John Grisham - The Activist

“What if I saw something?” Theo blurted. “Around the office, some old files, you know what I mean, Ike?”

Ike glared at him. Theo’s snooping around the office had caused problems in the past, and those problems usually ended up involving Ike. He asked cautiously, “Something to do with Mr. Ford and one of his deals?”

Theo just nodded.

“Something to do with the Sweeney Road property and the bypass?”

Theo just nodded.

“Something that I probably do not know about?”

Theo just nodded.

“Something that Fast Ford is hiding?”

Theo just nodded.

“Have you hacked into the firm’s digital storage files again?”

Theo said, “No, and I wasn’t snooping. I was minding my own business when I stumbled across some Joe Ford files someone had placed on a table to be retired.”

Ike knew that Theo was rarely minding his own business around the law office. Ike slowly stood, stretched, rubbed his beard, then walked to a shelf and turned off the stereo. He leaned against the wall, folded his arms across his chest, and said, “Don’t tell me anything else, Theo. The lawyer-client relationship is strictly confidential. Every client has the right to be protected—every current client and every former client. Those files are none of your business and you were wrong to look through them.”

Theo suddenly felt lousy. He knew Ike was right, though he was not expecting such a sharp rebuke. But, Ike wasn’t finished. “I don’t care what’s in those files. Theo, you have to forget about it. Am I clear?”

Oh yes.

“A lawyer has a duty to protect his client. Period.”

“Got it, Ike.”

Ike fell into his swivel chair and stared at his nephew. There was another long pause. Theo finally asked, “Should I tell my dad?”

“No. Just bury it.”

“Okay.”

Theo left a few minutes later. Riding slowly back to the office, he still could not accept the fact that his secret information would remain buried in a retired file, boxed away in the depths of Boone & Boone. It did not seem fair.

Chapter 24

After the final bell Tuesday, the activists hurriedly gathered in the school’s auditorium. The room would be vacant for about thirty minutes, until rehearsal began for a sixth-grade production. Mr. Mount had bargained for thirty minutes on the grounds that his debate team needed some vague form of practice. They quickly arranged the stage to appear ready for a real debate, with a podium in the center and a long folding table on each side. Since it wasn’t a real debate, chairs were moved in close and filled with fake spectators, a dozen or so friends drafted by Theo and Hardie. To improve the quality of the video, Mr. Mount used a camera on a tripod. When everyone was in place, Mr. Mount announced, off camera, “And now, Theodore Boone.”

Theo stood from behind his table. To his right were Hardie, Chase, and Woody, all four wearing clip-on ties and bright-yellow surgical face masks. Theo walked to the podium and nodded to the opposing team, which consisted of Justin, Brian, Darren, and Edward, four other volunteers from Mr. Mount’s homeroom. They, too, had bad clip-on ties and the yellow masks. The spectators, including April and some guys from Hardie’s homeroom, were bunched together close to the podium. Their faces were also hidden behind yellow surgical masks.

Hardie’s father had found the masks online. Nine bucks for a carton of fifty, available in every color imaginable.

Theo yanked his down and looked at the camera. With a frown he said, “My name is Theo Boone, and today the issue before us is the so-called Red Creek Bypass.” He coughed twice, then covered his nose and mouth with the mask. Next to the podium was a large map of the county with the bypass highlighted in bloodred as if it were a deadly gash on the landscape. Theo pointed and said, “This bypass will take Highway 75 around the city of Strattenburg, out here into a more rural area, where it will destroy fifty homes, several farms, a hiking trail, a historic church, and it will bring about twenty-five thousand cars and trucks a day to the front door of Jackson Elementary School.”

On cue, the spectators hissed and booed.

Theo continued: “It will also take out part of this soccer complex and cross the Red Creek River in two places.”

More booing and hissing.

“The bypass will cost two hundred million dollars and is being pushed hard by businessmen, politicians, and trucking companies north and south of Strattenburg.”

More booing and hissing.

“One of the worst aspects of this bypass is right here, at Jackson Elementary School, home to about four hundred students from prekindergarten through fifth grade. There has been no reliable study as to the noise and pollution near this school, but it’s safe to say that the quality of air will be greatly harmed.”

On cue, everybody started coughing, even the members of the opposing debate team. Theo, with great drama, said, “In short, this bypass is a bad project, a waste of money, a dangerous idea, and it should never be built.” He stomped away from the podium as if ready for a fistfight.

The spectators managed to stop coughing and began applauding.

For the other side, Justin rushed to the podium, and from behind his bright-yellow mask said, “On the contrary, this bypass is needed so that some folks can make more profits. Trucking companies, land developers, construction companies—all of these and more will make huge profits. That’s especially good for them, but it’s also good for us.”

A loud round of booing and hissing from the spectators.

“The more money they make, the more taxes they pay—well, some of them anyway—and the more taxes we rake in, the more stuff our leaders can do with it. Don’t you see?”

The spectators did not see and continued their show of displeasure.

Mr. Mount stepped forward and said, “Okay, let’s cut for a minute and rethink this.”

The goal was a two-minute video, with the debate scene burning about thirty seconds. Under Mr. Mount’s direction, they did another take, then another. On the third take, the two teams actually began yelling at each other, with names like “Liar!” “Crook!” and “Sleazebag!” thrown in for a bit of exaggerated drama. The spectators tossed debris at the podium while Justin ranted on.

With all faces hidden behind the surgical masks, it was easy to conceal the smiles and laughter. After half an hour, Theo, Hardie, and Mr. Mount were satisfied. They had enough footage for a great opening scene.

The filmmaking would become more difficult. For the second scene, many more actors were needed and there was a greater risk things could go wrong.

After school Wednesday, the activists met at an old softball field not far from Strattenburg Middle School. Softball season was several months away and the field was supposed to be vacant that afternoon. However, in Strattenburg, as in most cities, no vacant field was safe during soccer season when coaches scoured the neighborhoods in search of any open area that might work for a quick practice. There had even been fights. The fine new soccer complex near Jackson Elementary was built to provide adequate space and thus reduce the pressure. It was packed five afternoons a week and throughout the weekend, but it seemed as though there would never be enough soccer fields.

But there was no soccer in sight, at least not of the organized variety. At precisely 4:00 p.m., bikes and cars arrived in a rush. Many of the players of Red United, Hardie’s team, showed up and quickly began changing into their uniforms. Their coach, Jack Fortenberry, brought a bag of balls, some orange cones, a small, portable goal complete with netting, and some extra practice jerseys for the other “team.” The other team was a ragtag bunch of nonplayers who’d been recruited by Theo and Hardie, most of whom came from their homerooms. In all, about fifteen players took the field, half wearing a Red United jersey, half wearing a white practice shirt, and all wearing bright-yellow surgical masks, as if the air was pure poison. Along the sidelines, parents held homemade signs that read: STOP THE BYPASS, PROTECT OUR KIDS, NO BYPASS GAS, and so on. The parents were also wearing the yellow surgical masks. Many of the adults were either Quinns or related to the family.