The Firm

The deputy froze, cocked his head sideways and glared at Andy through thick sunglasses. 'Listen, Peewee, I authorized it.'

'I'm sorry, sir, but I can't post anything on the walls unless my boss tells me to.'

'And where is your boss?'

'I don't know. Probably in a bar somewhere.'

The deputy carefully picked up the composites, walked behind the counter and tacked them on the bulletin board. When he finished, he glared down at Andy and said, 'I'll come back in a coupla hours. If you remove these, I'll arrest you for obstruction of justice.'

Andy did not flinch. 'Won't stick. They got me for that one time in Kansas, so I know all about it.'

The deputy's fat cheeks turned red and he gritted his teeth. 'You're a little smart-ass, aren't you?'

'Yes, sir.'

'You take these down and I promise you you'll go to jail for something.'

'I've been there before, and it ain't no big deal.'

* * *

Red lights and sirens screamed by the Strip a few feet away, and the deputy turned and watched the excitement. He mumbled something and swaggered out the door. Andy threw the composites in the garbage. He watched the squad cars dodge each other on the Strip for a few minutes, then walked through the parking lot to the rear building. He knocked on the door of Room 38.

He waited and knocked again.

'Who is it?' a woman asked.

'The manager,' Andy replied, proud of his title. The door opened, and the man who favored the composite of Mitchell Y. McDeere slid out.

'Yes, sir,' he said. 'What's going on?'

He was nervous, Andy could tell. 'Cops just came by, know what I mean?'

'What do they want?' he asked innocently.

Your ass, Andy thought. 'Just asking questions and showing pictures. I looked at the pictures, you know?'

'Uh-huh,' he said.

'Pretty good pictures,' Andy said.

Mr. McDeere stared at Andy real hard.

Andy said, 'Cop said one of them escaped from prison. Know what I mean? I been in prison, and I think everybody ought to escape. You know?'

Mr. McDeere smiled, a rather nervous smile. 'What's your name?' he asked.

'Andy.'

'I've got a deal for you, Andy. I'll give you a thousand bucks now, and tomorrow, if you're still unable to recognize anybody, I'll give you another thousand bucks. Same for the next day.'

A wonderful deal, thought Andy, but if he could afford a thousand bucks a day, certainly he could afford five thousand a day. It was the opportunity of his career.

'Nope,' Andy said firmly. 'Five thousand a day.'

Mr. McDeere never hesitated. 'It's a deal. Let me get the money.' He went in the room and returned with a stack of bills.

'Five thousand a day, Andy, that's our deal?'

Andy took the money and glanced around. He would count it later. 'I guess you want me to keep the maids away?' Andy asked.

'Great idea. That would be nice.'

'Another five thousand,' Andy said.

Mr. McDeere sort of hesitated. 'Okay, I've got another deal. Tomorrow morning, a Fed Ex package will arrive at the desk for Sam Fortune. You bring it to me, and keep the maids away, and I'll give you another five thousand.'

'Won't work. I do the night shift.'

'Okay, Andy. What if you worked all weekend, around the clock, kept the maids away and delivered my package? Can you do that?'

'Sure. My boss is a drunk. He'd love for me to work all weekend.'

'How much money, Andy?'

Go for it, Andy thought. 'Another twenty thousand.'

Mr. McDeere smiled. 'You got it.'

Andy grinned and stuck the money in his pocket. He walked away without saying a word, and Mitch retreated to Room 38.

'Who was it?' Ray snapped.

Mitch smiled as he glanced between the blinds and the windows.

'I knew we would have to have a lucky break to pull this off. And I think we just found it.'

Chapter 38

M r. Morolto wore a black suit and a red tie and sat at the head of the plastic-coated executive conference table in the Dunes Room of the Best Western on the Strip. The twenty chairs around the table were packed with his best and brightest men. Around the four walls stood more of his trusted troops. Though they were thick-necked killers who did their deeds efficiently and without remorse, they looked like clowns in their colorful shirts and wild shorts and amazing potpourri of straw hats. He would have smiled at their silliness, but the urgency of the moment prevented smiling. He was listening.

On his immediate right was Lou Lazarov, and on his immediate left was DeVasher, and every ear in the small room listened as the two played tag team back and forth across the table.

'They're here. I know they're here,' DeVasher said dramatically, slapping both palms on the table with each syllable. The man had rhythm.

Lazarov's turn: 'I agree. They're here. Two came in a car, one came in a truck. We've found both vehicles abandoned, covered with fingerprints. Yes, they're here.'

DeVasher: 'But why Panama City Beach? It makes no sense.'

Lazarov: 'For one, he's been here before. Came here Christmas, remember? He's familiar with this place, so he figures with all these cheap motels on the beach it's a great place to hide for a while. Not a bad idea, really. But he's had some bad luck. For a man on the run, he's carrying too much baggage, like a brother who everybody wants. And a wife. And a truckload of documents, we presume. Typical schoolboy mentality. If I gotta run, I'm taking everybody who loves me. Then his brother rapes a girl, they think, and suddenly every cop in Alabama and Florida is looking for them. Some pretty bad luck, really.'

'What about his mother?' Mr. Morolto asked.

Lazarov and DeVasher nodded at the great man and acknowledged this very intelligent question.

Lazarov: 'No, purely coincidental. She's a very simple woman who serves waffles and knows nothing. We've watched her since we got here.'

DeVasher: 'I agree. There's been no contact.'

Morolto nodded intelligently and lit a cigarette.

Lazarov: 'So if they're here, and we know they're here, then the feds and the cops also know they're here.