Hola K Ase

The Client
John Grisham

1

Mark was eleven and had been smoking off and on for two years, never trying to quit but
being careful not to get hooked. He preferred Kools, his ex-father's brand, but his mother
smoked Virginia Slims at the rate of two packs a day, and he could in an average week
pilfer ten or twelve from her. She was a busy woman with many problems, perhaps a
little naivewhen it came to her boys, and she never dreamed her eldest would be smoking
at the age of eleven.
Occasionally Kevin, the delinquent two streets over, would sell Mark a pack of stolen
Marlboros for a dollar. But for the most part he had to rely on his mother's skinny
cigarettes.
He had four of them in his pocket that afternoon as he led his brother, Ricky, age eight,
down the path into thewoods behind their trailer park. Ricky was nervous about this, his
first smoke. He had caught Mark hiding the cigarettes in a shoebox under his bed day
before, and threatened to tell all if his big brother didn't show him how to do it. They
sneaked along the wooded trail, headed for one of Mark's secret spots where he'd spent
many solitary hours trying to inhale and blow smoke rings.
Most of theother kids in the neighborhood were into beer and pot, two vices Mark was
determined to avoid. Their ex-father was an alcoholic who'd beaten both boys and their
mother, and the beatings always followed his nasty bouts with beer. Mark had seen and
felt the effects of alcohol. He was also afraid of drugs.
"Are you lost?" Ricky asked just like a little brother as they left the trail and wadedthrough chest-high weeds.
"Just shut up," Mark said without slowing. The only time their father had spent at home
was to drink and sleep and abuse them. He was gone now, thank heavens. For five years
Mark had been in charge of Ricky. He felt like an eleven-year-old father. He'd taught him
how to throw a football and ride a bike. He'd explained what he knew about sex. He'd
warned him aboutdrugs, and protected him from bullies. And he felt terrible about this
introduction to vice. But it was just a cigarette. It could be much worse. ,
The weeds stopped and they were under a large tree with a rope hanging from a thick
branch. A row of bushes yielded to a small clearing, and beyond it an overgrown dirt road
disappeared over a hill. A highway could be heard in the distance.

Markstopped and pointed to a log near the rope. "Sit there," he instructed, and Ricky
obediently backed onto the log and glanced around anxiously as if the police might be
watching. Mark eyed him like a drill sergeant while picking a cigarette from his shirt
pocket. He held it with- his right thumb and index finger, and tried to be casual about it.
"You know the rules," he said, looking down atRicky. There were only two rules, and they had discussed them a dozen times during the
day, and Ricky was frustrated at being treated like a child. He rolled his eyes away and
said, "Yeah, if I tell anyone, you'll beat me up."
"That's right."
Ricky folded his arms. "And I can smoke only one a day."
"That's right. If I catch you smoking more than that, then you're in trouble. And if I find
outyou're drinking beer or messing with drugs, then-"
"I know, I know. You'll beat me up again."
"Right."
"How many do you smoke a day?"
"Only one," Mark lied. Some days, only one. Some days, three or four, depending on
supply. He stuck the filter between his lips like a gangster.
"Will one a day kill me?" Ricky asked.
Mark removed the cigarette from his lips. "Not anytime soon. One a day ispretty safe.
More than that, and you could be-in trouble."
"How many does Mom smoke a day?"
"Two packs."
"How many is that?"
"Forty."
"Wow. Then she's in big trouble."
"Mom's got all kinds of troubles. I don't think she's worried about cigarettes."
"How many does Dad smoke a day?"

"Four or five packs. A hundred a day."
Ricky grinned slightly. "Then he's gonna die soon, right?"
"I...