The Firm (27 page)

At that moment, at that place and time, Mitch believed him. “Mr. Voyles, I’m cold. Could we walk around?”

“Sure, Mitch.”

They walked slowly to the sidewalk and headed in the direction of the Vietnam Memorial. Mitch glanced
over his shoulder: Tarrance and the other agent were following at a distance. Another agent in dark brown sat suspiciously on a park bench up the sidewalk.

“Who was Anthony Bendini?” Mitch asked.

“He married a Morolto in 1930. The old man’s son-in-law. They had an operation in Philadelphia back then, and he was stationed there. Then, in the forties, for some reason, he was sent to Memphis to set up shop. He was a very good lawyer, though, from what we know.”

A thousand questions flooded his brain and fought to be asked. He tried to appear calm, under control, skeptical.

“What about Oliver Lambert?”

“A prince of a guy. The perfect senior partner, who just happened to know all about Hodge and Kozinski and the plans to eliminate them. The next time you see Mr. Lambert around the office, try to remember that he is a cold-blooded murderer. Of course, he has no choice. If he didn’t cooperate, they’d find him floating somewhere. They’re all like that, Mitch. They started off just like you. Young, bright, ambitious, then suddenly one day they were in over their heads with no place to go. So they play along, work hard, do a helluva job putting up a good front and looking like a real respectable little law firm. Each year or so they recruit a bright young law student from a poor background, no family money, with a wife who wants babies, and they throw money at him and sign him up.”

Mitch thought of the money, the excessive salary from a small firm in Memphis, and the car and low-interest mortgage. He was headed for Wall Street and had been sidetracked by the money. Only the money.

“What about Nathan Locke?”

The Director smiled. “Locke is another story. He grew up a poor kid in Chicago and was running errands for old man Morolto by the time he was ten. He’s been a hood all his life. Scratched his way through law school, and the old man sent him South to work with Anthony Bendini in the white-collar-crime division of the family. He was always a favorite of the old man.”

“When did Morolto die?”

“Eleven years ago at the age of eighty-eight. He has two slimy sons, Mickey the Mouth and Joey the Priest. Mickey lives in Las Vegas and has a limited role in the family business. Joey is the boss.”

The sidewalk reached an intersection with another one. In the distance to the left, the Washington Monument reached upward in the bitter wind. To the right, the walkway led to the Wall. A handful of people were now staring at it, searching for the names of sons and husbands and friends. Mitch headed for the Wall. They walked slowly.

Mitch spoke softly. “I don’t understand how the firm can do so much illegal work and keep it quiet. That place is full of secretaries and clerks and paralegals.”

“Good point, and one I cannot fully answer. We think it operates as two firms. One is legitimate, with the new associates, most of the secretaries and support people. Then, the senior associates and partners do the dirty work. Hodge and Kozinski were about to give us plenty of information, but they never made it. Hodge told Tarrance once that there was a group of paralegals in the basement he knew little about. They worked directly for Locke and Milligan and McKnight and a few other partners, and no one was really sure what they did. Secretaries know everything, and
we think that some of them are probably in on it. If so, I’m sure they’re well paid and too scared to talk. Think about it, Mitch. If you work there making great money with great benefits, and you know that if you ask too many questions or start talking you wind up in the river, what do you do? You keep your mouth shut and take the money.”

They stopped at the beginning of the Wall, at a point where the black granite began at ground level and started its run of 246 feet until it angled into the second row of identical panels. Sixty feet away, an elderly couple stared at the wall and cried softly. They huddled together, for warmth and strength. The mother bent down and laid a framed black-and-white photo at the base of the Wall. The father laid a shoe-box full of high school memorabilia next to the photo. Football programs, class pictures, love letters, key rings and a gold chain. They cried louder.

Mitch turned his back to the Wall and looked at the Washington Monument. The Director watched his eyes.

“So what am I supposed to do?” Mitch asked.

