Free The Client by John Grisham Page A

Bibles.
    Mark and Hardy were alone in the waiting area. Mark sipped a Sprite, his third, and watched a rerun of Hill Street Blues on cable while Hardy dozed fitfully on the terribly undersized couch. It was almost nine, and half an hour had passed since Dianne had walked him down the hall to Ricky’s room for a quick peek.He looked small under the sheets. The IV, Dianne had explained, was to feed him because he wouldn’t eat. She assured him Ricky would be all right, but Mark studied her eyes and knew she was worried. Dr. Greenway would return in a bit, and wanted to talk to Mark.
    “Has he said anything?” Mark had asked as he studied the IV.
    “No. Not a word.”
    She took his hand and they walked through the dim hallway to the sitting area. At least five times, Mark had almost blurted something out. They had passed an empty room not far from Ricky’s and he thought of dragging her inside for a confession. But he didn’t. Later, he kept telling himself, I’ll tell her later.
    Hardy had stopped asking questions. His shift ended at ten, and it was obvious he was tired of Mark and Ricky and the hospital. He wanted to return to the streets.
    A pretty nurse in a short skirt walked past the elevators and motioned for Mark to follow her. He eased from his chair, holding his Sprite. She took his hand, and there was something exciting about this. Her fingernails were long and red. Her skin was smooth and tanned. She had blond hair and a perfect smile, and she was young. Her name was Karen, and she squeezed his hand a bit tighter than necessary. His heart skipped a beat.
    “Dr. Greenway wants to talk to you,” she said, leaning down as she walked. Her perfume lingered, and it was the most wonderful fragrance Mark could remember.
    She walked him to Ricky’s room, Number 943, and released his hand. The door was closed, so she knocked slightly and opened it. Mark entered slowly,and Karen patted him on the shoulder. He watched her leave through the half-open door.
    Dr. Greenway now wore a shirt and tie with a white lab jacket over it. An ID tag hung from the left front pocket. He was a skinny man with round glasses and a black beard, and seemed too young to be doing this.
    “Come in, Mark,” he said after Mark was already in the room and standing at the foot of Ricky’s bed. “Sit here.” He pointed to a plastic chair next to a foldaway bed under the window. His voice was low, almost a whisper. Dianne sat with her feet curled under her on the bed. Her shoes were on the floor. She wore blue jeans and a sweater, and stared at Ricky under the sheets with a tube in his arm. A lamp on a table near the bathroom door provided the only light. The blinds were shut tight.
    Mark eased into the plastic chair, and Dr. Greenway sat on the edge of the foldaway, not two feet away. He squinted and frowned, and projected such somberness that Mark thought for a second they were all about to die.
    “I need to talk to you about what happened,” he said. He was not whispering now. It was obvious Ricky was in another world and they were unafraid of waking him. Dianne was behind Greenway, still staring blankly at the bed. Mark wanted her alone so he could talk and work out of this mess, but she was back there in the darkness, behind the doctor, ignoring him.
    “Has he said anything?” Mark asked first. The past three hours with Hardy had been nothing but quick questions, and the habit was hard to break.
    “No.”
    “How sick is he?”
    “Very sick,” Greenway answered, his tiny, dark eyes glowing at Mark. “What did he see this afternoon?”
    “Is this in secret?”
    “Yes. Anything you tell me is strictly confidential.”
    “What if the cops want to know what I tell you?”
    “I can’t tell them. I promise. This is all very secret and confidential. Just you and me and your mother. We’re all trying to help Ricky, and I’ve got to know what happened.”
    Maybe a good dose of the truth would help everyone, especially Ricky. Mark