Crimes, Torts, and Trials

"No, you dipshit ," scolded the man who grabbed Sid's arm, pulling the phone, as well as the hand which held it, away from the chute. "Never throw a good phone away. Destroy the SIM card. Pulverize it with a hammer or stick it in a lump of meat and run it down your garbage disposal. Whatever.

"Oh. Did I say twenty minutes ? I meant twenty seconds , you moron," he said as he shoved the other back through his door and closed it behind him.

"I paid you a thousand bucks to end her, Sid, not give her a fucking limp ."

"There were too many cops around for me to slow down too much. Give me another chance, please? Just give me one more try!"

"You should've waited for a better opportunity," the alpha male said as he scanned the studio apartment, a dwelling barely deserving of either word.

"You called me! You told me where to go!" he defended himself, receiving nothing but a cold stare.

"It's disgusting in here."

"Yeah," the other answered obediently like the scolded cur he was, drawing a mild smile from his employer.

"What did you do with the gun you used?"

"It's in the top drawer right there," he said, pointing into the dirty kitchen.

"You try to dump your phone down the garbage chute, but you didn't think to try to get rid of this ?"

In his mind, he was secretly pleased at his sudden fortune. He'd found a better way out than the one he'd planned.

He withdrew the small semiautomatic handgun from a drawer full of takeout menus, condiment packets, and random other fast-food detritus. He checked its safety and the position of the ejector tab which indicated a round was already chambered.

"I'll deal with this. I'll drop it in the river or boat it out on the lake," he said. "Now. Take the SIM card out of your cell."

"I don't know how."

"That's okay. Even people with brains brighter than your nightlight-dim bulb don't," the other said soothingly. "Let me show you. Put it over there," he said, pointing at a table which was covered with soiled paper plates and a host of houseflies.

As the man did so, the other rapidly paced three steps farther away and drew his sidearm. The man's forehead was placed in its sights. Under his arm, he pulled the trigger of the one he'd removed from the drawer into the door behind him. A fraction of a single second later, the Glock 17 sent its projectile through the man's forehead.

The shooter began counting while pulling the almost invisible plugs from his ears. He grimaced at the bitter taste of wax as he swallowed them one at a time. After wiping it down thoroughly, he placed the smaller gun snuggly in the other man's hand and placed three fingers around the butt and the index in the trigger guard, adding pressure at the fingertips. He removed it, then kicked it across the floor. He briefly searched before finding the ejected casings from both pistols and relocated them to more appropriate positions using a pencil he found on the table.

Gross , the man thought to himself, seeing the white- and gray-matter within the blood on the opposing wall. Nine seconds. That works.

CANDACE WATERS
Friday, September 27, 2019

"You can't imagine what this feels like. It feels like I've stubbed all five of my toes, and I can't rub the pain away."

"Yeah. I get it. Just follow your doctor's guidance, Candy."

"No, I don't think you do , Peter!"

"I don't understand phantom limb syndrome, but that's why he put you on gabapentin. It's only been a week. He said it'd take some time to see if it works. Are you doing the exercises?"

"You mean trying to flex muscles which don't exist anymore?"

He only nodded.

"Well, I'm imagining trying to pick up the dust-bunny right there with nonexistent toes."

"Good."

It helped, but not much.

"I've lost everything. Everything !"

"Candy, you're alive. You've lost a part of one of your legs. That's all."

"You can't understand. The marathon is in two weeks. I haven't missed it since I first ran it. I'll never be able to do that again."

My brother had the audacity to chuckle.

"Why the hell are you laugh⁠—"

"Whoa, Candy. I'm only laughing because I remember signing the entry form as your legal guardian. I was so proud to do it, and you kicked butt. Mom and Dad would have been proud, too."

"You think?" I asked.

"I know ."

"Well, there's that, and then there's Kirk. I haven't seen him even once since the day after my surgery. He hasn't called me and isn't answering when I call him. I'm waiting for the day he drops the bomb on me and breaks off our engagement," I said, fiddling the ring on my finger I'd only been wearing for four months.

I refused to cry. I'd become somewhat good at forcing tears away.

"Who could blame him?" I asked.