“First of all, keep your mouth shut. If you start asking questions, your life could be in danger. Your wife’s also. Don’t have any kids in the near future. They’re easy targets. It’s best to play dumb, as if everything is wonderful and you still plan to be the world’s greatest lawyer. Second, you must make a decision. Not now, but soon. You must decide if you will cooperate or not. If you choose to help us, we will of course make it worth your while. If you choose not to, then we will continue to watch the firm until we decide to approach another associate. As I said, one of these days we’ll find someone with guts and nail those bastards. And the Morolto crime family as we know it
will cease to exist. We’ll protect you, Mitch, and you’ll never have to work again in your life.”

“What life? I’ll live in fear forever, if I live. I’ve heard stories of witnesses the FBI has supposedly hidden. Ten years later, the car explodes as they back out the driveway to go to work. The body is scattered over three blocks. The Mob never forgets, Director. You know that.”

“They never forget, Mitch. But I promise you, you and your wife will be protected.”

The Director looked at his watch. “You’d better get back or they’ll be suspicious. Tarrance will be in touch. Trust him, Mitch. He’s trying to save your life. He has full authority to act on my behalf. If he tells you something, it’s coming from me. He can negotiate.”

“Negotiate what?”

“Terms, Mitch. What we give you in return for what you give us. We want the Morolto family, and you can deliver. You name your price, and this government, working through the FBI, will deliver. Within reason, of course. And that’s coming from me, Mitch.” They walked slowly along the Wall and stopped by the agent in the wheelchair. Voyles stuck out his hand. “Look, there’s a taxi waiting where you came in, number 1073. Same driver. You’d better leave now. We will not meet again, but Tarrance will contact you in a couple of weeks. Please think about what I said. Don’t convince yourself the firm is invincible and can operate forever, because I will not allow it. We will make a move in the near future, I promise that. I just hope you’re on our side.”

“I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do.”

“Tarrance has the game plan. A lot will depend upon you and what you learn once you’re committed.”

“Committed?”

“That’s the word, Mitch. Once you commit, there’s no turning back. They can be more ruthless than any organization on earth.”

“Why did you pick me?”

“We had to pick someone. No, that’s not true. We picked you because you have the guts to walk away from it. You have no family except a wife. No ties, no roots. You’ve been hurt by every person you ever cared for, except Abby. You raised yourself, and in doing so became self-reliant and independent. You don’t need the firm. You can leave it. You’re hardened and calloused beyond your years. And you’re smart enough to pull it off, Mitch. You won’t get caught. That’s why we picked you. Good day, Mitch. Thanks for coming. You’d better get back.”

Voyles turned and walked quickly away. Tarrance waited at the end of the Wall, and gave Mitch a quick salute, as if to say, “So long—for now.”

    20    

After making the obligatory stop in Atlanta, the Delta DC-9 landed in a cold rain at Memphis International. It parked at Gate 19, and the tightly packed crowd of business travelers quickly disembarked. Mitch carried only his briefcase and an
Esquire
. He saw Abby waiting near the pay phones and moved quickly through the pack. He threw the briefcase and magazine against the wall and bear-hugged her. The four days in Washington seemed like a month. They kissed again and again, and whispered softly.

“How about a date?” he asked.

“I’ve got dinner on the table and wine in the cooler,” she said. They held hands and walked through the mob pushing down the concourse in the general direction of the luggage pickup.

He spoke quietly. “Well, we need to talk, and we can’t do it at home.”

She gripped his hand tighter. “Oh?”

“Yes. In fact, we need to have a long talk.”

“What happened?”

“It’ll take a while.”

“Why am I suddenly nervous?”

“Just keep cool. Keep smiling. They’re watching.”

She smiled and glanced to her right. “Who’s watching?”

“I’ll explain in just a moment.”

Mitch suddenly pulled her to his left. They cut through the wave of human traffic and darted into a dark, crowded lounge full of businessmen drinking and watching the television above the bar and waiting for their flights. A small, round table covered with empty beer mugs had just been vacated, and they sat with their backs to the wall and a view of the bar and the concourse. They sat close together, within three feet of another table. Mitch stared at the door and analyzed every face that walked in. “How long are we going to be here?” she asked.

“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 the firm. 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 parttime 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. The firm 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 the firm.”