FEBRUARY 4, 2024 – (Cont.) After my evening workout and supper, by which time I’d almost conveniently forgotten about John’s case . . . or was it Sue’s? . . . I realized I hadn’t even spoken with John about it yet . . . I pulled the skimpy contents out of the folder Sue had given me. The basic story was this:
After the woman had left the bar late one night, she discovered that the back of her car had been bashed in. She went back into the bar to tell the bouncer. The bouncer said, “I know exactly who did it.” He handed her a slip of paper from his pocket. “Here’s your guy. He told me he’d bumped into your car and gave me his name and phone number.” A day or two later after the woman had gotten a repair estimate, she called the number the bouncer had given her. John answered, heard her story, and told her she was out of her mind. He’d barely touched her car, he insisted. Maybe a small scratch—he couldn’t tell in the dark—but certainly not $7,000 worth of damage. He refused to pay her anything. She called the cops, who took her statement. She called the city prosecutor. The case went nowhere. She hired a legal aid lawyer, who interviewed the bouncer and got his affidavit.
The next morning I spoke with Sue and John and got John’s side of the story. “My buddies and I came out of the bar at around midnight,” he said. “We’d been listening to the music. We go there all the time for the music.
“How much had you had to drink?” I asked.
“Oh not much. We don’t go there to drink, really. We go mostly for the music. I probably had a couple of beers the whole time we were there.”
“How many is a ‘couple’?” I asked, remembering the time when my wife and I were driving home from Duluth and I asked her if I could have “a couple” of potato chips. When I grabbed a fistful, she said, “That’s way more than a couple. A couple is two. She never let me live it down.
“Oh, many three or four,” said John.
“From when to when?”
“The whole time we were there.”
“And how long was that?”
“Before 9:00 to around midnight. I remember, 9:00 because we’d had dinner at another place about 10 minutes away, and we’d left there by 8:00, I know. I remember checking the time when we left.”
“So when did you have the beers?”
“They were pretty spread out. First one maybe by 9:30. Last one I finished probably 20 minutes before we left.”
“So, tell me what happened.”
“Well, we went out to the parking lot and discovered that someone had parked temporarily, it looked like, right behind my car and at a right angle to it. Well not right behind my car—a little off to the side. I figured I could back up and around it if I was careful. Skip and Jeff said they’d stand outside to make sure I cleared it.”
“What kind of lighting was there in the parking lot?”
“That was the problem. There wasn’t a lot of light right in that section of the lot, which is why I needed Skip and Jeff to make sure I didn’t hit the car behind me. I moved out of the parking spot very slowly. I was doing fine, but just then Skip told me to stop. It was too late. I bumped the car—left rear fender driver’s side. I put my car in park and got out. All three of us looked at the other car and looked at my car to see if we could find any damage. Because it was dark we couldn’t see any damage to either car. The other car certainly didn’t look dented. It was just a light tap. I might’ve scratched it though. Just in case we’d missed any scratches or even a small dent, I went back inside the bar and gave my name and number to the bouncer.
“The woman who’s suing me—she’s lying. There’s no way I could’ve done the damage she says I did. I barely touched her car.”
I had no reason to doubt John. He just didn’t seem like the lying type, at least not in the case at hand or in any of my interactions with him over the years in the Flour Exchange Building. And if he’d had something to hide, why had he given his name and number to the bouncer?
After conferring a bit more with Sue and John and Sue getting settlement approval for $3,500, which for now, Al agreed to pay on John’s behalf, I phoned the opposing lawyer.
I explained that I was “working with Sue” and was calling to settle the “damn case” without further nonsense or brain damage. “What’s your client prepared to take, given that she doesn’t have much of a case?” I asked.
“What do you mean she doesn’t have a case? It’s your side that has no case. Your guy’s entire defense rests on a big lie.”
“How’s that?”
“Your guy is lying. It’s as simple as that.”
“Wait a sec. Our guy barely tapped your client’s car, but being the honest, forthright kind of person he is, he gave his name and number to the bouncer. Does that sound like the kind of thing a liar would do?”
“Clearly he changed his mind when he learned what the damage estimate was.”
“Or—it’s your client who’s telling the big lie so that she could cover damages she later sustained. Or maybe it’s she’d already wrecked her car and was looking for a way to be made whole.”
“You asked what it will take to settle,” said the lawyer. “Today it’s $7,000.”
“Really?” I said. “You’re not going to take this case to trial for $7,000.”
“We won’t if you agree to pay $7,000.”
I decided to cut to the chase. “Your client can accept a gift of $3,500 or risk getting zero. Her choice, but the offer’s open only until two this afternoon.”
“I don’t know if I can reach her by then. She works at a restaurant and lunchtime to about 2:00 is her busiest time.”
“Like I said—offer’s open till two,” I said. “I’ll give you my email address . . .” (Cont.)
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
