"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 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."
"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 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."