"At this point, sis, I don't know what more I can do for you. You're writing yourself off way too soon. You're not listening to me or anyone else. I just⁠—no. I'm an attorney with a juris doctorate , not an MD, a psychologist, or anything even approaching what you need. I don't know how to help you."

He sparked something in my mind.

"I could sue, couldn't I?"

"Sue who?"

"The woman who did this to me."

"Did what to you, Candy? She saved your life !"

"That's your point of view. In my own, I think she took it from me, at least the one I knew."

"You're serious ?" he challenged.

I stared him down. He knew I was.

"Personal injury isn't my specialty. I can't."

"No, but you're one of the best medical malpractice litigators in Chicago."

"This is different. The lady probably isn't a physician."

"She tried to play doctor."

He stared at me for several silent moments.

"Look. I can't ethically go after her for malpractice if she wasn't acting as a licensed physician, in which case her actions had an a posteriori effect on your outcome."

"Cut out the Latin gobbledygook."

He sighed. "The only thing I can do is to try to prove she violated one of the tenets of Illinois's good samaritan laws. I can't promise you anything. It'll be a long shot, but will you commit yourself to engaging in your recovery if I agree?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Fully engage."

"I'll do what I'm told."

"No, Candy," he said, wagging his finger at me. "Don't mince words with me. You're going to commit to doing not only what you're told, but what you know in your heart you need to do."

"Understood."

"And what I say you need to do."

"You're pressing your luck."

He maintained his stare.

"Fine. Be that way," I answered. "I agree."

RIVER
Wednesday, October 9, 2019

"Ms. Marquette?" said a man standing by the door to my office when I arrived.

"Yes?" I said, taking an envelope he was holding out to me.

"You've been served, ma'am," he said.

I removed the single-page form and immediately recognized it simply by the formatting of its text. There was no point in trying to refuse it. There was also no point in getting uppity or belligerent with him because, well, he was just a messenger, and I even doubted he knew what he was serving me with. He was only doing his job. I unlocked my door and asked him to follow me in.

I sat at my desk, read the paper, then checked the second page which was simply a duplicate of the first accompanied by a yellow Post-It tab with an arrow pointing to a signature block. I printed my full legal name which, of course, was misspelled on the form, then signed and dated it with the pen the man gave me.

I held the pen and the signed copy of the paper back out to him in opposite hands.

"Try to have a nice day, ma'am," he said, taking only the paper. "I highly, highly recommend you keep the pen. It's a really good pen."

"Oh. Thanks," I said, setting it aside.

The man briskly departed my office, and I read the form again.

Case #19-09300116

You, River Markett, are hereby notified of the below civil action, and are ordered to appear in the 447th Judicial District Court of Cook County, Illinois, on October 28, 2019 at 9:00am to answer to this complaint.

At your option, you may avoid appearance before the court by accessing the Cook County e-Filing system and filing your answer no later than 5:00 PM, October 24, 2019. Completing the form online will notify the court of your compliance along with an evidentiary receipt you should print and retain for your records.

Candace S. Waters, Complainant
vs
River Markett, Defendant

On July 24, 2019, at approximately 7:00 PM, complainant was struck by a stray bullet. Complainant claims her additional injuries were inflicted by respondent's actions done willingly, callously, and negligently. Said actions caused grievous bodily harm resulting in amputation of complainant's left leg below the knee.

It is the complainant's position said complications would not have occurred had the defendant not attempted to intervene without medical training. Complainant is seeking redress and compensation in the amount of $500,000.

Filed with the court clerk on this date by representing counsel, Peter Waters, Esq., 3141 Madrid Avenue, Chicago, IL.

Peter and Candace  Waters? That  can't be a coincidence, I thought to myself as I woke up my PC and brought up Google in a browser.

I entered a search for "Peter" "Candace" "Waters" , each word separately quoted to indicate every hit must contain all three.

A bazillion results appeared, so I added "Chicago" to the query.

The modification removed most of the bazillion hits, and I knew I was in for a long, distracted day. I'd already stopped accepting new clients in order to have the time to investigate my own shooting, and I suspected this distraction would force me to delay that investigation as well.

