The Client

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Book: Read The Client for Free Online
Authors: John Grisham
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers
Great, she knew he was a kid. He hoped he could at least sound like a young teenager.
    “Do you want to know about the body or not?” Mark asked.
    “Where is the body?”
    This is just great, he thought, already telling someone about it. And not someone to be trusted, but someone who wore a uniform and worked with the police, and he could just hear this taped conversation as it would be repeatedly played before the jury, just like on television. They would do all those voice tests and everyone would know it was Mark Sway on the phone telling about the body when no one else in the world knew about it. He tried to make his voice even deeper.
    “It’s near Tucker Wheel Estates, and—”
    “That’s on Whipple Road.”
    “Yes, that’s right. It’s in the woods between Tucker Wheel Estates and Highway 17.”
    “The body is in the woods?”
    “Sort of. The body is actually lying on a car in the woods.”
    “And the body’s dead?”
    “The guy’s been shot, okay. With a gun, in the mouth, and I’m sure the man’s dead.”
    “Have you seen the body?” The woman’s voice was losing its professional restraint. It had an edge to it now.
    What kind of stupid question is that, Mark thought. Have I seen it? She was stalling, trying to keep him on the line so she could trace it.
    “Son, have you seen the body?” she asked again.
    “Of course I’ve seen it.”
    “I need your name, son.”
    “Look, there’s a small dirt road off Highway 17 that leads to a small clearing in the woods. The car is big and black, and the dead man is lying on it. If you can’t find it, well, tough luck. Bye.”
    He hung up and stared at the phone. The trailer was perfectly still. He walked to the door and peered through the dirty curtains, half expecting squad cars to come flying in from all directions—loudspeakers, SWAT teams, bulletproof vests.
    Get a grip. He shook Ricky again, and, touching his arm, noticed how clammy it was. But Ricky was still sleeping and sucking his thumb. Mark gently grabbed him around the waist and dragged him across the floor, down the narrow hallway to their bedroom, where he shoveled him into bed. Ricky mumbled and wiggled a bit along the way, but quickly curled into a ball. Mark covered him with a blanket and closed the door.
    Mark wrote a note to his mother, told her Ricky felt bad and was sleeping so please be quiet, and he’d be home in an hour or so. The boys were not required to be home when she arrived, but if they weren’t, there’d better be a note.
    The distant beat of a helicopter went unnoticed by Mark.
    HE LIT A CIGARETTE ALONG THE TRAIL. TWO YEARS AGO, A new bike had disappeared from a house in the suburbs, not far from the trailer park. It was rumored to have been seen behind one of the mobile homes, and thesame rumor held that it was being stripped and repainted by a couple of trailer park kids. The suburb kids enjoyed classifying their lesser neighbors as trailer park kids, the implications being obvious. They attended the same school, and there were daily fights between the two societies. All crime and mischief in the suburbs were automatically blamed on the trailer people.
    Kevin, the delinquent on North Street, had the new bike and had shown it to a few of his buddies before it was repainted. Mark had seen it. The rumors flew and the cops poked around, and one night there was a knock at the door. Mark’s name had been mentioned in the investigation, and the policeman had a few questions. He sat at the kitchen table and glared down at Mark for an hour. It was very unlike television, where the defendant keeps his cool and sneers at the cop.
    Mark admitted nothing, didn’t sleep for three nights, and vowed to live a clean life and stay away from trouble.
    But this was trouble. Real trouble, much worse than a stolen bike. A dead man who told secrets before he died. Was he telling the truth? He was drunk and crazy as hell, talking about the wizard and all. But why would he lie?
    Mark

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