“Do you have any idea how many people lined up for your job? How many we passed over to hire you? People with much better credentials, but maybe not quite as much name recognition?”
Shane felt his face grow two shades hotter, venom rising into the back of his throat. Still, he tried to swallow it. He was here to ask for a special circumstance, not quit his job.
“I realize all of that, but just the same I was hoping I might be able to take a sabbatical for a while, just until this case is wrapped.”
“Sabbatical? Wrapped?” Hartman asked with a contorted face. “What do you think this is? Undergrad at Pissant College in Ohio, where you can just take a semester off to go find yourself? This is one of the preeminent environmental law firms in the country, the kind of opportunity first year law students go to bed and jerk off thinking about.”
“I realize that, but—“
Hartman slammed his feet on the floor and stood, snatching his briefcase up from the table. “But nothing, Laszlo. Believe me when I tell you your ass better be here tomorrow, and every day after that, or I’ll find someone that will!”
Red faced and angry, Hartman stomped out, purposely slamming his shoulder against Shane’s on the way past. The blow twisted Shane a half turn at the waist, his gaze following his boss out into the hall. He stood rooted in place a moment, listening to Hartman mutter as he stomped away, before following him out into the hall.
“Hey, Rex,” Shane called, his voice oozing with insubordination, loud enough that several heads turned to stare at him. “Go ahead and start looking for that someone. I’m doing this without or without your approval.
“I quit.”
Chapter Nineteen
Monday night Shane slept seven uninterrupted hours, the shades drawn low and Molly curled up against his hip. By the time he finally rousted himself awake and stood before his bedroom window, he was amazed how much better he felt.
Even more amazed to see the sun rise from somewhere other than his desk.
Living a Spartan existence since moving to Boston, the entire process of preparing himself for relocation took no more than a couple of hours. A single phone call to the furniture rental company took care of the bed, dresser, and sofa that furnished his apartment. The place was little more than an above average sized room and there wasn’t space for any more than that.
A second call went to the landlord, who agreed to let Shane out of his lease provided she could keep the deposit and Shane could be out by the next day.
Shane agreed to both terms readily.
After that went calls to the electric company and his internet provider to discontinue services, his every connection to the Boston community cut off just that fast.
Shane enjoyed a slow morning around the apartment with Molly while waiting for the morning traffic to abate before loading everything he owned into his faded blue Honda. A couple of bags of clothes, a George Foreman grill, a few picture frames, and a box already overflowing with information for the case at hand.
Shane made one last stop in the North End for some cannoli from Mike’s Pastry before jumping on the Mass Pike and heading east. Just shy of noon, he was headed home, pastry in hand, famous Citgo sign in the rearview mirror.
Molly made it just barely out of Massachusetts and into Rhode Island before finding a sunny spot in the passenger seat and curling into a tight ball. By the time they crossed over into Connecticut a half hour later, she was asleep and purring, her thick charcoal fur warm to the touch.
Shane left the radio off as he set the cruise control and steered them through the clear spring day, his mind chewing on a dozen different questions. One by one he tried to work through them, the various strings of thought eventually all melding into one in his mind.
A sign welcomed them to New York as he shook himself from his thoughts and lifted his cell-phone from the dash. He thumbed four-one-one in and waited as an automated voice asked him what listing he desired.
“Ohio Tech University Law School, please.”
“One moment,” the digitized female voice responded, and a second later the line began to ring. It was answered after the third ring by a real life woman that sounded only faintly less automated and infinitely more bored.
“Good afternoon, OTU Law, this is Sandra. How may I help you?”
“Professor Jon Prescott, please.”
“May I ask whose calling?”
“Shane Laszlo.”
“Please hold,” Sandra said and flipped him over to an elevator music cover of Eric Clapton’s Layla.
Shane put the phone on speaker and dropped it into his lap, humming along as he changed lanes through the light traffic. He strummed his thumbs against the steering for several bars as the song played on, Molly opening a condemning eye to stare at him from the passenger seat.
She was saved by a warm voice filling the line.
“Jon Prescott.”
Shane snapped the phone up from his lap and turned off the speakerphone, pressing it against his face.
“Professor Prescott, Shane Laszlo. How are you, sir?”
Shane could picture Prescott’s face as a heavy chuckle boomed through the phone. “Shane! My boy, so good to hear from you! I am very well indeed, and how are you?”
Over the years Prescott had gotten quite adept at masking his English accent while lecturing, but in the company of friends it came across much thicker. Shane couldn’t help but smile at the last words that came out ‘how aww you?’
“I am also very well.”
“So to what do I owe the pleasant surprise of hearing from one of my favorite students out of the blue?”
“You mean former students, right?” Shane corrected.
“Nonsense dear boy, my students will always be my students. They may go far and do great things, but they are always my students.”
Shane smiled, knowing full well this was what made Prescott such a favorite at the school. He genuinely cared about them and how they fared.
