Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“Nothing this morning, but then it’s only six in Alaska. I doubt if he’s up and about
yet.”
“He’s probably just now getting in. You’re an idiot, Jake, for sending Lucien on a road
trip. Hell, he gets drunk between here and his house. Put him on the road, in airport
lounges, hotel bars, you name it, and he’ll kill himself.”
“He’s cutting back. He plans to study for the bar and get reinstated.”
“Cutting back for that old goat means stopping at midnight.”
“When did you get so clean and sober, Harry Rex? You’ve been drinking Bud Light for
breakfast.”
“I know how to pace myself. I’m a professional. Lucien’s just a drunk, that’s all.”
“Are you going to perfect those jury instructions or just sit here and bad-mouth Lucien
all morning?”
Harry Rex stood and began lumbering away. “Later. You got a cold Bud Light?”
“No.” When he was gone, Jake opened the envelope and studied the check from the
insurance company. On the one hand, he was sad because the check represented the end
of their first home. Sure it went up in flames more than three years earlier, but the
lawsuit against the insurance company gave Carla and him hope that it might be
rebuilt. That was still possible, but unlikely. On the other hand, the check meant cash in
the bank; not much by any means, but after paying off the two mortgages they would
net close to $40,000. It wasn’t exactly unrestricted, but it did take some pressure off.
He called Carla and said a small celebration was in order. Find a babysitter.
Lucien sounded normal on the phone, though normal for him meant the usual scratchy
voice and the pained delivery of a drunk trying to shake off cobwebs. He said their man
Lonny Clark had a rough night; the infection would not subside; the doctors were more
concerned than the day before; and, most important, he was not receiving visitors.
“What are your plans?” Jake asked.
“Hang around for a while, maybe take a road trip. You ever been out here, Jake?
Pretty spectacular, with mountains on three sides and the Pacific right here at the door.
The town’s not a big place and not that pretty, but, man, what scenery. I like it. I think
I’ll get out and explore.”
“Do you think it’s him, Lucien?”
“I know less than I did when I left Clanton. Still a mystery. The cops don’t care who
he is or what’s happening back there; they’ve got a drug ring to break up. I like it here,
Jake. I might stay awhile. I’m in no hurry to get back. You don’t need me in that
courtroom.”
Jake certainly agreed but said nothing.
Lucien continued, “It’s cool and there’s no humidity. Imagine that, Jake, a place with
no humidity. I like it here. I’ll keep an eye on Lonny and chat with him when they let
me.”
“Are you sober, Lucien?”