The Client (56 page)

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“Indeed it is. But if I were you, I’d sign this and get on the plane.”

Dianne slowly took the agreement from his honor. “Let’s go talk to Dr. Greenway.”

They followed her down the hall to the room next to Ricky’s.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, THE NINTH FLOOR OF ST. PETER’S was sealed off by a dozen FBI agents. The waiting room was evacuated. The nurses were told to remain at their station. Three of the elevators were stopped on the ground floor. The other was held in place on the ninth by an agent.

The door to Room 943 opened, and little Ricky Sway, drugged and sound asleep, was wheeled into the hallway on a stretcher pushed by Jason McThune and Clint Van Hooser. On this, his sixth day of confinement, he was no better than when he first arrived. Greenway walked along one side, Dianne the other. Harry followed along for a few steps, then stopped.

The stretcher was pushed into the waiting elevator,
which descended to the fourth floor, also secured by FBI agents. It was rushed a short distance to a service elevator, where Agent Durston held the door, then taken to the second floor, also secured. Ricky never moved. Dianne held his arm and jogged beside the stretcher.

They maneuvered through a series of short corridors and metal doors, and were suddenly on a flat roof. A helicopter was waiting. Ricky was loaded quickly, and Dianne, Clint, and McThune climbed aboard.

Minutes later, the helicopter landed near a hangar at Memphis International Airport. A half dozen FBI agents guarded the pad as Ricky was rolled to a nearby jet.

*     *     *

AT TEN MINUTES BEFORE SEVEN, A CELLULAR PHONE RANG at the corner table of the Raintree Grill, and Trumann grabbed it. He listened and checked his watch. “They’re in the air,” he announced, and set the phone down. Lewis was talking to Washington again.

Reggie breathed deeply and smiled at Trumann. “The body’s in concrete. You’ll need a few hammers and chisels.”

Trumann choked on his orange juice. “Okay. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Place a couple of your boys near the intersection of St. Joseph and Carondelet.”

“Close by?”

“Just do it, okay.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Reggie walked to the registration desk, and asked the clerk to check the fax machine. The clerk returned with a copy of the two-page
agreement, which Reggie read closely. The typing was horrible, but the words were perfect. She returned to the table. “Let’s get Mark,” she said.

MARK FINISHED BRUSHING HIS TEETH FOR THE THIRD TIME, and sat on the edge of the bed. His black-and-gold Saints canvas bag was packed with dirty clothes and new underwear. Cartoons were on, but he was not interested.

He heard a car door, then footsteps, then a knock. “Mark, it’s me,” Reggie said.

He opened the door, but she did not step inside. “Are you ready to go?”

“I guess.” The sun was up and the parking lot was visible. A familiar face was behind her. It was one of the FBI agents from the first meeting at the hospital. Mark grabbed his bag, and stepped out into the parking lot. Three cars were waiting. A man opened the rear door of the middle car, and Mark and his attorney got in.

The little motorcade sped away.

“Everything’s fine,” Reggie said, taking his hand. The two men in the front seat stared straight ahead. “Ricky and your mother are on the plane. They’ll be here in about an hour. Are you okay?”

“I guess. Have you told them?” he whispered.

“Not yet,” she answered. “Not until you’re on the plane and in the air.”

“Are all these guys FBI agents?”

She nodded and patted his hand. He suddenly felt important, sitting in the rear of his own black car, being
rushed to the airport to board a private jet, cops all around just to protect him. He crossed his legs and sat a bit straighter.

He’d never flown before.

     41     

BARRY PACED NERVOUSLY BEFORE THE TINTED WINDOWS in Johnny’s office, and watched the tugs and barges on the river. His nasty eyes were red, but not from booze or partying. He hadn’t slept. He’d waited at the warehouse for the body to be delivered to him, and when Leo and company arrived around one without it, he had called his uncle.

Johnny, on this fine Sunday morning, was wearing neither tie nor suspenders. He paced slowly behind his desk, puffing blue smoke from his third cigar of the day. A thick cloud hung not far above his head.

The screaming and ass chewing had ended hours before. Barry had cursed Leo and Ionucci and the Bull, and Leo had cursed back. But with time, the panic subsided. Throughout the night, Leo had periodically driven by Clifford’s house, always in a different vehicle, and seeing nothing unusual. The body was still there.