It was also why, of everybody, Shane made the first call to him.
“Well,” Shane said, taking a deep breath, “I’m calling with a bit of an unusual request. I know the end of term is coming up, but I was wondering if you might know of any students in need of a summer internship-type position.”
“Internship-type position?” Prescott asked, feeling the words out even as he spoke them. “Banks, Webster & Cohen opening up the doors a little bit this summer are they?”
“Not quite. This wouldn’t be a firm gig, it would be working with me directly.”
“For you? Has something happened?”
Shane decided to change directions. “Let me start over. I know to you football with always be Manchester United, but have you managed to watch any of the American game in your time at OTU?”
“Well I should say I have,” Prescott responded, his voice full of pride at the admission. “Every year the faculties gather and watch the Michigan A&M game at the end of the season. Quite a good show I might add. Not as much fun as a penalty kick shootout, but a right good time just the same.”
Shane smiled and shook his head. “Then you might have noticed a player for OTU by the name of Tyler Bentley.”
“Oh yes, of course. Extraordinary player as I remember it, I’m told he should be quite the professional player.”
“Well, not anymore,” Shane said, deciding to cut directly to the heart of the matter. There would be plenty of time for tiptoeing around the gravity of the situation at a later date.
“In the last game of the season Tyler hurt his knee. The University hospital partnered with a company called SynTronic and developed some sort of new prosthetic implant and convinced Tyler to try it.
“Long story short, it didn’t work and now he only has one leg.”
Prescott’s breath caught in his throat, a low rumbling sound that sounded like a smoker first waking in the morning. “My heavens! That’s horrible. What’s he going to do?”
“He went back home to Wyoming to rec
over from his injuries with the intention of returning in the fall to finish his degree, but to his surprise the minute he left they rescinded his scholarship.”
“Oh my,” Prescott said, a low shrill whistle sounding through the line. “So he’s turning to the law?”
“Believe me when I say, he doesn’t want to, but he’s kind of backed into a corner here. It’s just he and his mom and they come from very limited means.”
“I see, I see,” Prescott said in rapid-fire fashion, his voice faraway. Shane could picture him staring off into space, scratching his beard, rolling the situation around in his mind.
When he spoke, his voice was serious. “You know what you’re going to be up against here don’t you?”
Shane raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. “That’s why I’m calling to see if there are any students that might be able to help me.
“We want to move fast on this, while his name is still fresh in people’s minds and so he can get finish his studies and get on with his life. I know most students have already secured positions for the summer, but if there is anybody that you might know of...”
Shane let his voice drift off, the question hanging in the air. Prescott didn’t grab the bait for several long moments.
When he did, his tone was hurried, almost fervent. “Where are you right now? When will you want to start?”
“I’m on the road to Ohio now, should be arriving sometime late tonight.”
“Can you be in my office by ten o’clock tomorrow morning?”
Again Shane’s eyes bulged a bit with surprise. “Does that mean you know someone?”
“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at ten o’clock Shane,” Prescott repeated, avoiding Shane’s question. “Good day, sir.”
“You too, Professor. Good day,” Shane responded and hung up the phone. He couldn’t be sure what Prescott had in mind, but he knew he had enough other things to figure out between now and then to let it go until tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty
The fact that Shane was from Ohio didn’t necessarily mean it was home. Most of his friends from law school had scattered to the winds for work, just as he did. Very few from undergrad did he keep up with. The ones he followed from his childhood were almost all married, with children, or both.
He had even less family, which was to say virtually none, to call on.
Shane and Molly rolled into Columbus a little after midnight, pulling into a Comfort Inn on the edge of town. The plan wasn’t to drive the whole way in one day, but after Prescott asked him to be on hand the following morning, he didn’t have a choice.
Not that it much mattered to Shane. He’d gotten enough sleep the night before and had enough on his mind to drive for days. When the white sign with blue lettering passed overhead welcoming to him to The Buckeye State, it just vaguely registered. Little more a few hours later when the signs started naming off suburbs he’d played ball in as a kid.
Besides, Prescott was going out of his way to help him. The least he could do was show up when asked to.
The room was small and smelled bad, the dregs of the place being all that was available for somebody that shuffled in as late as he did with a pet. For the second night in a row he slept well, though his body jerked awake after just five hours, still not used to the amount of blissful sleep it was receiving.
The next morning he rose, showered and shaved, loaded Molly and his overnight bag back into the car and drove the remaining few miles to the OTU campus. Almost a full year had passed since he’d stepped foot on the place, thought it still held a familiarity that felt like he’d only been gone a couple of weeks.
Conscious not to let his mind fall into a state of nostalgia, he maneuvered his Honda from memory and parked in one of a handful of visitor’s spots in front of the law school. He emerged from the car and took a deep breath, looking out at the place that for three years had been his home.
