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Always a pleasure,” Clay lied.
    “What can I do for you, son?”
    “Well, I want you to understand that I really appreciate your efforts to get me that job down in Richmond. I didn’t expect it, and you were very kind to intervene like that.” A pause as Clay swallowed hard. “But truthfully, Mr. Van Horn, I don’t see a move to Richmond in the near future. I’ve always lived in D.C. and this is home.”
    Clay had many reasons to reject the offer. Staying in D.C. was mid-list. The overwhelming motive was to avoid having his life planned by Bennett Van Horn and getting locked into his debt.
    “You can’t be serious,” Van Horn said.
    “Yes, I’m very serious. Thanks, but no thanks.” The last thing Clay planned to do was to take any crap off this jerk. He loved the telephone at these moments; such a wonderful equalizer.
    “A big mistake, son,” Van Horn said. “You just don’t see the big picture, do you?”
    “Maybe I don’t. But I’m not so sure you do either.”
    “You have a lot of pride, Clay, I like that. But you’re also very wet behind the ears. You gotta learn that life is a game of favors, and when someone tries to help you, then you take the favor. One day maybe you’ll get the chance to repay it. You’re making a mistake, here, Clay, one that I’m afraid could have serious consequences.”
    “What kinds of consequences?”
    “This could really affect your future.”
    “Well, it’s my future, not yours. I’ll pick the next job, and the one after that. Right now I’m happy where I am.”
    “How can you be happy defending criminals all day long? I just don’t get it.”
    This was not a new conversation, and, if it followed the usual course, things would deteriorate quickly. “I believe you’ve asked that question before. Let’s not go there.”
    “We’re talking about a huge increase in salary, Clay. More money, better work, you’ll be spending your time with solid folks, not a bunch of street punks. Wake up, boy!” There were voices in the background. Wherever Bennett was, he was playing for an audience.
    Clay gritted his teeth and let the “boy” pass. “I’m not going to argue, Mr. Van Horn. I called to say no.”
    “You’d better reconsider.”
    “I’ve already reconsidered. No thanks.”
    “You’re a loser, Clay, you know that. I’ve known it for some time. This just reaffirms it. You’re turning down a promising job so you can stay in a rut and work for minimum wage. You have no ambition, no guts, no vision.”
    “Last night I was a hard worker—had broad shoulders, lots of talent, and I was as sharp as a tack.”
    “I take it back. You’re a loser.”
    “And I was well educated and even handsome.”
    “I was lying. You’re a loser.”
    Clay hung up first. He slammed the phone down with a smile, quite proud that he had so irritated the great Bennett Van Horn. He’d held his ground and sent a clear message that he would not be shoved around by those people.
    He would deal with Rebecca later, and it would not be pleasant.
    __________
    C LAY’S THIRD and final visit to D Camp was more dramatic than the first two. With Jermaine in the front seat and Rodney in the back, Clay followed a D.C. police car and parked again directly in front of the building. Two cops, both young and black and bored with subpoena work, negotiated their entrance. Within minutes they were in the midst of a tense confrontation with Talmadge X, Noland, and another counselor, a hothead named Samuel.
    Partially because he had the only white face in the crowd, but primarily because he was the lawyer who’d obtained the subpoena, the three counselors focused their wrath on Clay. He could not have cared less. He would never see these people again.
    “You saw the file, man!” Noland yelled at Clay.
    “I saw the file that you wanted me to see,” Clay shot back. “Now I get the rest of it.”
    “What’re you talking about?” Talmadge X asked.
    “I want everything here with