John Grisham - The Activist

“What’s she going to do?” Theo asked.

“Try and hang on. I don’t know. It’s very sad. She told me it seems like yesterday when she was in high school and dreaming of college and a career. Now she’s terrified and not sure what’s going to happen.”

“Did she go to college?”

“She tried, but her financial aid was cut.”

“All these cuts. What’s going on, Mom?”

“The economy goes up and down, Theo. When times are good, people earn more money and spend more money, and this leads directly to more taxes being paid to the city. More sales taxes, more property taxes, more—”

“I’m not sure I understand property taxes.”

“Okay, it’s very simple. Your father and I own this building. It is known as real property. Land and buildings are real property, whereas cars, boats, motorcycles, and trucks are known as personal property. They get taxed, too, but back to this building. Each year the city places a value on this building. It’s currently valued at four hundred thousand dollars, which is a lot more than we paid for it many years ago. After the city determines the value, it applies a tax rate to that value. Last year the tax rate was about one percent, which meant about four thousand dollars in taxes. The same thing happened to our home, but homes have a slightly lower tax rate. Anyway, we paid about two thousand dollars in real property taxes on our home. As for the personal property, we have two automobiles and the taxes were about a thousand dollars. So that’s seven thousand dollars we paid into the city last year.”

“Where does the money go?”

“Schools get the biggest chunk, but our tax dollars also pay for such things as fire and police protection, the hospital, parks and recreation, street maintenance, garbage collection. It’s a long list.”

“Do you have any say in how the money is spent?”

Mrs. Boone smiled and thought for a second. “Maybe a little. Not directly, but we elect the mayor and city councilmen and in theory they’re supposed to listen to us. In reality, though, we just pay the money because we have no choice, then hope for the best.”

“Do you resent paying the taxes?”

Another smile at another innocent question. “Theo, no one likes to pay taxes, but at the same time we want great schools, lots of well-trained policemen and firemen, beautiful parks, the best health care at our hospitals, and so on.”

“I guess seven thousand dollars a year is not that bad.”

“Theo, it’s seven thousand dollars just to the city. We also pay taxes to the county, the state, and Uncle Sam in Washington. And since the economy is going through a slump, all levels of government are facing budget cuts. It’s not just happening here in Strattenburg.”

“So things are bad all over?”

“We’ve seen worse. Again, it’s up and down. But it seems more severe when it affects people we know, like Mr. Sasstrunk and this young client of mine. When people we know lose their jobs, then the problem is suddenly more serious.”

“Does a bad economy affect good ole Boone and Boone?”

“Oh yes, especially your father’s business. When people aren’t buying homes and building things, the real estate business suffers. But it’s not something to worry about, Theo. We’ve been through this many times.”

“It just doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s not, Theo, but then no one ever said that life is fair.” Her phone buzzed with a message from Elsa. “I need to take this call, Theo. I think your father would like to see you.”

“Okay, Mom. What’s for dinner?”

What a joke. It was Wednesday, and Wednesday always meant Chinese carryout from the Golden Dragon. Mrs. Boone was too busy to spend time in the kitchen.

“I’m thinking of sweet-and-sour shrimp tonight,” she said.

“Sounds good to me,” Theo said as he and Judge got to their feet and left the office.

Chapter 4

At the last minute, Theo decided against sweet-and-sour shrimp, opting instead for crispy beef. It was one of Judge’s favorites. His father got the Chinese takeout, and at precisely 7:00 p.m. the Boones took their places behind their wooden TV trays in the den and prepared to eat. Mr. Boone blessed the food with his standard “thanks-be-to-God,” and the meal was on. Judge sat beside Theo’s chair, waiting patiently but also ready to eat.

The remote control was in the possession of Mrs. Boone. Months earlier the family had hammered out a truce, then an agreement that rotated use of the remote each Wednesday. When one person had the remote, there could be no complaining from the other two. After a few bites and a few comments about the great debate, Mrs. Boone finally turned on the television and began surfing aimlessly, with no destination in mind. The volume was off. The only sound was Judge scarfing down the crispy beef. If Mr. Boone or Theo had the remote, they would go straight to their favorite show, Perry Mason reruns. But Mrs. Boone just surfed along, not really interested in anything. She watched little TV and had always tried to keep Theo away from it.

She finally stopped at a show called Strattenburg Today , a badly run news recap of the hot stories in town, if in fact there were any hot stories. Usually there were not. She hit the volume, and suddenly they were looking at the plastic smiling face of their governor. The voice-over from an unseen reporter said: “Governor Waffler was in town today to announce a new plan to finally build the Red Creek Bypass, an eight-mile loop around the city that will cost two hundred million dollars and has been hotly debated for many years. Governor Waffler was joined by local business leaders and elected officials who have been pushing the bypass. He announced that he has directed his transportation secretary to make the bypass a priority and designate enough money to build it.” The camera pulled back for a wide shot of the governor talking into a microphone while a crowd of serious men in suits stood behind him.

“I can’t believe this,” Mrs. Boone said.

“What’s a bypass?” Theo asked.

She said, “Well, in this case, it’s a road to nowhere that will cost at least two hundred million dollars and allow truckers to save about five minutes as they travel through Strattenburg.”

Mr. Boone chimed in, “It’s also a badly needed four-lane highway that will reduce the traffic jams on Battle Street.”

Mrs. Boone replied, “It’s also a boondoggle. Five years ago, a conservative taxpayers group, someone from your side of the street, Woods, labeled it the third-biggest waste of taxpayer money in the entire country.”

Mr. Boone replied, “And a Chamber of Commerce study found that the Battle Street congestion is so bad it is choking off growth and development.”

Mrs. Boone said, “Two hundred million dollars for five minutes. Unbelievable.”

Mr. Boone said, “You can’t stand in the way of progress.”

There was a heavy pause, and Theo managed to say, “Sorry I asked.”

They listened to the governor for a moment and ate in silence. Then a local state senator took the podium and began bragging about all the wonderful ways the new bypass would make life better in the city and county. He was not very impressive—short, red-faced, chubby, sort of stuffed into a bad suit—and after he thundered on for a few minutes, Mrs. Boone said, “You voted for that clown.”

Mr. Boone looked guilty and could not deny the accusation.

“Did you, Dad?” Theo asked, almost in disbelief, as if he wanted to say, “How could anyone vote for a guy like this?”

“I did,” his father finally admitted.

At the age of thirteen, Theo Boone had only a passing interest in politics. Much of what he saw on television told him to stay away from it altogether. He knew his mother tended to be more liberal and his father more conservative, but he had heard them insist more than once they were simply “moderates,” or somewhere in the middle. After listening to some of their discussions, he had realized there was nothing simple about being a moderate. Thankfully, his parents had the good sense not to argue politics in front of Theo. They rarely argued about anything, at least not in his presence.