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A Time to Kill
Pelican Brief
Runaway Jury
Street Lawyer
Painted House



Published: 1993
Pages (Paperback): 566
Pages (Hard Cover): 422
Rating: 9
Movie: Yes



      "So where's the body?"
      Romey snorted and his head nodded. The voice was almost a whisper. "The body of Boyd Boyette. What a question. First U.S. senator murdered in office, did you know that? Murdered by my dear client Barry the Blade Muldanno, who shot him in the head four times, then hid the body. No body, no case. Do you understand, kid?"
      "Not really."
      "Why aren't you crying, kid? You were crying a few minutes ago. Aren't you scared?"
      "Yes, I'm scared. And I'd like to leave. I'm sorry you want to die and all, but I have to take care of my mother."
      "Touching, real touching. Now, shut up. You see, kid, the feds have to have the body to prove there was a murder. Barry is their suspect, their only suspect, because he really did it, you see, in fact they know he did it. But they need the body."
      "Where is it?"
      A dark cloud moved in front of the sun and the clearing was suddenly darker. Romey moved the gun gently along his leg as if to warn Mark against any sudden moves. "The Blade is not the smartest thug I've ever met, you know. Thinks he's a genius, but he's really quite stupid."
      You're the stupid one, Mark thought again. Sitting in a car with a hose running from the exhaust. He waited as still as could be.
      "The body's under my boat."
      "Your boat?"
      "Yes my boat. He was in a hurry. I was out of town, so my beloved client took the body to my house and buried it in fresh concrete under my garage. It's still there, can you believe it? The FBI has dug up half of New Orleans trying to find it, but they've never thought about my house. Maybe Barry ain't so stupid after all."
      "When did he tell you this?"
      "I'm sick of your questions, kid."
      "I'd really like to leave now."
      "Shut up. The gas is working. We're gone, kid. Gone." He dropped the pistol on the seat.
      The engine hummed quietly. Mark glanced at the bullet hole in the window, at the millions of tiny crooked cracks running from it, then at the red face and heavy eyelids. A quick snort, almost a snore, and the head nodded downward.
      He was passing out! Mark stared at him and watched his thick chest move. He'd seen his ex-father do this a hundred times.
      Mark breathed deeply. The door lock would make noise. The gun was too close to Romey's hand. Mark's stomach cramped and his feet were numb.
      The red face emitted a loud, sluggish noise, and Mark knew there would be no more chances. Slowly, ever so slowly, he inched his shaking finger to the door lock switch.





Copyright 1993 John Grisham