The Activist tb-4

by John Grisham

  “Do you understand the legal concept of eminent domain, Theo?”

  “I do.”

  Ike nodded and smiled. “Good for you. In theory, eminent domain is to be used as a last resort. Taking away property against the wishes of the property owner is almost a criminal act, something the government is supposed to do when absolutely necessary. In this case, there is no necessity whatsoever. It’s just a bunch of politicians trying to get votes by building a road to make their big donors happy.”

  It rarely took much for Ike to start preaching, but on this issue he was steamed up more than usual. Theo decided to prod him along. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said.

  He barely got the words out before Ike was talking again. “It’s like this, Theo. In Carlsburg and places north of here, there are some big trucking companies and lots of factories and the same south of here in Lowensburg. Studies have shown that a bypass might save the truckers all of a few minutes around town, but they don’t care. They want a bypass at all costs! So they get in thick with their politicians, give them a bunch of money, tell them how badly they need a bypass, not for themselves, of course, but for the sacred goal of ‘economic development.’ That’s what every politician says whenever he wants to approve something or build something or waste some more taxpayer money. More jobs, more tax revenues, more everything, all in the name of economic development. There’s also more pollution, more congestion, more crowded schools, and more developers getting rich, but the politicians never mention this because they’re taking money from the developers, and, in this case, the trucking companies.”

  Ike took a deep breath, followed by a long drink of beer. Typical Ike, never wishy-washy, never straddling the fence, never at a loss of an opinion. Theo was actually enjoying the story because Ike was so fired up.

  Theo decided to throw a little gas on the fire. “Isn’t the governor pushing it?”

  “What an idiot! He’ll support anything if the price is right. Front-page news last week showed where the trucking companies and developers have donated tons of money to the governor’s campaign, so guess what? If they want a bypass, he wants a bypass. The guy is nothing but a politician who’s looking to run for a higher office. Don’t ever get involved in politics, Theo. It’s a dirty game.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  Ike relaxed and rocked back in his chair. “Fifteen years ago, Theo, if my politics had been right, I would not have been prosecuted.”

  And for the first time ever, Uncle Ike mentioned his past troubles. Theo wanted to pounce with a dozen questions, but he bit his tongue. One day Ike would tell him the whole story, but he would do so when he wished. Not now.

  Theo thought about telling the Hardie Quinn story, but decided to let it pass. In his opinion, his story was far more interesting than Ike’s, but Ike preferred talking over listening. “Are you going to help the Tykos family?” Theo asked.

  “Help? In what way?”

  “I don’t know, Ike. There seems to be a lot of opposition. If enough people get involved, then maybe the county commissioners will not approve the bypass.”

  “Don’t kid yourself, Theo. Money talks, and the side with the money always wins, especially in politics.”

  Theo found this depressing and didn’t know what to say. Ike reached for a sheet of paper, found it, and leaned forward again. “Take a look at this, Theo,” he said, and Theo leaned in. It was a copy of a map with the proposed bypass highlighted in red. Using a pen, Ike tapped a spot in the center of the page and said, “There is where the bypass will cross Sweeney Road. Right now all of this is rural land, but that will change overnight when they build it.”

  Theo could smell the beer on Ike’s breath and it wasn’t pleasant. He pulled back a few inches. Ike went on, “Now, I have a source who says that a certain local developer, guy by the name of Joe Ford, a real slick operator who’s also known as Fast Ford, has put down some money to buy two hundred acres right here at the intersection of Sweeney and the bypass. It was supposed to be a secret deal, but my source knows one of the former partners of the lawyer who represents the landowner. It’s hush-hush.” Ike left the map on the desk and reared back in his chair. “So, Theo, the buzzards are already circling, waiting for the kill. If the county approves the bypass, you’ll see these thugs scoop up every inch of land alongside it, and in ten years it’ll be lined with strip malls and fast-food joints and car washes. The whole western part of the county will be covered in sprawl and look like the rest of America. The developers will get richer and they’ll be happy to pass along enough cash to keep the politicians happy. It’s a rotten system, Theo.”

