Адаптированная книга на английском языке «The Street Lawyer by John Grisham». Аудиокнига на английском.
The old black man got into the elevator behind me. He smelled of smoke and cheap wine and life on the streets without soap. His beard and hair were half-gray and very dirty. He was wearing sunglasses, and a long dirty coat hung down to his knees.
He looked fat, probably because he hadall hisclothes on. In the winter in Washington the street people wear all their clothes all the time. They can’t leave any of their clothes at home, because they don’t have a home.
The old man didn’t belong here. Everything here was expensive. The 400 lawyers in the building, who all worked for Drake & Sweeney, were paid an unbelievable amount of money. I knew that because I was a Drake & Sweeney lawyer myself.
The elevator stopped at six. The man hadn’t pushed an elevator button. When I stepped out and turned right, he followed me. I pushed the heavy, wooden door of a big meeting room. There were eight lawyers at the table inside and they all looked surprised. They were looking behind me, so I turned. My friend from the elevator was standing there. He was pointing a gun at me.
«Put that gun down,» said one of the lawyers at the table. His name was Rafter. He was a hard man in a courtroom, maybe the hardest lawyer that Drake & Sweeney had.
Suddenly, a shot hit the ceiling. Rafter’s eyes opened wide and his mouth shut.
«Lock the door,» the man said to me. I locked the door of the meeting room.
«Stand against the wall.» We all stood against the wall.
The man took off his dirty coat and put it carefully on the large, expensive table in the center of the room. He had five or six red sticks around his waist, tied there with string. I had never seen dynamite before, but they looked like dynamite to me.
I wanted to run and hope for a bad shot when he fired at me. But my legs were like water. Some of the lawyers were shaking with fear and making noises like scared animals.
«Please be quiet,» said the man, calmly. Then he took a long yellow rope and a knife from the pocket of his pants. «You,» he said to me. «Tie them up.»
Rafter stepped forward. «Listen, friend,» he said, «what do you want?»
The second shot went into the wall, behind Rafter’s ear.
«Do not call me ‘friend,'» said the man.
«What would you like us to call you?» I asked him, quietly.
«Call me ‘Mister.'»
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