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to give away their time so they can pat themselves on the back and preach about lawyers and about social responsibility. Four hundred thousand, can you believe it?”
    Adam had heard the rumors. “You’re not complaining, are you?”
    “No. I’m the luckiest lawyer in town, Mr. Hall. I get paid a truckload of money for doing work I enjoy, and I punch no clock and don’t worry about billing. It’s a lawyer’s dream. That’s why I still bust my ass sixty hours a week. I’m almost seventy, you know.”
    The legend around the firm was that Goodman, as a younger man, succumbed to the pressure and almost killed himself with liquor and pills. He dried out for a year while his wife took the kids and left him, then he convinced the partners he was worth saving. He just needed an office where life did not revolve around a clock.
    “What kind of work are you doing for Emmitt Wycoff?” Goodman asked.
    “Lot of research. Right now he’s defending a bunch of defense contractors, and that takes most of my time. I argued a motion in court last week.” Adam said this with a touch of pride. Rookies were usually kept chained to their desks for the first twelve months.
    “A real motion?” Goodman asked, in awe.
    “Yes sir.”
    “In a real courtroom?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “Before a real judge?”
    “You got it.”
    “Who won?”
    “Judge ruled for the prosecution, but it was close. I really tied him in knots.” Goodman smiled at this, but the game was quickly over. He opened the file again.
    “Wycoff sends along a pretty strong letter of recommendation. That’s out of character for him.”
    “He recognizes talent,” Adam said with a smile.
    “I assume this is a rather significant request, Mr. Hall. Just what is it you have in mind?”
    Adam stopped smiling and cleared his throat. He was suddenly nervous, and decided to recross his legs. “It’s, uh, well, it’s a death penalty case.”
    “A death penalty case?” Goodman repeated.
    “Yes sir.”
    “Why?”
    “I’m opposed to the death penalty.”
    “Aren’t we all, Mr. Hall? I’ve written books about it. I’ve handled two dozen of these damned things. Why do you want to get involved?”
    “I’ve read your books. I just want to help.”
    Goodman closed the file again and leaned on his desk. Two pieces of paper slid off and fluttered to the floor. “You’re too young and you’re too green.”
    “You might be surprised.”
    “Look, Mr. Hall, this is not the same as counseling winos at a soup kitchen. This is life and death. This is high pressure stuff, son. It’s not a lot of fun.”
    Adam nodded but said nothing. His eyes were locked onto Goodman’s, and he refused to blink. A phone rang somewhere in the distance, but they both ignored it.
    “Any particular case, or do you have a new client for Kravitz & Bane?” Goodman asked.
    “The Cayhall case,” Adam said slowly.
    Goodman shook his head and tugged at the edges of his bow tie. “Sam Cayhall just fired us. The Fifth Circuit ruled last week that he does indeed have the right to terminate our representation.”
    “I’ve read the opinion. I know what the Fifth Circuit said. The man needs a lawyer.”
    “No he doesn’t. He’ll be dead in three months with or without one. Frankly, I’m relieved to have him out of my life.”
    “He needs a lawyer,” Adam repeated.
    “He’s representing himself, and he’s pretty damnedgood, to be perfectly honest. Types his own motions and briefs, handles his own research. I hear he’s been giving advice to some of his buddies on death row, just the white ones though.”
    “I’ve studied his entire file.”
    E. Garner Goodman twirled his spectacles slowly and thought about this. “That’s a half a ton of paper. Why’d you do it?”
    “I’m intrigued by the case. I’ve watched it for years, read everything written about the man. You asked me earlier why I chose Kravitz & Bane. Well, the truth is that I wanted to work on the Cayhall case, and I think