The Firm

"Why?"

She slid out of the full-length fox and folded it on the chair across the table. "What exactly are you looking for?"

"Just keep smiling for a moment. Pretend you really missed me. Here, give me a kiss." He pecked her on the lips, and they smiled into each other’s eyes. He kissed her cheek and returned to the door. A waiter rushed to the table and cleaned it off. They ordered wine.

She smiled at him. "How was your trip?"

"Boring. We were in class eight hours a day, for four days. After the first day, I hardly left the hotel. They crammed six months’ worth of tax revisions into thirty-two hours."

"Did you get to sightsee?"

He smiled and looked dreamily at her. "I missed you, Abby. More than I’ve ever missed anyone in my life. I love you. I think you’re gorgeous, absolutely stunning. I do not enjoy traveling alone and waking up in a strange hotel bed without you. And I have something horrible to tell you."

She stopped smiling. He slowly looked around the room. They were three deep at the bar and yelling at the Knicks – Lakers game. The lounge was suddenly louder.

"I’ll tell you about it," he said. "But there’s a very good chance someone is in here right now watching us. They cannot hear, but they can observe. Just smile occasionally, although it will be hard."

The wine arrived, and Mitch began his story. He left nothing out. She spoke only once. He told her about Anthony Bendini and old man Morolto, and then Nathan Locke growing up in Chicago and Oliver Lambert and the boys on the fifth floor.

Abby nervously sipped her wine and tried valiantly to appear as the normal loving wife who missed her husband and was now enjoying immensely his recollection of the tax seminar. She watched the people at the bar, sipped a little and occasionally grinned at Mitch as he told of the money laundering and the murdered lawyers. Her body ached with fear. Her breath was wildly irregular. But she listened, and pretended.

The waiter brought more wine as the crowd thinned. An hour after he started, Mitch finished in a low whisper.

"And Voyles said Tarrance would contact me in a couple of weeks to see if I will cooperate. He said goodbye and walked away."

"And this was Tuesday?" she asked.

"Yes. The first day."

"What did you do the rest of the week?"

"I slept little, ate little, walked around with a dull headache most of the time."

"I think I feel one coming."

"I’m sorry, Abby. I wanted to fly home immediately and tell you. I’ve been in shock for three days."

"I’m in shock now. I’m not believing this, Mitch. This is like a bad dream, only much worse."

"And this is only the beginning. The FBI is dead serious. Why else would the Director himself meet with me, an insignificant rookie lawyer from Memphis, in fifteen-degree weather on a concrete park bench? He’s assigned five agents in Memphis and three in Washington, and he said they’ll spend whatever it takes to get. So if I keep my mouth shut, ignore them and go about my business of being a good and faithful member of Bendini, Lambert & Locke, one day they’ll show up with arrest warrants and haul everybody away. And if I choose to cooperate, you and I will leave Memphis in the dead of the night after I hand The Firm to the feds, and we’ll go off and live in Boise, Idaho, as Mr. and Mrs. Wilbur Gates. We’ll have plenty of money, but we’ll have to work to avoid suspicion. After my plastic surgery, I’ll get a job driving a forklift in a warehouse, and you can work part-time at a day care. We’ll have two, maybe three kids and pray every night that people we’ve never met keep their mouths shut and forget about us. We’ll live every hour of every day in morbid fear of being discovered."

"That’s perfect, Mitch, just perfect." She was trying hard not to cry.

He smiled and glanced around the room. "We have a third option. We can walk out that door, buy two tickets to San Diego, sneak across the border and eat tortillas for the rest of our lives."

"Let’s go."

"But they’d probably follow us. With my luck, Oliver Lambert will be waiting in Tijuana with a squad of goons. It won’t work. Just a thought."

"What about Lamar?"

"I don’t know. He’s been here six or seven years, so he probably knows. Avery’s a partner, so he’s very much a part of the conspiracy."

"And Kay?"

"Who knows. It’s very likely none of the wives know. I’ve thought about it for four days, Abby, and it’s a marvelous front. looks exactly like it’s supposed to look. They could fool anyone. I mean, how would you and I or any other prospective recruit even think of such an operation. It’s perfect. Except, now the feds know about it."

"And now the feds expect you to do their dirty work. Why did they pick you, Mitch? There are forty lawyers in."

"Because I knew nothing about it. I was a sitting duck. The FBI is not sure when the partners spring the surprise on the associates, so they couldn’t take a chance with anyone else. I happened to be the new guy, so they set the trap as soon as I passed the bar exam."

Abby chewed her lip and held back tears. She looked blankly at the door across the dark room. "And they listen to everything we say," she said.

"No. Just every phone call and conversation around the house and in the cars. We’re free to meet here or in most restaurants, and there’s always the patio. But I suggest we move farther away from the sliding door. To be safe, we need to sneak behind the storage shed and whisper softly."

"Are you trying to be funny? I hope not. This is no time for jokes. I’m so scared, angry, confused, mad as hell and not sure where to turn. I’m afraid to speak in my own house. I watch every word I utter on the phone, even if it’s a wrong number. Every time the phone rings, I jump and stare at it. And now this."

"You need another drink."

"I need ten drinks."

Mitch grabbed her wrist and squeezed firmly. "Wait a minute. I see a familiar face. Don’t look around."

She held her breath. "Where?"

"On the other side of the bar. Smile and look at me."

Sitting on a barstool and staring intently at the TV was a well-tanned blond man with a loud blue-and-white alpine sweater. Fresh from the slopes. But Mitch had seen the tan and the blond bangs and the blond mustache somewhere in Washington.Mitch watched him carefully. The blue light from the tube illuminated his face. Mitch hid in the dark. The man lifted a bottle of beer, hesitated, then, there!, shot a glance into the corner where the McDeeres huddled closely together.

"Are you sure?" Abby asked through, clenched teeth.

"Yes. He was in Washington, but I can’t place him. In fact, I saw him twice."

"Is he one of them?"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Let’s get out of here."

Mitch laid a twenty on the table and they left the airport.

Driving her Peugeot, he raced through the short-term parking lot, paid the attendant and sped away toward midtown. After five minutes of silence, she leaned across and whispered in his ear, "Can we talk?"

He shook his head. "Well, how’s the weather been while I was away?"

Abby rolled her eyes and looked through the passenger window. "Cold," she said. "Chance of light snow tonight."

"It was below freezing the entire week in Washington."

Abby looked flabbergasted at this revelation. "Any snow?" she asked with raised eyebrows and wide eyes as if enthralled with the conversation.

"No. Just raw cold."