Free Against the Wind by J. F. Freedman Page A

world need not know I’m on the premises.”
    “It won’t wash, Will,” Andy says. He’s pissed, trying to hold it in. “We talked this all out. Don’t force us into doing something you’ll regret.”
    “Like what?” I stand. I’m in the power spot, in my office behind my desk. “Come on, don’t keep me in suspense.”
    “Jesus, Will,” Fred whines, “do you have to be such a jerk?”
    “Do I have to be such a jerk?” I turn my gaze to the ceiling. There’s a waterspot from last year when the toilets backed up; got to get it fixed. “That’s a very interesting question, Fred. Verrry interesting. Are we talking from the legal or philosophical viewpoint?”
    “Will …” Andy’s growling. I’ve known them forever, I know every button to push.
    Now I turn and look at them, leaning forward on my antique piñon desk for emphasis. It’s a couple hundred years old, belonged to one of the land-grant governors. I’ve turned down $12,500 for it.
    “Let me explain the facts of life as I see them,” I say. “You want me out of here. Fine. At this point I want me out of here. I’m sick and tired of your holier-than-thouness and your utter lack of compassion and continuity.”
    “Will …” Andy tries to stop me. I shake my head; I’m unstoppable this morning.
    “Hear me out. Please.” Damn, I think, savoring the thought, I’m a good arguer. No wonder I’m such a bitch in the courtroom.
    “I am not a saint,” I continue. “I am not even a wonderful person. But I am a man who has always ; and I don’t use that word lightly; has always backed his buddies. Like the time, Fred,” I remind him, “when the Ethics Committee was up your shirt about the Indian Trust Fund.”
    “That was crap,” Fred says hotly.
    “Yeh, it was,” I answer. “But you were sweating it. And who presented your case and made them look like jerks?”
    “It wasn’t the same situation, Will,” Andy says. “Don’t milk it.”
    “Fine,” I answer. “Then I’ll put it to you as dead-center as I can. I got a case over the weekend …”
    “We know,” he says. “Robertson told us.”
    “Then you know these people need the best criminal defense lawyer in the state who is me and that is who they are going to get! You don’t want me associated with the firm, fine. Take my name off the door, I’ll use the side entrance. I won’t bother anyone in the office, I won’t even talk to anyone except Susan, because she’s mine, and by the way you’ll have her letter of resignation on your desks by lunch.”
    I pause, an old summation trick; I’ve been going at breakneck speed, you have to let them get a breath and catch up.
    “I am taking this case for as long as it goes,” I continue on. “Hopefully a week, but if it drags on until Armageddon I will be on it, and I will be operating out of my office. And if that doesn’t suit you then file papers for dissolution of the partnership and we’ll blow the whole fucking thing sky high!”
    They’re teetering. I’m watching it with glee. One strong breath and they’ll topple over.
    “My advice,” I go on, “is to just let it slide. Let’s not rock the boat okay? You want the world to think I’m still on my leave? Great. I’m only here because of the potential gravity of this case. When it’s over I’ll go back to my fishing.”
    They look at me. They’re in a no-win situation: they give a shit, and I don’t. And they know it.
    “I think that’s a good scenario,” Andy says after a moment. “That’s how this firm works. We don’t abandon clients just because we have a problem.”
    “I agree,” Fred chirps. “The firm has an obligation.”
    “Good.” I smile at them in turn. “That’s the party line. But between us and God the firm doesn’t have jackshit to do with this. It’s my case, I’ll take the fees, and the glory if there is any. You can bask in my sun,” I add. I’m gloating; I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it.
    “Fine,” Fred