The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(105)

“Bingo,” Bo said.

“What about Lambert?” Tom asked.

“Gone,” Bo said, laughing. “Once Rufus got a majority of the Board to vote you back in, that same majority voted to fire Lambert.”

Tom shook his head. “And Tyler?”

Bo’s laughter stopped, and his face grew solemn. “That... is actually the best part. Rufus’ majority asked the Board of Trustees of the University to remove Tyler as the law-school attorney, and the President of the Board of Trustees issued a mandate that Jameson Tyler and the Jones & Butler firm never be allowed to do any legal work for the University ever again.” Bo paused. “I believe you know the President of the Board of Trustees, don’t you?”

Tom nodded, feeling goosebumps break out on his arm. “Paul Bryant, Jr.”

“Seems appropriate, doesn’t it?” Bo asked, but Tom was too moved by the gesture to speak. “Yeah...” Bo continued, nodding. “I think Coach would have loved that.”

When they reached the driveway, Bo opened the door to the Lexus and then turned to look at Tom. “How did the surgery go?”

“Good,” Tom said. “Bill said he got it all this time. I’ll have to live with being scoped every three months for a while, but... I’m in pretty good shape.”

Bo leaned against the open door, and looked Tom in the eye. “So what are you gonna do now, dog? You’ve got your job back if you want it. Your health is good. And you just hit the largest verdict in West Alabama history. Sounds like the world is your oyster, Professor.”

“I don’t know yet, Bo. You’ve given me a lot to think about.” He paused, and looked back towards the farm. “But, whatever it is, it’ll be something. No more sitting around. I plan to live the rest of my life like Musso died.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Bo said. “Now...” A low whine interrupted Bo’s words, and Bo smiled. “Ah hell, I almost forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Tom asked, watching Bo walk around the car and open the back.

“Well, when you told me why I was coming up here today, I bought you a little present.” Bo stepped back and gestured at a small green crate.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tom said. Inside the crate was a tiny white and brown English bulldog puppy. Tom opened the crate, and took the pup in his arms. Then he looked at his friend.

“You saved my life, Bo. I can’t thank–”

“Save your thank yous, Professor,” Bo said, sliding into his car and turning the ignition.

“So back to Pulaski?” Tom inquired, once the automatic windows had come down.

“Home sweet home,” Bo said.

“You ever gon’ tell me why you practice in that town? You could make even more millions in a bigger city.”

“I did tell you, remember?”

Tom’s stomach tightened as the memory came back to him. “Because of what happened to your dad?”

Bo nodded, the smile leaving his face. “Unfinished business, dog.”

“You ever gonna tell me the whole story?”

Bo shook his head. “Maybe, but not today. It’s too long and I have to get home before Jazz tears me a new one.”

Before Tom could say anything else, Bo eased the car forward. When it reached the end of the driveway, Tom remembered something Bo had said many moons ago.

“Bo!” Tom yelled, leaning back as his new puppy licked his face.

The car stopped, and Bo leaned his head out the window, waiting for Tom to speak.

But Tom didn’t say anything. He simply held up the four fingers of his right hand.



Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Six months later.



He arrived at the Waysider about 7am. Hungry, both literally and figuratively. He ate eggs and bacon and read the newspaper, looking for new opportunities – an angle for the firm – but he didn’t see any.

Had he been less focused, he might have allowed himself to reminisce. To think back to that morning some forty years earlier in this same restaurant when the Man had asked him to come home. Instead, he drank coffee and thought about increasing the firm’s case load. He had, by his count, eaten at the Waysider at least once a week since he started. He had also eaten once a week at the City Café in Northport. Getting out and about and being noticed. Keeping his ear to the ground in the hopes of landing the home run case. That was the name of the game. The life of the plaintiff’s lawyer.

Fifteen minutes later, he was getting out of his car in the firm parking lot. Before going in, he stopped and looked at the sign that had replaced Rick’s shingle a week ago.

McMurtrie & Drake, LLC.

Thomas Jackson McMurtrie breathed the cool Tuscaloosa air and allowed himself a second to smell the roses. He was sixty-nine years old. Last night, he and Ruth Ann had eaten dinner at the Cypress Inn. They had been dating now for a few months, and Tom was happy, knowing in his heart that Julie would want him to keep living. This morning, he had walked Lee Roy around the block. Though not as big as Musso at this age, Lee Roy Jordan McMurtrie had promise. And a hell of a lot of spirit. Sometimes, Tom wasn’t sure who was walking who.

Now Tom was about to practice his calling. After forty years of teaching – none of which he regretted – Thomas Jackson McMurtrie, the Professor, was a trial lawyer again.