“Lambert?” I asked.
“Yes,” Koltts said. “Mr. Lambert sent me to represent you in this matter.”
Albert Aristide Lambert was the senior named partner of Lambert, Klein, Masson and Kempf, one of New Orleans’ most prestigious law firms. The Lamberts were old ooold money and power. My gentleman, Remi, had worked for them previously and I’d retained them shortly after joining Hoodoo Squad. There were always minor legal matters to clear up with Monster Hunting and most of Lambert, Klein, Masson and Kempf’s better attorneys were read in on hoodoo. In New Orleans they had to be. Koltts was a new one, though. Him I didn’t know.
“No questions ’til fully recovered,” I muttered.
“That is not going to fly,” Myers said.
“Agent Myers,” Koltts said, smiling thinly. “I am aware of the broad brief given to Monster Control Bureau as well as the rationale thereof. And I also have a read-in federal judge who thinks your bureau should be shut down. You may feel free to continue to dig the very deep hole you are currently in. Or you can accept that no questions will be presented to my client until such time as he has recovered, by my definition, and I have had time to fully counsel him on this matter. As you were just informed by federal injunction. Is there some part of injunction you don’t understand, Agent, or should I write it down in very small words for you?”
* * *
It took six weeks for me to recover to a physical condition where I could do much. It took a week for me to get discharged, go home, and have a long coherent conversation with my attorney. It took three weeks for Lambert, Klein, Masson and Kempf to open up a can of whoop ass on the MCB like they’d rarely known.
Despite what Special Agent Campbell thought, despite what Agent Myers thought, it turned out it was possible to sue the ever-living crap out of the MCB. And all of them. Personally. Mr. Lambert was puzzled that I did not want to include Franks. My rationale was that Franks was essentially a non-self-directing weapon. It would be like suing my Uzi.
The judge did require Franks to give a top-secret deposition to my attorneys at one point. I was pretty sure Franks wouldn’t kill them. He was used to asking questions, not being forced to answer them. I wasn’t present, but it was recorded and I watched the tape several times, with the sound off, just to watch his expression. And, yes, Franks does have facial expressions. They range from slightly annoyed to very annoyed.
It was a basic necessity that there were a few federal judges read in on the supernatural. I had no idea what most of their cases involved. Many of these judges, while recognizing the importance of the First Reason, were also fairly uncomfortable with the MCB’s often draconian actions. Torturing a suspect and justifying it by a reading crossed several lines. MCB was basically just another government agency, which meant they could get in trouble for breaking the law, same as everybody else. It was just that they were so shrouded in mystery and lies that it seldom happened. Normally, suits against the MCB were tossed for national security reasons, but this time they wound up with an angry judge.
About the time my lawyers opened up the can of whoop-ass, MCB tried to retaliate. They turned up all sorts of nasty stuff about the law firm, the Lamberts, my attorney. The fact that Mr. Lambert had a mistress was trotted out to Mrs. Lambert who apparently replied that of course he had a mistress, so did she! Mr. Koltts turned out to be gay. This is New Orleans. Your point? They tried bribery, but the lawsuit was pure gold from the law firm’s end, so that just led to another federal suit.
What MCB mostly learned was that trying to corrupt a New Orleans legal firm was like trying to fight a rainstorm with a fire hose. Had Agent Castro still been alive he could have told them that. Because of the secretive nature of their job, the MCB wasn’t used to being sued, and screwed up every step of the way. Accountability was an indecipherable mystery to them. The Lamberts could smell a very juicy suit. It was like panning for gold in a virgin stream. Every overturned rock was pure litigation gold.
Here’s how we calculated damages. I was earning huge PUFF fighting monsters. MCB had beaten me practically to death, was trying to get me canned as an MHI employee, and was generally interfering in my ability to earn income. And, oh yeah, violated the shit out of my rights. I couldn’t get them arrested for that but I could make them pay through the nose. How much was I out? Not just for the six weeks of recuperation. Their harassment was liable to cost me my income in perpetuity. I should last until I’m eighty with any normal job. Figure out how much the lost income was over that time. Then multiply that times some number, maybe five, for pain and emotional suffering.