The OTU Law School consisted of a tight cluster of buildings on the northern end of campus, not far from the Columbus outer belt. All of them were done in a matching colonial style, outfitted in dark red brick that easily set them apart from the rest of campus.
A handful of students walked back and forth between the buildings and two young girls sat outside on the steps reading, though none so much as glanced his way. Molly opened but one eye as Shane pulled his briefcase from the backseat, making no effort to move as he slammed the door shut.
Now in their fourth year together, the two had covered much of the country in the Honda. Shane knew she would be just fine for up to fourteen hours so long as she had a sunbeam to stretch out in.
Dressed in tan slacks and a burgundy button down, Shane stepped into the Anderson Hewlett Law Building at ten minutes to ten and headed for Prescott’s office. There waiting on him was a note taped to the door telling him to meet in the conference room.
Without a second glance, Shane reversed his course and headed to the third floor.
The heavy oak double doors at the top of stairwell were propped open and Shane stuck his head inside to see a long dark wood table taking up much of the space. The heavy buzz of conversation filled the air as throngs of students stood around the table, many lost in conversation. Along the far wall Shane recognized Prescott, his white hair and omnipresent cup of tea unmistakable amongst the young crowd.
Shane turned his shoulders and slid inside without pushing open the door, walking towards the far end. Again, nobody even looked his way as he lowered his briefcase onto the table and strode towards Prescott.
His old friend greeted him the way he always did, with arms wide and a hearty embrace, just one of many ways that he didn’t quite fit the mannerisms of his native England. “Shane Laszlo, quite good to see you, sir!”
Prescott practically beamed as he apprised Shane, his voice just a decibel or two below shouting.
“Good to see you as well,” Shane returned. “And again, thank you so much for doing this.”
“Nonsense,” Prescott said with a wave of the hand. “It was nothing, no need for thanks.”
Shane smiled and nodded. Almost a year had passed, but Prescott was the same as he had been the last time they spoke. He had a thick shock of wavy white hair he was in a perpetual battle to keep tamed and a ruddy face with a bulbous nose and watery blue eyes. His style trended towards plaid ties and cardigan sweaters, both stretched taut over a well fed midsection.
Sprinkled liberally with a British accent and booming personality, he was almost a walking caricature unto himself.
“Wow, this is, uh, quite a showing,” Shane said, waving a hand around the room. “All these people are interested to help out with the case?”
Prescott gave a non-committal turn of his head. “Well, not quite. On such short notice the best I could do was put out the word that a prized former pupil was looking for help on a case this summer and in need of interns. I went to bed last night hoping somebody would show and came back this morning to see a throng of people waiting for me to open the doors.”
“Lot of first-years still looking for summer work?” Shane asked, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, most of which trended quite young.
Prescott offered a wan smile. “That obvious?”
“Hey, I’ll take it,” Shane said, patting his friend on the arm, glancing at the clock on the wall above them. “It’s now five minutes past. Shall we get started?”
Prescott extended a hand towards the table. “It’s your room Counselor, by all means proceed.”
Shane smirked at the choice of words and walked back to retrieve his briefcase. He became aware of several pairs of eyes following him as he walked to the head of the table and set the case down again, leaving it unopened in front of him.
“If you could all please find a seat, I’d like to get started.”
It took a moment for the instruction to pass through the crowd, the noise dying away as students lowered themselves into seats or turned to face him. Shane did a quick scan as they settled into place
and found he didn’t recognize a single face.
The OTU Law School graduated just over one hundred people each year, meaning the student body got to know each other quite well. The fact that Shane was only a year removed and didn’t recognize anybody meant every last person before him was a first year.
Despite what he’d said to Prescott just a moment before, he felt a small tug in the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t the best way to start things off.
Shane turned over his shoulder and whispered to Prescott, “So these students have no idea why they’re here right now?”
“Just that you might have a summer job for them.”
Shane nodded and turned back to the silent and waiting cluster of people before him. “First of all, thank you all for coming. Professor Prescott and I both appreciate it, especially on such short notice.
“I apologize in advance if I seem harsh or curt, but the fact is I don’t have a lot of time and I know at this point in the semester most of you don’t either. For that reason, and to protect the confidentiality of my client, I’ll be brief. If selected, you’ll be brought up to speed very, very quickly.
“My name is Shane Laszlo and the reason I contacted Professor Prescott, and he by extension contacted you, is I am looking for a team of interns to assist me in a case that I will be working this summer.
“Part medical malpractice, part contract fraud, and at least a few parts something I haven’t yet discovered. I was hired on a couple of days ago and have only just begun to research everything that will be involved.”
“Who’s the client?” a young man with blonde hair asked.
“Again, due to confidentiality purposes, I cannot disclose that until I have hired my team. I will go as far as to say though, most if not all of you have heard of them before.”
“Alright, so who’s the defendant?” the same man asked.
Shane glanced over at the young man, knowing the type all too well from his time in school. Some called people like him gunners, others called them sharks.
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