John Grisham - The Client

This was good enough. “Have a seat. It’ll be a minute.”

Mark eased into a chair, and as soon as Clint disappeared he opened a yellow phone book and flipped through the pages until he found the attorneys. There was Gill Teal again in his full-page spread. Pages and pages of huge ads, all crying out for injured people. Photos of busy and important men and women holding thick law books or sitting behind wide desks or listening intently to the telephones stuck in their ears. Then half-page ones, then quarter. Reggie Love was not there. What kind of lawyer was she?

Reggie Love was one of thousands in the Memphis Yellow Pages. She couldn’t be much of a lawyer if the Yellow Pages thought so little of her, and the thought of racing from the office crossed his mind. But then there was Gill Teal, the one for real, the people’s lawyer, the star of the Yellow Pages who also had enough fame to get himself on television, and just look at his office down the hall. No, he quickly decided, he’d take his chances with Reggie Love. Maybe she needed clients. Maybe she had more time to help him. The idea of a woman lawyer suddenly appealed to him because he’d seen one on L.A. Law once and she had ripped up some cops pretty good. He closed the book and returned it carefully to the magazine rack beside the chair. The office was cool and pretty. There were no voices.

Clint closed the door behind him and eased across the Persian rug to her desk. Reggie Love was on the phone, listening more than talking. Clint placed three phone messages before her, and gave the standard hand signal to indicate someone was waiting in the reception area. He sat on the corner of the desk, straightening a paper clip and watching her.

There was no leather in the office. The walls were papered with light floral shades of rose and pink. A spotless desk of glass and chrome covered one corner of the rug. The chairs were sleek and upholstered with a burgundy fabric. This, without a doubt, was the office of a woman. A very neat woman.

Reggie Love was fifty-two years old, and had been practicing law for less than five years. She was of medium build with very short, very gray hair that fell in bangs almost to the top of her perfectly round, black-framed glasses. The eyes were green, and they glowed at Clint as if something funny had been said. Then she rolled them and shook her head. “Good-bye, Sam,” she finally said, and hung up.

“Got a new client for you,” Clint said with a smile.

“I don’t need new clients, Clint. I need clients who can pay. What’s his name?”

“Mark Sway. He’s just a kid, ten maybe twelve years old. And he says he’s supposed to meet with the FBI at noon. Says he needs a lawyer.”

“He’s alone?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d he find us?”

“I have no idea. I’m just the secretary, remember. You’ll have to ask some questions yourself.”

Reggie stood and walked around the desk. “Show him in. And rescue me in fifteen minutes, okay. I’ve got a busy morning.”

“Follow me, Mark,” Clint said, and Mark followed him through a narrow door and down a hallway. Her office door was covered with stained glass, and a small brass plate again said REGGIE LOVE — LAWYER. Clint opened the door, and motioned for Mark to enter.

The first thing he noticed about her was her hair. It was gray and shorter than his; very short above the ears and in the back, a bit thicker on top with bangs halfway down. He’d never seen a woman with gray hair worn so short. She wasn’t old and she wasn’t young.

She smiled appropriately as they met at the door. “Mark, I’m Reggie Love.” She offered her hand, he took it reluctantly, and she squeezed hard and shook firm. Shaking hands with women was not something he did often. She was neither tall nor short, thin nor heavy. Her dress was straight and black and she wore black and gold bracelets on both wrists. They rattled.

“Nice to meet you,” he said weakly as they shook. She was already leading him to a corner of the office, where two soft chairs faced a table with picture books on it.

“Have a seat,” she said. “I have only a minute.”

Mark sat on the edge of his seat, and was suddenly terrified. He’d lied to his mother. He’d lied to the police. He’d lied to Dr. Greenway. He was about to lie to the FBI. Romey had been dead less than a day, and he was lying right and left to everyone who asked. Tomorrow he would certainly lie to the next person. Maybe it was time to come clean for a change. Sometimes it was frightening to tell the truth, but he usually felt better afterward. But the thought of unloading all this baggage on a stranger made his blood run cold.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No ma’am.”

She crossed her legs. “Mark Sway, right? Please do not call me ma’am, all right? My name is not Ms. Love or any of that, my name is Reggie. I’m old enough to be your grandmother, but you call me Reggie, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How old are you, Mark? Tell me a little about yourself.”

“I’m eleven. I’m in the fifth grade at Willow Road.”

“Why aren’t you in school this morning?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I see. And you’re here because of this long story?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to tell me this long story?”

“I think so.”

“Clint said you’re supposed to meet with the FBI at noon. Is this true?”

“Yes. They want to ask me some questions at the hospital.”

She picked up a legal pad from the table and wrote something on it. “The hospital?”

“It’s part of the long story. Can I ask you something, Reggie?” It was strange calling this lady by a baseball name. He’d watched a TV movie about the life of Reggie Jackson, and remembered the crowd chanting Reggie! Reggie! in perfect unison. Then there was the Reggie candy bar.

“Sure.” She grinned a lot, and it was obvious she enjoyed this scene with the kid who needed a lawyer. Mark knew the smiles would disappear if he made it through the story. She had pretty eyes, and they sparkled at him.

“If I tell you something, will you ever repeat it?” he asked.

“Of course not. It’s privileged, confidential.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means simply that I can never repeat anything you tell me unless you tell me I can repeat it.”

“Never?”

“Never. It’s like talking to your doctor or minister. The conversations are secret and held in trust. Do you understand?”

“I think so. Under no circumstances—”

“Never. Under no circumstances can I tell anyone what you tell me.”

“What if I told you something that no one else knows?”

“I can’t repeat it.”

“Something the police really want to know?”

“I can’t repeat it.” She at first was amused by these questions, but his determination made her wonder.

“Something that could get you in a lot of trouble.”

“I can’t repeat it.”

Mark looked at her without blinking for a long minute, and convinced himself she could be trusted. Her face was warm and her eyes were comforting. She was relaxed and easy to talk to.

“Any more questions?” she asked.

“Yeah. Where’d you get the name Reggie?”

“I changed my name several years ago. It was Regina, and I was married to a doctor, and then all sorts of bad things happened so I changed my name to Reggie.”

“You’re divorced?”

“Yes.”

“My parents are divorced.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. My brother and I were really happy when they got a divorce. My father drank a lot and beat us. Beat Mom too. Me and Ricky always hated him.”

“Ricky’s your brother?”

“Yes. He’s the one in the hospital.”