Cry Me A River Read Online Free

checked for cars, then dashed to the other side. He looked at the building into which he would enter. It was old and poorly kept. There was a small metal placard on the solid wood door bearing the name Jack Elroy Johnson, Attorney-At-Law. Tyrone flinched; the door opened, and a young white woman came out followed by a middle-aged white man. Tyrone nodded and spoke, then stepped aside. They cleared the doorway, and a second white man appeared. He looked at Tyrone, and Tyrone waited for him to speak.
    “What can I do for you?” he asked. His voice was strong and professional, and his tone was pleasant but authoritative.
    “I’m looking for Captain Jack,” Tyrone said, then quickly added, “I mean, Mr. Jack … I mean, Mr. Johnson.”
    “I’m Johnson,” the man said. “How can I help you?”
    “I heard you my son’s lawyer.”
    Captain Jack furrowed his brow and tilted his head, but did not speak, and Tyrone realized that he was waiting for him to say more.
    “Marcus Stokes,” Tyrone said, then paused.
    “Ah, yes,” Captain Jack said. “Come on in.”
    Tyrone edged through the door, observing Captain Jack as he entered. He was an older man in his late sixties or early seventies. He wasn’t fat, but he was slightly overweight. His silver hair was combed to the back andneatly cropped just above his ears. His clothes were neat, but they did not appear to be expensive. He wore a plain white shirt, with a bow tie, and a pair of dark-colored slacks that were secured with a pair of bright red suspenders.
    “Come this way,” he instructed.
    Tyrone followed him through the small room into an even smaller room.
    “Take a seat,” he said. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
    Tyrone took a seat in a plain wooden chair that had been positioned before an old oak desk that seemed too large for the quaint, little, windowless room. Captain Jack excused himself, and Tyrone looked over his surroundings. Besides the chair that he sat in, and the file cabinet behind the desk, the only other furniture was a bookshelf that someone had set in the far right corner. The papered walls were bare save for a clock that hung on one wall and an arrangement of frames containing Captain Jack’s diplomas that hung on the other.
    Tyrone heard a toilet flush followed by the sound of water running. Then he saw the door open, and he watched Captain Jack enter the room and take a seat behind the desk. The lawyer closed a folder that was sitting before him, pulled open a drawer, and slid it inside.
    “So, you would be Tyrone Stokes, correct?” he said, after he had closed the desk drawer and leaned back in his chair.
    “Yes, sir,” Tyrone said. “That’s me.”
    “Well, what can I do for you?” he asked, then waited.
    “I want to know where things stand with my son,” Tyrone said.
    “Not good,” Captain Jack told him. “The courthanded down its ruling late yesterday evening. Our appeal was denied. The verdict stands.”
    “Now what?” Tyrone asked, then slid to the edge of his chair and stared deep into Captain Jack’s eyes, anxiously waiting to hear some clever legal trick that would save his son’s life.
    “We will petition the governor for a stay of execution.”
    “And then what?”
    “That’s all we have left.”
    “Will it work?”
    Captain Jack did not answer immediately. He cupped his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.
    “He is not showing any remorse,” he said after a brief silence.
    “Because he didn’t do it.” Tyrone was adamant.
    “There will be no stay without contrition.”
    “So he’ll have to lie to live?”
    There was silence.
    “Mr. Stokes, even then, he would most certainly die.”
    “Do you believe he’s innocent?” Tyrone asked.
    “I believe I did all I could to defend him,” he said. “There was just too much to overcome. The evidence … his life … you.”
    Tyrone opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind him. He turned