The Firm (28 page)

“Because I knew nothing about it. I was a sitting duck. The FBI is not sure when the partners spring the surprise on the associates, so they couldn’t take a chance with anyone else. I happened to be the new guy, so they set the trap as soon as I passed the bar exam.”

Abby chewed her lip and held back tears. She looked blankly at the door across the dark room. “And they listen to everything we say,” she said.

“No. Just every phone call and conversation around the house and in the cars. We’re free to meet here or in most restaurants, and there’s always the patio. But I suggest we move farther away from the sliding door. To be safe, we need to sneak behind the storage shed and whisper softly.”

“Are you trying to be funny? I hope not. This is no time for jokes. I’m so scared, angry, confused, mad as
hell and not sure where to turn. I’m afraid to speak in my own house. I watch every word I utter on the phone, even if it’s a wrong number. Every time the phone rings, I jump and stare at it. And now this.”

“You need another drink.”

“I need ten drinks.”

Mitch grabbed her wrist and squeezed firmly. “Wait a minute. I see a familiar face. Don’t look around.”

She held her breath. “Where?”

“On the other side of the bar. Smile and look at me.”

Sitting on a barstool and staring intently at the TV was a well-tanned blond man with a loud blue-and-white alpine sweater. Fresh from the slopes. But Mitch had seen the tan and the blond bangs and the blond mustache somewhere in Washington. Mitch watched him carefully. The blue light from the tube illuminated his face. Mitch hid in the dark. The man lifted a bottle of beer, hesitated, then, there!, shot a glance into the corner where the McDeeres huddled closely together.

“Are you sure?” Abby asked through clenched teeth.

“Yes. He was in Washington, but I can’t place him. In fact, I saw him twice.”

“Is he one of them?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Mitch laid a twenty on the table and they left the airport.

Driving her Peugeot, he raced through the short-term parking lot, paid the attendant and sped away toward
midtown. After five minutes of silence, she leaned across and whispered in his ear, “Can we talk?”

He shook his head. “Well, how’s the weather been while I was away?”

Abby rolled her eyes and looked through the passenger window. “Cold,” she said. “Chance of light snow tonight.”

“It was below freezing the entire week in Washington.”

Abby looked flabbergasted at this revelation. “Any snow?” she asked with raised eyebrows and wide eyes as if enthralled with the conversation.

“No. Just raw cold.”

“What a coincidence! Cold here and cold there.”

Mitch chuckled to himself. They rode silently on the interstate loop. “So who’s gonna win the Super Bowl?” he asked.

“Oilers.”

“Think so, huh? I’m for the Redskins. That’s all they talked about in Washington.”

“My, my. Must be a real fun city.”

More silence. Abby placed the back of her hand over her mouth and concentrated on the taillights ahead. At this moment of bewilderment, she would take her chances in Tijuana. Her husband, number three in his class (at Harvard), the one with Wall Street firms rolling out the red carpet, the one who could have gone anywhere, to any firm, had signed up with the … Mafia! With five dead lawyers notched on their belts, they most surely wouldn’t hesitate with number six. Her husband! Then the many conversations with Kay Quin swirled around her brain. The firm encourages babies. The firm permits wives to work, but not forever. The firm hires no one with family money. The firm demands loyalty to the firm. The
firm has the lowest turnover rate in the country. Small wonder.

Mitch watched her carefully. Twenty minutes after they left the airport, the Peugeot parked in the carport next to the BMW. They held hands and walked to the end of the driveway.

“This is crazy, Mitch.”

“Yes, but it’s real. It will not go away.”

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know, babe. But we gotta do it quick, and we can’t make mistakes.”

“I’m scared.”

“I’m terrified.”

Tarrance did not wait long. One week after he waved goodbye to Mitch at the Wall, he spotted him walking hurriedly in the cold in the direction of the Federal Building on North Main, eight blocks from the Bendini Building. He followed him for two blocks, then slid into a small coffee shop with a row of windows facing the street, or the mall, as it was called. Cars were prohibited on Main Street in Memphis. The asphalt had been covered with tile when the boulevard had ceased being a street and had been transformed into the Mid-America Mall. An occasional useless and desolate tree rose from the tile and stretched its barren limbs between the buildings. Winos and urban nomads drifted aimlessly from one side of the mall to the other, begging for money and food.