One hundred million dollars was less than the total but it was a nice round number. And I don’t care how big your secret black ops budget is, that’s real money. Then there were legal fees, which were legally permissible to be tripled. Good lawyers cost a lot of money.
As long as the suit was ongoing, by order of our judge, I could not be deposed, questioned or otherwise contacted or harassed by Monster Control Bureau regarding pretty much anything. Oh, and MCB had, naturally, had all my permits revoked. Which led to another lawsuit thrown on the pile. Unfortunately that made it impossible to do my job.
The suit could potentially take years, absent MCB offering a settlement I would accept. And MCB had no clue how to negotiate a settlement. Their invariable MO was demonize, vilify, destroy. Negotiate was not in that list.
The Shacklefords loved that I was causing the government discomfort, but my presence was making life complicated for them. I couldn’t work, so I took a leave of absence. I packed up and went to England to attend Oxford. And, yes, it took a year before the MCB settled. An interesting year and fruitful in many ways, but I still missed hunting.
CHAPTER 13
Before I talk about my time in England, I’ll finish my story about the lawsuit. While I was away, it got so bad the judge overseeing the suit threatened to pass an injunction against any action by MCB, shut them down entirely until they could be thoroughly vetted. Now that did get into national security issues, and I’m sure somebody at MCB started contemplating the pros and cons of murdering federal judges. Luckily someone at Department of Justice got the MCB to see reason and settle. That was shortly after Franks was deposed and, being Franks, answered all the questions posed to him frankly. Lots of silences, lots of muttered “Classified” until it was explained in very small words that in this deposition there was no such thing. Then he talked. Frankly.
And the judge hit the roof and DOJ very quietly went into panic mode.
“We are not going to pay Mr. Gardenier a hundred million dollars.”
The attorney representing MCB was not from MCB. They didn’t have anyone trained to negotiate a settlement involving violation of constitutional rights. Chris Welch was a standard DOJ attorney who was read in. The sort that usually handled excessive-force and violation-of-constitutional-rights suits.
I had just flown back to the US, and was in a DC conference room sitting across from Myers, who was looking furious. Good. Beat me half to death, will you? I’ll beat you to death with lawyers. Everybody knows that’s worse. Even though Campbell had been the senior agent calling the shots, and the only reason Myers had been there at all was because he was Franks’ current gopher, secretary, and caddy, they had left the junior agent to answer for the MCB during our negotiation.
“The exact number from our calculations is one hundred million, one hundred fifty-six thousand, four hundred twenty-eight dollars,” Koltts said. It was me and my attorney on one side of the table, Myers and his on the other. “That would cover his loss of income from Monster Hunting as well as pain and emotional suffering penalties, and deprivation of rights penalties based upon projected income, as well as his extensive medical bills from the torture.”
“Which is, clearly, out of the question,” Welch said. “Just off the top, the wage calculation is based upon an eighty-five-year life span and retirement at sixty-five. Actuarially, Mr. Gardenier’s maximum life span is closer to forty-five
. The pain and emotional suffering penalties are based upon avoiding Monster Hunting which is in and of itself filled with pain and emotional suffering.”
Got me there, I thought.
“The pain and emotional suffering in this case is based upon deliberate torture by members of federal law enforcement in violation of his Fifth Amendment rights,” Koltts said evenly, “as duly attested and sworn by Agent Franks—no first name, no middle initial—but who did give a very accurate, indeed blow-by-blow, testimony as to the nature of his actions at the behest of Special Agent Campbell who was in turn directed to do so by the director of the Monster Control Bureau, Director Harold Wagner. The fact that no one even tried to lie about any of the things that were done sort of says it all, don’t you think?”