  Theo was even more depressed, but then he tried to convince himself that Ike was a gloomy person by nature. Ike seldom smiled and was often bitter. His family had abandoned him and he’d been disgraced when he lost his license to practice law.

  Ike and his sources. He was always claiming to know something that was supposed to be a secret, and, in fact, he often did. Ike moved in the shadows around certain parts of town, places many upstanding citizens avoided. He played poker with at least two groups, and some of those guys were ex-lawyers, ex-cops, and a few ex-cons. He gambled on football and basketball games and hung around with bookies and other gamblers. Theo’s father had once let it slip that Ike made more money from betting then he did from his real work.

  “Well, on that happy note, I need to go,” Theo said, suddenly anxious to hit the road.

  “Say hi to your folks,” Ike said as he locked his fingers behind his head and returned his feet to the top of his desk.

  “See ya, Ike,” Theo said as he and Judge headed for the door.

  “And I want an A in Chemistry.”

  “Sure. You and everybody else.”

  Chapter 12

  Percy Dixon made a triumphant return to school Tuesday morning. Theo knew something was up when he wheeled to a stop at his usual bike rack and saw a television van parked in front of the school. Sure enough, a few moments later a station wagon appeared. Percy’s mother parked it, pulled out a wheelchair, lifted her son into it, and began their little parade into the building. Percy’s leg was elevated and wrapped in layers of white gauze. His teachers and friends were waiting at the front door, and his mother rolled him into the school like a hero returning from war. A reporter and a cameraman followed along, capturing this “breaking news” so the peaceful town of Strattenburg would know the latest.

  Theo watched from a distance, uncertain who was enjoying the spotlight more, Percy or his mother. Percy attacked the snake, and Theo got suspended. It still didn’t seem fair.

  Throughout the day, Theo was continually distracted by the sight of Percy rolling down the hall, or sitting in the cafeteria, or getting pushed around the playground, always with a group of admirers huddled around him as he told and retold the story of his near-deadly encounter with the copperhead, a snake that somehow was growing larger and meaner with each passing hour.

  Some of the kids viewed Theo as the one who was responsible for the disaster; most, however, knew the truth. Percy had few believers, but that didn’t stop him from savoring the attention.

  Theo just suffered through the day, trying to ignore the sideshow. At times, he wished the snake had nailed Percy right between the eyes.

  After the final bell, Theo hustled to Boone & Boone, checked on Judge, and disappeared into his office to crank out his homework. Both of his parents were in their offices behind locked doors, meeting with clients, and the entire law firm was quiet and busy. Theo finished his homework in less than an hour. It started raining, there was no place to go, and he was soon bored.

  Out of curiosity, he began searching the Internet for stories about the Red Creek Bypass. There were plenty—old newspaper articles, maps, studies, angry letters to the editors. There was even a website run by a rowdy group of opponents who were collecting and posting every possible bit of information about the project. Most, of course, was not favorable, but there were a few articles from the
pro-business crowd claiming the bypass was necessary.

  After an hour of browsing, Theo was bored again. The rain was heavier; Judge was snoozing; his parents were still locked away in their offices. He drifted through the storage room, down the narrow hallway, and into the kitchen, where he looked around for something to eat. “Borrowing” food from another member of the firm was a sport around the offices, and Theo was often the leading culprit. Today, though, he saw nothing of interest.

  Elsa was not at her desk, which was unusual. Occasionally she ran errands late in the afternoon when no more clients were expected, and Theo figured she had just stepped outside. Her desk was in the reception room, guarding the front door. When you walked into Boone & Boone you had to deal with Elsa, who ran the place like a drill sergeant. She knew everyone’s schedule—the lawyers, Mr. and Mrs. Boone; Vince the paralegal; Dorothy the real estate secretary; even Theo, the kid lawyer. Somehow, Elsa kept up with all meetings, court dates, medical and dental appointments, birthdays, etcetera. She missed nothing.

