The Simple Truth

Ive got nothing against him.

Then why the hell dont you two get along like you used to? Ive talked to Mike. Its not on account of him.

Look, Pop, hes got his life and Ive got mine. I dont remember you being all touchy-feely with Uncle Ben.

My brother was a bum and a drunk. Your brother aint either of those.

Being a drunk and a bum arent the only vices in the world.

Damn, I just dont understand you, son.

Join the crowd.

Ed put out his cigarette on the concrete floor, stood and leaned against one of the garages exposed wall studs. Jealousy aint right between brothers. You should feel good about what hes done with his life.

Oh, so you think Im jealous?

Are you?

Fiske took another sip of beer and looked over at the belly-button-high wire fence surrounding his fathers small backyard. It was currently painted dark green. Over the years it had seen many different colors. John and Mike had painted it each summer, the color being whatever the trucking firm Ed worked for had left over from its a

Ill get to it.

Pop, you dont even like standing on a chair.

Fiske took off his jacket, grabbed a ladder from the garage and took the flare his father handed him. He ignited it, positioned the ladder under the bulging nest and climbed up. It took a few minutes, but the nest slowly dissolved under the heat of the flare. Fiske climbed back down and stamped out the flare while his father raked up the remains of the nest.

And you just saw my problem with Mike.

What? Ed looked confused.

When was the last time Mike was down here to help? Hell, just to see you or Mom?

Ed scratched at his beard stubble and fumbled in his pants pocket for another cigarette. Hes busy. He gets down when he can.

Sure he does.

Hes got important work to do for the government. Up there helping all them judges. Its the damn highest court in the land, you know that.

Well, guess what, Pop, I keep pretty busy too.

I know that, son. But

But, I know, its different. Fiske threw his jacket over his shoulder, wiped the sweat from his eyes. The mosquitoes would be out soon. That made him think of water. His father kept a trailer at a campground down by the Mattaponi River. You been down to the trailer lately?

Ed shook his head, relieved at the change in subject. Naw, pla

Fiske rubbed another bead of sweat off his forehead. Let me know, I might run down with you.

Ed scrutinized his eldest son. How you doing?

Professionally? Lost two, won two this week. I take that as an acceptable batting average these days.

You be careful, son. I know you believe in what youre doing and all, but thats a damn rough bunch youre lawyering for. Some of them might remember you from your cop days. I lie awake at night thinking about that.

Fiske smiled. He loved his father as much as he did his mother, and, in some subtle ways of men, even more. The thought of his father still losing sleep over him was very reassuring. He slapped his father on the back.

Dont worry, Pop, I never let my guard down.

How about the other thing?

Fiske unconsciously touched his chest. Doing just fine. Hell, probably live to be a hundred.

I hope you do, son, his father said with great conviction as he watched his boy leave. Ed shook his head as he thought of how far his sons had drifted apart and his being unable to do anything about it. Damn, was all he could think of to say before sitting down on the toolbox to finish his beer. ["C10"]CHAPTER TEN

It was early in the morning as Michael Fiske quietly hummed his way through the broad, high-ceilinged hallway toward the clerks mail room. As he entered the room, a clerk looked up. You picked a good time, Michael. We just got in a shipment.

Any con mail? Michael asked, referring to the ever-growing number of petitions from prisoners. Most of them were filedin forma pauperis,meaning, literally, in the form of a pauper. There was a separate docket kept for these petitions, and it was so large that one clerk was specially designated to manage the filings. The IFPs, as they were termed by Court perso

From the hand scribblings Ive tried to decipher so far, Id say that was a good bet, the clerk responded. Michael dragged a box over to one corner. Within its confines was an array of complaints, pe

Hey, Michael, Murphys chambers just called down for you, the clerk said. When Michael didnt answer, the clerk said again, Michael? Justice Murphy is looking for you.

Michael nodded, finally managing to focus on something other than the papers in his hand. When the clerk turned back to his work, Michael put the pages back in the manila envelope. He hesitated an instant. His entire legal career, his entire life, could be decided in the next second or so. Finally, as though his hands were acting independently from his thoughts, he slipped the envelope into his briefcase. By doing so before the petition had been officially processed with the Court, he had just committed, among other crimes, theft of federal property, a felony. As he raced out of the mail room, he almost collided head-on with Sara Evans. She smiled at first, but the look changed quickly when she saw his face. Michael, whats wrong?