The Plot полностью

“So I respectfully invite you to leave, Mr. Bonner,” Pickens added. He also got to his feet.

There were, apparently, very long legs underneath that big desk, and they unfolded as the attorney rose. At his considerable height he looked every inch the flower of southern manhood, from that athletic frame to the red face and swept-back hair, a mite too uniformly brown to be entirely natural. He stood, leaning forward, arms braced on his desk, wearing an oddly not-unfriendly smile but clearly expecting Jake to go without further comment.

Instead, Jake crossed the room and took one of the chairs on the other side of the desk.

“I’ve decided to hire an attorney,” he said. “I’m being harassed and threatened, and I would like to file suit for defamation.”

Pickens frowned. Perhaps what he’d been told hadn’t included the parts about harassment, threats, and defamation.

“I have reason to believe the harassment originated here in Athens, and I need a local attorney to act on my behalf.”

“I’d be happy to refer you to somebody else. I know some excellent attorneys here in Athens.”

“But you’re an excellent attorney, Mr. Pickens. I mean, you certainly appear to be, if you don’t look too closely.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pickens said sharply.

“Well, you obviously know who I am. I assume that means you also know I’m a writer. Writers research. And of course I’ve researched you.”

Pickens nodded. “Happy to hear it. My online ratings are excellent.”

“Absolutely correct!” Jake said. “Duke University undergrad. Vanderbilt Law. Really good stuff. I mean, there was that cheating thing at Duke, but it was your whole frat. Doesn’t seem fair to single you out. And then you did have that one incident with your client’s daughter. And your own DUIs, of course. But who doesn’t have DUIs, right? Also, I’m sure the Clarke County cops were out to get a successful defense attorney like you. Still, that was a close shave with the Georgia bar.”

Pickens sat down. He was so livid, his face had slid into an even deeper shade of red.

“Anyway, I think most people just stop with Facebook or Yelp when they’re looking for a lawyer. You’re probably okay.”

“Now who’s harassing and threatening?” he said. “I’ve already asked you to leave.”

“Is Rose Parker the person who said I might be coming to see you?”

He did not respond.

“Do you know where she is now?”

“Mr. Bonner, I’ve asked you to leave, several times. Now I’m going to phone the police. Then you, too, can have a criminal complaint filed against you here in Clarke County.”

Jake sighed. He got to his feet. “Well, I’m sure you know what you’re doing. I’m just worried that when they come talk to you about the Vermont crimes, all that old stuff about you is going to come out. But I guess you’ve made your peace with that.”

“I know nothing about any Vermont crimes. I have never set foot in Vermont. I have never been north of the Mason-Dixon Line.”

He said this with such pride he actually sneered. What a pathetic loser.

“Well”—Jake shrugged—“that’s fine, though when those Yankee investigators arrive I don’t think you’ll get rid of them just by asking them to leave. My guess is you’ll need to hire representation of your own. Maybe one of those excellent attorneys you were about to refer me to. Maybe whoever handled your DUIs or that business with the teenager. And I’ll probably be naming you in my own lawsuit. You know, when I sue your client for damages. So maybe, if they represent you for that, too, they’ll give you a break on the price.”

Mr. Arthur Pickens looked as if he might blow apart.

“You want to waste your money on a frivolous lawsuit, you go right ahead. As I said, attorney-client privilege prevents me from providing any information about my client. Please leave.”

“Oh, you’ve provided plenty of information,” Jake said. “You confirmed that you’re still in communication with your client, Rose Parker. I had no way of knowing that when I walked in a few minutes ago, so I appreciate it.”

“If you don’t leave immediately I will call the police.”

“Fine,” said Jake, languidly getting to his feet. “If it doesn’t cross an ethical line, I hope you’ll tell your client that if she doesn’t knock it off with the emails and the letters and the posts I’m going to the Vermont cops with everything I’ve learned. And that includes a couple of things that have been bothering me about Evan Parker’s death.”

“I have no idea who that is,” said Pickens, barely keeping it together.

“Naturally. But if your client murdered him, and if you were involved, I can promise you’re going north of the Mason-Dixon Line, because that’s where they keep the Yankee courthouses. And the Yankee prisons.”

Arthur Pickens, Esquire, looked as if he had lost the power of speech.

“Well, bye then. It’s been a pleasure.”