The Rooster Bar by John Grisham Read Free Book Online Page A

he was okay. But the mood swings got worse, as did the drinking.”
    “You should have told us,” Mark said.
    “I didn’t know what to do. I’ve never dealt with something like this before.”
    “Pointing fingers will not help right now,” Todd said to Mark.
    “I’m sorry.”
    Todd glanced at his cell phone and said, “It’s almost eight. Nothing from Gordy. I’m supposed to go to the bar at noon and work a shift. What’s everybody else doing today?”
    Zola said, “I go in at ten for a few hours.” She was working as a temp in a small accounting firm.
    Mark said, “Well, I came back early to get away from home and hopefully put together a plan to start studying for the bar exam, but I really don’t want to. I suppose I’ll drift on over to Ness Skelton and kill the day sucking up to my future bosses, trying to appear needed and relevant. For no pay, of course. I’m sure they need some help in the copy room.”
    “Gotta love the law,” Todd said. “I’ll accomplish more in the bar.”
    “Thanks.”
    Zola said, “I suppose all we can do is wait.”
    Todd paid for the coffee and they left the diner. They had walked a block when Zola’s phone vibrated. She pulled it from a pocket, looked at it, stopped, and said, “It’s Gordy. He’s at Central Jail.”
    —
    AT 4:35 A.M., Gordy was stopped after an officer noticed his Mazda weaving along Connecticut Avenue. He stumbled during a field sobriety test and eventually agreed to blow. He registered 0.11 on the mobile monitor and was immediately handcuffed and placed in the rear seat of the police car. A tow truck hauled his car to the city lot. At Central, he blew again with the same result. He was fingerprinted, photographed, booked, and thrown into the drunk tank with six others. At 8:00 a.m., a bailiff led him to a small room, handed him his phone, and told him he could use it once. He called Zola, and the bailiff took his phone and led him back to the cell.
    Thirty minutes later, his three friends walked through the front door at Central, got themselves scanned by a metal detector, and were directed to a large room where, evidently, families and friends came to retrieve their loved ones after a bad night. It was lined with chairs along three walls, with magazines and newspapers scattered about. Behind a large window at the far end two uniformed clerks were busy with paperwork. Cops milled around, some chatting with dazed and nervous people. There were about a dozen of them—parents, spouses, friends—all with the same spooked looks and fidgety manners. Two men in bad suits and battered briefcases seemed right at home. One was chatting up a cop who appeared to know him well. The other was huddled with a middle-aged couple. The mother was crying.
    Mark, Todd, and Zola found seats in a corner and took in the surroundings. After a few minutes, Mark walked to the window and offered a sappy smile to a clerk. He said he was there to get his friend Gordon Tanner, and the clerk checked some paperwork. She nodded toward the seats and said it would take some time. Mark returned to his chair between Todd and Zola.
    The lawyer chatting with the cop watched them carefully and soon came over. His three-piece suit was made of a slick bronze fabric. His shoes were shiny and black, with long pointed toes that flipped up at the tips. His shirt was baby blue and his thickly knotted tie was pale green and matched nothing else. On one wrist he wore a large gold watch with diamonds and on the other he displayed two bulky gold bracelets. His hair was greased back and bunched behind his ears. Without a smile he delivered his standard line, “Here for a DUI?”
    Mark said, “Yes.”
    The lawyer was already passing out his business cards. Darrell Cromley, Attorney-at-Law. DUI Specialist. Each of the three got a card as Darrell asked, “Who’s the lucky guy?”
    “Our friend,” Todd said.
    “First time?” Darrell asked happily.
    “Yes, first time,” Mark