That was before he began losing jury trials, and losing big.
Rivals? Why were they rivals and not partners paddling the same boat? Bolton said they had never pulled together. And now the boat was sinking.
If the business continued on course for two more months, there would be no year-end bonuses. Indeed, the gap between revenue and expenses was large enough to require Kirk and Rusty, again bound by a partnership agreement, to step up and cover the deficit, an ugly scene that had never happened before.
It was obvious to Diantha that the only smart moves were to drastically cut expenses, fire associates, get rid of staff, reduce the salaries of the two partners, and somehow convince Rusty to stop taking risky cases. None of which was remotely possible, and she was not about to make suggestions.
As she studied the financials, she asked herself again how a once prosperous firm could work its way into such a mess. She was about to leave for the day and go shopping when her secretary tapped on the door.
A process server was waiting in the lobby, a kid with a hoodie and oversized sneakers. “You Diana Bradshaw?” he asked rudely.
“The name’s Diantha Bradshaw.”
He looked at his paperwork and seemed to struggle with the words. “Right, and you’re the registered agent for Malloy & Malloy, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“I’m a process server for the law firm of Bonnie & Clyde. Here’s a lawsuit we filed two hours ago.”
He handed it over. She took it without saying thanks. The kid disappeared.
Bonnie & Clyde were nothing but trouble. They were perhaps the most famous lawyers in St. Louis and not because of their legal talents. Husband and wife, they had been small-time divorce sloggers out in the suburbs until Clyde settled a tractor-trailer case and netted some money. His wife had always gone by the name of Bonita. Their teenaged son watched too much television and particularly enjoyed the schlocky ads run by personal injury firms. He came up with the idea of renaming his mother and blasting the airwaves with “Bonnie and Clyde” ads that featured them dressed like Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway and holding submachine guns as they shook down slimy insurance executives for mountains of cash that went to their clients. They changed the name of their law firm to Bonnie & Clyde.
At first the local bar was horrified by the ads and sent a letter, but by then lawyer advertising was out of control, and it was protected speech anyway.
The injured clients poured in and Bonnie and Clyde got rich. They expanded their firm, hired a bunch of associates, and became infatuated with billboard advertising.
They had been hired by the parents of Trey Brewster, and they were suing Rusty and the firm for legal malpractice. Ten million compensatory and ten million punitive.
Diantha read the poorly drafted lawsuit and mumbled to herself, “I’d rather have their case than ours.”
（27）
For the dirty work, and there was no small amount of it around any credible personal injury firm, Rusty had several contacts to choose from. The most experienced was an ex-cop named Walt Kemp, an investigator with his own firm of case runners, accident hounds, ambulance chasers, witness locators, and so on. Walt knew the streets and had feelers in many dark places, including prisons.
They met for egg-and-sprat sandwiches at a Russian deli in Dutchtown in the old part of the city. Walt’s nondescript office was around the corner where the rent was cheap.
“I gotta weird one for you,” Rusty said in a low voice.
“Won’t be the first time,” Walt said with a smile as he wiped beer foam off his mustache.
“You know someone at Saliba Correctional?”
“You mean, like your father?”
Rusty coughed up a nervous laugh and said, “Yep, the old man is still there. Anybody else?”
“Inmates or guys with guns?”
“Not inmates. Somebody with authority.”
“Probably. What’s going on?”
“Well, it does involve Bolton. He’s been there for five years and from time to time gets his hands on a cell phone.”
“Not at all unusual. In every prison there’s a huge black market for phones. Along with drugs and pretty much anything else.”
“Right, well, Bolton’s got one now, and to be honest, he’s driving us crazy with it. Can’t seem to keep his nose out of the firm’s business.”
“What are you asking?”
“Drop an anonymous call to prison security, tell them inmate number two-four-eight-eight-one-three has a cell phone. They’ll find it and slam him into solitary for a month. He’s been there before.”