolen from one of the modest motel rooms they have stayed in recently since the mortgage company took the house. Friends and relatives have been wonderful, but right now, they were between places to stay. Warner wrote it down.
When Warner could not think of any more questions, he presented Carter with a Power of Attorney and a Medical Authorization that Warner had collected in his form file in anticipation of the day he could open his own office.
"You don’t need to date it. I’ll fill all that in," said Warner.
Carter signed the documents and handed them back. Warner looked at the signature and knew that now, nothing would ever be the same. He reached into his pocket and gave Carter the check for $600.
"We’ve got a problem. I don’t have a driver’s license, so I’m not going to be able to cash the check," said Carter.
"Well, I have my checkbook. I can just write one to your wife," Warner replied.
Stephanie Carter sighed and said, "I hate to tell you this, but I don’t have my license either. I accidently left it at my parent’s house when we were through Beaumont a few weeks ago. I have an aunt who is going to drive in from Wharton tonight and take us to the hospital. Could you just make it out to her?"
Warner hesitated. This was getting a little strange. He had just signed up and was trying to give money to two people who did not have any proof that they were who they said they were. Now, he was being asked to write a check to an aunt. Stephanie smiled again.
"You’ve been so nice to both of us, comin’ out to this motel to see us. I know that you are going to do such a good job on Jimmie’s case. I’m gonna tell Scotty’s wife how great you are. I know she will be pleased to meet you."
Scotty was James Carter’s co-worker, the one who had back surgery and was being preyed upon by a parsimonious insurance company. Warner wanted Scotty’s case, and Stephanie was going to grease the wheels.
"What’s your aunt’s name?", asked Warner.
After handing them the check, Warner handed both a card. "I’ve struck out my office number and given you my home number. I want you to call me tomorrow night. I want to know how the surgery went and what the doctor had to say." Both promised to listen carefully to the doctor and report everything to Warner. With smiles and optimism all around, the meeting in the lobby of the Cactus Motel adjourned and the Carters slowly headed out the door and back to room 14.
When Warner got back to his car, he dated the Power of Attorney for 32 days into the future. Tomorrow morning, he would tell Doug McKinsey of his resignation. Then, the Power of Attorney would ripen the day after he completed his final 30 days as an insurance defense lawyer. His new firm would have a new case on day one. The future was bright. Warner was ready.
The next morning, Warner went in early. Doug McKinsey was always the first one into the office, so early morning was the perfect time to have a private conversation. Warner laid it out for Doug, just like he had practiced the night before. It’s been great to be here, I’ve learned a lot, but now it is time for me to open my own office.
"So which of my clients are you stealing?", asked McKinsey.
"None, it’s not like that. I’m going to do plaintiff’s work."
A broad smile started to spread on McKinsey’s face. He chuckled softly, then said, "You’ve signed up a case, haven’t you." Warner tried to protest, but McKinsey continued, "Yes, you’ve got a case and you don’t want to tell me about it because you’re worried about that clause in your contract. Well, don’t worry about it. I won’t enforce it. I’m glad to see you go out on your own. It will save me having to fire you."
McKinsey turned and walked away. Warner was speechless. He had seen Doug’s cruel streak up close, but wasn’t expecting another demonstration this morning. Warner was relieved to be leaving, but would still have to put in his final 30 days. Doug McKinsey was far too cheap to send him home now with severance pay.
That night, the phone rang, but it was a long distance telephone company trying to get Warner to switch carriers. The phone call that Warner was expecting did not come.
The following day, Warner sat at his desk and fidgeted with the Carter file. Maybe the surgery was cancelled. Warner called the Cactus Motel and asked for Mr. Carter in Room 14. "Sorry, he checked out yesterday. No, he didn’t tell us where he was going." Warner flipped through the file, found the number he was looking for and called the aunt in Wharton. Disconnected, said the recording. Quickly, he dialed Carter’s parents, just outside of Beaumont. "Carter? Sorry, never heard of them." He dialed Stephanie’s parents. "Yes, we have a daughter, but her name is Marilynn." Panicked, Warner dialed the insurance adjuster that he had promised Carter that he would not call.
"Mr. Wilson, my name is John Warner and I represent James Carter for injuries he received in a rig accident about 5 months ago," began Warner.
"Was the guy on crutches, had a red cast on his leg, had a wife named Stephanie, and they asked you write an advance check to her aunt because neither one of them had a driver’s license?"
Warner felt sick, gut-twisting, stomach-turning sick. He thought back on his meeting with the Carters and all the small nagging inconsistencies that had bothered him. Warner had overlooked them all in order to get the case. Wilson told him the story of Mr. & Mrs. Carter.
"I’m sorry, but you have met one very smooth con man. I get one or two calls every week about this guy. I hope you didn’t give him too much money."
"Oh, not much. It’s not like I quit my job for him."
Copyright 1998 --- Authored by Albert Hollan
This short story is fiction. The events and persons portrayed
are fiction.
The story was a "Finalist" in the 1998 Houston Bar Association
Fiction Writing Contest.
fiction, legal fiction, Houston Bar Association