Crinkling his brow in apparent distaste. Chapman seems, behind his glasses and beard, truly offended. I doubt if he has ever been in jail. He appears much too disapproving.

“That woman ought to be in the state hospital,” he observes.

“Can’t we talk about this later?” he asks, his deep voice as plaintive as a farmer’s prayer to end a drought.

For the first time, the full face of the female prisoner comes into view behind the bars. She appears insane, her white hair shooting in all directions, and I recall that prisoners who are obviously ill are kept closer to the jailers’ cage in the front.

“Of course,” I say and stand. What do I expect to get from this man right now?

“Have you got some way to make bond?”

As Chapman rises, the old woman pleads, “Get my black ass outa here, white boy! I can’t stand it any longer!”

I look at my watch, wondering if I can get a bond hearing this afternoon. Chapman, his voice anxious but assertive, says, “And I can pay your fee, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I shrug, pretending nonchalance, but no words have sounded sweeter today. Yet if he works for the state, he can’t be too loaded. Maybe he’s on contract.

“I’ll see if I can get a hearing this afternoon.”

Chapman releases so much air in a sigh he seems almost to shrink.

“I’d appreciate that.”

As I turn to leave, he grabs at my sleeve.

“Do you have a card?”

I suppress a groan, knowing I must get this over with, before I waste any time on this case. I look him in the eye, hoping I’ll know how to put this.

“This is my last day at Mays amp; Burton,” I say, trying to sound casual.

“I’m in private practice as of this moment.”

Against the background noise. Chapman studies me for a long moment. Fuck those bastards. He’s my client, I think, wondering what else I should say to convince him to stay with me. Finally, he says, “Good. You’ll have plenty of time to work on my case.”