Free Hardy 05 - Mercy Rule, The by John Lescroart

where he’d cut himself shaving. The tie could have been cut from .a tablecloth at an Italian restaurant. He was half a head shorter than Hardy and thirty pounds heavier, all of it in the gut. Nevertheless, David Freeman — the eyes, the manic energy — was impressive, even intimidating.
    He came to a halt abruptly in front of Hardy, seemed to consider for a moment, then poked a finger into his chest. ‘You know, this life isn’t dress rehearsal. If you’ve got a vision of what really happened with Sal Russo, the boy’s got a right to hear it. You took him on, so you owe him that, however busy you think you are. And here’s a free tip: you might try fitting in a little fun.’
    ‘Like you do?’
    ‘Exactly! Like I do. I have fun all the time.’
    ‘You work all the time.’
    Freeman lit up histrionically. ‘I love my work! I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.’
    ‘I hate to say this, David, but you don’t have kids.’
    The old man squinted up at him. ‘Well, you do, so what?’
    ‘So I don’t do what I want to do anymore. I do what I have to do. That’s my life. That’s reality. I don’t even think about what I want to do.’
    Freeman remembered his glass of wine and took a hit of it. ‘It was your choice having the kids, am I right?’ ‘Sure.’
    ‘So it’s your choice how you want to live with them.’ Hardy found himself getting a little hot. ‘That’s a fine and learned opinion, David, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    ‘You need this case, a murder case, something you can care about,’ Freeman said. ‘You’re burning out.’
    Hardy didn’t need to hear this — it was too close to the truth. He hit the lights and closed the door behind them. ‘Well, thanks for the input.’
    The short corridor was dark and ended in a stairwell down which the two men walked in silence. On the second floor Phyllis, the receptionist, had her station — deserted now — in the center of a spacious and extravagantly appointed lobby. The main lights had been turned down. Dim recessed pinpoints in the ceiling kept the space from blackness, but only just. Freeman grumbled a good-night and was nearly to his office when Hardy stopped at the top of the main circular stairwell. He sighed and put down his briefcase. ‘David.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘ You ought to take this Russo case.’
    ‘I’ll be honest with you. I would kill for this case.’
    Hardy smiled in the gloom. ‘You don’t have to kill anybody. It’s yours. I mean it. From right now Graham’s your client. You can introduce yourself when they book him, which could happen in the next five minutes. If you hurry, you can beat him down to the jail.’
    The old man wrestled with it for a few seconds. ‘It’s tempting, but I can’t take it. He can’t afford me.’
    ‘Do it pro bono. He can’t afford anybody, and it would be great advertising.’
    ‘It’s your case, Diz. He’s your client.’
    ‘I don’t want him, David. Forget hum not being able to afford me, I can’t afford him .’
    Freeman’s voice cut into the darkness. ‘You want my opinion, or probably you don’t, you can’t afford not . All I’ve heard from you for years now is how my clients — my guilty clients — they’re the scum of the earth. They deserve the best defense the law allows, but it’s not going to be Dismas Hardy who gives it to them. No, sir. You’ve got higher standards, right? You’ve got to believe in your clients, in their essential goodness. But you know, I’ve got news for you about the nature of humanity — it fails all the time. Good people do bad things. That’s why we have the beautiful law.’
    The old attorney moved a step closer, all wound up now. ‘You think the work you’re doing with Tryptech is cleaner than what I do. Well, my ass. Dyson Brunei is at best a liar and at worst a crook, and you don’t seem to have any problem doing his grunt work for a fee.’ Freeman lowered his voice even further, his anger