The Guardians: The explosive new thriller from international bestseller John Grisham - John Grisham Page 0,77

we’ve given him.

We pause and pat ourselves on the back, then return to our work.

Chapter 30

Quincy thinks I’m here because I’m his lawyer and part of my job is to see my clients at every opportunity. This is my fourth visit and I bring him up to date. Of course we have heard nothing from Judge Plank just down the road, and Quincy does not understand why we can’t file a complaint and make the old fossil do something. I describe Zeke Huffey’s performance in court and pass along the guy’s apology for helping send Quincy to prison for the rest of his life. Quincy is unmoved. We kill two hours covering the same material.

Leaving the prison, I head south on a county road that soon expands to four then six lanes as Orlando looms. Watching the rearview mirror has become a habit that I hate, but I can’t make myself stop. I know there’s no one back there. If they are listening and watching they wouldn’t do it with such an antiquated method. They might hack phones and computers and who knows what else, but they wouldn’t waste their time chasing me in my little Ford SUV. I take a quick exit onto a busy thoroughfare, then another quick turn and wheel into the vast parking lot of a suburban mall. I park between two cars, walk inside like an average shopper, and hike at least half a mile to a sprawling Nike store where, at exactly 2:15, I find a rack of men’s running shirts. Tyler Townsend waits on the other side of the rack. He’s wearing a golf cap from a country club and a pair of fake tortoiseshell glasses.

Glancing around, he says softly, “This better be good.”

I examine a shirt and say, “We have seen the enemy. And I think you should know about it.”

“I’m listening,” he says without looking at me.

I tell him about the hearing in front of Judge Plank, the appearance of Nash Cooley and Mickey Mercado, and their clumsy efforts to avoid being seen together. Tyler does not recognize either name.

A kid with a big smile approaches and asks if we need help. I politely wave him off.

I give Tyler all the background we have on both Mercado and Cooley. I summarize what Len Duckworth told us about the DEA and the cartel.

“You suspected Russo was an informant, didn’t you?” I ask.

“Well, he was killed for a reason. Either his wife had him knocked off for the life insurance, which no one really ever believed, or he got in too thick with some of his shady clients. I’ve always figured it was the work of the drug gang. That’s how they handle informants, like those two boys I described down in Belize, or wherever it was. Remember the photo, Post? Me on the zip line?”

“I think about it all the time.”

“And so do I. Look, Post, if they’re watching you then we ain’t gonna be pals no more. I don’t want to see you again.” He takes a step back, glaring at me. “Nothing, Post, you hear? No contact whatsoever.”

I nod and say, “Got it.”

At the door he scans the mall, as if he might see a couple of thugs with large guns, then walks away as nonchalantly as possible. He quickens his pace and is soon out of sight, and I realize how utterly terrified he is by the past.

The question is: How terrified should we be of the present?

The answer arrives within hours.

We select our cases with great care, and once engaged we investigate and litigate with diligence. Our goal is to find the truth and exonerate our clients, something we’ve now done nine times in the past twelve years. However, it has never occurred to me that our efforts to save a client might get one killed.

It was a prison beating with all the markings of an ambush, and as such it will be difficult to get the facts. Witnesses are unreliable if they come forward at all. Guards often see nothing. The administration has every reason to cover up and to slant its version in a way most favorable to the prison.

Not long after I said goodbye to Quincy that morning, he was jumped by two men in a walkway between a machine shop and a gymnasium. He was stabbed by a shank and beaten severely by blunt instruments, and left for dead. A guard eventually walked by, saw him lying in a pool of blood, and called