Tarrance sat at a front window and watched in the distance as Mitch disappeared into the Federal Building. He ordered coffee and a chocolate doughnut. He checked his watch. It was 10 A.M. According to the docket, McDeere had a brief hearing in Tax Court at
this moment. It should be very brief, the clerk of the court had informed Tarrance. He waited.

Nothing is ever brief in court. An hour later, Tarrance moved his face closer to the window and studied the scattered bodies walking quickly in the distance. He drained his coffee cup for the third time, laid two dollars on the table and stood hidden in the door. As Mitch approached on the other side of the mall, Tarrance moved swiftly toward him.

Mitch saw him and slowed for a second.

“Hello, Mitch. Mind if I walk with you?”

“Yes, I mind, Tarrance. It’s dangerous, don’t you think?”

They walked briskly and did not look at each other. “Look at that store over there,” Tarrance said, pointing to their right. “I need a pair of shoes.” They ducked into Don Pang’s House of Shoes. Tarrance walked to the rear of the narrow store and stopped between two rows of fake Reeboks at $4.99 for two pairs. Mitch followed him and picked up a pair of size tens. Don Pang or some other Korean eyed them suspiciously but said nothing. They watched the front door through the racks.

“The Director called me yesterday,” Tarrance said without moving his lips. “He asked about you. Said it was time you made a decision.”

“Tell him I’m still thinking.”

“Have you told the boys at the office?”

“No. I’m still thinking.”

“That’s good. I don’t think you should tell them.” He handed Mitch a business card. “Keep this. There are two numbers on the back. Use either one from a pay phone. You’ll get a recorder, so just leave a message and tell me exactly when and where to meet you.”

Mitch put the card in his pocket.

Suddenly, Tarrance ducked lower. “What is it!” Mitch demanded.

“I think we’ve been caught. I just saw a goon walk past the store and look in. Listen to me, Mitch, and listen carefully. Walk with me out of the store right now, and the instant we get out the door, yell at me to get lost and shove me away. I’ll act like I want to fight, and you run in the direction of your office.”

“You’re gonna get me killed, Tarrance.”

“Just do as I say. As soon as you get to the office, report this incident to the partners. Tell them I cornered you and you got away as soon as possible.”

Outside, Mitch shoved harder than necessary and yelled, “Get the hell away from me! And leave me alone!” He ran two blocks to Union Avenue, then walked to the Bendini Building. He stopped in the men’s room on the first floor to catch his breath. He stared at himself in the mirror and breathed deeply ten times.

Avery was on the phone, with two lights holding and blinking. A secretary sat on the sofa, ready with a steno pad for the onslaught of commands. Mitch looked at her and said, “Would you step outside, please. I need to speak with Avery in private.” She stood and Mitch escorted her to the door. He closed it.

Avery watched him closely and hung up. “What’s going on?” he asked.

Mitch stood by the sofa. “The FBI just grabbed me as I was returning from Tax Court.”

“Damn! Who was it?”

“Same agent. Guy by the name of Tarrance.”

Avery picked up the phone and kept talking. “Where did it happen?”

“On the mall. North of Union. I was just walking alone, minding my own business.”

“Is this the first contact since that other thing?”

“Yes. I didn’t recognize the guy at first.”

Avery spoke into the receiver. “This is Avery Tolar. I need to speak to Oliver Lambert immediately.… I don’t care if he’s on the phone. Interrupt him, and now.”

“What’s going on, Avery?” Mitch asked.

“Hello, Oliver. Avery here. Sorry for the interruption. Mitch McDeere is here in my office. A few minutes ago he was walking back from the Federal Building when an FBI agent approached him on the mall.… What? Yes, he just walked in my office and told me about it.… All right, we’ll be there in five minutes.” He hung up. “Relax, Mitch. We’ve been through this before.”

“I know, Avery, but this does not make sense. Why would they bother with me? I’m the newest man in the firm.”

“It’s harassment, Mitch. Pure and simple. Nothing but harassment. Sit down.”

Mitch walked to the window and looked at the river in the distance. Avery was a cool liar. It was now time for the “they’re just picking on us” routine. Relax, Mitch. Relax? With eight FBI agents assigned to the firm and the Director, Mr. Denton Voyles himself, monitoring the case daily? Relax? He’d just been caught whispering to an FBI agent inside a dollar shoe store. And now he was forced to act like he was an ignorant pawn being preyed upon by the evil forces of the federal government. Harassment? Then why was the goon following him on a routine walk to the courthouse? Answer that, Avery.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” Avery asked as he put his arm around him and gazed out the window.

