Free Against the Wind by J. F. Freedman

long?”
    I pick a figure out of the air. “Twenty to one.”
    That cheers them up.
    “As long as you’re our lawyer all the way,” Lone Wolf says. “I’ve got a good feeling about you, man.”
    The other shoe drops. I know their records; they’d been bad boys and paid the price for it, but none of them have ever faced a murder charge.
    “ If they press charges,” I tell them, “and if they can convince the grand jury to buy them, so you actually have to stand trial: I’m one of your lawyers. Or rather,” I cover myself quickly before they can say anything, “I’m the lawyer for one of you.”
    “What do you mean? What the fuck do you mean?” Lone Wolf is standing, hovering over me.
    “Sit down,” I order. “Now, goddam it!”
    He shoots me the evil look, but he sits. They’re all confused, disturbed.
    “Here’s the drill,” I explain. “I can’t defend more than one of you on a murder charge. It’s against the bar’s code of ethics, for a good reason. It’s conflict-of-interest.”
    “Fuck conflict-of-interest. You’re the man around here. You’re who we want. All of us.”
    I shake my head. “There’re plenty of good criminal lawyers in this state,” I tell them. “The public defender’s office has a great criminal defense team. If it was me,” I say, “that’s who I’d call.”
    “We’re not you,” Lone Wolf says flatly.
    “Anyway that’s how it works,” I tell them with finality. “Here or anywhere. And it’s not like we’re four ships passing in the night,” I continue, “we’re all in it together, we pool our strategies, our efforts. It’s like having four lawyers for the price of …”
    “Four.” Lone Wolf finishes for me. He looks at the others, establishing primacy, then back to me. “If that’s the way it goes that’s the way it goes.” He stares hard at me. “When do they get to meet the other three geniuses?”
    I’m now officially his lawyer. I didn’t figure it would go any other way. None of the others mouth a protest.
    “Hopefully never,” I say. “The grand jury can’t return an indictment based on what you’ve told me.”
    “It’s the truth.”
    “Fine. So no other representation will be necessary.” I start to go, then casually turn back as if just struck by an idea.
    “Just for the hell of it,” I tell them, “I’ll check around. Make sure the best people are available.”
    They’re not Einsteins, but they catch the subterfuge.
    “You just said we wouldn’t need them.”
    “I know,” I admit. “But I’m a lawyer; I’m trained to cover every possible contingency; it’s Pavlovian, I can’t help it.” Are they buying it? I hope, looking at them. I don’t think so.
    “I’ll see you in the morning.” The jailer swings the door open. As I’m leaving Lone Wolf cracks a wiseguy grin.
    “Not if we see you first.”
    The door bangs shut. We’re joined at the hip now.
    There’s one bright spot in this: won’t Fred and Andy be thrilled to see me bright and early tomorrow morning, I think gleefully as I walk across the quad in the dry evening heat.
    I’VE BEEN BEHIND closed doors for two hours already, since seven. I called Susan last night, filled her in, told her to be early and to keep her mouth shut. She was nervous, but happy and combative. It’s nice to know there are some things in life that aren’t for sale.
    They come in together, Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Fred was here first, Susan kept me informed over the intercom, but he waited for Andy. Andy and I may patch this up someday, but Fred’s already a memory.
    “Cleaning up some last minute business?” Fred asks benignly. They’re at my desk, hovering like a Jewish mother with a bowl of nice hot chicken soup. Actually, Andy’s the mother; Fred’s the wart-faced spinster aunt.
    I keep them waiting, the old head-in-the-paperwork shtick. Finally I look up with a distracted smile.
    “New business,” I say. “Don’t worry,” I quickly reassure them, “the