I almost hoped the police would sweep the streets again.

As Deese was leaving, Mordecai warned him against talking about the lawsuit. I sat at a

desk near Sofia and typed a three-page complaint on behalf of our new client, Marquis

Deese, against the same three defendants, alleging a wrongful eviction. Then one for

Kelvin Lain. I filed the complaints in the computer's memory. I would simply change the

names of the plaintiffs as we found them.

The phone rang a few minutes before noon. Sofia was on the other line, so I grabbed it.

"Legal clinic," I said, as usual.

A dignified old voice on the other end said, "This is Arthur Jacobs, Attorney, with Drake

& Sweeney. I would like to speak to Mr. Mordecai Green."

I could only say, "Sure," before punching the hold button. I stared at the phone, then

slowly rose and walked to Mordecai's door.

"What is it?" he said. His nose was buried in the U.S. Code.

"Arthur Jacobs is on the phone."

"Who is he?"

"Drake & Sweeney."

We stared at each other for a few seconds, then he smiled. "This could be the call," he

said. I just nodded.

He reached for the phone, and I sat down.

It was a brief conversation, with Arthur doing most of the talking. I gathered that he

wanted to meet and talk about the lawsuit, and the sooner the better.

After it was over, Mordecai replayed it for my benefit. "They would like to sit down

tomorrow and have a little chat about settling the lawsuit."

"Where?"

"At their place. Ten in the morning, without your presence."

I didn't expect to be invited.

"Are they worried?" I asked.

"Of course they're worried. They have twenty days before their answer is due, yet they're

already calling about a settlement. They are very worried."

________________________________________________________________

Thirty-five

I spent the following morning at the Redeemer Mission, counseling clients with all the

finesse of one who'd spent years tending to the legal problems of the homeless.

Temptation overcame me, and at elevenfifteen I called Sofia to see if she had heard from

Mordecai. She had not. We expected the meeting at Drake & Sweeney to be a long one. I

was hoping that by chance he had called in to report everything was proceeding smoothly.

No such luck.

Typically, I had slept little, though the lack of sleep had nothing to do with physical

ailments or discomfort. My anxiety over the setdement meeting outlasted a long hot bath

and a bottle of wine. My nerves were jumping.

As I counseled my clients, it was difficult to concentrate on food stamps, housing

subsidies, and delinquent fathers when my life was hanging in the balance on another

front. I left when lunch was ready; my presence was far less important than the daily

bread. I bought two plain bagels and a bottle of water, and drove the Beltway for an hour.

When I returned to the clinic, Mordecai's car was parked beside the building. He was in

his office, waiting for me. I closed the door.

* * *

The meeting took place in Arthur Jacobs' personal conference room on the eighth floor,