r. O'Reilly was back for the last time, serving his final meal and saying good-bye to people he now considered friends. He and three employees fed and served them as if they were royalty.

Dinner was over at six-thirty, and the jury was ready to go home. They agreed to vote first on the issue of liability. Nicholas couched the question in layman's terms: “Are you willing to hold Pynex liable for the death of Jacob Wood?”

Rikki Coleman, Millie Dupree, Loreen Duke, and Angel Weese said yes, unequivocally. Lonnie, Phillip Savelle, and Mrs. Gladys Card said no, without question. The rest fell somewhere in between. Poodle was uncertain, but leaning toward no. Jerry was suddenly vacillating, but probably leaning toward no. Shine Royce, the newest member of the panel, i hadn't said three words all day and was simply drifting in the breeze. He'd jump on the nearest bandwagon, as soon as he could identify one. Henry Vu declared himself to be undecided, but he was really

waiting for Nicholas, who was waiting until everybody had finished. He was disappointed that the jury was so divided.

“I think it's time for you to declare,” Lonnie said to Nicholas, itching for a fight.

“Yeah, let's hear it,” Rikki said, also ready to argue. All eyes were glued to the foreman.

“Okay,” he said, and the room went perfectly still. After years of planning, it all came down to this. He chose his words carefully, but in his mind he'd made the speech a thousand times. “I'm convinced cigarettes are dangerous and deadly; they kill four hundred thousand people a year; they're loaded with nicotine by their makers, who've known for a long time that the stuff is addictive; they could be a lot safer if the companies wanted, but the nicotine would be reduced and thus sales would suffer. I think cigarettes killed Jacob Wood, and none of you will argue this. I'm convinced the tobacco companies lie and cheat and cover up, and do everything in their power to get kids to smoke. They're a ruthless bunch of sonofabitches, and I say we stick it to them.”

“I agree,” said Henry Vu.

Rikki and Millie felt like clapping.

“You want punitives?” Jerry asked, in disbelief.

“The verdict means nothing if it's not significant, Jerry. It has to be huge. A verdict for actual damages only means we don't have the guts to punish the tobacco industry for its corporate sins.”

“We have to make it hurt,” Shine Royce said, but only because he wanted to sound intelligent. He'd found his bandwagon.

Lonnie looked at Shine and Vu in disbelief. He counted quickly-seven votes for the plaintiff. "You

can't talk money, because you don't have your votes yet."

“They're not my votes,” Nicholas said.

“The hell they're not,” he said bitterly. “This is your verdict.”

They went around the table again-seven for the plaintiff, three for the defense, Jerry and Poodle straddling the fence but looking for a place to land. Then Mrs. Gladys Card upset the tally by saying, “I don't like voting for the tobacco company, but, at the same time, I just can't understand giving Celeste Wood all this money.”

“How much money would you give her?” Nicholas asked.

She was flustered and confused. “I just don't know. I'll vote to give something, but, well, I just don't know.”

“How much do you have in mind?” Rikki asked the foreman, and the room was still again. Very still and quiet.

“A billion,” Nicholas said with a completely straight face. It landed like a percussion bomb on the center of the table. Mouths fell open and eyes bulged.

Before anyone could speak, Nicholas explained himself. “If we're serious about sending a message to the tobacco industry, then we have to shock them. Our verdict should be a landmark. It should be famous and known from this day forward as the moment the American public, acting through its jury system, finally stood up to the tobacco industry and said, 'Enough is enough.'”

“You're outta your mind,” Lonnie said, and at the moment, most felt the same way.

“So you want to be famous,” Jerry said, heavy on the sarcasm.

“Not me, but the verdict. Nobody will remember our names next week, but everyone will remember our verdict. If we're gonna do it, then let's do it right.”

“I like it,” Shine Royce chimed in. The thought of dispensing so much money made him giddy. Shine was the only juror ready to spend another night at the motel so he could eat free and collect another fifteen dollars tomorrow.

“Tell us what will happen,” Millie said, still stunned.

“It'll be appealed, and some day, probably two years from now, a bunch of old goats in black robes will reduce it. They'll lower it to something more reasonable. They'll say it was a runaway verdict from a runaway jury, and they'll fix it. The system works most of the time.”

“Then why should we do it?” Loreen asked.

“For change. We'll start the long process of making the tobacco companies accountable for killing so many people. Keep in mind, they've never lost a trial such as this. They think they're invincible. We prove otherwise, and we do it in such a way that other plaintiffs are not afraid to take on the indus-try.”

“So you want to bankrupt them,” Lonnie said.

