He walked out into the June morning and took a seat on one of the wooden benches in front of the Holmes-Hunter Academic Building. It was both marvelous and somehow disturbing to imagine this person walking along the collegiate pathways, perhaps sitting on this very bench in front of the distinctly plantation-esque building he’d just exited. Could she still be here in Athens? It was certainly possible, but Jake suspected she was long gone to some other town in some other state, doing who knew what else as she kept up an obsessive campaign against him and his work.
Jake found the offices of Arthur Pickens, Esquire, on College Avenue and took an outdoor table at a café a few storefronts up the street to gather his thoughts. He was looking over some of the distinctly unsavory information about Pickens gathered over the days since his visit to that other Esquire in Rutland, Vermont, when he saw an obviously irate father ushering his college-aged son, clad in the now familiar UGA red attire, into the attorney’s office. The pair stayed inside for a long time, and when they finally emerged, Jake got up from his table and entered by the same door, finding himself at the foot of a steep staircase. On the second floor, the office’s glass door was unlocked, and inside, a florid-faced man was seated at a massive mahogany desk. Behind him: shelves of law books, so pristine they looked as if they’d never been opened. That wasn’t inconsistent with what he’d learned about Arthur Pickens, Esquire.
The man was frowning. Jake, also, was frowning. Then he remembered that he had the first line.
“Mr. Pickens?”
“I am. And you are?”
“Jacob Bonner.”
Jake crossed the room with his hand extended. He was going for southern genteel, the Yankee approximation. “Sorry not to call first. If you’re busy I’d be happy to come back.”
Pickens, however, remained seated. He did not extend his own hand. He seemed to be giving Jake more disapproval than even an unexpected walk-in deserved.
“I don’t believe that will be necessary, Mr. Bonner. I won’t be able to help you, even if you come back another time.”
The two of them stared at each other. Jake let his hand drop. Finally, he managed: “I’m sorry?”
“I’m sorry you’re sorry. But attorney-client privilege makes it impossible for me to answer your questions.”
“Are you saying you already know what I’ve come to talk to you about?”
“I am not at liberty to answer that,” Pickens said.
“And, just to be clear, you also know which of your clients my questions pertain to.”
“Again, I won’t be answering.”
Jake, for all of his anticipation, and despite, in particular, the hour he’d just spent waiting at the café up the street, had not considered this particular scenario. As a result, he was floored.
“So I respectfully invite you to leave, Mr. Bonner,” Pickens added. He also got to his feet.
There were, apparently, very long legs underneath that big desk, and they unfolded as the attorney rose. At his considerable height he looked every inch the flower of southern manhood, from that athletic frame to the red face and swept-back hair, a mite too uniformly brown to be entirely natural. He stood, leaning forward, arms braced on his desk, wearing an oddly not-unfriendly smile but clearly expecting Jake to go without further comment.
Instead, Jake crossed the room and took one of the chairs on the other side of the desk.
“I’ve decided to hire an attorney,” he said. “I’m being harassed and threatened, and I would like to file suit for defamation.”
Pickens frowned. Perhaps what he’d been told hadn’t included the parts about harassment, threats, and defamation.
“I have reason to believe the harassment originated here in Athens, and I need a local attorney to act on my behalf.”
“I’d be happy to refer you to somebody else. I know some excellent attorneys here in Athens.”
“But you’re an excellent attorney, Mr. Pickens. I mean, you certainly appear to be, if you don’t look too closely.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pickens said sharply.
“Well, you obviously know who I am. I assume that means you also know I’m a writer. Writers research. And of course I’ve researched you.”
Pickens nodded. “Happy to hear it. My online ratings are excellent.”
“Absolutely correct!” Jake said. “Duke University undergrad. Vanderbilt Law. Really good stuff. I mean, there was that cheating thing at Duke, but it was your whole frat. Doesn’t seem fair to single you out. And then you did have that one incident with your client’s daughter. And your own DUIs, of course. But who doesn’t have DUIs, right? Also, I’m sure the Clarke County cops were out to get a successful defense attorney like you. Still, that was a close shave with the Georgia bar.”
Pickens sat down. He was so livid, his face had slid into an even deeper shade of red.
“Anyway, I think most people just stop with Facebook or Yelp when they’re looking for a lawyer. You’re probably okay.”
“Now who’s harassing and threatening?” he said. “I’ve already asked you to leave.”
“Is Rose Parker the person who said I might be coming to see you?”
He did not respond.
“Do you know where she is now?”
“Mr. Bonner, I’ve asked you to leave, several times. Now I’m going to phone the police. Then you, too, can have a criminal complaint filed against you here in Clarke County.”
Jake sighed. He got to his feet. “Well, I’m sure you know what you’re doing. I’m just worried that when they come talk to you about the Vermont crimes, all that old stuff about you is going to come out. But I guess you’ve made your peace with that.”
“I know nothing about any Vermont crimes. I have never set foot in Vermont. I have never been north of the Mason-Dixon Line.”
He said this with such pride he actually sneered. What a pathetic loser.
“Well”—Jake shrugged—“that’s fine, though when those Yankee investigators arrive I don’t think you’ll get rid of them just by asking them to leave. My guess is you’ll need to hire representation of your own. Maybe one of those excellent attorneys you were about to refer me to. Maybe whoever handled your DUIs or that business with the teenager. And I’ll probably be naming you in my own lawsuit. You know, when I sue your client for damages. So maybe, if they represent you for that, too, they’ll give you a break on the price.”
Mr. Arthur Pickens looked as if he might blow apart.
“You want to waste your money on a frivolous lawsuit, you go right ahead. As I said, attorney-client privilege prevents me from providing any information about my client. Please leave.”