jg.thefirm-第50部分

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　button　and　watched　as　the　machine　made　two　perfect　copies　of　everything。
　　Thirty　minutes　later；　the　seven　files　were　returned　to　the　briefcase。　The　new　files；　fourteen　of　them；　were　locked　away　in　a　fireproof　file　cabinet　hidden　in　a　small　closet；　which　was　also　locked。　Tammy　placed　the　briefcase　near　the　door；　and　waited。
　　Frank　Mulholland　was　a　partner　in　a　ten…man　firm　that　specialized　in　banking　and　securities。　His　client　was　an　old　man　who　had　founded　and　built　a　chain　of　do…it…yourself　hardware　stores　and　at　one　point　had　been　worth　eighteen　million　before　his　son　and　a　renegade　board　of　directors　took　control　and　forced　him　into　retirement。　The　old　man　sued。　The　pany　countersued。　Everybody　sued　everybody；　and　the　suits　and　countersuits　had　been　hopelessly　deadlocked　for　eighteen　months。　Now　that　the　lawyers　were　fat　and　happy；　it　was　time　to　talk　settlement。　Bendini；　Lambert　&　Locke　handled　the　tax　advice　for　the　son　and　the　new　board；　and　two　months　earlier　Avery　had　introduced　Mitch　to　the　hostilities。　The　plan　was　to　offer　the　old　man　a　five…million…dollar　package　of　mon　stock；　convertible　warrants　and　a　few　bonds。
　　Mulholland　was　not　impressed　with　the　plan。　His　client　was　not　greedy；　he　explained　repeatedly；　and　he　knew　he　would　never　regain　control　of　the　pany。　His　pany；　remember。　But　five　million　was　not　enough。　Any　jury　of　any　degree　of　intelligence　would　be　sympathetic　to　the　old　man；　and　a　fool　could　see　the　lawsuit　was　worth　at　least；　well　。。。　at　least　twenty　million！
　　After　an　hour　of　sliding　proposals　and　offers　and　counteroffers　across　Mulholland's　desk；　Mitch　had　increased　the　package　to　eight　million　and　the　old　man's　lawyer　said　he　might　consider　fifteen。　Mitch　politely　repacked　his　attache　case　and　Mulholland　politely　escorted　him　to　the　door。　They　promised　to　meet　again　in　a　week。　They　shook　hands　like　best　friends。
　　The　elevator　stopped　on　the　fifth　floor；　and　Tammy　walked　casually　inside。　It　was　empty；　except　for　Mitch。　When　the　door　closed；　he　said；　〃Any　problems？〃
　　〃Nope。　Two　copies　are　locked　away。〃
　　〃How　long　did　it　take？〃
　　〃Thirty　minutes。〃
　　It　stopped　on　the　fourth　floor；　and　she　picked　up　the　empty　briefcase。　〃Noon　tomorrow？〃　she　asked。
　　〃Yes；〃　he　replied。　The　door　opened　and　she　disappeared　onto　the　fourth　floor。　He　rode　alone　to　the　lobby；　which　was　empty　except　for　the　same　security　guard。　Mitchell　McDeere；　Attorney　and　Counselor　at　Law；　hurried　from　the　building　with　a　heavy　briefcase　in　each　hand　and　walked　importantly　back　to　his　office。
　　The　celebration　of　Abby's　twenty…fifth　birthday　was　rather　subdued。　Through　the　dim　candlelight　in　a　dark　corner　of　Grisanti's；　they　whispered　and　tried　to　smile　at　each　other。　It　was　difficult。　Somewhere　at　that　moment　in　the　restaurant　an　invisible　FBI　agent　was　holding　a　cassette　tape　that　he　would　insert　into　a　cigarette　machine　in　the　lounge　at　precisely　nine　o'clock；　and　Mitch　was　supposed　to　be　there　seconds　later　to　retrieve　it　without　being　seen　or　caught　by　the　bad　guys；　whoever　they　were　and　whatever　they　looked　like。　And　the　tape　would　reveal　just　how　much　cold　hard　cash　the　McDeeres　would　receive　in　return　for　evidence　and　a　subsequent　life　on　the　run。