“I object to the repeated use of the term ‘torture,’” Welch replied. “Hostile interrogation is the correct term.”
“Torture: The action or practice of inflicting severe pain on someone as a punishment or to force them to do or say something,” Koltts recited the dictionary definition. “In the case of my client, it is reasonable to describe the actions of your agents as both.”
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Myers was supposed to sit there quietly, but he was getting really angry. “We’re trying to save lives! We protect the whole God-damned world!”
“What is there to protect, Agent, if this is what you consider perfectly acceptable?”
“You think this is bad?” Myers snarled. “Do you have any clue what would happen with a breakthrough of the Great Old Ones? Or the Fey get back in control?”
“I’ve heard those arguments repeatedly, Agent. Would you like to explain the part where protecting the world from those issues required my client be taken to a dim basement and beaten to the point he required extensive surgery? Please, Agent. Inform all of us what exactly you were going to find out from my client that would prevent a breakthrough of the Great Old Ones! Prevent the Final Battle! That would permit you to absolutely ensure that the Fey, who lost power to humans in prehistory, will not resume hunting us as animals! Please, Agent, present your logic! I would personally love to hear it!”
I held up a hand. “Dwayne. Franks said it. You heard it. I told you I had no involvement in the Dark Masters’ operation. If I had, I would have told you because, well, I was really tired of being beaten. You weren’t listening. On a not exactly digressing note, if you’re torturing someone for information, not listening is probably the stupidest thing you could possibly do! Campbell got frustrated at being in charge of out-of-control New Orleans and losing a friend and took it out on me. That’s all that happened, Dwayne. You all, serially, got frustrated and angry at stuff I had nothing to do with and found someone to hurt. And you can blame me. You can blame God. You can blame your boss.
“But mostly, Dwayne, you can blame yourself. You can blame normal human emotions and too much power and too much frustration. The reason I didn’t include Franks in this was that he only does what he’s told. He doesn’t let his emotions cloud his judgment as you do. You beat me to close to death because you were frustrated and you felt like you could. And you know it. And you sort of hate yourself for it. And you might even have already learned your lesson.
“But the MCB hasn’t learned the lesson,” I finished, looking at the DOJ attorney. “Are you familiar with the Stanford Studies, Mr. Welch?”
“Yes. I am. I’m surprised you are.” The attorney didn’t look happy.
“Are MCB agents taught about the Stanford Studies, Agent Myers?” I asked.
“The exact nature of our training is—”
“No,” Welch said. “I checked. They are not.”
“I was about to say classified,” Myers snapped.
“This suit isn’t just about you, Dwayne. Quit taking everything personal. It’s about the MCB and how it works and why it really needs serious oversight and better training in due process.”
“What are the Stanford Studies?” Koltts asked.
“Well, there are a bunch—it’s Stanford after all—but in this case, the ones that are important are the studies of human power dynamics. Attorney Welch?”
“Are you planning on including these in the suit?” Welch asked.
“Do I say yes, no?” I asked Koltts.
“Are they germane?”
“Extremely.”
“Then definitely,” Koltts said. “Why?”
“A psychologist at Stanford randomly selected groups of sixty students. Twenty were made guards, randomly, and forty were made prisoners. The guards were then given more or less unrestrained power over the prisoners. The premise was that the more intelligent and thoughtful a group, the more they would tend to use reason and persuasion versus force as a power dynamic. The primary study was about rehabilitation versus incarceration. Now, keep in mind, we’re talking Stanford students. Highly intelligent. Very liberal. Very open-minded. What would you guess the results were?”
“They used reason and persuasion?” Koltts said.
“Attorney Welch? Would you care to tell my counsel, not to mention Agent Myers, the results?”
“They went flat nuts,” Welch said.
“Nice way to sugarcoat it.”
