Bone Valley Read Free Page A

squeak.
    “Young man, please stop interrupting Counselor Cleary.”
    “My name is Jason Quartermire, sir, not ‘young man,’ Your Honor, sir.”
    “Young man, stop interrupting.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    I paused a moment to make sure it was still my turn, then I said, “The plaintiff, who was driving in front of Mr. Rodgers on Siesta Drive, testified in his deposition that he too noted the young woman disrobing on her bike, and he braked. Page twelve of his depo, Your Honor.” And that same plaintiff was now suing poor Jimmie Rodgers with litigation-lottery fantasies of the big bucks, upon spurious allegations that the minor rear-ender had caused him to suffer a double spinal subluxation that was so painful only daily chiropractic treatments, and, oh, say, a quarter of a million bucks, could ease his suffering.
    “What happened to the parrot?” the judge asked.
    “It lost the lizard, sir, but recovered its position on the young woman’s shoulder,” I said.
    “So what was the act of God?” the good judge asked.
    “The parrot, Your Honor. The proximate cause of this whole accident was the parrot dropping the lizard into the young woman’s bikini top and then going after it. That, sir, was an act of God. And it is a well-settled principle of law that where the proximate cause of damages is an act of God, and not an act of negligence on the defendant’s part, that there is no cause of action. Accordingly, as the proximate cause of the plaintiff ’s alleged damages was a natural act of God and not Mr. Rodgers’s negligence, he is entitled to a summary judgment and there is no need to tie up judicial time and expense in a jury trial.”
    “I don’t think so, Counselor Cleary,” the judge said.
    “If you’d seen that girl’s titties, you’d’ve known it were an act of God for sure,” Jimmie said, rising from his chair again.
    I slapped my memorandum of law against Jimmie’s stomach and said, “Sit down, Mr. Rodgers.”
    “Counselor Cleary, I do not condone lawyers battering their clients in my courtroom.”
    “It’s awright, Judge, sir. It didn’t hurt me none and she did fuss at me not to say titties.”
    “Then stop saying it,” his honor said. Then he turned and looked directly at me. “Nice try, Counselor Cleary. Motion denied.”
    “You mean we lost?” Jimmie asked.
    “Don’t you want to hear my argument?” the big kid with a new law degree asked.
    “You won, young man. Relax. Notch your gun. And, no, I do not want to hear your argument.”
    “Thank you, Your Honor,” I said. “I’ll prepare the order for your signature.” Then we all stood and the judge left the courtroom.
    While I tried to hustle Jimmie and my memo of law out of the courtroom in a hurry, young Mr. Quartermire waylaid me.
    “This was my first hearing. I was really nervous.”
    “I would never have known,” I said, mistakenly thinking my sarcasm was obvious.
    “Really? That’s so nice of you to say,” Baby Lawyer said. “I mean, I’ve heard a lot about you. You’re kind of…you know, like a legend around here.”
    Flattery wasn’t going to console me, so I barely nodded and started walking. I didn’t need any more child-lawyer devotees. Smith, O’Leary, and Stanley, my law firm, had a library full of law clerks who filled that bill. What I wanted very much to do was get back to my office, send Jimmie on his way, and rehash with Bonita my strange interrogation by Investigator Farmer regarding the gypsum-stack death of M. David. Oh, yeah, and document my time for the hearing and go home before dark.
    Not reading my body language, Mr. Quartermire tagged along beside me. “In fact, I was really surprised that a lawyer of your…er, stature, would take this case.”
    Yeah, well, me too.
    As a partner with a healthy number of years of experience, I had moved well beyond stupid car-crash cases. Normally I would have spent about thirty seconds passing this file down to a first-year associate. Ultimately, a Smith,