The Common Lawyer by Mark Gimenez Read Free Book Online

boy's candy-apple-red twenty-inch Huffy, but it was that or walk to work. He clicked the razor on and ran the rotating blades over his face. He whistled to Max, who bounded after him. Two houses down, he saw Liz out front tending her Xeriscape landscaping; he gave her a sheepish "Sorry about that." She just smiled. Of course, it wasn't the first time she had seen him naked.
    He rode on and gazed upon the downtown skyline.
    Austin sat at the edge of the Texas Hill Country where the flat prairie land first began to rise and wrinkle up like Andy's shirt, so the town's topography was full of ups and downs and twists and turns; the roadways followed the lay of the land. Newton Street was a narrow residential lane that ran north-south on one of the "ups." From that vantage point, Andy could see the skyscrapers of downtown rising in sharp relief against the blue sky and the construction cranes towering over new condos and hotels going up, all of which now blocked the view of the state capitol unless you were standing in the middle of Congress Avenue—a crime committed by developers and sanctioned by the city. Austin was a hot market, and there was money to be made, so city hall and developers, once lethal adversaries in Austin, had joined forces to pillage the place for profit.
    His mother often said, "Money makes good men do bad things."
    Newton followed the perimeter fence line of the School for the Deaf then made a sharp turn to the east—which turn Andy now made—and became Nellie Street. Nellie abruptly pitched downward at a sharp angle on its short journey to Congress Avenue, which ran north-south in one of the "downs."
    Andy picked up speed.
    By the time you hit Congress, you could build up a pretty good head of steam flying down Nellie. Andy had once hit Congress at full speed only to have his brakes fail; he flew right through the intersection and crashed into the patio at Doc's Motorworks Bar & Grill. He tapped the Huffy's coaster brakes; they were in working order.
    He pushed the razor into his pants pocket. He sat up, adjusted his helmet and sunglasses, and watched the traffic light at the bottom of the hill where Nellie intersected Congress to form a T. The white pedestrian WALK signal to cross Congress changed to a flashing red DON'T WALK; he had exactly twenty-four seconds.
    Congress was a broad five-lane avenue that served as a major north-south commuting route. It was morning rush hour, and traffic was backed up at the light. Impatient drivers revved their SUV's big engines, in no mood to wait for pedestrians to cross Congress or share the crowded lanes with cyclists. Austin was officially a bicycle-friendly town, but the memo had never gotten to motorists; you get in their way and they'll run you down like a vindictive mother-in-law. Add in the fact that they were probably hung over and late for work, and a cyclist cutting in front of them made for a volatile mix on a Monday morning. Consequently, any gutter bunny foolish enough to challenge automobile traffic on Congress Avenue during rush hour was well-advised to have his last will and testament up to date.
    On the other hand, if Andy timed it perfectly, he could hit the intersection just as the north-south light changed from red to green and beat the cars heading south on Congress; he'd be leading the pack instead of merging into the pack. Of course, less-than-perfect timing and he'd broadside a southbound car, be ejected from the bike, and hurtle through the air until his body collided with a northbound car, resulting in death or serious bodily injury.
    He hadn't had a shot of caffeine yet, so it seemed like a reasonable risk. Max, though, wasn't so sure; he was keeping pace from a safe distance on the sidewalk.
    Andy steered to the far left of the road. He picked up speed fast now; he tapped the brakes to time the light.
    Forty yards from the intersection, he had ten seconds.
    Thirty yards and seven seconds.
    Twenty yards and five seconds.
    Ten yards and