Chapter Twenty Two

 

Realizing his business at the ICU was completed whether he liked it or not, Dirk joined the procession of nurses escorting Mr. Manton’s lawyer to the elevator. Marvella’s suggestion to question the attorney was ruminating through his mind as the nurses stopped, pushed the button to summon the elevator to the third floor, and waited for the doors to open. By now Dirk was standing next to the trio as well. He was trying to come up with some sort of comment to engage the attorney in a conversation.

“If I was you, I’d get back to the desk and see what Mrs. Jackson has planned for you today,” Michelle admonished Trudy who seemed to be loitering by the elevator in an attempt to postpone returning to the ICU desk.

“Yes ma’am.” Trudy turned and reluctantly walked away.

“Good day, Mr. Bankhead.” Michelle bid farewell and walked toward the ladies room.

“Bankhead!” Dirk thought to himself as he focused his gaze on the attorney patiently awaiting the opening of the elevator doors. Oblivious to Dirk’s presence, he stared upward at the row of lighted numbers above the door that indicated the elevator’s ascent to the third floor.

The chime sounded, the doors parted, and both men stepped inside. As the attorney turned around to make his selection from the row of numbered buttons on the side wall of the elevator, Dirk got his first good look at the man. He moved to the opposite side of the elevator, and the doors closed.

“Floor?” the attorney inquired, not looking at Dirk.

“One is good,” Dirk said, and then added “Blankhead,” purposely mispronouncing the man’s last name.

The attorney appeared startled and somewhat put off by the derogatory manner in which his name had been pronounced. He turned to Dirk in a posture that indicated he was about to chastise the stranger for his indiscretion, but then paused for a moment as he studied the man’s face.

“Dirk Johnston! Como estad frijole?” the attorney replied in an obvious misuse of the Spanish word for “bean.”

“I ‘bean’ just fine,” Dirk responded as the two men moved towards each other and enthusiastically shook hands.

“Man, how long has it ‘bean’?”

“Well, I graduated in ’86, you do the math.”

“I don’t even want to think about it,” the attorney replied. They both stood there silently grinning at each other as they flashed back to a much earlier time in their lives.

 

Wayne A. Bankhead had been a sophomore in high school when Dirk was a senior. Due to his age, Wayne was not one of the starting players on Coach Kincaid’s football team. It was his lot in life to sit on the bench, or “ride the pine” on Friday nights while Dirk and the rest of the first team players would take the field.

Wayne played wide receiver, and halfway through the season, due to an injury to his first team counterpart, found himself practicing with the starting offense. Wayne got his nickname as the result of one of Coach Kincaid’s notorious tirades during one of these practices.

Coach Kincaid had created a new passing play, and was having the offense run it for the first time. Dirk lined up the team, barked out the signal for the center to snap the ball to him, and dropped back to throw a pass. He rapidly surveyed the defensive coverage, and observed a large opening with Wayne running directly toward it. Dirk adroitly arched a pass toward the opening, anticipating Wayne would run under the ball and race unmolested across the goal line for a touchdown.

Unfortunately, at just the same instant Dirk released the ball, Wayne abruptly stopped running downfield, and inexplicably circled back toward Dirk in a “button hook” maneuver. The ball sailed well over his head, and landed on the ground fifteen yards from the nearest player.

Coach Kincaid raced onto the field excitedly blowing his whistle, and screamed at the top of his lungs: “Bankhead! What the hell are you doing? Son, use your head for something besides a hat rack. There so much empty space between your ears your name should be ‘Blankhead’. You don’t know ‘come’ from ‘sickum’. Do I have to bring my dog Nikki to practice to teach you how to run pass routes? You’re supposed to break up field on that play, not hook back. Understand?”

Wayne was so mortified by the verbal abuse that all he could do was stand silently and shake his head in an affirmative manner.

“Johnston, huddle them back up, and call that play again. Let’s see if Blankhead is at least as trainable as my dog.” Coach Kincaid returned to the sidelines and resumed his prowling of the field’s perimeter.

Dirk assembled the team in the huddle and could scarcely control his laughter.

“Blankhead. I kinda like that name. What do you think, Raymond?” Dirk inquired of one of the linemen.

“It’s easier to pronounce than ‘shit-for-brains’,” Raymond replied.

“I agree,” Dirk said. “O.K., listen up. Stay full right, pass 314, Y post,” Dirk repeated the play. “Y post would be you, Blankhead,” Dirk said again to ensure that Wayne understood that he was the “Y” receiver on the play.

“Got it,” Wayne frustratedly replied as the team broke from the huddle and assembled the formation to run the play again.

 

Both men stepped out of the elevator, not noticing Michelle Wainright standing in front of the door, and walked to their left, gregariously discussing their past.

“I thought I sent you two gentlemen on your way,” Marvella addressed the two laughing men as they approached her desk.

Dirk and Wayne lookup and realized they were still on the third floor. In their surprise at encountering one another, Wayne had failed to push the first floor elevator button. The door had opened when Michelle summoned it so that she might leave the building for day.

