dead peasants; a thriller

7/31/2019 Dead Peasants; A Thriller

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events

portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination

or are used fictitiously.

.

An imprint of St. Martins Press.

. Copyright 2012 by Larry D. Thompson. All rights

reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information,

address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.stmartins.com

ISBN 978-1-250-00949-4 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-250-01800-7 (e-book)

First Edition: October 2012

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The tension in the Beaumont, Texas, courtroom was as real as that in

the Cotton Bowl if Texas and Oklahoma were tied with one minute to

go. The parties had been in trial for three weeks and two days. On one

side of the aisle were the families of three refinery workers killed inan explosion that had killed or maimed dozens of others. The rest had

settled with the oil company. These three families were represented by

Jackson Douglas Bryant, a lawyer who in another era would have been

a riverboat gambler. He convinced them to turn down million-dollar

settlements before trial. The loss of their loved one was worth far more

than a paltry million dollars. He even turned and walked away when

the company lawyer offered five million per family at the close of evi-

dence. He was confident that a Jefferson County jury would take care

of its own.

After two days of jury deliberations, his clients had exhausted

every possible topic of conversation and sat, stone-faced and nervous,

on the wooden benches. Several of them wondered if they were mak-

ing a mistake by rejecting enough money to provide for themselves and

several generations of kids and grandkids. Still, they crossed their fin-

gers and followed the advice of Jack Bryant.

On the other side of the rail, where the lawyers strutted their stuff


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2 Larry D. Thompson

as if actors on stage, the company attorneys were huddled with their

client, whispering to each other about Bryants refusal even to counter

their fifteen- million-dollar offer. Bryant was standing at the bailiffsdesk, resting his hands on his cane and debating whether the Houston

Texans would ever make the playoffs. Bryant was a Texans fan, but the

bailiff had written them off once the Saints acquired Drew Brees and

won a Super Bowl. He was now offi cially a part of the Who Dat? na-

tion. If the tension got to Bryant, he was too good a poker player to let

it show. Somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty years old, he was a lean

six feet with brush-cut brown hair swept back from a widows peak,

piercing blue eyes, and a chin with a Kirk Douglas dimple. He always

chose an expensive Western-cut suit and Justin cowboy boots for trial.

The Justin boots had been his choice since he got his first pair as a kid

growing up in Fort Worth. He always carried a cane. For trial it was

one with a gold knob on the top to match the gold Rolex on his wrist.

Among all of his canes, he liked this one the best. It reminded him ofthe legendary Bat Masterson, gunfighter and poker player. The entire

outfit, including the Rolex, was calculated. He had long believed that

jurors would be more inclined to award big money if they saw it up close

and personal.

Jack would never have admitted it, but he was getting worried. Any-

one looking closely at his eyes would see they were bloodshot, a product

of tossing and turning the night before as he replayed the trial in his

mind and wondered what he might have done differently. They had

made their final arguments two days ago and now it was approaching

five oclock. Were they going to hang up? I damn sure dont want to have to try

this son of a bitch again,he thought.

Two loud buzzes echoed through the courtroom. One buzz was for

lunch or a cigarette break. Two meant they had a verdict. The bailiff

rose, and as he walked by Jack, he whispered, Good luck, man.

Jack stepped through the swinging gate at the rail to shake hands

with his male clients and hug the women. Then he returned to the coun-


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DEAD PEASANTS 3

sel table as the judge came from his chambers. Judge Lucius Benton had

a mane of white hair that he tied back in a ponytail. His handlebar mus-

tache was so thick that it sounded as if his voice was muffl ed by a whitebuffalo hide. I understand we have a verdict. Please remain standing for

the jury.

The bailiff opened the jury room door, and the six men and six

women filed in. Jack thought he detected one woman smiling slightly as

she glanced at him before taking her seat. The bailiff handed the verdict

to Judge Benton. Silence filled the room as the lawyers and litigants

stared at the judge who slowly flipped through the verdict to confirm it

was in order and properly signed. Finally, he turned to the jury.

Mr. Foreman, am I correct that this is a unanimous verdict?

Yes, sir, a longshoreman in the first row replied.

Then, with approval of counsel, Ill merely read the answers.

The first questions dealt with the liability of the refinery. Was the

refinery negligent in its maintenance practices? The jury answered, Yes.Did that negligence cause the deaths of the three workers? The jury

answered, Yes. Jack smiled as he looked over to the defense table and

saw the dejected looks of the company representative and his cadre of

defense lawyers. Now came the important part. The jury awarded each

family twenty million dollars in actual damages for losing their loved

one. A defense lawyer pitched his pen on the table and leaned back,

disgust on his face. The company representative stared at the jury with

hatred in his eyes: maybe they would tear down their goddamn refinery in Beau-

mont and move it to a county where the people would appreciate the economic

benefit of fifteen hundred jobs.

Next were questions about gross negligence and punitive damages.

