Chapter 51 Chapter 50

Thomas was reading a book about World War II in the library when someone called him. "Anderson, Thomas," Officer Mike Conte called from the door. Thomas immediately stood up reflexively, and turned to face the direction from which the shout came.Mike Conte was a nice guy, and they liked him because he never pretended to be anything special. "Come out," Mike Conte said, taking a step back. Thomas dropped the book and went into the dark corridor, looking back for further instructions.Mike Court closed the door and gave him a friendly nod. Thomas hesitated, not knowing whether to go left or right, "Where am I going, sir?"

Mike Conte nodded to the left. "You've got a visit, kid." "But it's not visiting time." Thomas said after taking a few steps. Mike Court grunted, "Yes, but someone wants to see you." Thomas' stomach tensed, and he stopped so suddenly that Mike Conte nearly bumped into him, "It's not my mom, is it?" "No," Mike Conte reassured him, "no, a lawyer, son, just a lawyer's visit." "Oh." Thomas continued down the corridor, eyes downcast.The linoleum had been scoured and polished, but the strong smell of the disinfectant used to mop the floor still lingered in the corner moldings.The smell in the waiting area was even more pungent. It was a stench of feces, urine, onions, minced meat, or pine wood. All the smells gathered together had an overpowering, all-consuming impact.He hated this smell when he first came here, and felt like he was going to drown in it, but now, he already liked it.

It's not time for a lawyer visit, his court appointed lawyer is lazy and slacking off.Something must have happened.Did Squeak commit suicide? They walked toward a door at the end of the corridor, past the kitchen vent, and the smell of sponge cake wafted in the air, the warm, damp smell of spring, and the smell of magical green grass growing.To the left is a ventilated wall of light cinder block, through which segregated boys can be seen running in circles.Through the rumble of footsteps, Thomas imagined Squeak hanged, lying on the ground, bleeding.He's happy for everyone but sad for Squeak, the stupid, decadent, dog-like Squeak.

When they came to a locked door at the end of the corridor, Mike Conte called out unnecessarily, "Stop!" Thomas smiled and turned around.With a smug smile on his lips, Mike Conte reached for the keypad on the door and looked up at the camera. The door buzzed and Mike Contra opened it, stepping back to let Thomas through.This section of the hallway was better, less smelly and the floors were not as polished. Mike Conte took the key out of his trousers pocket and opened the door of the "3" visiting room. Thomas stopped at the door. It wasn't the pale, rumpled appointed attorney inside.Sitting at the table was a large, well-built, wealthy-looking man with an aura that almost filled the room.He is Squeak's father.

Mr. Gordon stood up, "Thomas," his eyes were not tear-stained, red, dazed, and Squeak wasn't dead. "Hello," he said, in a voice as low as a cigar and as brandy sauce. The same mellow, pleasant and unfamiliar accent, which is a standard English pronunciation with a cheerful tone.Everyone here speaks a rough, raspy London and Manchester dialect, with some rapping West Coast African accents, some London West Indian accents, and Thames Estuary English without the standard newscasters. Mike Conte nodded for Thomas to go in.Thomas took two steps, and the door closed and locked behind him, but Mike Conte's figure remained on the glass.

"You are not my lawyer." "sit down." Thomas went around the table and sat down on the stool indicated by Mr. Hamilton-Gordon. Hamilton-Gordon was a lawyer, Thomas remembered. "Oh, you're a lawyer," he said. Hamilton, Mr. Gordon also sat down. "How are you, Thomas? I hope you are all right." It feels good to hear this smooth, delicate, soft and warm accent.Thomas had known Squeak's dad for years, mostly through photographs.He always looks grumpy and never changes his clothes according to the weather.Unwilling to compromise circumstances, he wore a tweed jacket to dinner in St. Lucia, sailed to Monaco on a yacht, and attended a dinner in Hong Kong.He was fat, but the tailored clothes managed to hide his flaws.Today, he is wearing a green tweed jacket, pink pants and no tie.Here are weekend home clothes.His hair was silvery white with a hint of black, but thick and healthy.

