John Grisham - The Client

The second lawyer hired by Barry the Blade Muldanno to defend him on these obnoxious murder charges was another angry hatchet man by the name of Willis Upchurch, a rising star among the gang of boisterous mouthpieces trotting across the country performing for crooks and cameras. Upchurch had offices in Chicago and Washington, and any other city where he could hook a famous case and rent space. As soon as he talked with Muldanno after breakfast, he was on a plane to New Orleans to, first, organize a press conference, and, second, meet with his famous new client and plot a noisy defense. He had become somewhat rich and noted in Chicago for his passionate defense of mob assassins and drug traffickers, and in the past decade or so had been called in by mob brass around the country for all sorts of representation. His record was average, but it was not his won/lost ratio that attracted clients. It was his angry face and bushy hair and thunderous voice. Upchurch was a lawyer who wanted to be seen and heard in magazine articles, news stories, advice columns, quickie books, and gossip shows. He had opinions. He was unafraid of predictions. He was radical and would say anything, and this made him a favorite of the loony daytime TV talk shows.

He took only sensational cases with lots of headlines and cameras. Nothing was too repulsive for him. He preferred rich clients who could pay, but if a serial killer needed help, Upchurch would be there with a contract giving himself exclusive book and movie rights.

Though he enjoyed his notoriety immensely, and received some praise from the far left for his vigorous defense of indigent murderers, Upchurch was little more than a Mafia lawyer. He was owned by the mob, yanked around by their strings, and paid whenever they decided. He was allowed to roam a bit and spout at the mouth, but if they called, he came running.

And when Johnny Sulari, Barry’s uncle, called at four in the morning, Willis Upchurch came running. The uncle explained the scarce facts about the untimely death of Jerome Clifford. Upchurch drooled into the receiver as Sulari asked him to fly immediately to New Orleans. He skipped to the bathroom at the thought of defending Barry the Blade Muldanno in front of all those cameras. He whistled in the shower when he thought of all the ink the case had already generated, and how he would now be the star. He grinned at himself in the mirror as he tied his ninety-dollar tie and thought of spending the next six months in New Orleans with the press at his beck and call.

This was why he went to law school!

The scene was frightening at first. The IV had been removed because Dianne was in the bed clutching Ricky and rubbing his head. She hugged him fiercely and wrapped her legs around his. He was moaning and grunting, twisting and jerking. His eyes were open, then shut. Dianne pressed her head to his and spoke softly through her tears. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Mommy’s here. Mommy’s here.”

Greenway stood close by, arms folded, rubbing his beard. He appeared puzzled, as if he hadn’t seen this before. A nurse held the other side of the bed.

Mark entered the room slowly and no one noticed. Reggie had stopped at the nurses’ station. It was almost noon, time for the FBI and all, but Mark knew immediately that no one in the room was remotely concerned with the cops and their questions.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Mommy’s here.”

Mark inched to the foot of the bed for a closer look. Dianne managed a quick, uncomfortable smile, then closed her eyes and kept whispering to Ricky.

After a few minutes of this, Ricky opened his eyes, seemed to notice and recognize his mother, and grew still. She kissed him a dozen times on the forehead. The nurse smiled and patted his shoulder and cooed something at him.

Greenway looked at Mark and nodded at the door. Mark followed him outside, into the quiet hallway. They walked slowly toward the end of it, away from the nurses’ station.

“He woke up about two hours ago,” the doctor explained. “It looks like he’s coming out of it slowly.”

“Has he said anything yet?”

“Like what?”

“Well, you know, like about what happened yesterday.”

“No. He’s mumbled a lot, which is a good sign, but he hasn’t made any words yet.”

This was comforting, in a sense. Mark would have to stick close to the room just in case. “So he’s gonna be okay?”

“I didn’t say that.” The lunch cart stopped in the middle of the hall and they walked around it. “I think he’ll be okay, but it could take time.” There was a long pause in which Mark worried if Greenway expected him to say something.

“How strong is your mother?”

“Pretty strong, I guess. We’ve been through a lot.”

“Where’s the family? She’ll need plenty of help.”

“There’s no family. She has a sister in Texas, but they don’t get along. And her sister has problems too.”

“Your grandparents?”

“No. My ex-father was an orphan. I figure his parents probably dumped him somewhere when they got to know him. My mother’s father is dead, and her mother lives in Texas too. She’s sick all the time.”

“I’m sorry.”

They stopped at the end of the hall and looked through a dirty window at downtown Memphis. The Sterick Building stood tall.

“The FBI is bugging me,” Greenway said.

Join the club, Mark thought. “Where are they?”

“Room 28. It’s a small conference room on the second floor that’s seldom used. They said they’d be expecting me, you, and your mother at exactly noon, and they sounded very serious.” Greenway glanced at his watch and started to walk back to the room. “They are quite anxious.”

“I’m ready for them,” Mark said in a weak effort at boldness.

Greenway frowned at him. “How’s that?”

“I’ve hired us a lawyer,” he said proudly.

“When?”

“This morning. She’s here now, down the hall.”

Greenway looked ahead but the nurses’ station was around a bend in the corridor. “The lawyer’s here?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yep.”

“How’d you find a lawyer?”

“It’s a long story. But I paid her myself.”

Greenway pondered this as he shuffled along. “Well, your mother cannot leave Ricky right now, under any circumstances. And I certainly need to stay close.”

“No problem. Me and the lawyer will handle it.”

They stopped at Ricky’s door, and Greenway hesitated before pushing it open. “I can put them off until tomorrow. In fact, I can order them out of the hospital.” He was attempting to sound tough, but Mark knew better.

“No, thanks. They won’t go away. You take care of Ricky and Mom, and me and the lawyer’ll take care of the FBI.”

Reggie had found an empty room on the eighth floor, and they hurried down the stairs to use it. They were ten minutes late. She closed the door quickly, and said, “Pull up your shirt.”

He froze, and stared at her.

“Pull up your shirt!” she insisted, and he began pulling at his bulky Memphis State Tigers sweatshirt. She opened her briefcase and removed a small black recorder and a strip of plastic and Velcro. She checked the micro-cassette tape, then punched the buttons. Mark watched every move. She’d used this device many times before, he could tell. She pressed it to his stomach, and said, “Hold it right here.” Then she threaded the plastic strap through a clip on the recorder, wrapped it around his midsection and back, and fastened it snugly with the Velcro ends. “Breathe deeply,” she said, and he did.

He tucked the sweatshirt into his jeans. Reggie took a step back and stared at his stomach. “Perfect,” she said.

“What if they frisk me?”