Sycamore Row

courtroom.”
    “So do I, to be perfectly honest.”
    “His days are filled with no-fault divorces and who gets the pots and pans. Like any other judge, he wants this case and he wants it at home. We can pick a jury here, Jake. I’m confident.”
    “We?”
    “Of course. You can’t do it by yourself. We proved that during the Hailey trial. You’re okay in the courtroom but it’s my brains that won the case.”
    “Gee, I didn’t remember it that way.”
    “Just trust me, Jake. You want some banana pudding?”
    “Sure, why not?”
    Harry Rex lumbered over to the counter and paid for two hefty servings of dessert, in paper cups. The floor shook as he waddled back to their table and sat violently into his chair. With a mouth full, he said, “Willie Traynor called last night. Wants to know what you’re thinking about that house.”
    “Judge Atlee told me not to buy it, not now anyway.”
    “Beg your pardon?”
    “You heard me.”
    “Didn’t know His Honor was in the real estate business.”
    “He thinks it might look bad, thinks the gossip will be that I’m clipping the estate for a chunk of money so I’m suddenly in the market for a fine old home.”
    “Tell Atlee to kiss your ass. Since when is he in charge of your personal affairs?”
    “Oh he’s very much in charge. He’s approving my legal fees these days.”
    “Bullshit. Look, Jake, tell that old fart to take a hike, to mind his own business. You’re gonna screw around and lose this house and then for the rest of your life, and dear Carla’s too, ya’ll will kick yourselves for not buying it.”
    “We cannot afford it.”
    “You cannot afford not to buy it. They don’t build ’em like that anymore, Jake. Plus, Willie wants you to have it.”
    “Then tell him to cut the price.”
    “It’s already below market.”
    “Not enough.”
    “Look, Jake, here’s the deal. Willie needs the money. I don’t know what he’s up to, but evidently he’s stretched pretty thin. He’ll cut it from two fifty to two twenty-five. It’s a steal, Jake. Hell I’d buy it if my wife would move.”
    “Get another wife.”
    “I’m thinking about it. Look, dumbass, here’s what I’ll do for you. You got your arson case so screwed up it’ll never get settled. Why, because your client is yourself and they taught us in law school that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client, right?”
    “Something like that.”
    “So, I’ll take the case at no charge and get it settled. Who’s the insurance company?”
    “Land Fire and Casualty.”
    “Crooked sonofabitches! Why’d you buy a policy from them?”
    “Is that really helpful at this point?”
    “No. What was their last offer?”
    “It’s a replacement value policy, for one fifty. Since we paid only forty thousand for the house, Land is claiming it was worth a hundred grand when it burned. I kept the receipts, invoices, contractors’ bills, everything, and I can prove we put another fifty into the house. This was over a three-year period. That, plus market appreciation, and I’m claiming the house was worth a hundred and fifty when it burned. They won’t budge. And they totally discount the sweat Carla and I poured into the house.”
    “And that pisses you off?”
    “Damned right it does.”
    “See! You’re too emotionally attached to the case to do any good. You have a fool for a client.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Don’t mention it. How much is the mortgage?”
    “Mortgages, plural. I refinanced it when the renovation was complete. The first mortgage is eighty thousand, the second is just under fifteen.”
    “So Land is offering you just enough to pay off both mortgages.”
    “Basically, yes, and we’d walk away with nothing.”
    “Okay, I’ll make some phone calls.”
    “What kinda phone calls?”
    “Settlement calls, Jake. It’s the art of negotiation, and you got a lot to learn. I’ll have them crooks on the run by five o’clock this afternoon. We’ll settle the case, walk away with some cash, for you, nothing for me, then we’ll put together a deal with Willie for the Hocutt House, and in the meantime you’ll tell the Honorable Reuben Atlee to kiss your ass.”
    “I will?”
    “Damned right you will.”

33
    Instead, Jake uttered not a single word that could have been considered even remotely disrespectful. They gathered on the porch on a windy but warm March afternoon and spent the first half hour talking about Judge Atlee’s two sons. Ray was a law