“Wouldn't bother me. Pynex is worth one-point-two billion, and virtually all its profits have come at the expense of people who use their products but would love to quit. Yeah, come to think of it, the world would be a better place without Pynex. Who'd cry if it folded?”

“Maybe its employees,” Lonnie said.

“Good point. But I have more sympathy for the thousands of people hooked on their products.”

“How much will the appeals court give Celeste Wood?” Mrs. Gladys Card asked. She was troubled by the idea that one of her neighbors, albeit a person she didn't know, was going to get rich. Sure, she'd lost her husband, but Mr. Card had survived prostate cancer with no thought of suing anybody.

“I have no idea,” Nicholas said. “And that's not something we should worry about. That's another day in another courtroom, and there are guidelines to be followed when reducing large verdicts.”

“A billion dollars,” Loreen repeated to herself, but audibly enough to be heard. It was as easy to say as “A million dollars.” Most of the jurors stared at the table and repeated the word “billion.”

Not for the first time, Nicholas thanked himself for Herrera's absence. At a moment like this, with a billion dollars on the table, Herrera would be raising hell and probably throwing things. But the room was quiet. Lonnie was the only advocate left for the defense, and he was busy counting and recounting votes.

Herman's absence was also important, probably more so than the Colonel's because people would listen to Herman. He was thoughtful and calculating, not prone to emotion and certainly not susceptible to an outrageous verdict.

But they were gone.

Nicholas had steered the talk away from liability and onto the issue of damages, a crucial shift that no one recognized but himself. The billion dollars had stunned them and forced them to think about money, not fault.

He was determined to keep their thoughts on

money. “It's just an idea,” he said. “It's important to get their attention.”

Nicholas quickly winked at Jerry, who entered perfectly on cue. “I can't go that high,” he said in his best car salesman routine, which was pretty effective. “It's, well, it's outrageous. I can see some damages, but, damn, this is just plain crazy.”

“It's not outrageous,” Nicholas argued. “The company has eight hundred million in cash. The place is like a mint. All tobacco companies print their own money.”

Jerry made eight, and Lonnie withdrew to a corner, where he began clipping his fingernails.

And Poodle made nine. “It is outrageous, and I can't do that,” she said. “Something lower maybe, but not a billion dollars.”

“So how much?” Rikki asked.

Only five hundred million. Only one hundred million. They could not force themselves to utter these ridiculous sums of money.

“I don't know,” Sylvia said. “What do you think?”

“I like the idea of putting these guys on the ropes,” Rikki said. “If we're going to send a message, then let's not be shy about it.”

“A billion?” Sylvia asked.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Me too,” Shine said, feeling wealthy just by being there.

There was a long pause; the only sound came from Lonnie snipping his fingernails.

Finally, Nicholas said, “Who cannot vote to return any damages whatsoever?”

Savelle raised his hand. Lonnie ignored the question, but then he didn't need to respond.

“The vote stands at ten to two,” Nicholas reported,

and wrote this down. “This jury has hereby reached its decision on liability. Now, let's settle the issue of damages. Can the ten of us agree that the Wood estate is entitled to the two million in actual damages?”

Savelle kicked his chair back and left the room. Lonnie poured a cup of coffee and sat by the window, his back to the group, but listening to every word.

The two million sounded like pocket change in light of the previous discussion, and it was approved by the ten. Nicholas wrote this on a form approved by Judge Harkin.

“Can the ten of us agree that punitive damages should be imposed, in some amount?” He slowly went around the table and got a “Yes” from each. Mrs. Gladys Card hesitated. She could change her mind, but it would have no impact. Only nine votes were needed for a verdict.

“All right. Now, as to the amount of punitive damages. Any ideas?”

“I have one,” Jerry said. “Get everybody to write their amount on a piece of paper, fold it, keep it secret, then add them up and divide by ten. That way we'll see what the average is.”

“Will it be binding?” Nicholas asked.

“No. But it'll give us an idea of where we are.”

The idea of a secret ballot was very appealing, and they quickly scribbled their numbers on scraps of paper.

Nicholas slowly unfolded each ballot and called the amounts to Millie, who wrote them down. One billion, one million, fifty million, ten million, one billion, one million, five million, five hundred million, one billion, and two million.

Millie did the math. “The total is three billion, five hundred sixty-nine million. Divide by ten, and the average is three hundred fifty-six million, nine hundred thousand.”

It took a moment for the zeros to settle in. Lonnie jumped to his feet and walked by the table. “You people are crazy,” he said just loud enough to be heard, then left the room, slamming the door.

“I can't do this,” Mrs. Gladys Card said, visibly shaken. “I'm living on a pension, okay. It's a good pension, but I cannot fathom these numbers.”

