The Accomplice (Theodore Boone 7)

It was such a silly fight, and a small one. And he knew she was not going away. His Honor really wanted to crawl back into his recliner, snuggle under his quilt, and try to resume his nap. “Sure, Marcella.”

“Thank you, Frank. And tell Caroline I’ll see her at the luncheon next Wednesday.”

“Will do.”

An hour later, Theo and his mother met Daisy Lambert at the jail. Mr. Bob Hawley of Action Bail Bonds arrived on time and was all smiles. Mrs. Boone wrote two one thousand dollar checks from the firm’s trust account, and Daisy signed the necessary paperwork. It took another hour to round up the Lambert boys. They were given their cell phones and personal effects, then handed over to their mother. When they walked outside, they stopped and took a long, deep breath of fresh air, and soaked up the sunshine. After a round of hugs and thank-yous, Woody and Tony hopped in the car with Daisy and sped away.

As Theo and his mother watched them disappear, he said, “Well, that was easy.”

The last thing Woody had in mind for his first full afternoon of freedom, and a Saturday no less, was to slog his way through a pile of homework. However, he had no choice. Pursuant to an agreement hammered out by his mother, Mr. Mount, Mrs. Gladwell, and Theo, he dutifully reported to Strattenburg Middle at two p.m. for an intense study session.

When he arrived, Woody admitted, but only to himself, that he had actually missed the place. He met Theo and Mr. Mount in their empty homeroom and was glad to see them. They spent half an hour talking about his days in jail, and Woody quickly grew to enjoy his own stories. There were some laughs, and for the moment his legal troubles were somewhere else. Under Mr. Mount’s guidance, they studied for three straight hours.

That night, the gang surrounded Woody. Theo, Chase, Brian, Justin, Ricardo, and Aaron met him at Guff’s for a frozen yogurt, then they walked to the downtown cinema and watched Spider-Man 7. By ten, Woody was back home watching late night TV with his mother and Tony, eating popcorn and laughing about how much they missed Jock.

By Monday morning, the entire eighth grade knew that Woody was free and returning to school. To avoid attention, he arrived early and secured himself in homeroom with Mr. Mount. His facial wounds were still visible and he was tired of talking about them. On the one hand, he was embarrassed by his arrest and legal troubles, but on the other hand he was thrilled to be back at school with his buddies. And if the girls wanted to smile and say hello, that was okay, too. Several times during the morning, as he was once again welcomed back, he said, “Yeah, Theo got me out.”

Theo wanted no credit whatsoever. He had helped a friend in need, something he would readily do again. He was delighted to see Woody smiling. They had hit the books hard over the weekend and Woody seemed eager to catch up. Their teachers—Madame Monique in Spanish, Miss Garman in Geometry, Mr. Tubcheck in Chemistry, and, of course Mr. Mount in Government—acted as though Woody had never missed a class. Each quietly offered to meet with him after school for extra tutoring.

At lunch, Theo and April Finnemore bought a sandwich and sat together on the playground, alone. They had not spoken much in the past days. Theo had been so preoccupied with Woody’s bail that he had neglected her. April was a quiet, shy girl from a troubled family and she needed Theo’s attention. She was different, a loner who enjoyed reading and painting. Her style of dress was whispered to be “artsy,” and she cut her hair short. She had few girlfriends and didn’t want any. The other girls were too busy staring at their phones, gossiping about one another, and April considered them to be “airheads.”

“Did you really get him out, Theo?” she asked.

Theo rarely bragged. His parents had taught him to be humble and let his actions speak for themselves. Nobody likes a braggart, his father had said many times, especially around the golf course where big talking was not unusual.

But with April, Theo felt secure. She would never repeat anything. So he took a deep breath and replayed the entire story.

