Read Online The Professor by Robert Bailey - Free Book Online

raised some eyebrows.”
    “This is bullshit,” Hancock said, reading through the apology. “Total bullshit.”
    “I know. I wish that was all of it. I’m meeting tomorrow with the board. They want me to make McMurtrie’s Evidence more user-friendly, and the dean said I can’t kick anybody else out of class, even if they’re not prepared.”
    “Jesus, Tom. You think the Drake deal is really pushing all that?”
    “I don’t know. Lambert’s been on my ass ever since he was hired. I think he wants new blood, and he’s trying to use the Drake incident as leverage to force me out.” Tom sighed, rubbing his eyes. He was tired. Thinking about Ruth Ann’s case and the board meeting had kept him up the night before.
    “So you gonna sign this crap?” Judge Hancock asked, throwing the apology down on the desk. He fixed himself another drink and took a seat in the chair across from Tom.
    “I don’t know, Judge.”
    “You wanna know what the Cock would do?”
    Tom smiled. “OK, Your Honor, what would you do?”
    “If it were me, I’d take that apology to the board meeting tomorrow. I’d set it down real careful like on the table in front of them. Then, after I had their full and undivided attention, I’d unzip my pants and piss on the damn thing. When I was finished, I’d fold my dick back up and walk my ass outta there.”
    Tom laughed. “So you have to fold yours too?”
    The judge took a long sip of whiskey. “The Cock is hung like Secretariat,” he said, letting out a belch and stretching his legs. “But seriously, Tom, I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. The unappreciative, ungrateful sons of bitches. You’ve given your life to this school.” He took another sip and grimaced. “And let me tell you something. It’s not like you had to come back here to teach.”
    “What do you mean?”
    Judge Hancock leaned forward, setting his cup on the edge of Tom’s desk, looking very serious. “Tom, in fifty years I’ve seen every great trial lawyer in this state. Every damn one of them. Jameson Tyler is the second best I’ve ever seen.” He paused, grinning. “You were the best.”
    “What?”
    “I mean it, buck. You were the real deal.”
    Tom felt his face flush red. It had been a long time since he had thought of those days.
    “You hear George McDuff died?” the judge asked.
    “Heart attack, right?”
    The judge nodded, and Tom felt a twinge of guilt. He had lost touch with his old boss over the years. George had never gotten over Tom’s decision to teach law at Alabama. You won’t make any money; it’s a dead end, Tom ,he had said, but Tom had gone nonetheless. He’d had to. The Man had called.
    “You ever think about what would have happened if you hadn’t gone back to Tuscaloosa?” A slight grin arose on the judge’s face, as if he had been reading Tom’s mind.
    “More now than I used to.”
    “It’s not too late, you know. You’re not that old—what, sixty, sixty-five?”
    Tom squinted at the judge. “I’m sixty-eight. What are you talking about, Judge?”
    Judge Hancock placed both his hands on the desk for leverage and slowly rose to his feet.
    “Tom, I’ve already said it once but I’ll say it again. Son, you were the best goddamn trial lawyer I ever saw. It’s not too late. Why not give it another go? You’ve done your part for the school. If they don’t appreciate it, then fuck ’em.” He paused, pointing his finger at the only picture that adorned Tom’s wall other than the national championship plaques. It was of the Man, wearing the houndstooth hat and leaning against the goalpost. “Tom, Coach Bryant would not tolerate this bullshit. I knew the Man. If the Man heard how they were treating you, he would shove his boot so far up Lambert’s ass that he’d be tasting the shoestrings. You know he would. I can just see him now.” Judge Hancock put his hands on his hips and gave a mock scowl. “You turds. You goddamn turds. I’ll give the ultimatums around