Sycamore Row - John Grisham

“Don’t bet on it. You can’t let it get that far, Jake. You gotta settle this case before it
goes to the jury.”
“I’ll have to resign as the attorney.”
“Then so be it. You’ve made some money, now get out of the way. Think about Lettie
for a moment.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I understand, but what if she walks out of that courtroom without a penny?”
“Maybe that’s what she deserves.”
They slid to a stop in the gravel parking lot of Bates Grocery. The red Saab was the
only foreign car there; every other vehicle was a pickup truck, and not a one less than
ten years old. They waited in line as Mrs. Bates patiently filled their plates with her
vegetables and Mr. Bates collected $3.50 from each customer, sweet iced tea and corn
bread included. The crowd was almost shoulder to shoulder and there were no empty
chairs. “Over there,” Mr. Bates said, nodding, and Jake and Harry Rex sat at a small
counter not too far from the massive gas stove that was covered with pots. They could
talk, but carefully.
Not that it mattered. Not a single person having lunch knew a trial was under way in
town, and they certainly didn’t know how badly the trial had turned against Jake.
Perched on a stool and hunched over his plate, he sat forlornly and looked through the
crowd.
“Hey, you gotta eat,” Harry Rex said.
“No appetite,” Jake said.
“Can I have your plate?”
“Maybe. I envy these people. They don’t have to go back into that courtroom.”
“Neither do I. You’re on your own, buddy. You’ve screwed up the case so bad it can
never be rescued. I’m outta there.”
Jake pinched off a bite of corn bread and stuck it in his mouth. “Didn’t you go to
school with Lester Chilcott?”
“I did. Biggest prick in law school. Nice enough guy when we started, but then he got
a job with a big Jackson firm and, bam, just like that, he became a flaming asshole. I
guess it happens. He’s not the first. Why?”
“Grab him this afternoon and whisper to him. See if they’ll talk settlement.”
“Okay. What kind of settlement?”
“I don’t know, but if they’ll come to the table, we’ll cut a deal. If I resign, I think
Judge Atlee will take charge of the negotiations and make sure everyone gets
something.”
“Now you’re talking. It’s worth a shot.”
Jake managed a bit of fried okra. Harry Rex was half-finished and eyeing Jake’s
plate. He said, “Look, Jake, you played football, right?”
“I tried.”
“No, I remember when you were the quarterback for scrawny little Karaway, never
had a winning season, as I recall. What was the worst ass-whipping you ever took on
the field?”