Gideon - 04 - Illegal Motion Read Online Free PDF

“D” in it almost thirty years ago at Fayetteville. An excellent student otherwise, Sarah has unfortunately inherited my math brains.
    “Hang in there,” I advise.
    “And don’t get behind.” The pearls of wisdom are really dropping tonight. I get to the point of why I called.
    “I’m coming to Fayetteville tomorrow to interview a client. Do you know Dade Cunningham?”
    “Dad!” Sarah shrieks into the phone.
    “You’re representing him?”
    “His uncle is James Cunningham, who lives down the street,” I explain.
    “I just talked to Dade’s father about an hour ago. Do you know Dade?”
    “This is so weird!” Sarah wails.
    “You’re really going to be his lawyer?”
    “Is it going to cause you any problems?” I ask. My daughter has never reconciled herself to the way I pay her bills. She concedes that in the abstract criminal defense work is a necessary evil, but like most people, she believes that once someone is actually charged with a crime, the only worthwhile thing left to do in the case is to figure out the length of the prison term. I should have realized Sarah wouldn’t be too thrilled about my taking this case. A kid goes off to school to get away from her parents, and here I am popping up again.
    “I guess not,” she says, her voice sounding even more tired than when we began the conversation.
    “I’ve seen him at pep rallies and stuff like that. He was in my west em civ class last year. I know him well enough to say “Hi,” but that’s all.”
    Not bosom buddies then. When I took WE, they might as well have taught it in Razorback Stadium.
    “People won’t even know,” I tell her, “that we’re related.”
    “Of course they will,” Sarah contradicts me.
    “This is like the stock market dropping three hundred points in one day up here. All anybody talks about is the Razorbacks.”
    An exaggeration, but I know what she means. Bill Clinton is the number one fan.
    “Have you heard anything about the incident?” I can’t help but ask, though I know she is anxious to leave.
    “Dad, please don’t try to get me involved,” she says impatiently.
    “I know how you’ve used Rainey.”
    Sarah is always accusing me of using people in my life to get information in my big cases. My off-and-on girlfriend Rainey, a social worker at the state hospital, seemed like a member of my staff she was so helpful.
    Sarah would become incensed when I asked Rainey to hide a client or witness for a night or two at her house as I had to do a couple of times. Rainey never complained.
    Other things about me upset her. But not my work. Invariably, she would get sucked in once a case got going.
    “Have you heard anything about what Robin is like?” I ask.
    “Dad!” Sarah pleads.
    I back off.
    “Be careful tonight,” I advise, unable not to have the last word. I let her go after telling her I will call her for dinner tomorrow evening. I assume I will be spending the night. It is too long a trip
    to make often. My fees will be eaten up in transportation and lodging costs.
    Yet, if I end up negotiating Dade’s pro contract, it will be the best time I ever spent.
    “I love you, Sarah,” I say, finally.
    “I love you, too,” she says, her voice full of exasperation, before she hangs up.
    After taking a Lean Cuisine out of the freezer and pop ping it in the microwave, I open a Miller Lite and sit at the kitchen table and wait for Barton’s call. I try to read (he part of the paper I missed this morning but give up because I’m thinking about the case and Sarah’s comments about the Razorbacks. Why are they so damn important? Not just to me, but to hundreds of thousands in the state. Including the President of the United States.
    And it is winning that is crucial. Not merely competing, not good sportsmanship, not the sheer athleticism of our players, imported or not. Winning, in our brains, equates with respect. And this is what we crave. Why wouldn’t we feel as good about ourselves if we were to