“You will want to hear more than that, Judge.”

“I don’t have time to hear more than that, Mr. Kimoe. So let’s get after it.”

“Your Honor,” said Karen. “Before we get to that, can we discuss our Rule 123 motion?”

Donny did not recall any such motion. He could not even remember what Rule 123 was.

“The one you filed at ten p.m. last night?” said the judge.

Donny pulled his laptop out.

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Karen. “For which we are sorry to have burdened the court, but it’s a procedural matter that only ripened over the weekend, and your consideration of which could save us all some time.”

The judge was looking at her benchtop screen.

Donny was trying to find a network connection with one hand while the other pulled his beat-up copy of the rules from his bag.

“Let’s discuss this after plaintiff’s counsel presents his witness,” said the judge. “Are we ready, Mr. Kimoe?”

Donny looked back up at the judge, and stood.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

As she called the witness to the stand, he looked back down at the page he had flipped to.

Rule 123.

Suggestion of Death.

He didn’t have time to read the rest of the rule, or to guess why Karen was invoking it. All he knew was the only viable strategy he had was to try to turn the shifty-looking middle manager standing there in the box into a ventriloquist’s dummy. One that made more than a suggestion of death.

The witness did not look hostile, though that was what Donny had been allowed to designate him. One of those all-American white guys who looks to have been raised in a cubicle on a diet of soda pop and paternal admonitions. Forty-three, according to the personnel file, but somehow resembling an oversized kid despite the suit—maybe because of the way the suit looked too big and too small at the same time, punctuated with a red tie that brought out the blood in his pink face.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bagley. I’m Donald Kimoe, the lawyer for Daryl Harrison, the lead plaintiff in this case. Thank you for coming today.”

“You made me,” said Bagley.

“We only sent the subpoena after your employer made us. But I’m sure you don’t share their desire to cover up the truth, and I appreciate you being here to testify. Could you please state your name for the record?”

“Richard Bagley.”

“Who is your current employer, Mr. Bagley?”

“PDL.”

“An acronym for Prairie Dog Logistics, am I right?”

“That used to be the name,” said Bagley.

“Maybe before the animal in question became extinct,” said Donny.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I hear you. It’s hard to keep up with the species count, even when they run it in the Sunday paper. PDL is a private transportation company, correct?”

“Transportation and logistics, yes.”