Chapter 23 #2
It left the parking lot of Grisanti’s with no conversation between its occupants.
Abby carefully opened a portable tape recorder and placed the cassette inside.
She handed Mitch the earphones, which he stuck onto his head.
She pushed the PLAY button. She watched him as he listened and drove aimlessly toward the interstate.
The voice belonged to Tarrance: “Hello, Mitch. Today is Tuesday, March 9, sometime after nine P.M. Happy Birthday to your lovely wife. This tape will run about ten minutes, and I instruct you to listen to it carefully, once or twice, then dispose of it. I had a face-to-face meeting with Director Voyles last Sunday and briefed him on everything. By the way, I enjoyed the bus ride. Director Voyles is very pleased with the way things are going, but he thinks we’ve talked long enough.
He wants to cut a deal, and rather quickly.
He explained to me in no uncertain terms that we have never paid three million dollars and we’re not about to pay it to you.
He cussed a lot, but to make a long story short, Director Voyles said we could pay a million cash, no more.
He said the money would be deposited in a Swiss bank and no one, not even the IRS, would ever know about it.
A million dollars, tax-free. That’s our best deal, and Voyles said you can go to hell if you said no.
We’re gonna bust that little firm, Mitch, with or without you. ”
Mitch smiled grimly and stared at the traffic racing past them on the I-240 loop. Abby watched for a sign, a signal, a grunt or groan, anything to indicate good news or bad. She said nothing.
The voice continued: “We’ll take care of you, Mitch.
You’ll have access to FBI protection anytime you think you need it.
We’ll check on you periodically, if you want.
And if you want to move on to another city after a few years, we’ll take care of it.
You can move every five years if you want, and we’ll pick up the tab and find jobs for you.
Good jobs with the VA or Social Security or Postal Service.
Voyles said we’d even find you a high-paying job with a private government contractor.
You name it, Mitch, and it’s yours. Of course, we’ll provide new identities for you and your wife, and you can change every year if you desire.
No problem. Or if you got a better idea, we’ll listen.
You wanna live in Europe or Australia, just say so.
You’ll get special treatment. I know we’re promising a lot, Mitch, but we’re dead serious and we’ll put it in writing.
We’ll pay a million in cash, tax-free, and set you up wherever you choose.
So that’s the deal. And in return, you must hand us the firm, and the Moroltos.
We’ll talk about that later. For now, your time is up.
Voyles is breathing down my neck, and things must happen quickly.
Call me at that number Thursday night at nine from the pay phone next to the men’s rest room in Houston’s on Poplar. So long, Mitch.”
He sliced a finger across his throat, and Abby pushed the STOP button, then REWIND. He handed her the earphones, and she began to listen intently.
It was an innocent walk in the park, two lovebirds holding hands and strolling casually through the cool, clear moonlight.
They stopped by a cannon and gazed at the majestic river inching ever so slowly toward New Orleans.
The same cannon where the late Eddie Lomax once stood in a sleet storm and delivered one of his last investigative reports.
Abby held the cassette in her hand and watched the river below. She had listened to it twice and refused to leave it in the car, where who knows who might snatch it. After weeks of practicing silence, and then speaking only outdoors, words were becoming difficult.
“You know, Abby,” Mitch finally said as he tapped the wooden wheel of the cannon, “I’ve always wanted to work with the post office. I had an uncle once who was a rural mail carrier. That would be neat.”
It was a gamble, this attempt at humor. But it worked. She hesitated for three seconds, then laughed slightly, and he could tell she indeed thought it was funny. “Yeah, and I could mop floors in a VA hospital.”
“You wouldn’t have to mop floors. You could change bedpans, something meaningful, something inconspicuous. We’d live in a neat little white frame house on Maple Street in Omaha. I’d be Harvey and you’d be Thelma, and we’d need a short, unassuming last name.”
“Poe,” Abby added.
“That’s great. Harvey and Thelma Poe. The Poe family. We’d have a million dollars in the bank but couldn’t spend a dime because everyone on Maple Street would know it and then we’d become different, which is the last thing we want.”
“I’d get a nose job.”
“But your nose is perfect.”
“Abby’s nose is perfect, but what about Thelma’s? We’d have to get it fixed, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I suppose.” He was immediately tired of the humor and became quiet.
Abby stepped in front of him, and he draped his arms over her shoulders.
They watched a tug quietly push a hundred barges under the bridge.
An occasional cloud dimmed the moonlight, and the cool winds from the west rose intermittently, then dissipated.
“Do you believe Tarrance?” Abby asked.
“In what way?”
“Let’s suppose you do nothing. Do you believe one day they’ll eventually infiltrate the firm?”
“I’m afraid not to believe.”
“So we take the money and run?”
“It’s easier for me to take the money and run, Abby. I have nothing to leave behind. For you, it’s different. You’ll never see your family again.”
“Where would we go?”
“I do not know. But I wouldn’t want to stay in this country. The feds cannot be trusted entirely. I’ll feel safer in another country, but I won’t tell Tarrance.”
“What’s the next step?”
“We cut a deal, then quickly go about the job of gathering enough information to sink the ship. I have no idea what they want, but I can find it for them. When Tarrance has enough, we disappear. We take our money, get our nose jobs and disappear.”
“How much money?”
“More than a million. They’re playing games with the money. It’s all negotiable.”
“How much will we get?”
“Two million cash, tax-free. Not a dime less.”
“Will they pay it?”
“Yes, but that’s not the question. The question is, will we take it and run?”
She was cold, and he draped his coat over her shoulders. He held her tightly. “It’s a rotten deal, Mitch,” she said, “but at least we’ll be together.”
“The name’s Harvey, not Mitch.”
“Do you think we’ll be safe, Harvey?”
“We’re not safe here.”
“I don’t like it here. I’m lonely and scared.”
“I’m tired of being a lawyer.”
“Let’s take the money and haul ass.”
“You’ve got a deal, Thelma.”
She handed the cassette tape to him. He glanced at it, then threw it far below, beyond Riverside Drive, in the direction of the river. They held hands and strolled quickly through the park toward the BMW parked on Front Street.