ARE YOU CRAZY, JILLY?”
“Shut the door, Jeff. And keep your voice down.”
I introduced Damon to the team this morning—no explanation, just This is Damon, our new gopher. Debbie, picking up on the name, rolled her eyes. Jeff gave me an incredulous stare, but before he could open his mouth, Alicia dragged him off to deal with a pretend emergency. Now that Jeff’s back from court, he’s dressing me down.
“He’s got to go, Jilly. What the hell were you thinking?” He stands on the other side of my desk, fists clenched into white-knuckled balls.
“I was thinking I was helping him out.”
He rolls his eyes as he slumps to the chair. “He’s our client. We can’t hire our client.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters very much. Our relationship with Damon ended the moment the jury acquitted him. It’s over. No reason we can’t establish a new, different kind of relationship now.”
“He’s bad, Jilly. He hawked drugs, killed a man—who knows what other havoc he wreaked along the way. And you’re inviting him into our office so he can liaise with our criminal clients? You’re giving him the perfect platform for expanding his web of crime. Reputable law firms don’t do that.”
“What happened to the idea of a fresh start? Rehabilitation in the quaint language of the Criminal Code?”
“Rehabilitation is a pretty word. Makes the system feel better when they lock a bad guy up. But you know as well as I that they never change, our boys. It’s the only world they know. Sooner or later they get sucked back in.”
I put my hands on my desk, palms down. “I’m not going to argue with you, Jeff. I know the risks, but I am going to do this anyway. We’ll watch him. Closely. Let him go if necessary. But I have to give him this chance.”
Jeff grunts through gritted teeth. “Whatever you say, boss. But watch the till; watch your back.” He turns to head out.
“Jeff, wait. I need your help.”
He stops. “My help?”
“He needs a place to live.”
“You’re not suggesting Jessica and I take him in? My god, Jilly—”
“No, but you mentioned that your neighbor’s in Europe for a few months. Maybe he’d be willing to sublet?”
“And let Damon trash the pad?”
Jeff pauses. “See what I can do,” he mutters as he leaves.
I take a deep breath, decide to go find Damon. I don’t need to look far—he’s pacing outside my door, backpack over his shoulder. He pushes around me into my office.
“I’m leaving,” he announces.
“Why?” I shut the door behind us.
“Jeff’s right. It won’t work.”
“So you were eavesdropping.”
“He was coming through the walls.”
“And you agree with him? That rehabilitation’s nonsense, a fresh start’s a chimera?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know what to believe.”
“What about your family?”
He shifts his backpack uncomfortably.
“You owe it to yourself to give it a try, Damon. I believe you can make it.” I look him straight in the eye. “Debbie is waiting at the front desk. Ready to put you to work.”
He smiles faintly. “ ‘Move that pile of boxes. After you get me a coffee,’ ” he mimics in a perfect Liverpool twang.
“Not bad, Damon. The accent, I mean. Just keep Debbie happy—that’s your number one job.”
“Tall order, Ms. Truitt.” He lets the backpack slip from his shoulders. “But what the heck, I’ll try.”