Free The Litigators by John Grisham Page B

to stay here and work.”
    She couldn’t help herself as she glanced around the large, open,cluttered room. It would be difficult to imagine a place that appeared to be less prosperous. “Your dog?” she asked.
    “That’s AC, the firm dog. He lives here.”
    “How many lawyers are in your firm?”
    “Just two. It’s a boutique firm. I’m the junior partner. Oscar Finley’s the senior partner.”
    “And what kind of work would David do here?”
    “We specialize in injury and death cases.”
    “Like all those guys who advertise on television?”
    “We don’t do TV,” Wally said smugly. If she only knew. He worked on his scripts all the time. He fought with Oscar about spending the money. He watched with envy as other injury lawyers flooded the airwaves with ads that, in his opinion, were almost always poorly done. And, most painfully, he imagined all the lost fees from all the lost cases scooped up by less talented lawyers willing to roll the dice on a TV budget.
    David made a gurgling sound and followed it up with a quick nasal snort, and though he was at least making noises, there was no indication he was anywhere near consciousness.
    “Do you think he’ll remember any of this in the morning?” she asked as she frowned at her husband.
    “Hard to say,” Wally observed. His romance with alcohol was long and ugly, and he had spent many fogged-in mornings struggling to remember what had happened. Wally took a sip and said, “Look, really none of my business and all, but does he do this often? He says he wants to work here, and, well, we need to know if he might have a problem with the bottle.”
    “He doesn’t drink much at all. Never has. He might occasionally at a party, but he works too hard to drink much. And since I rarely touch the stuff, we don’t keep it around the house.”
    “Just curious. I’ve had my problems.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “No, it’s okay. I’ve been sober for sixty days now.”
    That didn’t impress Helen as much as it worried her. Wally was still fighting the bottle, with victory far away. She was suddenly tired of the conversation and tired of the place. “I suppose I should take him home.”
    “Yes, I suppose. Or he could stay here with the dog.”
    “That’s what he deserves, you know? He should wake up in the morning here on the sofa, still dressed, a splitting headache, upset stomach, parched tongue, and have no idea where he is. That would serve him right, don’t you think?”
    “It would, but I’d rather not clean up after him again.”
    “He’s already—”
    “Twice. Once on the porch, once in the restroom.”
    “I’m so sorry.”
    “It’s okay. But he needs to go home.”
    “I know. Let’s get him up.”
    O nce awake, David chatted pleasantly with his wife as if nothing had happened. He walked unaided from the office, down the front steps, and to the car. He yelled a long good-bye and a hearty thanks to Wally and even offered to drive. Helen declined. They left Preston and headed north.
    For five minutes nothing was said. Then Helen casually began, “Look, I think I have most of the major plot points, but just a few details might help. Where was the bar?”
    “Abner’s. A few blocks from the office.” He was sitting low, with the collar of his overcoat turned up over his ears.
    “Been there before?”
    “No, great place, though. I’ll take you there sometime.”
    “Sure. Why not tomorrow? And you walked into Abner’s at what time this morning?”
    “Between 7:30 and 8:00. I fled the office, ran a few blocks, found Abner’s.”
    “And started drinking?”
    “Oh yes.”
    “Recall what you consumed?”
    “Well, let’s see.” He paused as he tried to remember. “For breakfast, I had four of Abner’s special Bloody Marys. They’re really good. Then I had a plate of onion rings and several pints of beer. Miss Spence showed up, and I had two of her Pearl Harbors, wouldn’t want to do that again.”
    “Miss Spence?”
    “Yep. She