The Brethren (Page 63)

"If he was running, who the hell was he running from?…

"Maybe Lake was after him."

"He didn’t know it was Lake. He didn’t have a clue, did he?"

"Okay, then he was running from Konyers. The last time he was here he said Konyers was the big one. He said Konyers knew about us, then he disappeared the next day"

"Maybe he was just scared. Konyers confronted him, threatened to expose his role in our scam, and so Trevor, who wasn’t the most stable guy to begin with, decided to steal all he could and disappear."

"Whose money was missing, that’s what I want to know"

"Nobody knows about our money. How could it be missing?"

"Trevor probably stole from everybody he could, then vanished. Happens all the time. Lawyers get in trouble, crack up. They raid their clients’ trust funds and bolt."

"Really?" asked Spicer.

Beech could think of three examples, and Yarber added a couple more for good measure.

"So who killed him?"

"There’s a good chance he was just in the wrong part of town."

"Outside the Sheraton Hotel? I don’t think so."

"Okay, what if Konyers iced him?"

"That’s possible. Konyers somehow smoked out Trevor, learned he was the outside contact for Ricky. He put pressure on Trevor, threatened to nail him or whatever, and Trevor ran off to the Caribbean. Trevor didn’t know Konyers was Aaron Lake."

"And Lake certainly has the money and power to track down a drunken lawyer."

"What about us? By now, Lake knows Ricky ain’t Ricky, that Joe Roy here is the man, and that he has friends with him in prison."

"Question is, can he get to us?"

"I guess I’ll find out first," Spicer said with a nervous laugh.

"And there’s always the chance that Trevor was down there in Jamaica hanging around in the wrong part of town, probably drunk and trying to pick up a woman, and he got himself shot."

They all agreed on this, that Trevor was perfectly capable of getting himself killed.

May he rest in peace. But only if he didn’t steal their money.

They scattered for an hour or so. Beech went to the track, to walk and think. Yarber was on the clock, twenty cents an hour trying to fix a computer in the chaplain’s office. Spicer went to the library, where he found Mr. Argrow reading law books.

The law library was open, no appointments were necessary, but the unwritten rule was that you should at least ask one of the Brethren before using their books. Argrow was new, and obviously had not yet learned the rules. Spicer decided to give him a break.

They acknowledged each other with a nod, then Spicer got busy clearing tables and straightening books.

"Rumor has it you guys do legal work;" Argrow said from across the room. No one else was present.

"You hear a lot of rumors around here."

"My case is on appeal."

"What happened at trial?"

"Jury nailed me on three counts of bank fraud, hiding money offshore, in the Bahamas. The judge gave me sixty months. I’ve served four. I’m not sure I’m gonna last for fifty-six more. I need some help with my appeals."

"What court?"

"Virgin Islands. I worked for a big bank in Miami. Lots of drug money."

Argrow was glib and fast and very anxious to talk, and this irritated Spicer, but only slightly. The reference to the Bahamas had his attention.

"For some reason, I . developed a fascination for money laundering. I dealt with tens of millions every day, and it was intoxicating. I could move dirty money quicker than any banker in South Florida. Still can. But I made some bad friends, and bad choices."

"You admit you’re guilty?"

"Sure."

"That puts you in the distinct minority around here."

"No, I was wrong, but I think the sentence was too harsh. Somebody said you guys can get some time knocked off"

Spicer was no longer concerned with the untidy tables and disorganized books. He took a chair nearby and had time to talk. "We can take a look at your papers," he said, as if he’d handled a thousand appeals.

You idiot, Argrow wanted to say. You dropped out of high school in the tenth grade, and stole a car when you were nineteen.Your father pulled some strings and got the charges dropped. You got yourself elected justice of the Peace by voting dead people and stuffing absentee ballots, and now you’re stuck in a federal pen and trying to play the big shot.

And, Argtow conceded, you, Mr. Spicer, now have the power to bring down the next President of the United States.

"What will it cost?"Argrow asked.

"How much do .you have?" Spicer asked, just like a real lawyer.

"Not much."

"I thought you knew how to hide money offshore." "Oh, I do, believe me. And at one point I had a nice bundle, but I let it get away"

"So you can’t pay anything?"

"Not much. Maybe a couple of thousand or so."

"What about your lawyer?"

"He got me convicted. I don’t have enough to hire a new one."

Spicer pondered the situation for a moment. He realized he did indeed miss Trevor. Things had been much simpler when they had him on the outside collecting money. "You still got contacts in the Bahamas?"

"I have contacts all over the Caribbean. Why?"

"Because you’ll have to wire the money. Cash is forbidden around here."

"You want me to wire two thousand dollars?"

"No. I want you to wire five thousand dollars. That’s our minimum fee."

"Where’s your bank?"

"In the Bahamas."

Argrow’s eyes narrowed. His eyebrows pushed together, and while he was deep in thought so was Spicer. The minds were in the process of meeting.

"Why the Bahamas?" Argxow asked.

"Same reason you used the Bahamas."

Thoughts rattled around in both heads. "Lemme ask you something," Spicer said. "You said you could move dirty money quicker than anybody else."

Argrow nodded and said, "No problem."

"Can you still do it?"

"You mean, from in here?"

"Yes. From here."

Argrow laughed and shrugged as if nothing could be easier. "Sure. I still have some friends."

"Meet me here in an hour. I might have a deal for you."

An hour later, Argrow returned to the law library and found the three judges already in position, behind a table with papers and law books scattered about as if the Supreme Court of Florida were in session. Spicer introduced him to Beech and Yarber, and he took a seat across the table. No one else was present.

They talked for a moment about his appeal, and he was sufficiently vague on the details. His file was en route from the other prison, and they couldn’t do much without it.

The appeal was a preliminary topic of conversation, and both sides of the table knew it.

"Mr. Spicer tells us you’re an expert on moving dirty money," Beech said.

"I was until I got caught," Argrow said modestly. "I take it you have some."

"We have a little account offshore, money we’ve earned doing legal work and a few other things we can’t be too open about. As you know, we can’t charge for legal work:"

"But we do anyway," added Yarber. "And we get paid for it."

"How much is in the account?" Argrow asked, knowing yesterday’s closing balance to the exact penny.

"Let’s wait on that," Spicer said. "There’s a good chance the money may have disappeared."