A Time for Mercy (Jake Brigance #3) - John Grisham Page 0,116

times you can file?”

“I’m afraid so.” With her financial problems, criminal convictions, and divorces, he figured she knew more about the law than most lawyers. While he admired her spunk and determination to survive and protect her children, he fought the urge to judge her harshly for her mistakes.

“So, I can’t file again. What do you suggest?”

He wanted to suggest that she go hire herself another lawyer. He had his hands full with her son, and that would probably drive himself into bankruptcy. He had never agreed to represent her. On the contrary, he had been strong-armed into defending Drew. But he was the family’s lawyer and there was no way out of it.

Harry Rex would run her off, shoo her out of the office, and show little sympathy. Lucien would take her in and then dump her problems on the desk of some lowly associate while he mounted a noisy defense of her son. Jake didn’t have that luxury. And the truth was that he rarely said no to an indigent client in need. At times it seemed that half of his work was pro bono, either agreed on up front or realized months later when his fees were written off.

Complicating matters was the ticking clock. Kiera would have a baby in about three months. His conversations with Carla were still fresh.

“Okay, I’ll call the hospitals and doctors and have a chat.”

She was wiping her eyes. “You ever had your paycheck garnished, Jake?”

What paycheck? “No, I haven’t.”

“It’s awful. You work hard at a crap job and when you finally get paid there’s a yellow notice in the envelope. Some credit card company or finance company or crooked used car dealer has snagged your paycheck and cut it in half. It’s just awful. That’s the way I live, Jake. Always climbin’ a mountain, tryin’ to keep food on the table, and there’s always somebody after me. Writin’ mean letters. Hirin’ collection lawyers. Threatenin’, somebody’s always threatenin’. I don’t mind workin’ hard but I’m just tryin’ to stay afloat, to survive. I can’t even think about gettin’ ahead.”

It was easy to think that her problems were all self-imposed, the damage self-inflicted, but Jake wondered if she had ever really had a chance. She had lived for thirty-two hard years. If given the chance she could be attractive, and this had no doubt led to serious problems with bad men. Perhaps she had been abused. Or perhaps she had always made wrong decisions.

“I’ll make the calls and buy some time,” he said, because he could think of nothing else and needed to do some work, hopefully something that paid.

She blurted, “I need eight hundred dollars for a transmission, Jake, a used one. Can you make me a loan?”

In the life of a small-town lawyer, this was not an unusual request. Jake had learned the hard way to avoid lending money to broke clients. The standard and trusted response was Sorry, but it’s unethical for me to loan money to you.

Why?

Why? Because the chances of getting repaid are rather slim. Why? Because the ethics people down at the state bar association realized decades ago that most of its members, the majority of whom are small-town lawyers, need to be protected from such requests.

At the moment, he had about $4,000 in his firm account, money that would be sorely needed in the forthcoming months to keep his doors open. But, what the hell? She needed the money far more than he did, and if her car quit he would inherit even more problems he didn’t want to deal with. He could work longer hours, hustle more clients, ask Noose to give him indigent appointments that he could ramp up and obtain plea bargains. He was proud to be a street lawyer, as opposed to those stiff suits in the big firms, and he had always been able to hustle for extra work when in a pinch.

He smiled and nodded and said, “I can swing that. I’ll ask you to sign a promissory note with a due date a year from now. It’s sort of a formality, for ethical reasons.”

She wept for a while as Jake pretended to take notes. When the crying finally stopped she said, “I’m sorry, Jake. So sorry.”

He waited until she was somewhat composed and said, “Josie, I have an idea. You’re tired of living in the church. Pastor McGarry and his flock have been amazing in their support for you and Kiera, but you can’t stay there. They’ll