The jury found the refinery knew its practices were dangerous and

should be punished. It awarded ten million dollars in punitive damages

per family. Several adult sons of the workers started whooping and

hollering. The widows sobbed uncontrollably. Even Jack had tears in his

eyes as he realized the total verdict was ninety million. Seeing he was


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DEAD PEASANTS 5

They filled the chairs and stood along the walls as Judge Jefferson ex-

plained the purpose of mediation was to try to reach a settlement with-

out taking the case through the appellate pro cess and, perhaps, evenback to another trial. He alluded to the fact that the Texas Supreme

Court was all Republican: nine justices who, judging from their opin-

ions, thought it their solemn duty to protect big business from juries in

Beaumont and certain other plaintiff-leaning counties in South Texas.

Jacks clients listened and were uncertain what to make of such remarks.

Hadnt they just scored a giant victory last week?

When the opening session was concluded, the plaintiffs remained

in the large conference room and the group of defense lawyers and rep-

resentatives was led to a slightly smaller one.

After they were gone, Judge Jefferson turned to Jack. Helluva job

you did, Jack. This your biggest?

Biggest one in Beaumont. Had one over a hundred million in the

valley a few years ago, Jack replied with a smile on his face.You know how this game is played, the judge said. Give me a

demand and Ill take it to them. He turned to look at the clients. Its

a little like Henry Kissingers shuttle diplomacy from years ago. What

do you say, Jack?

Not my move, Judge. Ive got the verdict and the whip hand at this

point. Youre in the wrong room. You best walk down the hall. Tell

them that they better get way north of that fifteen million they offered

last week. Otherwise, were walking.

Judge Jefferson nodded his understanding as he excused himself.

When he returned an hour later, he again warned of the risks of an ap-

peal in a Republican state before saying he had an offer of twenty-five

million. Jack pretended to look at an imaginary hole card. Theyre go-

ing the right direction, but its going to be a long day. Tell them Ill

knock two million off the verdict.

Jack was right. It was a long day. On two different occasions, once

with a counteroffer of forty million dollars and once with sixty million


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6 Larry D. Thompson

on the table, Jack told all of his clients to get up. They were leaving.

Both times Judge Jefferson convinced them to stay. At ten oclock that

night the offer was seventy-five million dollars, payable by wire trans-fer to Jacks trust account in thirty days. Jack got up, walked around

the table to shake Judge Jeffersons hand, and told him that they had a

deal. When the judge left the room to advise the other side, Jack was

swarmed by his clients as they laughed, cried, and pounded Jack on the

back until he begged for mercy.

Jacks fee was 40 percent. After paying expenses and a million-

dollar bonus to each of his two associates, he would net close to thirty

million dollars. That, he thought, is the reason that he moved to Beau-

mont after law school.

The next day he called his associates into his offi ce. Still a little hung-

over after celebrating until the Spindletop Bar closed at one in the morn-

ing, he was unshaven and wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Sit down, my

friends. I have an announcement. Im retiring, effective today. The offi ceand all the cases are yours. All I ask is that you send me a third of any

fees you recover on our current cases.

His associates protested, saying they needed him to head the firm.

Besides, he was too young to retire. He raised his hands and asked them

to stop. His mind was made up. Im moving back to Fort Worth, back to

where I was born and raised. You guys know my son, J.D., got out of the

Marines, enrolled at TCU and is trying out for the TCU football team.

Im going to buy a nice house, kick back, do a little hunting and fishing,

and watch J.D. play football. I havent been in his life to speak of in near

fifteen years. Its time to change that.


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The pool hall wasnt much, but it was the only one Breckenridge had.

Breckenridge was seventy miles west of Fort Worth. A quiet West Texas

town of a few thousand people, about its only claim to fame was that

it turned out some of the best high school football teams in the state.

If Friday Night Lightshadnt been written about Odessa, it could have

been about Breckenridge. Most of the jobs in the area were in the oil

fields or on the ranches. Men still gathered at the Dairy Queen every

morning to talk about the price of beef, crops, weather and, of course,

the football teams prospects.

The pool hall didnt really have a name. Instead it had a red neonsign in the window that alternately flashed and . It occupied

a building close to the railroad tracks a few blocks from the town cen-

ter. The Baptists would have preferred for it to be out on the edge of

the town, or maybe down the road in Caddo or Albany. The big nights

at the pool hall were weekends, excepting Sunday when it was closed

in deference to the Baptists, and Monday during football season.

A man named Jim always sat at the bar where he could watch the

football game as he drank Lone Star from a bottle and smoked Marlbo-

ros. If Marlboro had needed another model, he could have been their

man. He wore Levis, a blue work shirt with Jim on the right chest, and

a Cowboys cap. He had worked as an auto mechanic for years until the

recession hit and he was laid off. Fortunately, the oil and gas business

still had life, so he transferred his skills to repairing oil rigs and pump

jacks. Jim was quiet and never had any company. He would reply if

spoken to. Otherwise he was content to watch the game, sipping his

Lone Star and grunting occasionally if something dramatic occurred.


