Bum Luck by Paul Levine

Author:Paul Levine [Levine, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781477823101
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2017-03-27T18:30:00+00:00

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Road Trip

Just who the hell is pushing my eyes back into my skull?

That’s the way my headache felt as I walked rather than ran home from Matheson Hammock. A pair of strong thumbs, jamming my eyeballs.

Legs heavy, body sweaty, ears banging with a ker-thumpety-thump of kettledrums. By the time I got home, both knees were sore.

Showered. Shaved. Put on a navy-blue suit, white shirt, burgundy tie. Outfitted for work. Or a funeral.

Driving north on Dixie Highway, I listened to a local idiot on sports talk radio—“Canes football team needs more thugs”—before flipping to the classic country station. As if I wasn’t already in the dumps, here was Hank Williams warbling, “I’m so lonesome I could cry.” Somehow he put a little tremolo in his voice between the syllables in lonesome. I admire artistry wherever I find it, particularly if I lack similar skills. Since I can’t carry a tune or paint a picture or build a bridge, I have a lot of admiring to do.

I called Cindy, my trusty secretary. Not “assistant” or “paralegal.” She’s been with me nearly twenty years and insists she doesn’t want a promotion.

“Jefe, you finally coming into work?” she jabbed me. “Phone’s been ringing off the hook with PBNs.”

Potential New Clients.

“Tell me.”

“They’re not all blue chips, to tell you the truth. Got a mom who wants to sue the parents in her kid’s kindergarten class for not showing up at his birthday party. Cost of the cake plus mental distress.”

“Next, Cindy.”

“The case of the rained-out vacation.”

“Meaning what?”

“Guy wants to sue the Dominican Republic because it rained every day at his resort.”

“Anything else?”

“Oh yeah. A guy from Broward just got five years for aggravated assault. Stomped another guy pretty bad.”

“A straight appeal. That’s better.”

She didn’t react.

“Cindy, what aren’t you telling me?”

“He stomped the guy while wearing Air Jordans. Now he wants to sue Nike for failing to warn him the sneakers were dangerous weapons.”

My cell beeped with an incoming call. I checked the display just as I guided the old Caddy onto I-95. Steve Solomon.

“Later, Cindy.”

I helloed Solomon and he yelled back at me, “Road trip!”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jakie, Jakie, Jakie! I take back every shitty thing I ever said about you, and I apologize for every shitty thing I’m gonna say later.”

“Meaning?”

“I just got off the phone with Dr. Melissa Gold, neuropathologist and big deal in neuroscience at UCLA. I’ll e-mail her CV to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Your hunch was right, pal. The autopsy proved it. Dr. Gold sliced and diced Carla Caruana’s brain tissue. Brown-and-red splotches. Tau protein.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“She’ll explain it. The diagnosis is CTE. And what did that cause, my pal? Dementia! Just like you said, Carla couldn’t form the legal intent to commit suicide.”

“The doctor said that based on brain tissue? She connected the dots between dementia and legal intent?”

“Not exactly. But she’ll give us enough scientific mumbo jumbo to beat your summary judgment motion and get to a jury.”

“Congratulations, Solomon. But I’m a little distracted right now.”

“Get undistracted. We’re flying to LA in the morning for Dr.

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