I WAS EARLY FOR MY BREAKFAST WITH DUKE. The Willard’s dining room is lovely, but much too formal for a real breakfast, at least for me. Give me Formica countertops, a couple of fried eggs, and coffee in a mug any day, but the venue choice wasn’t mine. As I waited for Duke, I scanned the room. Every table was occupied by men and women wearing suits and deep in conversation. I wondered how many submarines and tax subsidies had been inserted into legislation over egg white omelets and biscuits hard as brick.
My waiter had just poured my second cup of coffee when Duke appeared at the restaurant’s entrance. There was no doubt it was him. He stood about six feet two, clad in jeans, a fringed leather jacket and boots, with a well-worn cowboy hat perched on his head. His hair was long and grey, pulled back in a ponytail. I’d seen him on TV several times, but this would be my first in-person meeting. To my eyes he looked ridiculous.
Duke took his time crossing the room, slapping people on the back, and stopping at any table that seemed to want to meet him. There weren’t that many. He finally made it to my table and extended his hand. His grip was surprisingly clammy, not firm nor as confident as I’d expected.
After we’d howdy-dooed like old friends, he took his seat and said, “Let’s order before we talk business. I’m starving.”
Our waiter appeared at his side on cue. Duke slipped him a twenty and said, “My usual, Sean, but tell the cook that when I ask for my steak to be cooked Pittsburg rare, I mean for it to be so rare it’s almost bleeding. And no damn fruit or vegetables in my Bloody, you hear? No room for the vodka when it’s full of that crap. Jack here wants the same thing.”
Sean, who had a poker face worthy of Vegas, merely replied “Yes, sir,” and turned to me.
I asked for eggs over easy, bacon, sourdough toast, and a mimosa, anything to keep Duke from making a scene. We played the game of “who do you know” while we waited to be served. I like a hearty breakfast, but mine was meager compared to Duke’s steak, fried eggs, and pancakes which he washed down with a succession of Bloody Marys. The man must have a stomach of iron.
I wasn’t quite finished when Duke pushed his plate back and threw his napkin on top. The waiter appeared almost immediately and after our plates had been cleared Duke got down to business.
“I can have a runner come by your office to pick up the files on this case. What I’d like to do this morning is pick your brain. There’s got to be a way to plea bargain with the government so David doesn’t end up spending forever in prison. As for the computer companies, I see a gold mine. With a counterclaim and the right publicity, I’ll have them begging to settle. A million bucks each is chicken feed to those companies. The press will be all over this case. It’s classic David versus Goliath. Get it?” He roared with laughter at his own joke. “You sure you don’t want something stronger than that sissy drink?”
I was already sick of this guy and tempted to stand up and walk away, but I didn’t want to create a scene. Besides, something told me to go carefully with Duke and Gloria. I didn’t know enough about David’s case to antagonize either his mother or her wild hair attorney.
“No thanks,” I replied. “You think the best strategy is to plea David out even if it means prison time, and try to settle the civil litigation using threats of bad publicity?”
“No offense, pardner, but a silk-stocking lawyer like yourself doesn’t have a chance in hell of pulling off what I can. I’ve spent twenty-five years building a reputation of being unreasonable and a pain in the ass. People hire me just to prevent me from being on the other side. There isn’t a lawyer in DC who wants to see me across the table.”
That much was true, but perhaps not for the reasons Duke thought. I decided to ask a few questions before I broke the bad news.
“Rather than discuss settlement strategy, let’s talk a little about how much Gloria knows about the case against her son. The civil complaint is eighty pages of vague allegations and conclusory mishmash. What does she know about the software he developed and why it’s got everyone so worked up?”
It took Duke a few seconds to swallow the last bit of his Bloody and order another.
“Hell, son. You’ve met Gloria. She hasn’t got the foggiest idea what her son’s software is about. She smells money, and so do I. We have every major tech company joined at the hip to keep David’s idea from reaching the market. It doesn’t matter what it does or even if it works. The beauty is that big business understands economics, and big business don’t give a tinker’s damn about principles. Instead of paying their lawyers, they’d just as soon pay millions to get their hands on whatever David’s come up with. When I hit them with a big counterclaim and subpoena all their senior executives for days of depositions, their wallets will open right up.”
The strategy Duke had just described was right on point. Every time a publicly held company makes a mistake or a prediction that doesn’t pan out, a gang of lawyers race to the courthouse to file complaints on behalf of the company’s shareholders. After the dust settles, these cases are settled with the attorneys getting richer and the shareholders receiving pennies. Sound like legal blackmail? You betcha.
Shareholder actions are just one form of legal blackmail. Our judicial system has many flaws, and lawyers like Duke have found hundreds of ways to use those flaws to line their own pockets. Courthouses are full of attorneys who use the cost of litigation as a roadblock to justice. Court sanctions and fines have little deterrent effect on even the worst abusers.
Duke interrupted my soapbox daydream.
“When can my boy pick up the files?” he asked. “I don’t want to let any grass grow…”
“Well, there’s a bit of a problem,” I interrupted, trying my best not to smirk.
“I met with David yesterday. He wants me to represent him, and he wants his mother to go home.”
No explosion, no ranting, no nothing. Duke merely finished his drink and sighed. “To tell you the truth, I expected as much. Tell your client that Gloria isn’t going to leave town or give up on the fortune she’s entitled. She sees whatever software he’s created as the only way to get out from under Tom Thibodeaux’s controlling thumb. You know damn well that my plan is the only chance David’s got. But if he’s dead set on spending the rest of his life in jail, we’ll simply proceed on our own.”
Proceed on their own? I had no idea what he meant and wasn’t about to ask. I was just glad that he hadn’t lost his famous temper.
“Duke, please tell Mrs. Ruple that I’ll communicate your concerns and suggestions to David. I’ll also find out to what extent he wants to keep both you and her in the loop. But I’m telling you what I had to tell Mr. Thibodeaux: David is the client, and he calls the shots.”
Duke didn’t respond except to snap his fingers at the waiter and demand a refill to his Bloody. I thanked him for breakfast, shook his hand, and left him to his drink, trying not to run.
With my mind a million miles away, I started to walk back to my office. I knew Mike was supposed to escort me, but it was a beautiful day, I was ready to get to work, and Mike was nowhere to be seen. I had just reached Lafayette Park, when someone walked up behind me and stuck something hard against my ribs. I tried to turn, but he pushed me toward a bench and whispered, “Take a seat, Jack. It’s time you and I had a talk.”