Clifford Irving's Legal Novels - 04 - BOY ON TRIAL - A Legal Thriller Read Online Free PDF

to the top in about three minutes, hauled himself to his feet, and flashed his white teeth in a big grin.
    “Way to go!” I yelled.
    He vanished from my sight, walking down the back slope of the boulder, and in a half minute he was at my side.
    “Awesome, Duwayne.”
    “You ready, Billy?”
    “Ready for what, Duwayne?”
    “Going up, Billy. Ain’tcha going up, dude?”
    Was I?
    “Sure,” I said.
    I got out my chalk bag and rubbed my hands together a long time.
    “Spot for me, Duwayne?”
    “Affirmative, Billy.”
    I studied the rock. I had a good picture in my mind of how Duwayne had done it and it seemed sensible to copy him. Then it occurred to me that his arms and legs were almost twice as long as mine, so there was no way that I could use the same hand- and foot-holds. I had to find my own way.
    I took a deep breath, dug my fingers into the wall and started up. Right away I felt the tip of a fingernail break. I rammed my toes into the rock. Breathe easy, I told myself. Focus. Keep calm. Don’t freak.
    I crawled toward the sky. Keep going.
    I looked down to see how far I’d climbed. Big mistake.
    I felt I might upchuck. I was six or seven feet off the ground, with maybe eight or nine feet more to climb. Doesn’t sound like a lot unless you’re there and losing strength in the muscles of your fingers. Too far. Too hard. I’ll jump. Duwayne will catch me. My calves felt hot, and they began to shake.
    Duwayne must have noticed I was in trouble. He called up: “You cool?”
    “I’m cool,” I said, breaking out in a hot sweat.
    I could see a handhold just a little way up, so small it was pathetic. There was a foothold but it was in front of my nose. Did I have enough chalk on my fingertips? Too late to worry. I reached for the handhold. Another finger nail broke. I hauled up. The truth is, I was more scared to jump than I was scared to climb.
    I got up to the top in about one more minute. When I got up there I wiped the sweat off my forehead and waved just like Duwayne had waved, and then I waited a minute till my knees stopped trembling, and then I trotted down the sloping rock path in the back. When I reached the bottom Duwayne leaned down and gave me a high five.
    “How old you say you was, Billy?”
    “Almost twelve.”
    “You funning me again, like with Andruw Jones?”
    “No, Duwayne, it’s true.”
    “How long you been climbing rocks?”
    “This is it. I just lost my cherry.”
    “Man, you are real cool.”
    That felt as good as when my dad called me tough.
    The second time I climbed without looking down, because I’d learned that looking down was not cool. You have to learn: that’s the whole point of doing dangerous things, to learn to learn. Then Duwayne and I moved a few yards closer to the bay side and climbed a different route. We each face-climbed three more times. By then the tips of my fingers were too cut up and my arms were too sore to do it anymore.
    Duwayne figured that out and said, “Let’s have a Coke in town, dude.”
    We jumped on our bikes, taking Red Dirt Road through hackberry and dwarf pine. I was enjoying the idea of a cold Coke and maybe a slice of pizza with double anchovies. I was feeling great. This was a landmark day. We headed for Accabonac Road, the road that led south to Main Street. On Red Dirt Road we passed A-1 Self-Storage, and about fifty yards after it we saw a girl in jeans and a dirt-stained sweater stumbling through the scrub on the other side of the road. She was headed away from us, although we were catching up because we were pedaling fast. The girl looked as if she was drunk. She had red hair tied with a black ribbon, the hair twisted now to one side. I realized the girl was Amy Bedford.
    She fell, face down in the scrub, clawed at the bushes a couple of times, and after that, she didn’t move.
    We pedaled faster and when we reached her, we both braked hard. The tires growled and kicked up dust.
    I saw now that it wasn’t dirt on Amy Bedford’s