The Firm

'How's Abby?' Ray asked.

'She's been in Kentucky for a couple of weeks. Her mother's sick.' He stared at Ray and softly mouthed the words 'Trust me.'

'What's wrong with her?'

'They removed a lung. Cancer. She's smoked heavy all her life. You should quit.'

'I will if I ever get out of here.'

Mitch smiled and nodded slowly. 'You've got at least seven more years.'

'Yeah, and escape is impossible. They try it occasionally, but they're either shot or captured.'

'James Earl Ray went over the wall, didn't he?' Mitch nodded slowly as he asked the question. Ray smiled and watched his brother's eyes.

'But they caught him. They bring in a bunch of mountain boys with bloodhounds, and it gets pretty nasty. I don't think anyone's ever survived the mountains after they got over the wall.'

'Let's talk about something else,' Mitch said.

'Good idea.'

Two guards stood by a window behind the row of visitors' booths. They were enjoying a stack of dirty pictures someone took with a Polaroid and tried to sneak through the guard station. They giggled among themselves and ignored the visitors. On the prisoners' side, a single guard with a stick walked benignly back and forth, half asleep.

'When can I expect little nieces and nephews?' Ray asked.

'Maybe in a few years. Abby wants one of each, and she would start now if I would. I'm not ready.'

The guard walked behind Ray, but did not look. They stared at each other, trying to read each other's eyes.

'Addnde voy?' Ray asked quickly. Where am I going?

'Perdido Beach Hilton. We went to the Cayman Islands last month, Abby and I. Had a beautiful vacation.'

'Never heard of the place. Where is it?'

'In the Caribbean, below Cuba.'

'Que es mi nombre?' What is my name?

'Lee Stevens. Did some snorkeling. The water is warm and gorgeous. The Firm owns two condos right on Seven Mile Beach. All I paid for was the airfare. It was great.'

'Get me a book. I'd like to read about it. Pasaporte?'

Mitch nodded with a smile. The guard walked behind Ray and stopped. They talked of old times in Kentucky.

* * *

At dusk he parked the BMW on the dark side of a suburban mall in Nashville. He left the keys in the ignition and locked the door. He had a spare in his pocket. A busy crowd of Easter shoppers moved en masse through the Sears doors. He joined them. Inside he ducked into the men's clothing department and studied socks and underwear while watching the door. Nobody suspicious. He left Sears and walked quickly through the crowd down the mall. A black cotton sweater in the window of a men's store caught his attention. He found one inside, tried it on and decided to wear it out of there, he liked it so much. As the clerk laid his change on the counter, he scanned the yellow pages for the number of a cab. Back into the mall, he rode the escalator to the first floor, where he found a pay phone. The cab would be there in ten minutes.

It was dark now, the cool early dark of spring in the South. He watched the mall entrance from inside a singles bar. He was certain he had not been followed through the mall. He walked casually to the cab. 'Brentwood,' he said to the driver, and disappeared into the back seat.

Brentwood was twenty minutes away. 'Savannah Creek Apartments,' he said. The cab searched through the sprawling complex and found number 480E. He threw a twenty over the seat and slammed the door. Behind an outside stairwell he found the door to 480E. It was locked.

'Who is it?' a nervous female voice asked from within. He heard the voice and felt weak.

'Barry Abanks,' he said.

Abby pulled the door open and attacked. They kissed violently as he lifted her, walked inside and slammed the door with his foot. His hands were wild. In less than two seconds, he pulled her sweater over her head, unsnapped her bra and slid the rather loose-fitting skirt to her knees. They continued kissing. With one eye, he glanced apprehensively at the cheap, flimsy rented fold-a-bed that was waiting. Either that or the floor. He laid her gently on it and took off his clothes.

The bed was too short, and it squeaked. The mattress was two inches of foam rubber wrapped in a sheet. The metal braces underneath jutted upward and were dangerous.

But the McDeeres did not notice.

* * *

When it was good and dark, and the crowd of shoppers at the mall thinned for a moment, a shiny black Chevrolet Silverado pickup pulled behind the BMW and stopped. A small man with a neat haircut and sideburns jumped out, looked around and stuck a pointed screwdriver into the door lock of the BMW. Months later when he was sentenced, he would tell the judge that he had stolen over three hundred cars and pickups in eight states, and that he could break into a car and start the engine faster than the judge could with the keys. Said his average time was twenty-eight seconds. The judge was not impressed.

Occasionally, on a very lucky day, an idiot would leave the keys in the car, and the average time was reduced dramatically. A scout had found this car with the keys. He smiled and turned them. The Silverado raced away, followed by the BMW.

The Nordic jumped from the van and watched. It was too fast. He was too late. The pickup just pulled up, blocked his vision for an instant, then wham!, the BMW was gone. Stolen! Before his very eyes. He kicked the van. Now, how would he explain this?

He crawled back into the van and waited for McDeere.

After an hour on the couch, the pain of loneliness had been forgotten. They walked through the small apartment holding hands and kissing. In the bedroom, Mitch had his first viewing of what had become known among the three as the Bendini Papers. He had seen Tammy's notes and summaries, but not the actual documents. The room was like a chessboard with rows of neat stacks of papers. On two of the walls, Tammy had tacked sheets of white poster board, then covered them with the notes and lists and flowcharts.

One day soon he would spend hours in the room, studying the papers and preparing his case. But not tonight. In a few minutes, he would leave her and return to the mall.

She led him back to the couch.

Chapter 32

T he hall on the tenth floor, Madison Wing, of the Baptist Hospital was empty except for an orderly and a male nurse writing on his clipboard. Visiting hours had ended at nine, and it was ten-thirty. He eased down the hall, spoke to the orderly, was ignored by the nurse and knocked on the door.

'Come in,' a strong voice said.

He pushed the heavy door open and stood by the bed.

'Hello, Mitch,' Avery said. 'Can you believe this?'

'What happened?'