The fourth link on the third page of search results held the answer to my question. Clicking it sent me to the Chicago Tribune.

From left: Candace Waters (16), Peter Waters (24)

A half dozen other names were listed below a photograph.

Of course, the website's paywall only let me see some blurred paragraphs and similarly blurred photographs before nagging me to subscribe. I sacrificed ten dollars and put a reminder on my calendar to unsubscribe in twenty-nine days.

At only sixteen years of age, Candace Waters of Oak Park, coached by her brother, Peter, placed in the top ten percent of the youngest runners with an unofficial time of 3:56:42 in yesterday's 36th running of the Chicago Marathon.

"I never imagined I could do this," the teenager spoke through tears. "I ran for four hours with the memories of my parents as the fuel, energy, and motivation I needed. My brother encouraged me the entire time. He could have ran on ahead of me. Instead, he stayed right beside me, encouraging me. He was top-tiered last year but eased up on himself for my sake. We did this together in their memory."

Peter Waters became his sister's legal guardian after the death of their parents.

I right clicked the hyperlink into a new tab.

February 11, 2011
    Owner/Landlord Found Guilty In Tenants' Deaths

Leon Watts was found guilty yesterday of criminal negligence in the deaths of tenants residing in a unit he owned and supervised. Carbon monoxide fumes from the building's failing boiler claimed the lives of Peter and Genevieve "Genie" Waters. Their children, Peter Jr. and Candace, were away on the new year's eve when their parents perished.

The article detailed more specifics than I wanted to read, and I was quickly overcome with emotion.

I dialed a number I hadn't called in weeks.

"Hey, Mom, it's me. Can we talk?" I asked when she answered.

"Something's wrong. I can hear it in your voice, River. What is it?"

"Just that my world seems like it's about to crash down around me."

"What's happened?"

"Can you get Dad and put your phone on speaker?"

"Of course ."

The line was silent for several moments.

"Hey, Riv. Are you okay?" said my father's stoic and stolid voice.

My family were the only people on Earth I permitted, in fact, preferred, to address me by my abbreviated name. Just a sort of personal connectedness reserved only for them.

"I'm sorry I haven't called. I won't make excuses. I've been lazy."

My dad lightly chuckled. "I won't argue. How are you feeling? You getting better, baby girl?"

I smiled at my father's words because he still called me, his daughter of thirty years, his baby girl.

"Yeah. I am. My hip is a tiny bit sore, but it's a lot better."

"Hell, River. You saved the life of another human being, even though it turned into a literal pain in the butt for you."

"I don't know what possessed me to do it."

"You did the right thing," my mother said.

"Well, that very woman is taking me to court."

"What? Why?"

I read them the summary off the paper.

"What can we do?" my parents spoke almost simultaneously.

"Do you happen to have a spare half-million dollars under your mattress?"

"Are you serious?"

"It's how much she's suing for. I don't know what to do."

"Find an attorney, Riv. A good one. That's all I can suggest," my father said after a few moments.

"Have any suggestions?"

"How would I know?" he said with a light chuckle.

"I guess I'll figure it out."

"You always do," my mother said.

"Mom, Dad, I love you. I've kinda taken you both for granted."

"Thanks, sweetie. That means a lot," my mother said. "We love you, too. Glad you're getting better."

We disconnected.

I twiddled a pen as I considered my options. I didn't have many. I'd been in court before, but I'd never been taken there for anything so personally perilous. It wasn't until the pen escaped my hand and I'd picked it up off the carpet that I noticed the imprint on its barrel. It was the pen the process server had insisted I keep.

Alex Reid
Senior Partner
Reid & Muntz, LLC.

To Google I went again. The firm's website was well-designed. I studied the introductory material several times, and what I read led me to dial the number shown on the bottom of every page.

"Reid and Muntz. How can I help you?" said the attendant who answered.

"I'm not sure. I think I need to speak to Alex Reid."

"May I have your name?"

"River Marquette."

"One moment, ma'am. He's expecting your call."

The line went silent for a few moments.

"Hello, Ms. Marquette. This is Alex. How can I help you?"