Johnny decided to wait twenty-four hours and try again. They would watch the place during the day, and attack with full force after dark. The Bull assured him
he could have the body out of the concrete in ten minutes.

Just be cool, Johnny had told everyone. Just be cool.

*     *     *

ROY FOLTRIGG FINISHED THE SUNDAY PAPER ON THE PATIO of his suburban split-level, and walked barefooted across the wet grass with a cup of cold coffee. He had slept little. He had waited in the darkness on his front porch for the paper to arrive, then ran to fetch it in his pajamas and bathrobe. He had called Trumann, but, strangely, Mrs. Trumann wasn’t sure where her husband had gone.

He inspected his wife’s rosebushes along the back fence, and asked himself for the hundredth time where Mark Sway would run to. There was no doubt, at least in his mind, that Reggie had helped him escape. She’d obviously gone crazy again, and run off with the kid. He smiled to himself. He’d have the pleasure of busting her ass.

THE HANGAR WAS A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE MAIN terminal, in a row of identical buildings all drab gray and sitting quietly together. The words Gulf Air were painted in orange letters above the tall double doors, which were opening as the three cars stopped in front of the hangar. The floor was sparkling concrete, painted green without a speck of dirt and covered with nothing but two private jets side by side in a far corner. A few lights were on, and their reflections glowed on the green floor. The building was big enough for a
stock car race, Mark thought as he stretched his neck for a glimpse of the two jets.

With the doors out of the way, the entire front of the hangar was now open. Three men walked hurriedly along the back wall as if searching for something. Two more stood by one door. Outside, another half dozen moved slowly about, keeping their distance from the cars that had just parked.

“Who are these people?” Mark asked in the general direction of the front seat.

“They’re with us,” Trumann said.

“They’re FBI agents,” Reggie clarified.

“Why so many?”

“They’re just being careful,” she said. “How much longer, do you think?” she asked Trumann.

He glanced at his watch. “Probably thirty minutes.”

“Let’s walk around,” she said, opening her door. As if on cue, the other eleven doors in the little parade opened and the cars emptied. Mark looked around at the other hangars, and the terminal, and a plane landing on the runway in front of them. This had become terribly exciting. Not three weeks earlier, he’d beaten the crap out of a subdivision kid at school after the kid taunted him because he’d never flown. If they could only see him now. Rushed to the airport by private car, waiting for his private jet to take him anywhere he wanted to go. No more trailers. No more fights with subdivision kids. No more notes to Mom, because now she would be at home. He’d decided, sitting alone in the motel room, that this was a wonderful idea. He’d come to New Orleans and outsmarted the Mafia in its own backyard, and he could do it again.

He caught a few stares from the agents by the
door. They cut their eyes quickly at him, then looked away. Just checking him out. Maybe he’d sign some autographs later.

He followed Reggie into the vast hangar, and the two private jets caught his attention. They were like small, shiny toys sitting under the Christmas tree waiting to be played with. One was black, the other silver, and Mark stared at them.

A man in an orange shirt with Gulf Air on a patch above the pocket closed the door to a small office inside the hangar and walked in their direction. K. O. Lewis met him, and they talked quietly. The man waved at the office, and said something about coffee.

Larry Trumann knelt beside Mark, still staring at the jets. “Mark, do you remember me?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes sir. I met you at the hospital.”

“That’s right. My name’s Larry Trumann.” He offered his hand, and Mark shook it slowly. Children are not supposed to shake hands with adults. “I’m an FBI agent here in New Orleans.”

Mark nodded and kept staring at the jets.

“Would you like to look at them?” Trumann asked.

“Can I?” he asked, suddenly friendly to Trumann.

“Sure.” Trumann stood and placed a hand on Mark’s shoulder. They walked slowly across the gleaming concrete, the sounds of Trumann’s steps echoing upward. They stopped in front of the black jet. “Now, this is a Learjet,” Trumann began.

Reggie and K. O. Lewis left the small office with tall cups of steaming coffee. The agents who’d escorted them had slipped into the shadows of the hangar. They sipped what must’ve been their tenth cup of this long
morning, and watched as Trumann and the kid inspected the jets.

“He’s a brave kid,” Lewis said.

“He’s remarkable,” Reggie said. “At times he thinks like a terrorist, then he cries like a little child.”

“He is a child.”

