The Firm

A week after his name was in the paper, he sat by himself at a table in the rear of the deli and ate a chili dog with a York. The place was empty. He read a prospectus an inch thick. The Greek who ran the place was asleep behind the cash register.

A stranger approached his table and stopped a few feet away. He unraveled a piece of Juicy Fruit, making as much noise as possible. When it was apparent he was not being seen, he walked to the table and sat down. Mitch looked across the red-checkered tablecloth and laid the document next to the iced tea.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

The stranger glanced at the counter, glanced at the empty tables and glanced behind him. "You’re McDeere, aren’t you?"

It was a rich brogue, undoubtedly Brooklyn. Mitch studied him carefully. He was about forty, with a short military haircut on the sides and a wisp of gray hair hanging almost to his eyebrows. The suit was a three-piece, navy in color, made of at least ninety percent polyester. The tie was cheap imitation silk. He wasn’t much of a dresser, but there was a certain neatness about him. And an air of cockiness.

"Yeah. Who are you?" Mitch asked.

He grabbed his pocket and whipped out a badge. "Tarrance, Wayne Tarrance, Special Agent, FBI." He raised his eyebrows and waited for a response.

"Have a seat," Mitch said.

"Don’t mind if I do."

"Do you want to frisk me?"

"Not till later. I just wanted to meet you. Saw your name in the paper and heard you were the new man at Bendini, Lambert & Locke."

"Why should that interest the FBI?"

"We watch that firm pretty close."

Mitch lost interest in the chili dog and slid the plate to the center of the table. He added more sweetener to his tea in a large Styrofoam cup.

"Would you like something to drink?" Mitch asked.

"No, thanks."

"Why do you watch the Bendini firm?"

Tarrance smiled and looked toward the Greek. "I can’t really say at this point. We got our reasons, but I didn’t come here to talk about that. I came here to meet you, and to warn you."

"To warn me?"

"Yes, to warn you about The Firm."

"I’m listening."

"Three things. Number one, don’t trust anyone. There’s not a single person in that firm you can confide in. Remember that. It will become important later on. Number two, every word you utter, whether at home, at the office or anywhere in the building, is likely to be recorded. They might even listen to you in your car."

Mitch watched and listened intently. Tarrance was enjoying this.

"And number three?" Mitch asked.

"Number three, money don’t grow on trees."

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"I can’t right now. I think you and I will become very close. I want you to trust me, and I know I’ll have to earn your trust. So I don’t want to move too fast. We can’t meet at your office, or my office, and we can’t talk on the phone. So from time to time I’ll come find you. In the meantime, just remember those three things, and be careful."

Tarrance stood and reached for his wallet. "Here’s my card. My home number is on the back. Use it only from a pay phone."

Mitch studied the card. "Why should I be calling you?"

"You won’t need to for a while. But keep the card."

Mitch placed it in his shirt pocket.

"There’s one other thing," Tarrance said. "We saw you at the funerals of Hodge and Kozinski. Sad, really sad. Their deaths were not accidental."

He looked down at Mitch with both hands in his pockets and smiled.

"I don’t understand."

Tarrance started for the door. "Gimme a call sometime, but be careful. Remember, they’re listening."

* * *

A few minutes after four a horn honked and Dutch bolted to his feet. He cursed and walked in front of the headlights. "Dammit, Mitch. It’s four o’clock. What’re you doing here?"

"Sorry, Dutch. Couldn’t sleep. Rough night." The gate opened.

By seven-thirty he had dictated enough work to keep Nina busy for two days. She bitched less when her nose was glued to the monitor. His immediate goal was to become the first associate to justify a second secretary.

At eight o’clock he parked himself in Lamar’s office and waited. He proofed a contract and drank coffee, and told Lamar’s secretary to mind her own business. He arrived at eight-fifteen.

"We need to talk," Mitch said as he closed the door. If he believed Tarrance, the office was bugged and the conversation would be recorded. He was not sure whom to believe.

"You sound serious," Lamar said.

"Ever hear of a guy named Tarrance, Wayne Tarrance?"

"No."

"FBI."

Lamar closed his eyes. "FBI," he mumbled.

"That’s right. He had a badge and everything."

"Where did you meet him?"

"He found me at Lansky’s Deli on Union. He knew who I was, knew I’d just been admitted. Says he knows all about. They watch us real close."

"Have you told Avery?"

"No. No one but you. I’m not sure what to do."

Lamar picked up the phone. "We need to tell Avery. I think this has happened before."

"What’s going on, Lamar?"

Lamar talked to Avery’s secretary and said it was an emergency. In a few seconds he was on the other end. "We’ve got a small problem, Avery. An FBI agent contacted Mitch yesterday. He’s in my office."

Lamar listened, then said to Mitch, "He’s got me on hold. Said he was calling Lambert."

"I take it this is pretty serious," Mitch said.

"Yes, but don’t worry. There’s an explanation. It’s happened before."

Lamar held the receiver closer and listened to the instructions. He hung up. "They want us in Lambert’s office in ten minutes."

Avery, Royce McKnight, Oliver Lambert, Harold O’Kane and Nathan Locke were waiting. They stood nervously around the small conference table and tried to appear calm when Mitch entered the office.

"Have a seat," Nathan Locke said with a short, plastic smile. "We want you to tell us everything."

"What’s that?" Mitch pointed to a tape recorder in the center of the table.

"We don’t want to miss anything," Locke said, and pointed to an empty chair. Mitch sat and stared across the table at Black Eyes. Avery sat between them. No one made a sound.

"Okay. I was eating lunch yesterday at Lansky’s Deli on Union. This guy walks up and sits across my table. He knows my name. Shows me a badge and says his name is Wayne Tarrance, Special Agent, FBI. I look at the badge, and it’s real. He tells me he wants to meet because we’ll get to know each other. They watch this firm real close and he warns me not to trust anyone. I ask him why, and he said he doesn’t have time to explain, but he will later. I don’t know what to say, so I just listen. He says he will contact me later. He gets up to leave and tells me they saw me at the funerals. Then he says the deaths of Kozinski and Hodge were not accidents. And he leaves. The entire conversation lasted less than five minutes."

Black Eyes glared at Mitch and absorbed every word. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

"Never."

"Whom did you tell?"

"Only Lamar. I told him first thing this morning."

"Your wife?"

"No."

"Did he leave you a phone number to call?"

"No."

"I want to know every word that was said," Locke demanded.

"I’ve told you what I remember. I can’t recall it verbatim."