Free Dead Peasants by Larry D. Thompson

on the hood of Lucille and chose a route of back roads leading at least to Mineral Wells.
    Jack strapped himself into the Ferrari and started the engine, pausing to listen to its low roar. The Ferrari had paddle shifting which Jack loved. No more four-on-the-floor. Now with his hands at the three o’clock and nine o’clock positions, he could shift up through six gears by flicking the right paddle and back down with the one on the left. No clutch, and he didn’t even have to take his foot from the gas peddle. It was a marvel of Italian automotive engineering. Jack put the car in first gear and eased down the driveway. He passed the Rivercrest clubhouse, waving to a couple of the gardeners whom he had befriended and turned right on Camp Bowie and went to second gear. Doing so, he made sure his fuzzbuster was working. It was a Valentine One, capable of spotting both radar and laser beams coming from police vehicles. Soon he was driving through the western outskirts of Fort Worth, headed toward Weatherford. He took a right after a few miles and wandered the back roads. When he found one straight and empty, he went to fourth and fifth gears, hitting a hundred and fifty at one time. On curves that were rated for 35MPH, he dropped to second and took them at eighty, always with a grin on his face.
Maybe,
he thought,
he should do like Paul Newman did and take up road racing in middle age.
He slowed as he passed through Weatherford and soon found himself in Mineral Wells where he turned and took the freeway back to Fort Worth. Driving down Camp Bowie, he spotted Colby’s Lexus in front of her office. He went in and found Colby was on the phone. She motioned him to have a seat. He was flipping through a local realtor’s magazine when she ended her call and circled around the desk and gave Jack a brief hug before breaking away with an embarrassed look before. “Hi, there.” She smiled. “What brings you here? Can I sell you another house?”
    Colby sat in the chair beside Jack and waited for him to speak. Finally, he relayed his day’s activities. “I think I’m bored. You’ve done a great job of keeping me entertained, but I don’t want to visit the museums again.”
    Colby frowned.
    “What the hell am I supposed to do with the rest of my life? I don’t want to go back to being a trial lawyer. Sixty and eighty hour weeks are behind me.”
    Colby pondered his situation before speaking. “Why don’t you volunteer to do some pro bono work? Times are tough. I’ll bet there are tens of thousands of people in this area who could use some free legal advice. You could set your own hours, go and come as you please and do some good for folks who can’t afford a lawyer.”
    Jack nodded his head. “Actually that thought had drifted through my mind lately. I just might give it a try. Got nothing to lose but a little time, and I’ve damn sure got plenty of that.”

22
    The next morning Jack put on a white dress shirt, slacks, and boots. He located the Fort Worth Volunteer Lawyers Association on the internet and drove two blocks past the courthouse complex on Weatherford to a small two-story building with the association name above the door. He parked Lucille at a meter and dug four quarters from the center console of the truck. After feeding the meter, he entered the building to face a receptionist.
    “Can I help you?”
    “Name’s Jack Bryant. I’m a retired lawyer and would like to volunteer.”
    “Have a seat, sir and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
    Jack cooled his heels for fifteen minutes before the receptionist reached into the bottom drawer of her desk and retrieved a multi-page form and a clipboard. “Mr. Bryant, if you’ll step over here to get this form and complete it, I’ll have our director talk to you when he’s free.”
    Jack stared at the woman and wondered why she couldn’t get off her butt and walk to him. After all, he was the volunteer. Still, he rose and walked back to the reception desk.