He looked at Thomas thoughtfully.His eyebrows were upturned, but had been trimmed by the barber: like bristly antlers, only blunt. "You're not my lawyer," Thomas repeated. "Yeah, I'm not." He folded his arms. "Why are you here?" "Talk to you, this," he waggled a finger, "it's no use hating each other, we have to stick together and support each other to solve our problems. Agree, Thomas?" Thomas replied reflexively, "Yes, sir." Hamilton-Gordon was not a policeman, and Thomas didn't have to call him "sir," which was a stupid mistake.

"Thomas, allow me to begin by expressing my deepest condolences on the loss of your father. He was an amazing man." "You know each other?" "Yes," he said sadly, "we know each other, we know each other." "Where did you meet?" "School." "Oh yes." "I went to St. Augustus, too, two classes behind your father, and he's always been a wonderful man, but he had his faults." Mr. Gordon looked at Thomas with raised eyebrows. "Yes, he has flaws." Mr. Gordon tapped the table with his index finger. "His mother was very ill when I knew him."

"Really?" Lars and Moira never had much time to recall family memories.Thomas knew nothing about her except that she was dead. "She committed suicide." Mr. Gordon looked at Thomas nervously with castrated eyebrows raised. "I don't know about this." "Your father was younger than you are now, and he was in school. It was a difficult time." Seeing his fingers tap rhythm on the table, Mr. Gordon paused, "I mean, your father was not a A tough guy, he had his flaws, but he had a lot to overcome and he did manage to overcome it, brilliantly."

Thomas nodded in agreement, but no matter what he had been through, Lars was still a big yelling jerk. "You have to understand what he has overcome." "Yes," Thomas said, "OK." "Are you still mad at him?" said Mr. Gordon with a wan smile. Thomas thought, "I don't even think about him now." Mr. Gordon laughed again, showing his teeth, his gums, his eyes still. "Yes, are you all right?" "It's all right," Thomas said, thinking of Squeak, is he all right?is he dead "Why do you ask?" "Well," Mr. Gordon's breathing came out through his bushy nose hair, a little noisy, "There is a family inheritance, suicide, right?"

