John Grisham

"The rent sounds low," I say, just to be saying some-tiling, and also to see how much research he’s done.

He squints and smiles, the beaver teeth glistening. "I’ve already found a spot. It’s in an old building on Madison above an antique store. Four rooms, a rest room, exactly halfway between the city jail and St. Peter’s."

The perfect location! Every lawyer’s dream spot. "That’s a rough part of town," I say.

"Why do you think the rent’s so cheap?"

"Is it in good shape?"

"It’s okay. We’ll have to paint it."

"I’m quite a painter."

Our salads arrive, and I cram romaine lettuce into my mouth. Deck shoves his around but eats little. His mind is racing too wildly to concentrate on food.

"I’ve gotta make a move, Rudy. I know things I can’t tell, okay. So trust me when I say Bruiser’s about to fall hard. His luck’s run out." He pauses and picks at a walnut. "If you don’t wanna go with me, then I’m talking to Nicklass this afternoon."

Nicklass is the only one left after Toxer and Ridge, and I know Deck doesn’t like him. I also strongly suspect Deck is telling the truth about Bruiser. A quick perusal of the newspaper twice a week, and you know the man’s in serious trouble. Deck has been his most loyal employee for the past few years, and the fact that he’s ready to run scares me.

We eat slowly in silence, both of us contemplating our

it. You and I get caught in the crossfire, and nobody, absolutely nobody, will give a damn."

"So what’re you saying?"

"Let’s bolt!"

I start to ask what he means, but it’s rather obvious. Deck is now my friend, but he wants much more. I’ve passed the bar exam, so I can provide an umbrella for him. Deck wants a partner! Before I can say anything, he’s on the attack. "How much money do you have?" he asks.

"Uh, fifty-five hundred dollars."

"Me too. That’s eleven thousand. If we put up two thousand each, that’s four. We can rent a small office for five hundred a month, phone and utilities will run another five hundred. We can pick up a few pieces of furniture, nothing fancy. We’ll operate on a shoestring for six months and see how it goes. I’ll hustle the cases, you make the court appearances, we split the profits evenly. Everything’s fifty-fifty-expenses, fees, profits, work, hours."

I’m on the ropes but thinking fast. "What about a secretary?"

"Don’t need one," he says quickly. Deck has spent time on this. "At least, not at first. We can both cover the phone and use an answering machine. I can type. You can type. It’ll work. After we make some money, then we’ll get us a girl."

"How much will the overhead run?"

"Less than two thousand. Rent, phone, utilities, supplies, copies, a hundred other smaller items. But we can cut corners and operate cheaply. We watch the overhead, and we take home more money. It’s very simple." He studies me as he sips iced tea, then he leans forward again. "Look, Rudy, the way I see it we just left twenty-two thousand dollars on the table. We should’ve walked

Chapter Twenty-Three

BRUISER’S CASUAL LITTLE ASIDE THAT HE might let me handle some of the argument in the Black hearing keeps me awake most of the night. I don’t know if it was simply the usual bluff of the wise mentor, but I worry about it more than I worry about going into business with Deck.

It’s dark when I arrive at Trudy’s. I’m her first customer. The coffee is brewing and the doughnuts are hot. We chat for a moment, but Trudy has things to do.

So do I. I ignore the newspapers and bury myself in my notes. From time to time I glance through the window into the empty parking lot and strain to see agents out there in unmarked vehicles, smoking filterless cigarettes, drinking stale coffee, just like in the movies. At times Deck is perfectly believable, and at times he’s as nutty as he looks.

He’s early too. He gets his coffee at a few minutes after seven, and eases into the chair across from me. The place is half-full now.

"Well?" he says, his first word.

next moves. Four months ago, the idea of practicing law with someone like Deck would have been unthinkable, even laughable, yet here I am unable to create enough excuses to keep him from becoming my partner.

"You don’t want me as your partner?" he says pitifully.

"I’m just thinking, Deck. Give me a minute. You’ve hit me over the head with this."

"I’m sorry. But we have to move fast."

"How much do you know?"

"Enough to convince me. Don’t ask any more questions."

"Give me a few hours. Let me sleep on it."

"Fair enough. We’re both going to court tomorrow, so let’s meet early. At Trudy’s. We can’t talk in our office. You sleep on it and tell me in the morning."

"It’s a deal."

"How many files do you have?"

I think for a second. I have a thick file on the Black case, a rather thin one on Miss Birdie and a useless workers’ compensation case Bruiser dumped on me last week. "Three."

"Get them out of your office. Take them home."

"Now?"

"Now. This afternoon. And anything else you might want from your office, better remove it quickly. But don’t get caught, okay?"

"Is someone watching us?"

He jerks and glances, then carefully nods his head at me, eyes rolling wildly behind the crooked glasses.

"Who?"

"Feds, I think. The office is under surveillance."

Deck reluctantly calls Bruiser’s condo, no answer. Dru said she expected him at eight. She tries his car phone, no answer. Maybe he’ll just meet us in court, she says.

Deck and I stuff the file in my briefcase and leave the office at a quarter to nine. He knows the quickest route, he says, so he drives while I sweat. My hands are clammy and my throat is dry. If Bruiser stiffs me on this hearing, I’ll never forgive him. In fact, I’ll hate him forever.

"Relax," Deck says, hunched over the wheel, zipping around cars and running red lights. Even Deck can look at me and see the fright. "I’m sure Bruiser’11 be there." He says this without the slightest trace of conviction. "And if he’s- not, then you’ll do fine. It’s just a motion. I mean, there’s no jury in the box, you know."

"Just shut up and drive, Deck, okay. And try not to get us killed."

"Touchy, touchy."

We’re downtown, in traffic, and I glance with horror at my watch. It’s nine, straight up. Deck forces two pedestrians off the street, then zips through a tiny parking lot. "You see that door over there," he says, pointing at the corner of the Shelby County Courthouse, a massive structure that covers an entire city block.

"Yeah."

"Take it, go up one flight, courtroom is the third door on your right."

"You think Bruiser’s there?" I ask, my voice quite frail.

"Sure," he says, lying. He slams on the brakes, hits the curb, and I jump out scrambling. "I’ll be there after I park," he yells. I bound up a flight of concrete steps, through the door, up another flight, then suddenly I’m in the halls of justice.

The Shelby County Courthouse is old, stately and wonderfully preserved. The floors and walls are marble, the double doors are polished mahogany. The hallway is wide,

"Let’s try it for a year," I say. I’ve decided that we’ll sign an agreement which will last for only one year, and it will also include a thirty-day walkout clause in the event either of us becomes dissatisfied.

His shining teeth quickly emerge and he can’t hide his excitement. He sticks his right hand across the table for me to shake. This is a huge moment for Deck. I wish I felt the same way.