　　They　picked　at　their　food；　tried　to　smile　and　carry　on　an　extended　conversation；　but　mainly　they　fidgeted　and　glanced　at　their　watches。　The　dinner　was　brief。　By　eight　forty…five　they　were　finished　with　the　plates。　Mitch　left　in　the　direction　of　the　rest　room；　and　he　stared　into　the　dark　lounge　as　he　walked　by。　The　cigarette　machine　was　in　the　corner；　exactly　where　it　should　be。
　　They　ordered　coffee；　and　at　exactly　nine　Mitch　returned　to　the　lounge；　to　the　machine；　where　he　nervously　inserted　six　quarters　and　pulled　the　lever　under　Marlboro　Lights；　in　memory　of　Eddie　Lomax。　He　quickly　reached　into*　the　tray；　took　the　cigarettes　and；　fishing　around　in　the　darkness；　found　the　cassette　tape。　The　pay　telephone　next　to　the　machine　rang；　and　he　jumped。　He　turned　and　surveyed　the　lounge。　It　was　empty　except　for　two　men　at　the　bar　watching　the　television　behind　and　above　the　bartender。　Drunk　laughter　exploded　from　a　dark　corner　far　away。
　　Abby　watched　every　step　and　move　until　he　sat　across　from　her。　She　raised　her　eyebrows。　〃And？〃
　　〃I　got　it。　Your　basic　black　Sony　cassette　tape。〃　Mitch　sipped　coffee　and　smiled　innocently　while　quickly　surveying　the　crowded　dining　room。　No　one　was　watching。　No　one　cared。
　　He　handed　the　check　and　the　American　Express　card　to　the　waiter。　〃We're　in　a　hurry；〃　he　said　rudely。　The　waiter　returned　within　seconds。　Mitch　scribbled　his　name。
　　The　BMW　was　indeed　wired。　Heavily　wired。　Tarrance's　gang　had　very　quietly　and　very　thoroughly　examined　it　with　magnifying　glasses　while　waiting　for　the　Greyhound　four　days　earlier。　Expertly　wired；　with　terribly　expensive　equipment　capable　of　hearing　and　recording　the　slightest　sniffle　or　。　cough。　But　the　bugs　could　only　listen　and　record；　they　could　not　track。　Mitch　thought　that　was　awfully　nice　of　them；　just　to　listen　but　not　follow　the　movements　of　the　BMW。
　　It　left　the　parking　lot　of　Grisanti's　with　no　conversation　between　its　occupants。　Abby　carefully　opened　a　portable　tape　recorder　and　placed　the　cassette　inside。　She　handed　Mitch　the　earphones；　which　he；　stuck　onto　his　head。　She　pushed　the　PLAY　button。　She　watched　him　as　he　listened　and　drove　aimlessly　toward　the　interstate。
　　The　voice　belonged　to　Tarrance：　〃Hello；　Mitch。　Today　is　Tuesday；　March　9；　sometime　after　nine　P。M。　Happy　Birthday　to　your　lovely　wife。　This　tape　will　run　about　ten　minutes；　and　I　instruct　you　to　listen　to　it　carefully；　once　or　twice；　then　dispose　of　it。　I　had　a　face…to…face　meeting　with　Director　Voyles　last　Sunday　and　briefed　him　on　everything。　By　the　way；　I　enjoyed　the　bus　ride。　Director　Voyles　is　very　pleased　with　the　way　things　are　going；　but　he　thinks　we've　talked　long　enough。　He　wants　to　cut　a　deal；　and　rather　quickly。　He　explained　to　me　in　no　uncertain　terms　that　we　have　never　paid　three　million　dollars　and　we're　not　about　to　pay　it　to　you。　He　cussed　a　lot；　but　to　make　a　long　story　short；　Director　Voyles　said　we　could　pay　a　million　cash；　no　more。　He　said　the　money　would　be　deposited　in　a　Swiss　bank　and　no　one；　not　even　the　IRS；　would　ever　know　about　it。　A　million　dollars；　tax…free。　That's　our　best　deal；　and　Voyles　said　you　can　go　to　hell　if　you　said　no。　We're　gonna　bust　that　little　firm；　Mitch；　with　or　without　you。〃
