Variegated Justice (eBook)

CHAPTER ONE

Jack Fabian paused outside of The Stag’s Antler Bar and Grill, his traditional first stop on the way to his law office. Most mornings lately he would be in search of a little “hair of the dog” in the form of a Bloody Mary to soothe the effects of his previous evening’s activities. This day was a Bloody Mary kind of day, after his last night’s date with a bottle of Scotch. Although he seldom read the local rag, as he referred to the only regional newspaper in Hopkins County, a large headline in the paper dispenser outside of the bar splashed across the front page caught his bloodshot eyes:

Violence Erupts at WV State Correctional Institution:

Many Prisoner Casualties and Injuries During

Bloody Attempted Insurrection

State Police and County Deputy Sheriffs Put Down Riot After Siege

Fabian plunked fifty cents into the machine, yanked the newspaper from the dispenser, stumbled into the bar, and pulled up his favorite stool. A few patrons, already engrossed in the big news of the day, slurped their coffees and paid little attention to the new arrival. Fabian, badly in need of a drink, ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper wavy mop of hair and barked, “Hey, Joe. Gimme the usual—extra spicy—and don’t pour the vodka like you own it.”

Joe, the bartender, glared at Fabian and began preparing his morning ritual libation. He could tell from his familiar patron’s raspy voice and disheveled appearance that he had had a rough night.

“Jesus!” Fabian exclaimed in a stage whisper as he perused the news story. “There hasn’t been a riot at the state pen for years. Fifteen dead and forty wounded! Must have been like a damn war. Broken necks, bludgeoning, guys thrown off cell block floors. Christ, one guy was burned alive in his cell!”

“Who the hell cares?” one of the customers down the bar deadpanned. Others nodded in agreement. “They’re nothing but a bunch of scumbags anyway. Just a few less mouths for us taxpayers to feed, the way I see it. Good riddance.” More nods.

The barkeeper slammed Fabian’s drink onto the bar. “That ought to fix you up, Jack. Cheers!” The barkeep paused and gave Fabian a long, probing look. “Man, is that liver of yours made of cast iron? This is becoming a regular occurrence. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the business, but seems like you’re going way over the mark here lately.”

Fabian, his hulking 6’2” body hunched over the bar, shrugged. He grabbed the drink and swirled it with a swizzle stick. “Just been a rough couple of months,” he said, chugging down half of it. “You know. Pressures of the job. Trials, asshole lawyers I have to deal with, pushy clients, grouchy judges. The usual crap. A guy’s gotta blow off steam in this business; otherwise, he’d pop.”

“Occupational hazard, I guess,” said the barkeeper.

“Yeah,” Fabian replied, chugging the remainder of the drink in one long guzzle. “I guess somebody’s going to end up having to represent these numbskulls, once the cops and the prosecutor sort out who did what to whom. I’m sure as hell glad I don’t do this kind of work anymore. They’re going to need a slew of criminal lawyers to handle this disaster. I like the good clean stuff where my clients are ones I choose to represent, not some judge telling me who to work for. I used to do some criminal work a long time ago when I was just starting out and hungry. It gave me some courtroom experience and helped me learn to think on my feet, but most of the reprobates I represented were lowlifes and were guilty as hell. It was a pretty thankless way to make a living, but it helped put food on the table for a while.” Fabian wiped his mouth with his jeans jacket sleeve. Today was an office day—no court, no clients, no depositions, and no need to put on his lawyer costume—the kind of day Fabian needed after his prior night’s indiscretions.

Joe laughed as he grabbed Fabian’s glass and tossed the spent ice cubes into the bar sink. “Yeah, Jack, now you’re a bigshot malpractice lawyer and can’t be bothered by the poor little guys that never had a chance in life. You’re off jet-settin’ around and makin’ the big bucks, huh?”

“Fuck ‘em,” Fabian spat as he shoved away from the bar. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry these days. Leave the degenerates and scalawags to the young, hungry lawyers scraping for a living like I was once. They’ll get the representation they deserve. I’ve paid my dues.”

