Sycamore Row - John Grisham

fighting, the hand-to-hand combat, the thrill of the secret phone recording or the
surprise eight-by-ten snapshot of the girlfriend in her new convertible. His trials were
trench warfare. His alimony settlements set records. For fun he blew up uncontested
divorces and turned them into two-year death marches. He loved to sue ex-lovers for
alienation of affection. If none of the dirty tricks in his bag worked, he invented more.
With a near monopoly on the market, he controlled the docket and bullied the court
clerks. Young lawyers ran from him, and old lawyers, already burned, kept their
distance. He had few friends and those who remained loyal often struggled to do so.
Among lawyers, Harry Rex trusted only Jake, and the trust was mutual. During the
Hailey trial, when Jake was losing sleep and weight and focus and dodging bullets and
death threats and certain he was about to blow the biggest case of his career, Harry Rex
quietly stepped into Jake’s office. He stayed in the background, spending hours on the
case without looking for a dime. He unloaded volumes of free advice and kept Jake
sane.
As always, on Mondays, Harry Rex was at his desk eating a hoagie for lunch. For
divorce lawyers like him, Mondays were the worst days as marriages cracked over the
weekends and spouses already at war ramped up their attacks. Jake entered the
building through a rear door to avoid (1) the notoriously prickly secretaries and (2) the
smoke-laden waiting room filled with stressed-out clients. Harry Rex’s office door was
closed. Jake listened for a moment, heard no voices, then shoved it open.
“What do you want?” Harry Rex growled as he chomped on a mouthful. The hoagie
was spread before him on wax paper, with a small mountain of barbecue potato chips
piled around it. He was washing it all down with a bottle of Bud Light.
“Well, good afternoon, Harry Rex. Sorry to barge in on your lunch.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of a beefy hand and said, “You’re not bothering my
lunch. What’s up?”
“Drinking already?” Jake said as he backed into a massive leather chair.
“If you had my clients you’d start at breakfast.”
“I thought you did.”
“Never on Mondays. How’s Miss Carla?”
“Fine, thanks, and how’s Miss, uh, what’s her name?”
“Jane, smart-ass. Jane Ellen Vonner, and she’s not only surviving life with me but
seems to be having a ball and thankful to be so lucky. Finally found a woman who
understands me.” He scooped up a pile of bright red chips and crammed them in his
mouth.
“Congratulations. When do I meet her?”
“We’ve been married for two years.”
“I know, but I prefer to wait five. No sense rushing in when these gals have such a
short shelf life.”
“You come here to insult me?”
“Of course not.” And Jake was being honest. Swapping insults with Harry Rex was a
fool’s game. He weighed over three hundred pounds and lumbered around town like an
old bear, but his tongue was stunningly quick and vicious.