Monday afternoon brought the required visit to see Uncle Ike. Theo had mixed feelings about it because Ike was generally in a foul mood and had nothing good to say about anything or anybody. He was a lonely old man with few friends and no family. His wife divorced him long ago when he went to prison and his adult children were far away and too busy to call. But as Theo grew older, he began to wonder if Ike was as unhappy as he let on. He played poker at least once a week with a group of retired lawyers and cops. He knew more courthouse gossip than anyone. He was in a weird book club that read only biographies. Elsa had once dropped a hint that Ike had a longtime lady friend in another town. Theo suspected that being grumpy was just part of Ike’s routine.

“How’s my favorite nephew?” he asked as Theo fell into the creaky leather chair. Judge settled next to his feet. Same question every Monday.

“I’m your only nephew. My buddy got out. Thanks for the loan.”

“Don’t mention it. How’s he doing?”

“He came back to school today and was like a hero. You want to hear about his armed robbery?”

“Sure.” Ike wheeled around his swivel chair, reached into a small fridge, removed a can of beer and a can of ginger ale. He turned a knob on his stereo and lowered the volume so that Bob Dylan could barely be heard. He popped the top and swung his feet onto his desk. Same old sandals.

Theo described the armed robbery with the water pistol. When he finished he asked, “What will happen to Woody?”

“He’ll probably get the death penalty in this town.”

“Come on, Ike. They can’t convict him of anything, can they?”

“Does he have a good lawyer?”

“Public defender.”

“Some of those guys are good. I don’t know much about Youth Court, Theo. I was far away from my youth when I got busted.”

“Plus, you were a tax lawyer, right?”

“Right. I stayed away from the criminal stuff, that is, until they came after me. How are your grades?”

“Perfect,” Theo said immediately. He had learned that anything less than straight A’s would prompt a mini-lecture on the virtues of studying harder. How many adults were carefully watching his grades? Too many.

Ike took a swig of beer and asked, “How are things over at Boone and Boone?”

“The same. Everybody’s working too hard.” Ike had been a partner with Theo’s parents before he was born.

“And your mother?”

“She’s fine.” Ike never asked about Woods Boone, his brother. “Can I ask you a question, Ike, something that might be sort of off-limits?”

“Maybe. What’s it about?”

“A long time ago you got into trouble.”

“It’s not something I talk about. I might explain things one day when you’re older, maybe not.”

“Okay. I’m not asking about what you did wrong, if anything. My question is this: Did you have to post bail to get out of jail?”

Ike took another drink and studied the ceiling fan for a long time. Theo was suddenly worried that he had ventured into forbidden territory.

Ike said, “My situation was different. I knew the police wanted me, so I went with my lawyer down to the station. I was photographed and fingerprinted, all that jazz, and placed in a cell for about an hour. Then I was released on personal identification. So, no, I wasn’t forced to make bail.”

“Bail seems so unfair. I found an article about it online. This legal scholar wrote that people with no money get stuck in jail for crimes that are not that serious. Shoplifting, bad checks, small drug cases, expired driver’s licenses, stuff like that. This is while they are presumed to be innocent and long before they go to court. A lot of men lose their jobs and a lot of mothers are separated from their children just because they can’t make bail.”

“He’s right about that. It’s been a problem for a long time. Did this scholar offer a solution?”

“It’s pretty obvious. Cut out bail for small crimes and let people go home. He says that virtually all o

f them will show up for court anyway. Keep bail in place for those charged with violent and serious crimes.”

“And you like to read stuff like this?”

“Yes I do.”

“Most kids your age are reading comic books or playing video games, and you’re reading about problems with our legal system.” Ike was amused and took another sip of his beer.

“Yes, and the more I read the more problems I find.”

“Our legal system is pretty good, Theo, better than most, but it could work much more efficiently if we would fix the problems.”

“Bail reform, long prison sentences for nonviolent guys, mass incarceration, wrongful convictions, electing judges. I’m finding all kinds of stuff about how messed up our system really is. It’s depressing, Ike, especially for a kid who wants to be a lawyer.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. I’m only thirteen and my parents will not let me go to law school until I finish college.”

“Sounds cruel to me.”