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8 Larry D. Thompson

One Monday night a stranger appeared at the door of the bar. He

had brown hair down to his shoulders and a neatly trimmed beard. He

wore a black leather jacket over a green golf shirt. Once his eyes hadbecome accustomed to the dim light, he took a seat at the bar next to

Jim and ordered a Coors Light. He tried to strike up a conversation with

Jim, who answered in monosyllables and continued to watch the game.

By the end of the third quarter other customers began to drift out when

Tom Brady had put his Patriots up by three touchdowns. Jim and the

stranger stayed until the final whistle. That told the stranger what he

wanted to know. He paid his bill and left just as Jim was putting on his

coat. The stranger noted that Jims green Chevy pickup, the only vehicle

remaining, was parked along the curb directly in front of the pool hall.

Two weeks later the clock ran down on another Cowboy loss. Jim

pitched a twenty on the bar and said, Thats downright embarrassing.

Keep the change, Sam.

Sam nodded his thanks as Jim put on a windbreaker and walked tothe door. Sam followed him, locked the door, and unplugged the sign,

since the last of his other customers had given up on the Cowboys thirty

minutes earlier. When Jim stepped out, he was confronted with driving

rain from a storm that had blown in during the game. He pulled the

jacket over his head and made a dash for his pickup. He had his keys in

his hand as he rounded the rear of the truck and clicked to open the

door. With the wind and the rain, he never heard a thing. And with the

windbreaker pulled over his head, he never saw what hit him.

A white pickup had been waiting at the corner next to the pool hall,

lights out while the driver listened to the last of the Cowboys game.

When it was over, he started the engine and waited. He saw Jims lean

body leave the pool hall and run to his pickup. The driver turned the

corner and floored it, accelerating alongside Jims pickup, hitting him as

he reached for the door handle. The impact knocked Jim fifty feet.

The driver started to leave Breckenridge, then had second thoughts.


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DEAD PEASANTS 9

He had never killed someone this way before. So he circled the block,

and when he got to the corner next to the pool hall, he doused his

lights again and looked both ways. The rain was now coming almostsideways from the west as a cold front blew through. Seeing no lights

in either direction, he pulled in front of Jims pickup, retrieved a small

Maglite from the glove compartment and climbed out. Pushing through

the wind and the rain, he got to his victim and flashed the light

briefly. Blood oozed from Jims ears, nose and mouth. His chest was

crushed and both legs looked like broken pick-up sticks. The driver

bent over and pressed his fingers against the victims neck. There was

no pulse.

He walked rapidly back to his truck, checked again to confirm

there were no vehicles coming from either direction, and headed out of

town. As he did, he retrieved his cell phone. Boss, its done.

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Jack drove west on Camp Bowie Boulevard, listening to the clatter his

tires made on the red brick paving laid by the Works Progress Admin-

istration during the Great Depression. Memories from thirty and forty

years ago flooded back as he turned right on Hillcrest. After a block he

saw Rivercrest Country Club and turned left on Crestline. He passed

the clubhouse and drove slowly down Alta Drive until he spotted the

house he wanted. Situated on almost two acres, with giant pecan trees

shading the front, it had six bedrooms, including a large master suite

overlooking a heated pool and hot tub. The driveway circled the house

and led to a six-car garage. Sitting on a bluff above the Trinity River,


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10 Larry D. Thompson

the backyard sloped down the hill toward the river and the afternoon

sun. In the distance was the old bomber plant, called various names

over the years, including Convair and General Dynamics, but nowclosed. Jacks dad had worked there for thirty years.

Jack stopped at the curb and listened for a moment to Willie Nelson

warning mamas not to let their babies grow up to be cowboys. Then he

climbed from his old red pickup and reached behind the front seat for

his cane. His knee felt pretty good today, and he might not have even

needed it. Still, he never knew when he was going to make a wrong

step and have it collapse under him. He leaned against the front fender

of Lucille, the name he gave his truck when it was new, and surveyed

the house. It had a front porch extending the length of the house, with

a veranda of equal length above it. Both had elaborate wrought iron

railing. He liked it. The realtor had told him it was unoccupied; so he

walked to the house, climbed the four steps to the porch and peered in

the windows. The room to the right of the front door was the livingroom, with a room of almost similar size to the left, this one lined with

bookshelves. Behind the study was an entry into what appeared to be

the dining room. He was standing at the top of the steps, leaning on his

cane and surveying the golf course across the street when a green Lexus

pulled up behind his pickup. Wow,he thought, as the realtor exited

her car, Fort Worth could get more interesting in a hurry.The realtors biog-

raphy on her Web site put her around forty, but she looked thirty. He

guessed she was about five feet four inches tall. Her short auburn hair

glistened in the afternoon sun. She wore blue pants and a long- sleeved

white shirt open at the collar just enough to show a hint of cleavage. As

she approached, Jack saw her eyes were emerald green, his new favorite

color.


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dead peasants; a thriller

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