“Not really. Locke explained it all last time. I just wish they would leave me alone.”

“It’s a serious matter, Mitch. Don’t take it lightly. Let’s walk over and see Lambert.”

Mitch followed Avery around the corner and down the hall. A stranger in a black suit opened the door for them, then closed it. Lambert, Nathan Locke and Royce McKnight stood near the small conference table. Again, a tape recorder sat on the table. Mitch sat across from it. Black Eyes sat at the head of the table and glared at Mitch.

He spoke with a menacing frown. There were no smiles in the room. “Mitch, has Tarrance or anyone else from the FBI contacted you since the first meeting last August?”

“No.”

“Are you certain?”

Mitch slapped the table. “Dammit! I said no! Why don’t you put me under oath?”

Locke was startled. They were all startled. A heavy, tense silence followed for thirty seconds. Mitch glared at Black Eyes, who retreated ever so slightly with a casual movement of his head.

Lambert, ever the diplomat, the mediator, intervened. “Look, Mitch, we know this is frightening.”

“Damn right it is. I don’t like it at all. I’m minding my own business, working my ass off ninety hours a week, trying to be nothing but a good lawyer and member of this firm, and for some unknown reason I keep getting these little visits from the FBI. Now, sir, I would like some answers.”

Locke pressed the red button on the recorder. “We’ll talk about that in a minute. First, you tell us everything that happened.”

“It’s very simple, Mr. Locke. I walked to the Federal Building at ten for an appearance before Judge Kofer on the Malcolm Delaney case. I was there about an hour, and I finished my business. I left the Federal Building, and I was walking in the direction of our office—in a hurry, I might add. It’s about twenty degrees out there. A block or two north of Union, this guy Tarrance came out of nowhere, grabbed my arm and pushed me into a small store. I started to knock the hell out of him, but, after all, he is an FBI agent. And I didn’t want to make a scene. Inside, he tells me he wants to talk for a minute. I pulled away from him, and ran to the door. He followed me, tried to grab me, and I shoved him away. Then I ran here, went straight to Avery’s office, and here we are. That’s all that was said. Play by play, everything.”

“What did he want to talk about?”

“I didn’t give him a chance, Mr. Locke. I have no plans to talk to any FBI agent unless he has a subpoena.”

“Are you sure it’s the same agent?”

“I think so. I didn’t recognize him at first. I haven’t seen him since last August. Once inside the store, he pulled his badge and gave me his name again. At that point, I ran.”

Locke pressed another button and sat back in the chair. Lambert sat behind him and smiled ever so warmly. “Listen, Mitch, we explained this last time. These guys are getting bolder and bolder. Just last month they approached Jack Aldrich while he was eating lunch in a little grill on Second Street. We’re not sure what they’re up to, but Tarrance is out of his mind. It’s nothing but harassment.”

Mitch watched his lips but heard little. As Lambert
spoke, he thought of Kozinski and Hodge and their pretty widows and children at the funerals.

Black Eyes cleared his throat. “It’s a serious matter, Mitch. But we have nothing to hide. They could better spend their time investigating our clients if they suspect wrongdoing. We’re lawyers. We may represent people who flirt with the law, but we have done nothing wrong. This is very baffling to us.”

Mitch smiled and opened his hands. “What do you want me to do?” he asked sincerely.

“There’s nothing you can do, Mitch,” said Lambert. “Just stay away from this guy, and run if you see him. If he so much as looks at you, report it immediately.”

“That’s what he did,” Avery said defensively.

Mitch looked as pitiful as possible.

“You can go, Mitch,” Lambert said. “And keep us posted.”

He left the office by himself.

DeVasher paced behind his desk and ignored the partners. “He’s lying, I tell you. He’s lying. The sonofabitch is lying. I know he’s lying.”

“What did your man see?” asked Locke.

“My man saw something different. Slightly different. But very different. He says McDeere and Tarrance walked sort of nonchalantly into the shoe store. No physical intimidation by Tarrance. None at all. Tarrance walks up, they talk, and both sort of duck into the store. My man says they disappear into the back of the store, and they’re back there for three, maybe four minutes. Then another one of our guys walks by the store, looks in and sees nothing.
Evidently, they saw our man, because within seconds they come flying out of the store with McDeere shoving and yelling. Something ain’t right, I tell you.”