“The big question,” Sienna said, “is whether the church should incorporate as a 501(c)(3) or not. The main advantage is that it’s easier for people to give tax-deductible gifts. But there’s a theological question.”
She’d arrived at Steve’s office at two minutes before three on Friday afternoon. Looking good in gray business casual. He poured them a couple of Diet Cokes from the little refrigerator, then sat at his desk. Her printed memo was in front of him. He’d read about half of it. The point was, she was here.
“We have to bring theology into it?” Steve said.
“Hello. Church.”
“Excuse me. What’s the issue?”
“Does the church want to be tied up with the government? In a way, the whole idea of Christianity was against the government. It refused to bow down to Caesar.”
“What about the whole rendering unto Caesar thing?”
“What about it? There’s a difference between obeying the law and getting your church tangled up in the government.”
“So what’s the alternative?”
“You just declare yourself a church.”
“You know what?”
“What?”
“You’re pretty when you get theological.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re going to have to stop that.”
“Can I help myself?”
“Yes.”
“All right,” Steve said. “Here’s what I’m thinking, Sienna. Seriously. I’m having a hard time with this setup.”
She sat back and sipped her Coke, waiting for him to explain.
“It’s like this,” Steve said. “I think they want a church so they can launder money.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“It’s Eldon LaSalle’s background. He got in trouble with the IRS before. And let’s face it, my brother is an ex-con.”
“You don’t believe people can change in prison?”
“I haven’t seen it.”
“You’ve seen your brother. Don’t you believe him?”
“I haven’t had enough time to believe him.”
“Are you his lawyer?”
“I’m somebody’s lawyer. I just got a big fat retainer.”
“So there you are.”
“Where am I?”
“Hired. Count your blessings.”
“You see?” Steve said. “You had to bring theology into it again.”
She shook her head. “You can be a very annoying person when you put your mind to it.”
“That’s what the judges all say.”
When Sienna smiled, Steve counted it as a small but significant victory. Maybe he could wear her down. Like global warming on the ice caps.
“There is another problem,” he said.
“And that is?”
“The old man, Eldon, is a rank racist.”
She cocked her head but didn’t say anything.
“Yeah. He wrote this crazy book about John Wilkes Booth and the goodness of slavery and don’t mix the races. I guess he’s still got a lot of followers. Maybe even my loving brother.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
“Haven’t had a chance. I’m driving out there tomorrow. What do you think I should say?”
Sienna shrugged. “Be honest. Do you think you can’t represent them?”
“It’s a lot of money.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You’re a clever little vixen. You want to get me to open up.”
“Answer the question.”
“I’m, like, a criminal defense lawyer, okay?”
“And what do the canons of ethics say about representing people you loathe?”
“You just took ethics, didn’t you?”
“Answer the question.”
“Okay, professor! Yes, I am obligated to provide representation to people unless I cannot perform my duties due to conscience.”
“Hmm, I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?”
“You said you were a criminal defense lawyer. Ergo, no conscience.”
She smiled super sweetly, and Steve wanted to give her a noogie. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take her home with him. He wanted to run away so he wouldn’t ruin her.
He wanted to run to something that would finally pull him up, not down.
Johnny. He was the way. He had to be. The way to get rid of the past forever and the way to secure his professional future. Be a lawyer, for his own flesh and blood.
“Are you okay?” Sienna said.
“What?”
“You drifted for a minute.”
“Drifted,” he said. “That’s the right word.”