Fabian tucked his newspaper under his arm and headed for the door. “See ya later, Joe. I’m going across the street. I do have to work for those big bucks, ya know.”

“Later, Jack. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, I guess. Don’t drink too much.”

“I’ll drink just the right amount. Trust me,” Fabian retorted.

Fabian headed toward his office, feeling sorry for himself. His wife and law partner, Amanda Cohen, had been out of town in a downstate medical malpractice trial for the past two weeks, and there was no immediate end in sight. Compounding his misery, his ex-wife’s attorney had filed a “Motion for Modification of Final Divorce Decree” demanding an additional five-thousand dollars per month in spousal support due to recent successes in some of his personal injury and medical malpractices cases.

Goddamnit, thought Fabian, just when I think I’m getting a little ahead, this shit comes back to bite me on the ass. I can’t catch a break! Now I’m going to have to put that new glass cockpit for my plane on hold for God knows how long.

Fabian then reprised his favorite saying that he often expressed only half in jest: If I would have just killed her, I’d be out by now.

Fabian, now 62, had built a successful civil law practice over the years. His early career was spent in the trenches, first handling small-time cases for criminals as a court-appointed lawyer and representing a few clients in cases pawned off on him by older and more experienced colleagues around town who had better things to do. As he gained experience and a reputation for his advocacy skills and courtroom prowess, his practice began to grow. It did not take long for his star to begin rising exponentially after successfully representing a client in a medical malpractice case in which he secured a one-million dollar verdict. He was only twenty-eight years old at the time.

As word of his talents spread, Fabian was frequently called upon by lawyers, at first locally, but soon from around West Virginia and surrounding states, who had signed up the clients but did not have the skill or experience to handle competently their civil disputes. While he represented people in all areas of personal injury, his love in the practice was representing clients in plaintiff’s medical malpractice cases. It was in this area of the law he excelled and mostly prospered.

But as Fabian’s practice accelerated, so did his time spent on his cases. As a result, his home life suffered. His marriage to his wife of twenty-seven years, Betty Lou, began deteriorating early in their betrothal. The troubles were not unexpected. Fabian, a former West Virginia University linebacker, had met Betty Lou while playing football at the university. She was a cute, leggy cheerleader for the school who had caught Fabian’s roving eye. The evening after winning the 1981 Peach Bowl, Fabian and Betty Lou attended a wild fraternity party. The couple ended up at his apartment for a night of alcohol, marijuana, and unprotected sex. Nine months later, she presented Fabian with a seven-pound, six-ounce baby girl. While Fabian lobbied for his pregnant girlfriend to have an abortion, Betty Lou and her family, devout Catholics, vehemently opposed it and insisted on marriage as the only responsible solution. The two married, but tension between the two built as Fabian spent more and more time at the office and away from home.

For Fabian, work was his tonic and his excuse for spending as little time with Betty Lou as possible. As the two grew farther apart, Fabian did not let his sacred wedding vows get in the way of his raging libido. His roving eye often led him to take extended “business trips” during which his business involved trysts with women, married and single, that he had met along the way.

One such woman had caught his eye while Fabian was traveling for a deposition. At the hotel bar, Fabian and the young woman, after small talk and many drinks, ended up in her hotel room for an intense roll in the hay. The next morning at the deposition, it turned out that his previous night’s conquest was none other than his adversary’s associate, Amanda Cohen, sent to cover the deposition for her boss.

After the initial shock to the two of their awkward predicament, they agreed to go to their respective corners, handle their client’s cases in a professional manner, and forgo any further social get-togethers. It was not long after the case was resolved that the two one-time lovers reunited. Fabian, having had enough of Betty Lou and their loveless marriage, secured a divorce. Two weeks later, he married Amanda, his present wife and law partner.

But Fabian’s biological urges, which had steadily diminished as he aged, were not his only weakness. With large jury verdicts and settlements came large paydays. Expensive cars, a fancy airplane which he used for business and...