"Now please go bother someone else." "Sure. And if I get hit by a truck or something, I'll come back to see you." He walked through the carnage, and made a quick exit.
He took the stairs down and explored the second floor. More lawyers. On one door he counted twenty-two bronze names. Lawyers on top of lawyers. Surely one of these guys could help him. He passed a few of them in the hall. They were too busy to notice.
A security guard suddenly appeared and walked slowly toward him. Mark glanced at the next door. The words REGGIE LOVE-LAWYER were painted on it in small letters, and he casually turned the knob and stepped inside. The small reception area was quiet and empty. Not a single client was waiting. Two chairs and a sofa sat around a glass table. The magazines were arranged neatly. Soft music came from above. A pretty rug covered the hardwood floor. A young man with a tie but no coat stood from his desk behind some potted trees and walked a few steps forward. "May I help you?" he asked quite pleasantly.
"Yes. I need to see a lawyer." "You're a bit young to need a lawyer, aren't you?" "Yes, but I'm having some problems. Are you Reggie Love?" "No. Reggie's in the back. I'm her secretary. What's your name?" He was her secretary. Reggie was a she. The secretary was a he. "Uh, Mark Sway. You're a secretary?" "And a paralegal, among other things. Why aren't you in school?" A nameplate on the desk identified him as Glint Van Hooser.
"So you're not a lawyer?" "No. Reggie's the lawyer." "Then I need to speak with Reggie." "She's busy right now. You can have a seat." He waved at the sofa.
"How long will it be?" Mark asked.
"I don't know." The young man was amused by this kid needing a lawyer. "I'll tell her you're here. Maybe she can see you for a minute." "It's very important." The kid was nervous and sincere. His eyes glanced at the door as if someone had followed him there. "Are you in trouble, Mark?" Clint asked.
"Yes." "What type of trouble? You need to tell me a little about it, or Reggie won't talk to you." "I'm supposed to talk to the FBI at noon, and I think I need a lawyer." This was good enough. "Have a seat. It'll be a minute." Mark eased into a chair, and as soon as Clint disappeared he opened a yellow phone book and flipped through the pages until he found the attorneys. There was Gill Teal again in his full-page spread. Pages and pages of huge ads, all crying out for injured people.
Photos of busy and important men and women holding thick law books or sitting behind wide desks or listening intently to the telephones stuck in their ears. Then half-page ones, then quarter. Reggie Love was not there. What kind of lawyer was she?
Reggie Love was one of thousands in the Memphis Yellow Pages. She couldn't be much of a lawyer if the Yellow Pages thought so little of her, and the thought of racing from the office crossed his mind. But then there was Gill Teal, the one for real, the people's lawyer, the star of the Yellow Pages who also had enough fame to get himself on television, and just look at his office down the hall. No, he quickly decided, he'd take his chances with Reggie Love. Maybe she needed clients. Maybe she had more time to help him. The idea of a woman lawyer suddenly appealed to him because he'd seen one on "L. A. Law" once and she had ripped up some cops pretty good. He closed the book and returned it carefully to the magazine rack beside the chair. The office was cool and pretty. There were no voices.
CLINT CLOSED THE DOOR BEHIND HIM AND EASED ACROSS the Persian rug to her desk. Reggie Love was on the phone, listening, more than talking. Clint placed three phone messages before her, and gave the standard hand signal to indicate someone was waiting in the reception area. He sat on the corner of the desk, straightening a paper clip and watching her.
There was no leather in the office. The walls were papered with light floral shades of rose and pink. A spotless desk of glass and chrome covered one corner of the rug. The chairs were sleek and upholstered with a burgundy rabric. inis, witnout a doubt, was trie orrice of a woman. A very neat woman.
Reggie Love was fifty-two years old, and had been practicing law for less than five years. She was of medium build with very short, very gray hair that fell in bangs almost to the top of her perfectly round, black-framed glasses. The eyes were green, and they glowed at Glint as if something funny had been said. Then she rolled them and shook her head. "Good-bye, Sam," she finally said, and hung up.
"Got a new client for you," Clint said with a smile.
"I don't need new clients,' Clint. I need clients who can pay. What's his name?" "Mark Sway. He's just a kid, ten maybe twelve years old. And he says he's supposed to meet with the FBI at noon. Says he needs a lawyer." "He's alone?" "Yeah." "How'd he find us?" "I have no idea. I'm just the secretary, remember. You'll have to ask some questions yourself." Reggie stood and walked around the desk. "Show him in. And rescue me in fifteen minutes, okay. I've got a busy morning." "FOLLOW ME, MARK," CLINT SAID, AND MARK FOLLOWED him through a narrow door and down a hallway. Her office door was covered with stained glass, and a small brass plate again said REGGIE LOVE-LAWYER. Clint opened the door, and motioned for Mark to enter.
The first thing he noticed about her was her hair. It was gray and shorter than his; very short above the ears and in the back, a bit thicker on top with bangs halfway down. He'd never seen a woman with gray hair worn so short. She wasn't old and she wasn't young.
She smiled appropriately as they met at the door. "Mark, I'm Reggie Love." She offered her hand, he took it reluctantly, and she squeezed hard and shook firm. Shaking hands with women was not something he did often. She was neither tall nor short, thin nor heavy. Her dress was straight and black and she wore black and gold bracelets on both wrists. They rattled.
"Nice to meet you," he said weakly as they shook. She was already leading him to a corner of the office, where two soft chairs faced a table with picture books on it.
"Have a seat," she said. "I have only a minute." Mark sat on the edge of his seat, and was suddenly terrified. He'd lied to his mother. He'd lied to the police. He'd lied to Dr. Greenway. He was about to lie to the FBI. Romey had been dead less than a day, and he was lying right and left to everyone who asked. Tomorrow he would certainly lie to the next person. Maybe it was time to come clean for a change. Sometimes it was frightening to tell the truth, but he usually felt better afterward. But the thought of unloading all this baggage on a stranger made his blood run cold.
"Would you like something to drink?" "No ma'am." She crossed her legs. "Mark Sway, right? Please do not call me ma'am, all right? My name is not Ms. Love or any of that, my name is Reggie. I'm old enough to be your grandmother, but you call me Reggie, okay?" "Okay." "How old are you, Mark? Tell me a. little about yourself." "I'm eleven. I'm in the fifth grade at Willow Road." "Why aren't you in school this morning?" "It's a long story." "I see. And you're here because of this long story?" "Yes." "Do you want to tell me this long story?" "I think so." "Glint said you're supposed to meet with the FBI at noon. Is this true?" "Yes. They want to ask me some questions at the hospital." She picked up a legal pad from the table and wrote something on it. "The hospital?" "It's part of the long story. Can I ask you something, Reggie?" It was strange calling this lady by a baseball name. He'd watched a TV movie about the life of Reggie Jackson, and remembered the crowd chanting Reggie! Reggie! in perfect unison. Then there was the Reggie candy bar.