“Uh, did I leave my notebook on your desk?” Dirk awkwardly inquired of Marvella.

“There’s no notebook here, Mr. Johnston,” Marvella slyly grinned back at Dirk.

“Ah, there it is,” Dirk said as he patted his coat pocket.

“Sorry to detain you, Mr. Bankhead.”

“Not a problem.” They quickly turned and headed down the hall. They waited until the elevator doors had closed, and Dirk ceremoniously pushed the button with the numeral one on it.

“It’s a good thing the coach isn’t here to see your difficulty in operating elevators,” Dirk said.

“I’m sure his dog could do it with one paw tied behind its back.”

“So what have you been up to? The last time I saw you was spring break in Cancun of my senior year. You were trying to pick up that girl in a bar with those ridiculous attempts at Spanish.”

“You mean like ‘how you bean.’”

“That was one of your worst,” Dirk remembered. “Any luck with her?”

“Man, we were lying half naked and completely shit faced on the beach later that night. I started to make my move. She stops me and asks if I have any ‘protection.’ I said no, and she says ‘Sorry cowboy—no raincoat, no rodeo.’ Man, I’ve been shot down lots of times, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget that line. At any rate, after high school I went to college at Duke, and then attended law school at Southern Methodist University. They’ve got one of the best aviation law programs in the country. I joined a firm in Dallas, and specialized in that field.”

“Not bad for a guy with so much empty space between his ears . . . If you practice in Dallas, what brings you to Charlotte?”

The elevator sounded its chime as the descent to the first floor ended, and the doors opened. Both men exited and walked through the hotel lobby.

“I’m here to see a client.”

“Mr. Warren Manton,” Dirk stated, holding the door for Wayne.

“Why yes.” Wayne was astonished that Dirk would have that information. “How would you know that?”

“I’m a reporter for Channel Six news here in Charlotte. I’m putting together a story on the crash of Consolidated flight 243. I came here today to try to speak with Mr. Manton in an effort gain a perspective as to what it was like for the passengers who survived the flight. Now how in the world does an attorney from Dallas wind up with a client in Charlotte?”

Realizing that their cars were not parked in close proximity to one another, the two men stopped in the lot between a row of parked cars and continued their conversation.

“We work with clients on aviation-related matters all over the world,” Wayne said. “In this particular case, I was recommended by an attorney here in Charlotte. His mother is the nurse you spoke to when we got off on the wrong floor in the hospital. She has been attending to Mr. Manton since he arrived. She knew he would need an attorney, and asked her son, who is also a lawyer, for a recommendation. I represented an insurance company against a claim filed by one of his clients involving the crash of a small Cessna. We settled out of court. Even though we were adversaries, I guess he liked my work.”

“Do you think you might settle this case as well?” Dirk wanted to bring Wayne into his network of informational sources.

“I’m really not at liberty to discuss our plans . . .”

“I suggest you don’t settle.”

Wayne stared at Dirk with a rather perplexed expression. “And why should I take the advice of a TV news reporter when representing one of my clients?”

“I’ve got sources inside the company that are willing to provide me with information that might reveal a level of corporate liability that might otherwise never be discovered,” Dirk confidently stated.

“Really,” Wayne said. “What sort of liability are we talking about here?”

“I’ve still got a few loose ends to tie up before I can divulge that information, but I’d like to strike a deal with you on this.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I’ll give you all the information I have if you keep me in the loop as much as possible on your activities. I’m sure you can appreciate the benefit a TV news report that is favorable to your client’s case would have on any legal maneuvering you might undertake.”

“Deal.” Wayne knew full well the value of public sentiment in a court proceeding such as this.

“Great!” Dirk said. “Now I’ve got some legal matters to attend to myself.”

“And what might those be?”

“As I’m sure you’re well aware, the conversations of pilots are recorded by a black box—”

“The CVR.” Wayne demonstrated his knowledge of the Cockpit Voice Recorder. “It’s actually contained in an orange crash resistant can. If you include that tidbit in your report, you’ll be the first of your colleagues to do so. Now what is your interest in that information?”

“I’ve agreed to provide it to one of my sources in exchange for information they have regarding the liability issues I mentioned.”

“I’ve already got a copy of the tapes. Judging from what I’ve heard, it’s a pretty clear cut case of pilot error,” Wayne commented. “I’ll give you a copy of the CVR tape, if you give me your inside information.”

“Let me talk to my sources, but I think they’ll be more than happy to bring you into the loop. They’re convinced the only way to accomplish their goals is through the outcome of the inevitable lawsuits associated with the crash. I believe I can convince them ‘you dah man’ for that.”

“Just let me know when you need the tape,” Wayne said. “Here’s my card. You can reach me at any of those numbers.”

Dirk stuffed the card in his shirt pocket. The two men shook hands and then parted company, walking in opposing directions towards their respective cars.