  Theo was curious about who was in his father’s office. Woods Boone was a real estate lawyer who never went to court and rarely had clients upstairs. For at least eight hours a day, he sat at his desk, smoked his pipe, shuffled papers, drafted contracts, researched, and talked on the phone. In Theo’s opinion, his father practiced a rather boring brand of law, one that he wanted no part of. No sir. Theo planned to be in the courtroom in big trials, in front of juries with crowds watching and serious drama unfolding.

  Theo had watched his first trial three years ago at the age of ten. It was during the summer, he was out of school, and for four days he sat in the front row and heard every word from every witness. A young mother and father and their five-year-old son had been killed in a terrible collision with a train at a crossing. Emotions were high, and even Theo felt the pressure. The lawyers battled like gladiators, and Theo’s friend Judge Henry Gantry presided over the trial with great wisdom.

  From that moment, Theodore was destined for the courtroom. Occasionally, he thought of becoming a great judge like Henry Gantry, but more often his plans and dreams centered on being a fearless trial lawyer.

  Elsa kept a large daily calendar in the center of her desk, and on it she scribbled everything, including appointments with clients. The calendar was not intended to be off-limits or in any way secretive; after all, it was just lying there on the desk, for anyone to see. So Theo took a look. He noticed that tomorrow, Wednesday, he had a 4:00 p.m. appointment with his orthodontist. He noticed his mother was meeting with a client named M. Clyburn.

  And, at the moment, his father was meeting with a client named Joe Ford. Theo froze for a second, then he remembered his conversation with Ike the day before. Joe Ford. Also known as Fast Ford. A real estate developer; a buzzard in Ike’s book who was waiting to pounce on the land around Sweeney Road in the event the bypass was approved; a shifty operator who Ike also referred to as a “thug.” Theo tried to remember the other things Ike had said. The deal was for two hundred acres; it was hush-hush, secretive, and so on. Ike didn’t say the deal was illegal in any way, but it certainly sounded like it.

  Theo stared at the name for a few seconds. It sort of made sense. Joe Ford was in the real estate business. Woods Boone’s clients were in that business. But why would Theo’s father represent a man with a shady reputation?

  There were voices upstairs, then heavy footsteps coming down. Theo froze for a second as he thought about disappearing. He could dart through the front door, but that would make some noise. He could duck into the conference room, or dash down the hall toward his office. As he moved, he kicked over Elsa’s trash can and crumpled papers spilled onto the floor. Quickly, he bent over, scooped them up, and was trying to clean up his mess when his father and another man suddenly appeared.

  “Well hello, Theo,” Mr. Boone said. “What’re you doing there?”

  “Uh, well, Judge knocked over the trash can here, and I’m just picking up.”

  “Right, well, say hello to Mr. Joe Ford, one of our clients.”

  Mr. Ford kept his hands in his pockets and barely offered a smile.

  “This is my son, Theo,” Mr. Boone said proudly. “He’s in the eighth grade at Strattenburg Middle School.”

  Theo nodded quickly and politely and said, “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too,” Joe Ford managed to say but only because he had to. He wore a shiny gray suit, with a vest, and a starched white shirt. His hair was frizzled and permed with a couple of strands bouncing over his ears. Theo instantly disliked him and got the impression that Joe Ford didn’t care for him either. Joe Ford, in Theo’s quick assessment, didn’t have time for anyone who could not help him make a buck.

  And Mr. Ford did not believe in small talk. He excused himself and left the building. Theo hustled back to his office, clicked on his laptop, and immediately opened a file on Mr. Joe Ford.

  Chapter 13

  The three boys—Theo, Woody, and Hardie—along with one dog, Judge, met at Truman Park near downtown as soon as possible after school on Friday. A fishing trip had been organized, and the boys were excited about the adventure. A rough week of school had just ended and it was time to relax. Fishing had been Hardie’s idea. He wanted to show Theo firsthand the Quinn family farm and the beautiful scenery the governor and some other politicians now wanted to destroy. Woody and Theo followed Hardie, with Theo bringing up the rear so Judge and his leash would not get tangled up with the other bikes. Though Judge was only a dog, he felt as if he should lead and the boys should follow. On a leash, though, he obediently trotted alongside Theo and seemed happy just to be included. They zigzagged through the shady streets of the old sections and made their way to a biking trail that looped around the southern part of town and avoided the traffic and residential areas. At a busy intersection, they crossed Highway 75 and soon disappeared down a narrow country lane with trees touching in an arc above it. The town and its congestion and noise were behind them. They sped down hills and grunted up them. They crossed tiny creeks, and, at one point, rattled through an old, abandoned covered bridge.

