John Grisham - A time to kill

"Sounds like fun. I'll be here. What's your model juror?"

"I'm not sure. I think the vigilante would appeal to rednecks. Guns, violence, protection of women. The rednecks would eat it up. But my man is black, and a bunch of rednecks would fry him. He killed two of their own."

"I agree. I'd stay away from women. They would have no sympathy for the rapists, but they place a higher value on life. Taking an M-16 and blowing their heads off is something women just don't understand. You and I understand it because we're fathers. It appeals to us. The violence and blood doesn't bother us. We admire him. You've got to pick

oumc aumirers on tnat jury. Young fathers with some education."

"That's interesting. Lucien said he would stick with women because they're more sympathetic."

"I don't think so. I know some women who'd cut your throat if you crossed them."

"Some of your clients?"

"Yeah, and one is on that list. Frances Burdeen. Pick her, and I'll tell her how to vote."

"You serious?"

"Yep. She'll do anything I tell her."

"Can you be in court Monday? I want you to watch the jury during the selection process, then help me decide on the twelve."

"I wouldn't miss it."

Jake heard voices downstairs and pressed his finger to his lips. He listened, then smiled and motioned for Harry Rex to follow him. They tiptoed to the top of the stairs and listened to the commotion around Ethel's desk.

"You most certainly do not work here," Ethel insisted.

"I most certainly do. I was hired Saturday by Jake Bri-gance, who I believe is your boss."

"Hired for what?" Ethel demanded.

"As a law clerk."

"Well, he didn't discuss it with me."

"He discussed it with me, and gave me the job."

"How much is he paying you?"

"A hundred bucks an hour."

"Oh my God! I'll have to speak with him first."

"I've already spoken with him, Ethel."

"It's Mrs. Twitty to you." Ethel studied her carefully from head to toe. Acid-washed jeans, penny loafers, no socks, an oversized white cotton button-down with, evidently, nothing on underneath. "You're not dressed appropriately for this office. You're, you're indecent."

Harry Rex raised his eyebrows and smiled at Jake. They watched the stairs and listened.

"My boss, who happens to be your boss, said I could dress like this."

"But you forgot something, didn't you?"

"Jake said I could forget it. He told me you hadn't worn

a bra in twenty years. He said most of the women in Clanton go braless, so I left mine at home."

"He what?" Ethel screamed with arms crossed over her chest.

"Is he upstairs?" Ellen asked coolly.

"Yes, I'll call him."

"Don't bother."

Jake and Harry Rex retreated into the big office and waited for the law clerk. She entered carrying a large briefcase.

"Good morning, Row Ark," Jake said. "I want you to meet a good friend, Harry Rex Vonner."

Harry Rex shook her hand and stared at her shirt. "Nice to meet you. What was your first name?"

"Ellen."

"Just call her Row Ark," Jake said. "She'll clerk here until Hailey's over."

"That's nice," said Harry Rex, still staring.

"Harry Rex is a local lawyer, Row Ark, and one of the many you cannot trust."

"What'd you hire a female law clerk for, Jake?" he asked bluntly.

"Row Ark's a genius in criminal law, like most third-year law students. And she works very cheap."

"You have something against females, sir?" Ellen asked.

"No ma'am. I love females. I've married four of them."

"Harry Rex is the meanest divorce lawyer in Ford County," Jake explained. "In fact, he's the meanest lawyer, period. Come to think of it, he's the meanest man I know."

"Thanks," said Harry Rex. He had stopped staring at her.

She looked at his huge, dirty, scuffed, worn wirigtips, his ribbed nylon socks that had drooped into thick wads around his ankles, his soiled and battered khaki pants, his frayed navy blazer, his brilliant pink wool tie that fell eight inches above his belt, and she said, "I think he's cute."

"I might make you wife number five," Harry Rex said.

"The attraction is purely physical," she said.

"Watch it," Jake said. "There's been no sex in this office since Lucien left."

said Harry Rex.

"Who's Lucien?"

Jake and Harry Rex looked at each other. "You'll meet him soon enough," Jake explained.

"Your secretary is very sweet," Ellen said.

"I knew y'all would hit it off. She's really a doll once you get to know her."

"How long does that take?"

"I've known her for twenty years," said Harry Rex, "and I'm still waiting."

"How's the research coming?" Jake asked.

"Slow. There are dozens of M'Naghten cases, and they are all very long. I'm about half through. I planned to work on it all day here; that is, if that pit bull downstairs doesn't attack me."

"I'll take care of her," Jake said.

Harry Rex headed for the door. "Nice meetin' you, Row Ark. I'll see you around."

"Thanks, Harry Rex," said Jake. "See you Wednesday night."

The dirt and gravel parking lot of Tank's Tonk was full when Jake finally found it after dark. There had been no reason to visit Tank's before, and he was not thrilled about seeing the place now. It was well hidden off a dirt road, six miles out of Clanton. He parked far away from the small cinderblock building and toyed with the idea of leaving the engine running in case Tank was not there and a quick escape became necessary. But he quickly dismissed the stupid idea because he liked his car, and theft was not only likely but highly probable. He locked it, then double-checked it, almost certain that all or part of it would be missing when he returned.

The juke box blasted from the open windows, and he thought he heard a bottle crash on the floor, or across a table or someone's head. He hesitated beside his car and decided to leave. No, it was important. He sucked in his stomach, held his breath, and opened the ragged wooden door.

Forty sets of black eyes immediately focused on this poor lost white boy with a coat and tie who was squinting

and trying to focus inside the vast blackness of their tonk. He stood there awkwardly, desperately searching for a friend. There were none. Michael Jackson conveniently finished his song on the juke box, and for an eternity the tonk was silent. Jake stayed close to the door. He nodded and smiled and tried to act like one of the gang. There were no other smiles.

Suddenly, there was movement at the bar and Jake's knees began vibrating. "Jake! Jake!" someone shouted. It was the sweetest two words he had ever heard. From behind the bar he saw his friend Tank removing his apron and heading for him. They shook hands warmly.

"What brings you here?"

"I need to talk to you for a minute. Can we step outside?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Just business."

Tank flipped on a light switch by the front door. "Say, everbody, this here is Carl Lee Hailey's lawyer, Jake Bri-gance. A good friend of mine. Let's hear it for him."

The small room exploded in applause and bravos. Several of the boys at the bar grabbed Jake and shook his hand. Tank reached in a drawer under the bar and pulled out a handful of Jake's cards, which he passed out like candy. Jake was breathing again and the color returned to his face.

Outside, they leaned on the hood of Tank's yellow Cadillac. Lionel Richie echoed through the windows and the crowd returned to normal. Jake handed Tank a copy of the list.

"Look at each name. See how many of these folks you know. Ask around and find out what you can."

Tank held the list near his eyes. The light from the Michelob sign in the window glowed over his shoulder. "How many are black?"

"You tell me. That's one reason I want you to look at it. Circle the black ones. If you're not sure, find out. If you know any of the white folks, make a note."