“I’ve dealt with numerous excessive-force complaints in my time at DOJ. That’s my specialty. Both defending excessive-force suits and investigating them. So, I am extremely familiar with the Stanford Studies. To expand on they went flat nuts: given unrestrained power over the prisoner group, the guards turned into animals in short order. They became extremely and excessively sadistic within days or weeks. They beat and tortured the prisoners. Played games with them. Did everything within their power to make their lives a living hell.”
“We don’t do that!” Myers snapped.
“Care to look at my hospital report?”
“We do what we have to do!”
I stopped and growled and shook my head. I’d tried so hard to control my temper but it was getting out of hand. “Because you’re all pissed off at Earl, you beat me, you pissant son of a bitch!” I shouted.
“You cannot speak to me that way,” Myers ground out.
“Or what? You’ll beat me to death? I’m back in shape, there’s no Franks to protect you and I’m no longer in handcuffs. Bring it.”
“And I think we need to all calm down,” Attorney Welch said calmly. “Agent Myers, you especially need to understand that these proceedings are not an absolute power dynamic. Nor, Mr. Gardenier, are they on your side. These are negotiations.”
I was suddenly very tired. “Then let’s negotiate.”
None of this changed a thing. MCB continued to use the First Reason to promote power-mad ogres like Myers to higher and higher positions. I could see the day when they’d convince the committee that Hunting should only be done by proper officials. And then there’d really be no one to watch the watchmen. And not long after that, folks, MCB would start to forget their First Reason and it would become more and more about the power alone.
I’ve seen it in the current administration. They like the power of the MCB. It’s nicely unconstrained from the Constitution they abhor. They can use the threat of Outworld Entities for any sort of evil. And I’ve yet to see—several times promoted since my beatdown—nowadays Supervisory Special Agent Dwayne Myers realize how dangerous that is.
Which is why, yeah, I’m deeply involved in politics and will stay that way to the day I die.
“Here’s my negotiation. All my legal bills, plus all my medical bills, plus lots of dollars in cash, definitely two commas but doesn’t have to be a hundred million. But the rest of that one hundred million: suspended judgment, any further similar incident and it kicks in automatically. Any investigation that does not have strong probable cause and it kicks in automatically. Any arrest for any reason that does not have strong probable cause and it kicks in automatically. You’d better be able to prove in a court of law that I’m guilty of something before you so much as open my mail—and, yes, I’ve notice
d you’ve been opening all my mail—or it kicks in automatically.”
“That’s never going to fly,” Dwayne sneered.
“Any federal agency which is influenced by MCB to deny me normal and proper procedures and it kicks in automatically. That means, by the way, I want all my licenses back, like, immediately or quicker. And you had better drop any investigation into my doings unless you’ve got something better than a bad spell casting. Absent something along those lines with a really light trigger and a strong kick, extremely broad and very serious penalties, hurts so bad it’s noticed at the highest levels, see you in court.”
Myers just threw his hands up in the air in frustration.
“Mr. Welch, you want to explain to the agent why you don’t want to go to court? Especially when my attorney puts Franks up on the witness stand and he’s sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth? We all know he won’t do anything else once he opens that clam called a mouth. Now, I’m tired and pissed at the fucking country I’ve nearly given my life for several times. So let’s get this over with.”
To make a long story short: they settled.
I got four million dollars and change. My attorneys got about six.
When the brief on the settlement was presented to His Honor that the US Government would be on the hook for seventy million dollars if the MCB didn’t get off my ass and stay off it, he looked at the US Attorney, scratched out the “70” and scribbled in “100.” Then signed it with a flourish.
I never mentioned it, but I’d met the federal judge overseeing the case before. At a dinner party. During Mardi Gras. Last year. When I came flying through the party chasing a vampire right before I had to battle killer mantis shrimp.
I think he probably should have recused himself but it wasn’t like we were even properly introduced.
And I was back in the Monster Hunting business.
BOOK TWO
City of the Dead
CHAPTER 14