The Professor (McMurtrie and Drake Legal Thrillers #1)(9)
“I, uh, well, I haven’t actually read that case yet. I’m sorry,” Jonathon Tinsel said, chomping on a piece of gum that Tom had not previously noticed.
“I’m sorry too, Mr Tinsel. Well, let’s move ahead to a case you have read, shall we? Tell you what. You pick any of the cases I assigned as mandatory reading before the first class and give me the facts of the case and the court’s holding.”
“Sir, I haven’t had a chance to pick up my materials yet. I’m sorry but I won’t be able to help you today.” The bastard even smiled at the end of the statement.
“Well, Mr Tinsel, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you either. You are dismissed from today’s class. For your sake, I hope you find the bookstore between now and tomorrow morning.” Not waiting to see Tinsel’s reaction, Tom moved on, scanning the faces for another victim. As he was about to call out the name of Vanessa Yearout, a petite black woman about halfway up, Tom noticed that Tinsel remained glued to his seat.
“Tinsel, what part of ‘dismissed’ did you not understand? I mean it. Get the hell out of my classroom,” Tom said, burning a hole through Tinsel’s eyes with the ferocity of his gaze.
As Tinsel shuffled out of the upstairs exit, Tom transferred his gaze to the rest of the class, trying to make eye contact with as many of them as he could, telling each of them without words that this was the way it was gonna be. It’s my way or the highway. Any of you turds who don’t understand can follow Tinsel out the door.
After what must have been a five-second pause, Tom took a deep, audible breath and turned his eyes back towards his face sheet.
“All right now... Ms Yearout,” Tom began, speaking in a calmer voice. The storm had passed and Tom saw the results he had expected. Almost every student was leaning forward in his or her seat, pen pressed to paper, eyes focused right on Tom, readying themselves for the call that might be coming. The Socratic method in all its glory.
Tom called on several more students, including young Ms Dawn Murphy from Elba again, before the clock read 9.50 and it was time for the entire class to join Tinsel on the outside. The first day of McMurtrie’s Evidence class was over. Those like Tinsel who had failed to read breathed a sigh of relief and made their way to the bookstore. Dawn Murphy crossed off Evidence from her To Do list and headed to the library to begin her Evidence outline. Tom stood by the board and waited for them all to leave.
Forty years of this shit, Tom thought, smiling. And the first day is still pretty fun.
An hour later, the fun had worn off. The fifth edition of McMurtrie’s Evidence or, as his students were fond of calling it, “the Bible” was supposed to go to press in two months and Tom was struggling to meet the deadline. Tom had always loved the teaching aspect of his job. Trying to get that light to flicker in a kid’s head was what made the whole experience worthwhile. But the publishing aspect was a different story. Since he had walked in the door some three weeks after accepting the Man’s offer, every Dean – Heacock, Jackson and now Lambert – had pushed the faculty to publish. The first edition of McMurtrie’s Evidence was published in 1973. To this day, it had been the highest selling hornbook for any faculty member, past or present, in the history of Alabama Law School. Every year Tom wrote a supplement to go in the back of the book containing any recent case law that affected his prior summary. And every five to seven years, he published a new edition. But, although it was a nice boost to his income, Tom hated it. Every damn bit of it.
A knock on the door mercifully interrupted Tom’s misery.
“Come in,” Tom said, a little louder than necessary. He rubbed his eyes and tried to wake up.
The door opened only a crack and the face of Dawn Murphy emerged behind it.
“Professor, do you have a minute?” Ms Murphy looked nervous but not scared. Tom could see the strain of struggle on her face.
“Of course. Ms Murphy, right?” Tom smiled and gestured toward a chair in front of his desk. Dawn Murphy wore black pants and a white blouse, but her plain-Jane manner of dress did not disguise her beauty. She had brown hair, cropped off at about shoulder level, and brown eyes that looked tired, but pretty nonetheless. She smiled at Tom, and held her hands together on her lap.
“Professor, I was wondering if you needed a student assistant?” Her face blushed red and she looked down, squeezing her hands together. “I am a single mother. My daughter is five years old, just started kindergarten. Well, my mom and I are living together over in Riverview Apartments. Mom has a job waiting tables at the City Café from five in the morning till 1.30. I take Julie to school and Mom picks her up and looks after her in the afternoon. Financial aid has helped a great deal, but Julie’s a growing girl and I really need some extra money. The lady at Student Services said that some of the professors hire student assistants for the semester. Well, I, uh... you’ve probably already hired your assistant, but, if not... well... I was just wondering if maybe...”
“You’re hired,” Tom said, not waiting for Dawn Murphy to finish. “Ten bucks an hour, twelve bucks an hour for weekend work. I expect you to work around your class schedule and to work weekends when I tell you to.” Tom did not smile and turned his eyes to his draft of the new edition of McMurtrie’s Evidence. He looked up when he felt a hand touch his own. Ms Murphy had moved around the desk and gripped his right hand with both of hers.