"I'm surmising you already have an answer to the question. I was served a subpoena, and the process server gave me a pen with your firm's information on it."

"It's because I want to represent you in Waters vee Marquette ."

"Whoa. Wait. How could you know about that?"

"Simple," the man said. "Almost everything is filed online. It's public access unless records are sealed, and the suit against you isn't. I was reviewing the docket … you know, the courts' calendars, and I saw your respondent's hearing is scheduled on the 28th, which is the same day as one of my other cases. I looked at the complaint, and I think I have a good shot at successfully defending you. I also noticed your response is still vacant."

"It won't be for long. I'm going to answer the complaint electronically."

"It's certainly your prerogative, Ms. Marquette, but I would recommend against doing so until you've thoroughly discussed it with an attorney."

"How did I get your pen?" I asked.

"Process servers are licensed by the state, and most are independent. It just so happens the guy who served you the Waters summons also serves some of mine. I asked him to give it to you."

"Oh. Well, what are your initial thoughts?"

"This is free legal advice, okay?"

"Understood."

"She's grasping at straws. Without a doubt. I've faced her brother a few times. He's an excellent attorney, so I'm surprised he's filed this case. I'm also surprised they're only asking for a half-million dollars. Anyone else would ask for at least ten times as much. I think he's cautioned her, you know?"

"No, I don't. Spell it out for me."

"If they thought they were in a strong position, they wouldn't demand such a paltry sum. To me, it suggests they both know her case is weak, and they think the sum will make you more inclined to settle instead of going to trial."

"They do?"

"I'm one percent away from being absolutely certain."

I considered his statement for several silent moments, then asked, "What will your services cost me?"

"Don't worry about that right now. We can discuss it later. On me. I don't expect you to remember, but you've sat in the witness stand in front of me on more than one occasion. I've never called you as a witness, but several of your clients' attorneys have. You're good. You're damned good at what you do. I know what you're capable of."

"Okay. I'll consider it."

"That's all I ask. Have a nice day, Ms. Marquette."

"Thanks," I said, hanging up the call.

I gave up any hope of a productive workday, then texted someone I'd become a little fond of from the few times we'd texted or talked. I don't know. There was something about him I found comforting. Truth be told, I still wasn't sure of his intent, or his penchant for thrill, he was just a bit … different.

Are you working today? I need an ear, and you're the friendliest ear I've talked to in a long time.

Are you okay? Donny replied a few minutes later.

Not really.

I could meet you at the cafe if you liked it.

ASAP?

Thirty minutes?

10:00 👌

👍

"You look out of sorts, River. What's wrong? Are you okay? Is your recovery having a setback?" he asked as he approached the table I'd already been sat at.

I stood to greet him. The first words from his reply to my text, as well as those he spoke, showed he cared, at least, a little. He courteously maneuvered my chair to help me re-seat myself. He truly seemed a sweet guy.

"No. It's been three months. I'm pretty much back to normal. We should order, then I'll explain."

"Sure," he answered as he beckoned one of the waitstaff.

I ordered eggs Benedict, roasted asparagus, and a side of fruit salad. Donny didn't even look at the menu.

"Sounds perfect," he said to her. "Same for me."

She jotted her notes and stepped away, reappearing a moment later with two cups and a decanter of coffee.

"So," Donny said after taking a sip. "What's going on?"

"The woman I helped a few months ago is suing me."

"For what ?"

"The subpoena said I caused her grievous bodily harm or something along those lines."

"That can't be right. You probably saved her life!"

"Maybe I did, but, apparently her injuries, or whatever I did, lead to an amputated leg, and she's blaming me."

"She sounds like a Karen," he scoffed. "When we were all back at the station later, one of the paramedics who worked on her said you probably kept her from bleeding out on the spot."

"Well, that's good to know, but I've been given a hardy welcome to the litigious society we live in."

I nervously smiled because I didn't want him to know I was about to break down.

"God. That sucks," he offered. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I really don't know. I talked to an attorney this morning before I called you. Strangest thing. The guy who brought the subpoena to my office gave me a swag pen bearing his firm's logo and stuff."

"Well, that's a good sign, isn't it?"