“I know. But don’t tell him. It may upset him, and, hell, who knows what he might do.” She took a long sip. “Truly remarkable.”

K. O. blew into his cup, then took a tiny sip. “We’ve pulled some strings. There’s a room waiting for Ricky at Grant’s Clinic in Phoenix. We need to know if that’s the destination. The pilot called five minutes ago. He has to get clearance, file a flight plan, you know.”

“Phoenix it is. Complete confidentiality, okay? Register the kid under another name. Same for the mother and Mark. Keep some of your boys nearby. I want you to pay for his doctor’s trip out there and for a few days of work.”

“No problem. The people in Phoenix have no idea what’s coming. Have you guys talked about a permanent home?”

“A little, not much. Mark says he wants to live in the mountains.”

“Vancouver’s nice. We vacationed there last summer. Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Out of the country?”

“No problem. Director Voyles said they can go anywhere. We’ve placed a few witnesses outside the States, and I think the Sways are perfect candidates. These people will be taken care of, Reggie. You have my word.”

The man in the orange shirt joined Mark and
Trumann, and was now in charge of the tour. He lowered the steps to the black Lear, and the three disappeared inside.

“I must confess,” Lewis said after he swallowed another scalding dose of coffee, “I was never convinced the kid knew.”

“Clifford told him everything. He knew exactly where it was.”

“Did you?”

“No. Not until yesterday. When he first came to my office, he told me that he knew, but he didn’t tell me where it was. Thank God for that. He kept it to himself until we were near the body yesterday afternoon.”

“Why’d you come here? Seems awfully risky.”

Reggie nodded at the jets. “You’ll have to ask him. He insisted we find the body. If Clifford lied to him, then he figured he was off the hook.”

“And so you just drove down here and looked for the body? Just like that?”

“It was a bit more involved. It’s a long story, K.O., and I’ll give you all the details over a long dinner.”

“I can’t wait.”

Mark’s small head was now in the cockpit, and Reggie half expected the engines to start, the plane to taxi slowly from the hangar, out onto the runway, and Mark to dazzle them with a perfect takeoff. She knew he could do it.

“Are you concerned about your own safety?” Lewis asked.

“Not really. I’m just a humble lawyer. What would they gain by coming after me?”

“Retribution. You don’t understand the way they think.”

“Indeed I don’t.”

“Director Voyles would like us to stick close for a few months, at least until the trial is over.”

“I don’t care what you do, I just don’t want to see anyone who’s watching me, okay?”

“Fine. We have ways.”

The tour moved to the second jet, a silver Citation, and for the moment Mark Sway had forgotten about dead bodies and bad guys lurking in shadows. The steps came down, and he climbed aboard with Trumann in tow.

An agent with a radio walked to Reggie and Lewis, and said, “They’re on final approach.” They followed him to the opening of the hangar near the cars. A minute later Mark and Trumann joined them, and as they watched the sky to the north a tiny plane appeared.

“That’s them,” Lewis said. Mark inched his way next to Reggie and took her hand. The plane grew larger as it approached the runway. It, too, was black, but much larger than the jets in the hangar. Agents, some in suits and some in jeans, began moving around as the plane taxied to them. It stopped a hundred feet away, and the engines died. A full minute passed before the door opened and the stairs hit the ground.

Jason McThune trotted down first, and when he stepped onto the tarmac a dozen FBI agents had the plane surrounded. Dianne and Clint were next. They joined McThune, and together the three walked briskly toward the hangar.

Mark released Reggie’s hand and ran to meet his mother. Dianne grabbed and hugged him, and for an
awkward second or two everyone else either watched or looked at the terminal in the distance.

They said nothing as they embraced. He squeezed her tightly around the neck, and finally said, through tears, “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.” She clutched his head and pressed it to her shoulder, and at the same time thought of strangling him and of never letting go.

*     *     *

REGGIE LED THEM INTO THE SMALL BUT CLEAN OFFICE, AND offered Dianne coffee. She declined. Trumann, McThune, Lewis, and the gang waited nervously outside the door. Trumann, especially, was anxious. What if they changed their minds? What if Muldanno got the body? What if? He paced and fidgeted, glanced at the locked door, asked Lewis a hundred questions. Lewis sipped coffee and tried to remain calm. It was now twenty minutes before eight. The sun was bright, the air humid.