Rogue Lawyer by John Grisham Read Free Book Online

stop and wait for one of the heavyweights to pass with his entourage. I have $2,000 on the guy. I’m up $6,000 for the night and I’m feeling pretty good. And to top it off, I’m hearing the shocking news that not all of my Gardy Baker jurors are brain-dead.
    I ask, “Is she alone, or does she have buddies?”
    “She says they’re not discussing the case.”
    I want to laugh at this. If she’s not discussing the case, then how does this cutie know how her mother’s leaning? At this precise moment, I am violating the rules of ethics and perhaps a criminal statute as well. This is unauthorized contact with a juror, and though it’s not clear-cut, and not instigated by me, there’s no doubt it would be interpreted badly by the state bar association. And Judge Kaufman would blow a gasket.
    “Tell her to stick to her guns because they’ve got the wrong guy,” I say, and walk away. I don’t know what she wants and there is nothing I can give her. I guess I could take ten minutes and point out the glaring deficiencies in the State’s evidence, but that would require her to absorb it all correctly and then give an accurate report to her mother. Fat chance. This gal is here for the fights.
    I take the nearest stairway to a lower level, and as soon as I’m safely away from her, I duck into a restroom and replay what she said. I still can’t believe it. That jury, along with the rest of the town, convicted my client the day he was arrested. Her mother, Glynna Roston, gives every indication of being the model Milo citizen—uneducated, narrow-minded, and determined to be a heroine for her community in its time of need. Monday morning will be interesting. At some point, after we resume testimony, I’ll get the chance to glance into the jury box. So far Glynna has not been afraid to return my looks. Her eyes will reveal something, though I’m not sure what.
    I shake it off and return to reality. The heavyweight fight lasts for a full forty seconds with my favorite still standing. I can’t wait to reconvene with my little gang. We meet in the same dark room with the door locked, and the trash talk is brutal. All six of us pull cash from our pockets. Frankie has the notes and keeps it all straight. For the evening, I’ve netted $8,000 from my wagers, though $2,000 of this will go to Tadeo for his impromptu bonus. I’ll get it back from his cut of the purse. That will go on the books for IRS purposes; this cash will not.
    Tadeo earns $8,000 for his efforts, a great night that will allow him to add another gang member to his entourage. He’ll pay some bills, keep the family afloat, save nothing. I’ve tried to offer financial advice, but it’s a waste of time.
    I stop by the locker room, hand over the $2,000, tell him I love him, and leave the arena. Partner and I go to a quiet bar and have some drinks. It takes a couple to settle me down. When you’re that close to the action, and you’ve got your own hitter in the ring two seconds away from a concussion or a broken bone, and five thousand idiots are screaming into your ears, your heart races wildly as your stomach flips and your nerves tingle. There’s a flood of adrenaline like nothing I’ve ever felt.

8.
    Jack Peeley is a former boyfriend of the mother of the two Fentress girls. Their father was long gone when they were murdered, and their mother’s apartment was a revolving door for local tomcats and slimeballs. Peeley lasted about a year and got the boot when she met a used-tractor dealer with a little cash and a house without wheels. She moved up and Peeley moved out, with a broken heart. He was the last person seen near the girls when they disappeared. Early on, I asked the police why they did not treat him as a suspect, or at least investigate him, and their lame response was that they already had their man. Gardy was in custody and confessing right and left.
    I strongly suspect Jack Peeley killed the girls in some sick act of revenge. And, if the cops