"It is. You've got a deal."
Mitch breathed deeply, and felt weak. A deal. A contract. An agreement. One that could never be put in writing, but one that was terribly enforceable nonetheless. He sipped the coffee but didn't taste it. They had agreed on the money. He was on a roll. Keep pushing.
"And there's one other thing, Tarrance."
The head lowered and turned slightly to the right. "Yeah?""
Mitch leaned closer, resting on his forearms. "It won't cost you a dime, and you boys can pull it off with no sweat. Okay?"
"I'm listening."
"My brother Ray is at Brushy Mountain. Seven years until parole. I want him out."
"That's ridiculous, Mitch. We can do a lot of things, but we damned sure can't parole state prisoners. Federal maybe, but not state. No way."
"Listen to me, Tarrance, and listen good. If I hit the road with the Mafia on my tail, my brother goes with me. Sort of like a package deal. And I know if Director Voyles wants him out of prison, he'll get out of prison. I know that. Now, you boys just figure out a way to make it happen."
"But we have no authority to interfere with state prisoners."
Mitch smiled and returned to his coffee. "James Earl Ray escaped from Brushy Mountain. And he had no help from the outside."
"Oh, that's great. We attack the prison like commandos and rescue your brother. Beautiful."
"Don't play dumb with me, Tarrance. It's not negotiable."
"All right, all right. I'll see what I can do. Anything else? Any more surprises?"
"No, just questions about where we go and what we do. Where do we hide initially? Where do we hide during the trials? Where do we"live for the rest of our lives? Just minor questions like that."
"We can discuss it later."
"What did Hodge and Kozinski tell you?"
"Not enough. We've got a notebook, a rather thick notebook, in which we've accumulated and indexed everything we know about the Moroltos and . Most of it's Morolto crap, their organization, key people, illegal activities and so on. You need to read it all before we start to work."
"Which, of course, will be after I've received the first million."
"Of course. When can we see your files?"
"In about a week. I've managed to copy four files that belong to someone else. I may get my hands on a few more of those."
"Who's doing the copying?"
"None of your business."
Tarrance thought for a second and let it pass. "How many files?"
"Between forty and fifty. I have to sneak them out a few at a time. Some I've worked on for eight months, others only a week or so. As far as I can tell, they're all legitimate clients."
"How many of these clients have you personally met?"
"Two or three."
"Don't bet they're all legitimate. Hodge told us about some dummy files, or sweat files as they are known to the partners, that have been around for years and every new associate cuts his teeth on them; heavy files that require hundreds of hours and make the rookies feel like real lawyers."
"Sweat files?"
"That's what Hodge said. It's an easy game, Mitch. They lure you with the money. They smother you with work that looks legitimate and for the most part probably is legitimate.
Then, after a few years, you've unwittingly become a part of the conspiracy. You're nailed, and there's no getting out. Even you, Mitch. You started work in July, eight months ago, and you've probably already touched a few of the dirty files. You didn't know.it, had no reason to suspect it. But they've already set you up."
"Two million, Tarrance. Two million and my brother."
Tarrance sipped the lukewarm coffee and ordered a piece of coconut pie as Dot came within earshot. He glanced at his watch and surveyed the crowd of truckers, all smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee and gossiping.
He adjusted the sunglasses. "So what do I tell Mr. Voyles?"
"Tell him we ain't got a deal until he agrees to get Ray out of prison. No deal, Tarrance."
"We can probably work something out."
"I'm confident you can."
"When do you leave for the Caymans?"
"Early Sunday. Why?"
"Just curious, that's all."
"Well, I'd like to know how many different groups will be following me down there. Is that asking too much? I'm sure we'll attract a crowd, and frankly, we had hoped for a little privacy."
"Firm condo?"
"Of course."
"Forget privacy. It's probably got more wires than a switchboard. Maybe even some cameras."
"That's comforting. We might stay a couple of nights at Abanks Dive Lodge. If you boys are in the neighborhood, stop by for a drink."
"Very funny. If we're there, it'll be for a reason. And you won't know it."
Tarrance ate the pie in three bites. He left two bucks on the table and they walked to the dark rear of the truck stop. The dirty asphalt pavement vibrated under the steady hum of an acre of diesel engines. They waited in the dark.
"I'll talk to Voyles in a few hours," Tarrance said. "Why don't you and your wife take a leisurely Saturday-afternoon drive tomorrow."
"Anyplace in particular?"
"Yeah. There's a town called Holly Springs thirty miles east of here. Old place, full of antebellum homes and Confederate history. Women love to drive around and look at the old mansions. Make your appearance around four o'clock and we'll find you. Our buddy Laney will be driving a bright red Chevy Blazer with Tennessee plates. Follow him. We'll find a place and talk."
"Is it safe?"
"Trust us. If we see or smell something, we'll break off. Drive around town for an hour, and if you don't see Laney, grab a sandwich and go back home. You'll know they were too close. We won't take chances."
"Thanks. A great bunch of guys."
Laney eased around the corner in the BMW and jumped out. "Everything's clear. No trace of anyone."
"Good," Tarrance said. "See you tomorrow, Mitch. Happy truckin'." They shook hands.
"It's not negotiable, Tarrance," Mitch said again.
"You can call me Wayne. See you tomorrow."
25
THE black thunderheads and driving rain had long since cleared the tourists from Seven Mile Beach when the McDeeres, soaked and tired, arrived at the luxury condominium duplex. Mitch backed the rented Mitsubishi jeep over the curb, across the small lawn and up to the front door. Unit B. His first visit had been to Unit A. They appeared to be identical, except for the paint and trim. The key fit, and they grabbed and threw luggage as the clouds burst and the rain grew thicker.
Once inside and dry, they unpacked in the master bedroom upstairs with a long balcony facing the wet beach. Cautious with their words, they inspected the town house and checked out each room and closet. The refrigerator was empty, but the bar was very well stocked. Mitch mixed two drinks, rum and Coke, in honor of the islands. They sat on the balcony with their feet in the rain and watched the ocean churn and spill toward the shore. Rumheads was quiet and barely visible in the distance. Two natives sat at the bar, drinking and watching the sea.
"That's Rumheads over there," Mitch said, pointing with his drink.
"Rumheads?"
"I told you about it. It's a hot spot where tourists drink and the locals play dominoes."
"I see." Abby was unimpressed. She yawned and sank lower into the plastic chair. She closed her eyes.
"Oh, this is great, Abby. Our first trip out of the country, our first real honeymoon, and you're asleep ten minutes after we hit land."
"I'm tired, Mitch. I packed all night while you were sleeping."
"You packed eight suitcases-six for you and two for me. You packed every garment we own. No wonder you were awake all night."
"I don't want to run out of clothes."
"Run out? How many bikinis did you pack? Ten? Twelve?"
"Six."
"Great. One a day. Why don't you put one on?"
"What?"
"You heard me. Go put on that little blue one with high legs and a couple of strings around front, the one that weighs half a gram and cost sixty bucks and your buns hang out when you walk. I wanna see it."