“The numbers are real,” Nicholas said. “The company has eight hundred million in cash, equity of over a billion. Last year our country spent six billion on medical costs directly related to smoking, and the number goes up each year. The four largest tobacco companies had combined sales last year of almost sixteen billion. And their numbers are going up. You gotta think big, okay. These guys'll laugh at a five-million-dollar verdict. They won't change a thing, business as usual. Same ads directed at kids. Same lies to Congress. Same everything, unless we wake them up.”

Rikki leaned forward on her elbows, and stared across the table at Mrs. Card. “If you can't do it, then leave with the rest of them.”

“Don't taunt me.”

“I'm not taunting. This take guts, okay. Nicholas is right. If we don't slap them in the face and bring them to their knees, nothing will change. These are ruthless people.”

Mrs. Gladys Card was nervous and shaking and ready for a breakdown. “I'm sorry. I want to help, but I just can't do this.”

“It's okay, Mrs. Card,” Nicholas said, trying to

soothe. The poor lady was distraught and needed a friend. Sure, things were fine as long as there were nine other votes. He could afford to be comforting; he just couldn't afford to lose another vote.

There was a silence as they waited to see if she would regroup or come unglued. She took a deep breath, jutted her chin forward, and found inner strength.

“Can I ask a question?” Angel said in the direction of Nicholas, as if he were now the sole source of wisdom.

“Sure,” he said, shrugging.

“What will happen to the tobacco industry if we bring back a big verdict, the kind we're talking about?”

“Legally, economically, or politically?”

“All.”

He thought for a second or two, but was anxious to respond. “A lot of panic, initially. Lots of shock waves. Lots of scared executives worrying about what's next. They'll hunker down and wait to see if the trial lawyers flood them with litigation. They'll be forced to reexamine their advertising strategies. They won't go bankrupt, at least not in the near future, because they have so much money. They'll run to Congress and demand special laws, and I suspect Washington will treat them with less and less favor. In short, Angel, the industry will never be the same if we do what we should do.”

“Hopefully, one day cigarettes will be outlawed,” Rikki added.

“That, or the companies will not be financially able to manufacture them,” said Nicholas.

“What will happen to us?” Angel asked. "I mean,

will we be in any danger? You said these people have been watching us since before the trial started."

“Naw, we'll be safe,” Nicholas said. “They can't do anything to us. Like I said earlier, next week they won't remember our names. But everyone will remember our verdict.”

Phillip Savelle returned and took his seat. “So what have you Robin Hoods decided now?” he asked.

Nicholas ignored him. “We need to decide on an amount, folks, if we want to go home.”

“I thought we'd made that decision,” said Rikki.

“Do we have at least nine votes?” Nicholas asked.

“For how much, may I ask?” Savelle inquired in a mocking tone.

“Three hundred and fifty million, give or take a few,” Rikki answered.

“Ah, the old distribution of wealth theory. Funny, you folks don't look like a bunch of Marxists.”

“I have an idea,” Jerry said. “Let's round it off to four hundred, half their cash. That shouldn't bankrupt them. They can tighten their belts, load up some more nicotine, hook some more kids, and, presto, they'll have the money back in a couple of years.”

“Is this an auction?” Savelle asked, and no one answered.

“Let's do it,” Rikki said.

“Count the votes,” Nicholas said, and nine hands went up. He then polled them by asking each of the other eight if they were voting to return a verdict of two million dollars in actual damages and four hundred million in punitive. Each of them said yes. He filled in the verdict form, and made each of them sign it.

Lonnie returned after a long absence.

Nicholas addressed him. “We've reached a verdict, Lonnie.”

“What a surprise. How much?”

“Four hundred and two million dollars,” Savelle said. “Give or take a few million.”

Lonnie looked at Savelle, then looked at Nicholas. “You're kidding?” lie said, barely audible.

“Nope,” Nicholas said. “It's true, and we have nine votes. Care to join?”

“Hell no.”

“Pretty incredible, ain't it?” Savelle said. “And just think, well all be famous.”

“This is unheard of,” Lonnie said, leaning against the wall.

“Not really,” Nicholas replied. “Texaco got hit with a ten-billion-dollar verdict a few years back.”

“Oh, so this is a bargain?” Lonnie said.

“No,” Nicholas said, standing. “This is justice.” He walked to the door, opened it, and asked Lou Dell to inform Judge Harkin that his jury was ready.

While they waited for a minute, Lonnie cornered Nicholas, and in a whisper asked, “Is there any way I can keep my name out of this?” He was more nervous than angry.

“Sure. Don't worry. The Judge will poll us, ask us one at a time if this is our verdict. When he asks you, make sure everyone knows you had nothing to do with it.”

“Thanks.”