John Grisham - The Rainmaker

“Okay, but why? They can’t arrest us.”

“I’m not worried about being arrested. I’m worried about my job.”

“I don’t understand. If Bruiser is indicted and arrested, he’ll be out on bond before they turn around. The office will stay in business.”

This irritates him. “Listen, what if they come in with subpoenas and hacksaws. They can do that, you know. It’s happened before in racketeering cases. The feds love to attack law offices, seizing files and carrying away computers. They don’t care about me and you.”

Honestly, I’ve never thought about this. I guess I looked surprised. “Of course they can put him outta business,” he continues, very intense. “And they’d love to do 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 away with the entire fee, which would cover our overhead for a year. Let’s get our own show, and keep all the money.”

There’s an ethical prohibition against lawyers establishing partnerships with non-lawyers. I start to mention this, but realize the futility of it. Deck will think of a dozen ways around it.

“The rent sounds low,” I say, just to be saying something, 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 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.”

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.

“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.

I’ve also decided that I’ll try to rein him in, to shame him from racing to every disaster. By working hard and servicing our clients, we can make a nice living and hopefully grow. I’ll encourage Deck to study for the bar, get his license and approach the profession with more respect.

This, of course, will have to be done gradually.

And I’m not naive. Expecting Deck to stay away from hospitals will be as easy as expecting a drunk to steer clear of bars. But at least I’ll try.

“Did you remove your files?” he whispers, looking at the door where two truck drivers have just entered.

“Yes. And you?”

“I’ve been sneaking stuff out for a week.”

I’d rather not hear any more about this. I change the conversation to the Black hearing, and Deck moves it back to our new venture. At eight, we walk down to our offices, Deck eyeing every car in the parking lot as if they’re all loaded with G-men.