He must be close to fifty, Rider thought, but actually looked a good ten years older; he noted the facial scars, the awkward twist of bone beneath Harms’s right eye. The young man Rider had represented was the owner of fine, even handsome features. Rider wondered how often Rufus had been beaten in here, what other telling evidence of abuse he carried under his clothing.
Harms sat down across from Rider at a wooden table heavily scored by thousands of nervous, desperate fingernails. He didn’t look at Rider just yet, but instead eyed the guard, who remained in the room.
Rider caught Harms’s silent meaning and said to the guard, “Private, I’m his lawyer, so you’re going to have to give us some space here.”
The reply was automatic. “This is a maximum-security prison facility and every prisoner here is classified as violent and dangerous. I’m here for your safety.”
The men here were dangerous, both prisoners and guards, and that was just the way things were, Rider knew.
“I understand that,” replied the lawyer. “I’m not asking you to abandon me, but I’d be obliged if you could stand farther away. Attorney-client privilege — you understand, don’t you?”
The guard didn’t answer, but he did move to the far end of the room, ostensibly out of earshot. Finally, Rufus Harms looked over at Rider. “You bring the radio?”
“A strange request, but one that I honored.”
“Take it out and turn it on, would you?”
Rider did so. The room was immediately filled with the mournful tunes of country-western music, the lyrics contrived, shallow in the face of the genuine misery sensed at this place, Rider thought uncomfortably.
When the lawyer looked at him questioningly, Harms glanced around the room. “Lotta ears around this place, some you can’t see, right?”
“Bugging the conversations of an attorney and his client is against the law.”
Harms moved his hands slightly, chains rattling. “Lot of things against the law, but people still do ’em. Both in and out of this place. Right?”
Rider found himself nodding. Harms was no longer a young, scared kid. He was a man. A man in control despite being unable to control one single element of his existence. Rider also observed that each of Harms’s physical movements was measured, calculated; like he was engaging in chess, reaching out slowly to touch a piece, and then drawing back with equal caution. Here, swift motion could be deadly.
The inmate leaned forward and started speaking in a tone so low that Rider had to strain to hear him above the music. “I thank you for coming. I’m surprised you did.”
“Surprised the hell out of me to hear from you. But I guess it got my curiosity up too.”
“You look good. The years have been kind to you.”
Rider had to laugh. “I lost all my hair and put on fifty pounds, but thank you anyway.”
“I won’t waste your time. I got something I want you to file in court for me.”
Rider’s astonishment was clear. “What court?”
Harms spoke in even lower tones, despite the cover of the music. “Biggest one there is. Supreme Court.”
Rider’s jaw went slack. “You got to be kidding.” The look in Harms’s eyes would not brook such a conclusion. “Okay, what exactly do you want me to file?”
With smooth increments of motion, despite the restraints of the manacles, Harms slid an envelope out of his shirt and held it up. In an instant, the guard stepped across and snatched it from his hand.
Rider protested immediately. “Private, that is a confidential attorney-client communication.”
“Let him read it, Samuel, I got nothing to hide,” Harms said evenly, eyes staring off.
The guard opened the envelope and scanned the contents of the letter. Satisfied, he returned it to Harms and resumed his post across the room.
Harms handed the envelope and letter across to Rider, who looked down at the material. When he looked back up, Harms was leaning even closer to him, and he spoke for at least ten minutes. Several times Rider’s eyes widened as Harms’s words spilled over him. Finished, the prisoner sat back and looked at him.
“You going to help me, ain’t you?”