The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)
Robert Bailey
In loving memory of my grandmother, Rene Graham Bailey.
PROLOGUE
Tuscaloosa, Alabama, 1969
The Man said to be at the Waysider at 5.30 in the morning. Tom arrived at 5.20, knowing that it was a bad idea to be late for a meeting set up by the Man. He hoped he would arrive first, maybe drink some water and gather his thoughts, but the Man was already there. Sitting at a table in the corner of the café, Coach Paul “Bear” Bryant read the Birmingham News and drank coffee.
Tom waded through the other tables and approached the Man, who hadn’t moved since the jingle of the front door announced Tom’s arrival. Reaching the table, Tom cleared his throat.
“Hey, Coach.”
The Man looked up from his paper, but didn’t speak or smile. After two or three seconds, his mouth curved into a grin and he extended his hand.
“Well, you’re still a scrawny sack a shit. Ain’t that woman of yours feeding you?”
Tom smiled, relieved that the Man had broken the ice. As they shook hands, a waitress came over to take their orders. The Man ordered two eggs, bacon, grits, biscuits and more coffee. Tom said he’d have the same, knowing his stomach couldn’t handle that much food, but too nervous to ask for a menu.
As the waitress shuffled off, the Man took a sip of coffee and leaned towards Tom.
“So, how are things in Birmingham?”
“Great, Coach,” Tom said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m with a small insurance defense firm. Getting in the courtroom a little.”
“So I hear. Three jury trials and three wins in four years, right?”
Tom nodded, flattered but not surprised. The Man had so many judicial contacts, he could have made one phone call to learn Tom’s trial record. “Yes, sir, I’ve been lucky. George McDuff is a great partner, and he...”
“Lucky my ass,” the Man said, squinting at Tom. “The guy I spoke to said McDuff lets you run the show. He may help pick the jury, but then it’s your ballgame.”
Tom’s face flushed with pride. The Man had done his homework. But why? The Man had not explained the purpose of this meeting when he had called yesterday. He had just said he needed to talk about something important.
“Tom,” the Man said, looking down to light a cigarette. “Jim Heacock came by my office Tuesday morning. You know Jim?”
Tom wrinkled his eyebrows. “Dean Heacock?”
The Man nodded, blowing smoke to his side. “Jim said his Evidence professor quit last week and he needs to fill that spot. He also wants someone to start a trial program and field a team to compete against other law schools. Jim really wants some new blood. Some talent. He said there weren’t any good candidates in the teaching ranks and asked me if I knew of any lawyers in the state who I thought would make a good professor.” The Man paused, tapping his cigarette into an ashtray on the table. “The first name that came to me was yours.”
“Mine?” Tom asked, dumbfounded. He had never given teaching a second thought. He wanted to be a trial lawyer. Just last week, Lawrence Butler of the Jones & Butler firm had invited him to lunch to discuss Tom’s future. Although an offer had not been made, Tom was confident he’d get one soon, if not from Jones & Butler then from one of the other big firms.
“Yours,” the Man repeated. “Salary is fifteen thousand a year.” The Man set his cigarette on the ashtray, and took a sip of coffee. “Tom, it’s real simple. If you want the job, I’ll tell Jim to hire you.”
Tom gazed down at the smouldering cigarette. $15,000 a year? That was a little more than what he was making now, but what about the future? What about being a trial lawyer?
“Coach, I… uh… I don’t know. I’ve never thought about teaching. I’ll need to talk with Julie. When do you need to know something?”
“Just get back to me in a week. I agree you should talk with your wife. But I want you to think about something.” The Man paused, taking one last pull on the cigarette before crushing it out in the ashtray. “Tom, I’ve always believed in giving something back to the people and institutions that gave to you. The University of Alabama has given me a lot. It’s where I played football and learned I wanted to be a coach. It’s where I got my degree and met my wife. I’ve never regretted coming home.” Then, forming a tent with his hands, he added, “You won’t regret it either.”
Tom met the Man’s eye, and couldn’t help but think of that moment ten years earlier when the Man sat at another table, flanked not just by Tom but by Tom’s momma and daddy. He could still remember the Man’s words. “Son, you’ll never regret choosing to play for me and choosing to attend school at Alabama.” Turning to Tom’s momma, the Man had said, “Ma’am, I think your son’s a great football player and, more than that, a great kid. We’ll make him a man. We’ll make him go to class and get his degree.” Looking at Tom’s father, the Man had said, “And if he gets out of line, we’ll get him back in line, even if we have to lean on him a little.” Tom’s daddy had smiled at the last statement and met the Man’s gaze. The Man concluded by saying, “Folks, if you send your boy to Alabama, he’ll come out of it a winner. We’ll teach him success on the football field and that success will carry over into every part of his life.” The Man had gone away without an answer that night, but Tom had known. He was sold, just like his parents, on Alabama football and Coach Paul Bryant.