　　Mitch　smiled　grimly　and　stared　at　the　traffic　racing　past　them　on　the　1…240　loop。　Abby　watched　for　a　sign；　a　signal；　a　grunt　or　groan；　anything　to　indicate　good　news　or　bad。　She　said　nothing。
　　The　voice　continued：　〃We'll　take　care　of　you；　Mitch。　You'll　have　access　to　FBI　protection　anytime　you　think　you　need　it。　We'll　check　on　you　periodically；　if　you　want。　And　if　you　want　to　move　on　to　another　city　after　a　few　years；　we'll　take　care　of　it。　You　can　move　every　five　years　if　you　want；　and　we'll　pick　up　the　tab　and　find　jobs　for　you。　Good　jobs　with　the　VA　or　Social　Security　or　Postal　Service。　Voyles　said　we'd　even　find　you　a　high…paying　job　with　a　private　government　contractor。　You　name　it；　Mitch；　and　it's　yours。　Of　course；　we'll　provide　new　identities　for　you　and　your　wife；　arid　you　can　change　every　year　if　you　desire。　No　problem。　Or　if　you　got　a　better　idea；　we'll　listen。　You…　wanna　live　in　Europe　or　Australia；　just　say　so。　You'll　get　special　treatment。　I　know　we're　promising　a　lot；　Mitch；　but　we're　dead　serious　and　we'll　put　it　in　writing。　We'll　pay　a　million　in　cash；　tax…free；　and　set　you　up　wherever　you　choose。　So　that's　the　deal。　And　in　return；　you　must　hand　us　；　and　the　Moroltos。　We'll　talk　about　that　later。　For　now；　your　time　is　up。　Voyles　is　breathing　down　my　neck；　and　things　must　happen　quickly。　Call　me　at　that　number　Thursday　night　at　nine　from　the　pay　phone　next　to　the　men's　rest　room　in　Houston's　on　Poplar。　So　long；　Mitch。〃
　　He　sliced　a　finger　across　his　throat；　and　Abby　pushed　the　STOP　button；　then　REWIND。　He　handed　her　the　earphones；　and　she　began　to　listen　intently。
　　It　was　an　innocent　walk　in　the　park；　two　lovebirds　holding　hands　and　strolling　casually　through　the　cool；　clear　moonlight。　They　stopped　by　a　cannon　and　gazed　at　the　majestic　river　inching　ever　so　slowly　toward　New　Orleans。　The　same　cannon　where　the　late　Eddie　Lomax　once　stood　in　a　sleet　storm　and　delivered　one　of　his　last　investigative　reports。
　　Abby　held　the　cassette　in　her　hand　and　watched　the　river　below。　She　had　listened　to　it　twice　and　refused　to　leave　it　in　the　car；　where　who　knows　who　might　snatch　it。　After　weeks　of　practicing　silence；　and　then　speaking　only　outdoors；　words　were　being　difficult。
　　〃You　know；　Abby；〃　Mitch　finally　said　as　he　tapped　the　wooden　wheel　of　the　cannon；　〃I've　always　wanted　to　work　with　the　post　office。　I　had　an　uncle　once　who　was　a　rural　mail　carrier。　That　would　be　neat。〃
　　It　was　a　gamble；　this　attempt　at　humor。　But　it　worked。　She　hesitated　for　three　seconds；　then　laughed　slightly；　and　he　could　tell　she　indeed　thought　it　was　funny。　〃Yeah；　and　I　could　mop　floors　in　a　VA　hospital。〃
　　〃You　wouldn't　have　to　mop　floors。　You　could　change　bedpans；　something　meaningful；　something　inconspicuous。　We'd　live　in　a　neat　little　white　frame　house　on　Maple　St