"Really?" "Yes, generation after generation. Once the thought exists, there is always the possibility..." It sounds like Mr. Gordon is implying that Thomas is suicidal. "I wouldn't do that." Thomas watched the other person for a reaction.But no response. "I spoke to your mother and she was worried about you." "I'm in jail charged with a disgusting murder. She should be worried." "She's also worried about your sister, Ella has been off her antipsychotic medication." "Ah, thank God." "She has been transferred to a private clinic." "They took her?" "It's expensive in private practice. One of my colleagues is on the board," Mr. Gordon looked up again. "Your mother has no money now. I don't know if you know her situation. If she said—" "She won't talk to me." "Well." Mr. Gordon was not surprised. "Have you talked to her?" "Yes, Ella...very ill." Thomas smiled self-deprecatingly.Moira never cared about the children, she always cared only about herself.Yet he still longed for her attention.Even if she doesn't answer the phone, or hangs up after realizing it's his. "Caring for Ella is expensive and she may need to be there for a while." "Who arranged it?" "I arranged it." "Well, thank you—" "I'm very angry with you, Thomas," said the words very abruptly, but Mr. Gordon's tone was flat, "for bringing Jonathan into that house. I'm very angry with you, you understand, yes no?" Thomas saw that Squeak's father was not simply angry. He was extremely angry. Tiny beads of sweat oozed from the large pores on his forehead. His index finger tapped the table again to the rhythm of a jig, "You It's not good behavior to involve other people in your personal problems, Thomas." Mr. Gordon paused, muttering softly in the back of his throat, swallowing the words that did not have to be said.He took a deep breath. "But we're at this point now. Who will represent you?" "what?" "Who is your lawyer?" "Why do you ask these questions?" Mr. Gordon raised his eyebrows slowly. "You need a good lawyer: one always needs a good lawyer. Your mother is selling houses, isn't she?" "I think so." "It may not be sold for a while. The current housing market is sluggish. There are few buyers for big houses, so it is difficult to sell." "yes." Mr. Gordon leaned forward, intimately, tapping his fingertips on the table, very close to Thomas' bare arm. "Let's talk about the results," he said gravely. "The difference between a good lawyer and a bad one is 12 years for this charge. Are you aware of the problem?" "That much?" Thomas pretended to be surprised. Mr. Gordon responded enthusiastically: "Yes, the extra 12 years in prison, without the possibility of parole, you could have been out of prison at 25. If you don't have a good lawyer, you will spend until 36." He sat He turned around, cleared his throat, and continued, "Thomas, I'm going to hire you a lawyer and pay for Ella's care. In return, I want you to do something for me, is that okay?" Thomas looked dazed. "Yes?" Mr. Gordon looked at Thomas' mouth, hoping for an affirmative answer. "What's the matter?" Thomas asked. "I want you to take responsibility for this, you brought Jonathan out there and he stood by trying to stop you. Got it? In return, I'll fund Ella and your mother until you're able to do it yourself Do it. Everyone says you're a bright young man, and being here by no means means it's over—you've got a future, so you can rest assured. Do you think that's fair?" "Fair." Yes, fair, really fair, he's the one who brought Squeak up there, so he's responsible in a way.That seemed fair, even if there was still something bothering him.He couldn't think what it was, but it was a big annoyance, long and urgent, like an inflamed cold sore. "So, Thomas, I'm glad we've reached a settlement. I think in the future, when you look back on these things, you'll find—" But Thomas was distracted by a tiny movement in Mr. Gordon's head: the movement of his hair. A strand of silver hair moved around his head, to the left, up, alone, while he sat there motionless, telling Thomas in a deep voice: how reasonable everything is for everyone, and everything will be fine , all bad luck will soon end. The lock of hair slowly stood up, pointing towards the ceiling like a car antenna.It looked so grotesque that it caught Thomas's full attention, and he couldn't make out what Mr. Gordon was saying. "...many rich men, when they look back on the misfortunes of their youth..." Thomas saw, through the lock of hair, a face above Mr. Gordon's head, so bright and clear that Thomas could almost do a Rorschach blot on that face.It was a wasp, crawling slowly through Mr. Gordon's thick hair, a wasp. Mr. Gordon saw Thomas staring at his hair when he suddenly felt something move on the top of his head.He panicked and patted his head heavily, a small black and yellow body rolled down, its calves squirmed, turned over and landed on his shoulder, rebounded, continued to fall, and fell under the table.Thomas could still hear: hum-on-om. Thomas stood up abruptly, the chair tipping over behind him.He looked down at the floor, at the wasp, which was still struggling dizzily to get up.Buzz buzz buzz.Thomas couldn't look at it for himself.Mr. Gordon slapped the table angrily, "...I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you..." Thomas grinned, looked down at Squeak's father, took a closer look, and realized he was a terrifyingly strong man.Thomas slowly reached out and slapped the table hard, loudly, and the table also made a buzzing sound. Mr. Gordon stood up, but he was not as tall as Thomas, barely reaching Thomas' chin.For some reason, Thomas had been waiting, waiting to see another wasp, as if all bad luck vanished when a swarm of wasps appeared, but there was only one wasp.This is not some kind of divine appearance. "Thomas!" cried Mr. Gordon, "it's just a wasp." Thomas laughed.Which means it doesn't matter.It's just an accidental death of something accidental.He laughed and laughed until Squeak's father slammed his fist on the door, demanding to get out.Thomas laughed all the way back to the library. That night, even when he was lying in bed, when he fell asleep, a warm smile remained on his face, because nothing meant anything else, and everything that happened was accidental.