  After thirty minutes, the boys were sweating and Judge needed some water. They paused long enough for him to step into a creek. “Just a few more minutes,” Hardie said. When they had caught their breath, they took off again. They topped a hill and stopped again. Below them was a beautiful valley with a few clearings and lots of trees. Hardie pointed to the only house in view, a white structure far in the distance. “That’s where my grandparents live,” he said, still breathing hard.

  The boys took in the scenery as they rested. Hardie pointed to his right and said, “The bypass cuts across the entire valley, one wide gash that begins over there between those two hills and goes through the tallest hill that way.” His right arm swept to his left. “That’s Chalk Hill, and the plan is to level it with dynamite. Just blow it up and flatten it out. Everything else gets bulldozed, then covered with asphalt. Not sure what happens to my grandparents.”

  “How can they do this?” Woody asked.

  “Ask Theo.”

  Theo said, “The law gives the state the right to take anybody’s land. The state has to pay for it, of course, but they still get it.”

  “That sucks.”

  “It really does,” Hardie said sadly.

  They rolled down the hill and minutes later came to a stop in front of the house. Hardie’s grandmother, Mrs. Beverly Quinn, was waiting on the porch with a plate of walnut cookies and ice water. Hardie introduced his friends, and Judge, and she sat with them during the quick snack. Hardie’s grandfather was “puttering” down at the tractor barn, according to his wife. There was no mention of the bypass—that topic seemed too awful to even consider. As Theo ate a cookie and rocked gently in an old wicker rocker, he admired the spotless painted porch, the hanging ferns, the beds of neatly tended flowers, the white picket fence along the front yard, and he tried to envision a bunch of bulldozers destroying it all. The very idea seeme
d grossly unfair, even cruel.

  When the boys finished, they thanked her and hurried off to go fishing. In a storage shed behind the house, they found a wide selection of rods and reels, along with cane poles, tackle boxes, soccer balls, volleyballs, badminton sets, Frisbees, two canoes, four kayaks, even golf clubs. “We have a lot of fun out here,” Hardie said. He claimed to have eleven cousins in the Strattenburg area, along with aunts and uncles and friends close enough to be kinfolks, and they spent a lot of time on the family farm.

  They picked three rods and reels, and Hardie stuffed a small tackle box into his backpack. They were off again, flying down a narrow dirt trail that wound its way through a patch of thick woods. Ten minutes after leaving the house, they plowed to a stop at the banks of Red Creek. “This is the best spot on the farm,” Hardie said as he unpacked the tackle box. “Some of the best smallmouth bass in this area.” Theo unleashed his dog and Judge jumped into the water. The creek was wide and the water splashed over rocks in the distance.

  “We camp here all the time,” Hardie said.

  “It’s beautiful,” Theo said. “Can we go kayaking?”

  “Maybe later,” Hardie said. “There are some decent rapids just around the bend there, a little too rough for a canoe. We kayak it all the time.”

  As an only child who lived in town, Theo was mildly envious of Hardie and his big family and this tract of land where they had so much fun. The farm was like one big adventure park but with real adventures, not fake ones.

  Hardie was standing on a granite ledge, about ten feet above the water, and he had cast twice into the creek when he suddenly spotted something in the distance. “What is that?” he asked himself out loud.

  “What?” asked Woody, who was nearby.

  Hardie pointed and said, “Look beside those trees down the hill. Some men.” Theo and Woody were climbing onto the ledge next to Hardie, whose voice left no doubt he was concerned. Sure enough, across a narrow valley that bordered the creek, there were several men milling around a pickup truck, probably a half a mile away.