Bum Rap Read Online Free Page B

reached across the table, grabbed my legal pad and pen, and scribbled something. Then he shoved the pad back at me: SCREW YOU, LASSITER!
    “I think you’ve got the hang of it,” I said.
    “Now, are we done with your rules?”
    “We’re not done, but if you want to talk, I’m here to listen.”
    “Great. I’ll speak loudly so you can hear and slowly so you can understand. First, what’s the chance you can get me out on bail?”
    “State Attorney is seeking an indictment for first-degree murder. He usually gets what he wants, so the answer is none.”
    “I’m sorry, Steve,” Victoria said.
    “It’s okay, hon. Been here for contempt. Lots of times, in fact.” He turned to me, smiling. “Does that shock you, Lassiter?”
    “Not that you’ve been held in contempt. Only that you consider it a merit badge.”
    “A lawyer who’s afraid of jail is like a surgeon who’s afraid of blood.”
    “Glad you’re comfortable here. If we lose, life at Raiford won’t seem so bad.”
    Solomon looked as if he wanted to do to me what the state said he did to the Russian. “Lassiter, you have a remarkable ability not to inspire confidence in a client.”
    “Why don’t you tell me your story and see if you can inspire my belief in your innocence?” I said.
    “Before I do, promise you won’t get on that white horse of yours and start making moral judgments.”
    “I’m a lawyer. I make legal judgments.”
    “Good. Because you’re no more a pillar of the Bar than I am. I remember when you were charged with killing your banker.”
    Yet more proof , I thought, that our past clings to us like mud on rusty cleats . Pamela Baylins was my banker and my lover. Client funds went missing from my trust accounts. She accused me; I accused her. She ended up dead, and I was indicted.
    “Bum rap,” I said.
    “So’s this!” Solomon chewed his lower lip, then turned to Victoria, his dark eyes lighting up. “I get it now. You hired Lassiter because he’s been wrongfully charged, and you think he can relate to me in some band-of-brothers, soldiers-in-the-foxhole way.”
    “I think his unique experiences might be useful,” Victoria said evenly. “I think you two have more in common than either of you may realize.”
    “Doubt it,” I said.
    “Agree with that,” Solomon said.
    “You both piss people off, just in different ways.”
    I shrugged. So did Solomon.
    “If you were criminals—”
    “Which I’m not,” we both sang in unison.
    “Steve would be a smooth-talking con man and Jake would be a strong-arm robber.”
    “What?” I protested. “I’m not smooth talking?”
    “You were both athletes in your younger days,” Victoria said. “Famous locally in odd sorts of ways.”
    Solomon showed a crooked little grin. “You gotta be talking about Wrong Way Lassiter. Scored a touchdown for the other team.”
    “Scored a safety,” I corrected him.
    “It’s the only reason anyone even remembers you played for the Dolphins.”
    “Shakespeare said only our bad deeds live after us,” Victoria, the smart one, said. “The good is oft interred with their bones.”
    “Wrong Way Lassiter,” Solomon repeated, pouring dirt on my bones.
    Life is unfair. In my last season before being cut, I made a hard-as-hell tackle on a kickoff against the Jets. So hard my helmet cracked down the middle and the ball came loose. Somehow, I scooped up the fumble. So far so good, but I’d suffered a concussion on the tackle and was already dizzy. I got turned around and ran to the wrong end zone. Where roughly eleven New York Jets happily landed on me. Two points for the Jets, Dolphins lose by one, and my name lives in infamy.
    I had so far resisted, but now I gave in. “Glad you enjoy that old story so much . . . Last Out Solomon.”
    “I knew you’d bring that up!” he shot back.
    “I used to take my nephew Kip to the UM games on Sunday afternoons. It was years after your time on campus, but everyone still talked about that day