John Grisham - Chamber

"I heard Eddie went to California, and that there was another child. Someone told me later her name was Carmen. I would hear bits and pieces over the years, knew y'all were somewhere in Southern California, but he did a good job of disappearing."

"We moved around a lot when I was a kid. I think he had trouble keeping a job."

"You didn't know about me?"

"No. The family was never mentioned. I found out about it after his funeral."

"Who told you?"

"Lee."

Sam closed his eyes tightly for a moment, then puffed again. "How is she?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Why'd you go to work for Kravitz & Bane?" "It's a good firm."

"Did you know they represented me?"

"Yes."

"So you've been planning this?"

"For about five years."

"But why?"

"I don't know."

"You must have a reason."

"The reason is obvious. You're my grandfather, okay. Like it or not, you're who you are and I'm who I am. And I'm here now, so what are we going to do about it?"

"I think you should leave."

"I'm not leaving, Sam. I've been preparing for this a long time."

"Preparing for what?"

"You need legal representation. You need help. That's why I'm here."

"I'm beyond help. They're determined to gas me, okay, for lots of reasons. You don't need to get involved in it."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one, it's hopeless. You're gonna get hurt if you bust your ass and you're unsuccessful. Second, your true identity will be revealed. It'll be very embarrassing. Life for you will be much better if you remain Adam Hall."

"I am Adam Hall, and I don't plan to change it. I'm also your grandson, and we can't change that, can we? So what's the big deal?"

"It'll be embarrassing for your family. Eddie did a great job of protecting you. Don't blow it.

"My cover's already blown. My firm knows it. I told Lucas Mann, and - "

"That jerk'll tell everybody. Don't trust him for a minute."

"Look, Sam, you don't understand. I don't care if he tells. I don't care if the world knows that I'm your grandson. I'm tired of these dirty little family secrets. I'm a big boy now, I can think for myself. Plus, I'm a lawyer, and my skin is getting thick. I can handle it."

Sam relaxed a bit in his chair and looked at the floor with a pleasant little smirk, the kind grown men often give to little boys who are acting bigger than their years. He grunted at something and very slowly nodded his head. "You just don't understand, kid," he said again, now in the measured, patient tone.

"So explain it to me," Adam said.

"It would take forever."

"We have four weeks. You can do a lot of talking in four weeks."

"Just exactly what is it that you want to hear?"

Adam leaned even closer on his elbows, pen and pad ready. His eyes were inches from the slit in the screen. "First, I want to talk about the case - appeals, strategies, the trials, the bombing, who was with you that night - "

"No one was with me that night."

"We can talk about it later."

"We're talking about it now. I was alone, do you hear me?"

"Okay. Second, I want to know about my family."

"Why?"

"Why not? Why keep it buried? I want to know about your father and his father, and your brothers and cousins. I may dislike these people when it's all over, but I have the right to know about them. I've been deprived of this information all of my life, and I want to know."

"It's nothing remarkable."

"Oh really. Well, Sam, I think it's pretty remarkable that you've made it here to death row. This is a pretty exclusive society. Throw in the fact that you're white, middle class, almost seventy years old, and it becomes even more remarkable. I want to know how and why you got here. What made you do those things? How many Klansmen were in my family? And why? How many other people were killed along the way?"

"And you think I'll just spill my guts with all this?"

"Yeah, I think so. You'll come around. I'm your grandson, Sam, the only living, breathing relative who gives a damn about you anymore. You'll talk, Sam. You'll talk to me."

"Well, since I'll be so talkative what else will we discuss?"

"Eddie."

Sam took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "You don't want much, do you?" he said softly. Adam scribbled something meaningless on his pad.

It was now time for the ritual of another cigarette, and Sam performed it with even more patience and care. Another blast of blue smoke joined the fog well above their heads. His hands were steady again. "When we get finished with Eddie, who do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know. That should keep us busy for four weeks."

"When do we talk about you?"

"Anytime." Adam reached into his briefcase and removed a thin file. He slid a sheet of paper and a pen through the opening. "This is an agreement for legal representation. Sign at the bottom."

Without touching it, Sam read it from a distance. "So I sign up again with Kravitz & Bane."

"Sort of."

"What do you mean, sort of? Says right here I agree to let those Jews represent me again. It took me forever to fire them, and, hell, I wasn't even paying them."

"The agreement is with me, Sam, okay. You'll never see those guys unless you want to."

"I don't want to."

"Fine. I happen to work for the firm, and so the agreement must be with the firm. It's easy."

"Ah, the optimism of youth. Everything's easy. Here I sit less than a hundred feet from the gas chamber, clock ticking away on the wall over there, getting louder and louder, and everything's easy."

"Just sign the damned paper, Sam."

"And then what?"

"And then we go to work. Legally, I can't do anything for you until we have that agreement. You sign it, we go to work."

"And what's the first bit of work you'd like to do?"

"Walk through the Kramer bombing, very slowly, step by step."

"It's been done a thousand times."

"We'll do it again. I have a thick notebook full of questions."

"They've all been asked."

"Yeah, Sam, but they haven't been answered, have they?"

Sam stuck the filter between his lips.

"And they haven't been asked by me, have they?"

"You think I'm lying."

"Are you?"

"No."

"But you haven't told the whole story, have you?"

"What difference does it make, counselor? You've read Bateman."

"Yeah, I've memorized Bateman, and there are a number of soft spots in it."

"Typical lawyer."

"If there's new evidence, then there are ways to present it. All we're doing, Sam, is trying to create enough confusion to make some judge somewhere give it a second thought. Then a third thought. Then he grants a stay so he can learn more."

"I know how the game is played, son."

"Adam, okay, it's Adam."

"Yeah, and just call me Gramps. I suppose you plan to appeal to the governor."

"Yes."

Sam inched forward in his chair and moved close to the screen. With the index finger of his right hand, he began pointing at a spot somewhere in the center of Adam's nose. His face was suddenly harsh, his eyes narrow. "You listen to me, Adam," he growled, finger pointing back and forth. "If I sign this piece of paper, you are never to talk to that bastard. Never. Do you understand?"

Adam watched the finger but said nothing.

Sam decided to continue. "He is a bogus son of a bitch. He is vile, sleazy, thoroughly corrupt, and completely able to mask it all with a pretty smile and a clean haircut. He is the only reason I'm sitting here on death row. If you contact him in any way, then you're finished as my lawyer."

"So I'm your lawyer."

The finger dropped and Sam relaxed a bit. "Oh, I may give you a shot, let you practice on me. You know, Adam, the legal profession is really screwed up. If I was a free man, just trying to make a living, minding my own business, paying my taxes, obeying the laws and such, then I couldn't find a lawyer who'd take the time to spit on me unless I had money. But here I am, a convicted killer, condemned to die, not a penny to my name, and I've got lawyers all over the country begging to represent me. Big, rich lawyers with long names preceded with initials and followed by numerals, famous lawyers with their own jets and television shows. Can you explain this?"