John Grisham - The Associate

“Are we at midfield?” Kyle asked, breaking the silence.

“Past midfield, around the forty and driving.”

“I’d like to see the indictment.”

“Sure.”

Kyle stood and looked down at the folding table. The detective began a series of movements that were immediately confusing. First, he pulled his wallet out of his rear left pocket, removed his driver’s license, and placed it on the table. He produced his Pittsburgh PD badge and laid it on the table. From a box on the floor he pulled other cards and other badges and began arranging them in line on the table. He reached for a file, handed it to Kyle, and said, “Happy reading.”

The file was labeled “INFORMATION.” Kyle opened it and removed a stack of papers stapled together. The top one looked official. A bold title read: “Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, Allegheny County, Court of Common Pleas.”

A smaller heading read: “Commonwealth versus Baxter F. Tate, Joseph N. Bernardo, Kyle L. McAvoy, and Alan B. Strock.” There was a docket number, file number, and other official markings.

Wright produced a pair of kitchen scissors and methodically cut his driver’s license into two perfect squares.

The first paragraph read: “This prosecution is in the name of and by the authority of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania against the above-named defendants—”

Wright was cutting some of the other plastic cards, all of which appeared to be either driver’s licenses or credit cards.

“Who, within the jurisdiction of this court—”

Wright ripped his bronze badge from its leather wallet and bounced it on the table. “What are you doing?” Kyle finally asked.

“Destroying the evidence.”

“What evidence?”

“Read page two.”

Kyle, who was at the bottom of page one, flipped to page two. It was blank, not a word, letter, period, anything. He flipped to page three, then four, then five. All blank. Wright was busy removing other badges. Kyle held the bogus indictment and gawked at the detective.

“Have a seat, Kyle,” Wright said with a smile as he waved at the empty folding chair.

In an effort to say something, Kyle managed only a dying whimper. Then he sat down.

“There is no indictment, Kyle,” Wright proceeded as if it all made sense now. “No grand jury, no cops, no arrest, no trial. Nothing but a video.”

“No cops?”

“Oh, no. This stuff is all fake.” He waved his hands over the pile of destroyed identification. “I’m not a cop. Those boys across the hall are not FBI agents.”

Kyle rolled his head back like a wounded boxer, then rubbed his eyes. The indictment fell to the floor. “Who are you?” he managed to grunt.

“That’s a very good question, Kyle, one that will take a long time to answer.”

In disbelief, Kyle picked up one of the badges — Ginyard’s, FBI. He rubbed it and said, “But I checked this guy out online. He really works for the FBI.”

“Yes, these are real names. We just borrowed them for the night.”

“So, you’re impersonating an officer?”

“Certainly, but it’s just a small offense. Not worth your trouble.”

“But why?”

“To get your attention, Kyle. To convince you to come here and have this little meeting with me. Otherwise, you might have run away. Plus, we wanted to impress you with our resources.”

“We?”

“Yes, my firm. You see, Kyle, I work for a contractor, a private one, and we’ve been hired to do a job. We need you, and this is how we recruit people.”

Kyle blew out a chestful of nervous laughter. His cheeks were getting warm, the blood was beginning to circulate. There was a rising thrill at the relief of not being prosecuted, of having been rescued from the firing squad. But the anger was beginning to boil.

“You recruit by blackmail?” he asked.

“If necessary. We have the video. We know where the girl is. She does indeed have a lawyer.”

“Does she know about the video?”

“No, but if she saw it, your life could get very complicated.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“Come on, Kyle. Rape has a twelve-year statute of limitations in Pennsylvania. You have seven years to go. If Elaine and her lawyer knew about the video, they would threaten criminal prosecution to force a civil settlement. It would be, as you say, nothing but a shakedown, but it would work. Your life will go much smoother if you play along with us and we keep the video buried.”

“So you’re recruiting me?”

“Yes.”

“To do what?”

“To be a lawyer.”

With a crushing weight suddenly lifted from his shoulders, and with his breathing somewhat normal again, Kyle glanced at his watch. It was after midnight. He looked at Wright, or whatever the hell his name really was, and he wanted to smile and even hug the man because he wasn’t a cop from Pittsburgh and he didn’t deliver an indictment. There would be no arrest, no prosecution, no humiliation, and for this Kyle was euphoric. But at the same time he wanted to bolt across the table and punch Wright’s face with as much violence as he could generate, then knock him to the floor and kick him until he didn’t move.

He vetoed both ideas. Wright was fit and probably trained and could take care of himself. And he certainly wasn’t the type anyone would want to hug. Kyle leaned back in his chair, placed his right ankle on his left knee, and relaxed for the first time in hours.

“So what’s your real name?” he asked.

Wright was preparing a new legal pad for a fresh round of note taking.

He entered the date in the top left corner. “We’re not going to waste time with frivolous questions, Kyle.”

“Oh, why not? You can’t even tell me your name?”

“Let’s stick with Bennie Wright for now. It doesn’t really matter, because you’ll never know the real name.”

“I like this. Real cloak-and-dagger shit. You guys are good. Really had me going there for about four hours. Had a knot in my colon as big as a pumpkin. Already thinking about finding a nice bridge to wing it from. I hate your guts and don’t ever forget it.”

“When you shut up, we can get down to business.”

“Can I walk out right now?”

“Sure.”

“And no one will grab me? No more fake badges and phony FBI agents?”

“None. Go. You’re a free man.”

“Oh, thank you.”

A minute passed without a word. Wright’s fierce little eyes never left Kyle’s face, while Kyle, hard as he tried, could not return the stare. His foot twitched and his eyes darted and he drummed his fingers on the table. His mind raced through a hundred scenarios, but he never once thought of leaving the room.

“Let’s talk about your future, Kyle,” Wright finally said.

“Sure. Now that I won’t be arrested, the future has certainly improved.”

“This job you’re planning to take. Piedmont Legal Aid. Why do you want to waste a couple of years saving the world?”

“Don’t really see it that way. There are a lot of migrant workers in Virginia, many of whom are illegal, and they’re subjected to all sorts of abuse. They live in cardboard boxes, eat rice twice a day, work for two bucks an hour, often don’t get paid for backbreaking work, and so on. I figure they could use some help.”

“But why?”

“It’s public-interest law, okay? Obviously you don’t get it. It’s lawyers giving their time to help others. They still teach this in law school. Some of us believe in it.”

Wright was not impressed. “Let’s talk about Scully & Pershing.”

“What about them? I’m sure you’ve done your research.”

“They offered you a job?”

“Correct.”

“Beginning when?”