Wes jumped right in. "We're prepared to go to the feds right now, and we could probably stop the mail out of Trumble. Our client would probably be spared any embarrassment. But there's an element of risk our client is not willing to take.What if Ricky has another cohort, either inside or out of Trumble, somebody we haven't found yet, and he somehow manages to expose our client in retaliation?"
Chap was already shaking his head. "Its too risky. We'd rather work with you, Trevor. We'd rather buy you off, and kill the scam from this office."
"I cannot be bought," Trevor said with only a trace of conviction.
"Then we'll lease you for a while, how about that?" Wes said. "Aren't all lawyers leased by the hour anyway?"
"I suppose, but you're asking me to sell out a client."
"Your client is a felon who's committing crimes every day from inside a federal prison. And you're just as guilty as he is. Let's not get too sanctimonious here."
"When you become a criminal, Trevor." Chap said gravely, "you lose the privilege of being self-righteous. Don't preach to us. We know it's just a question of how much money."
Trevor forgot about the gun for a moment, and he forgot -about his law license hanging on the wall behind him, slightly crooked. As he so often did these days when faced with yet another unpleasantry from the practice of law, he closed his eyes and dreamed of his forty-foot schooner, anchored in the warm, still waters of a secluded bay, topless girls on the beach a hundred yards away, and himself barely clad, sipping a beverage on the deck. He could smell the salt water, feel the gentle breeze, taste the rum, hear the girls.
He opened his eyes and tried to focus on Wes across the desk. "Who is your client?" he asked.
"Not so fast." Chap said. "Let's cut the deal first."
"What deal?"
"We give you some money, and you work as a double agent. We get access to everything. We wire you when you talk to Ricky. We see all the mail.You don't make a move until we discuss it."
"Why don't you just pay the extortion money?" Trevor asked. "It'd be a whole lot easier."
"We've thought of that," Wes said. "But Ricky doesn't play fair. If we paid him, then he'd come back for more. And more."
"No, he wouldn't."
"Really? What about Quince Garbe in Bakers, Iowa?"
Oh my god, thought Trevor, and he almost said it aloud. How much do they know? All he could manage was a very weak "Who's he?"
"Come on, Trevor." Chap said. "We know where the money is hidden in the Bahamas. We know about Boomer Realty, and about your little account, currently with a balance of almost seventy thousand bucks."
"We've dug as far as we can dig, Trevor," Wes said, jumping in with perfect timing. Trevor was watching tennis, back and forth, back and forth. "But we've finally hit a rock.That's why we need you."
Truthfully, Trevor had never liked Spicer. He was a cold, ruthless, nasty little man who'd had the gall to cut Trevor's percentage. Beech and Yarber were okay, but what the hell. It wasn't as if Trevor had a lot of choices here. "How much?" he asked.
"Our client is prepared to pay a hundred thousand dollars, cash," Chap said.
"Of course it's cash." Trevor replied. "A hundred thousand is a joke. That would be Ricky's first installment. Myself-respect is worth a helluva lot more than a hundred thousand."
"Two hundred thousand." Wes said.
"Let's do it this way"Trevor said, trying to willfully suppress his racing heart. "How much is it worth to your client to have his little secret buried?"
"And you're willing to bury it?" Wes asked.
"Yep."
"Give me a second," Chap said, yanking a tiny phone from his pocket. He punched numbers as he opened the door and stepped into the hallway, then mumbled several sentences Trevor could barely hear.
Wes stared at a wall, the gun lying peacefully bide his chair. Trevor couldn't see it, though he tried.
Chap returned and stared hard at Wes, as if his eyebrows and wrinkles could somehow deliver a crucial message. In the brief hesitation, Trevor rushed in. "I think it's worth a million bucks," he said. "It could be my last case. You're asking me to divulge confidential client information, a rather egregious act for a lawyer. It would get me disbarred in an instant."
Disbarment would be a step up for old Trevor, but Wes and Chap let it pass. Nothing good could come from an argument about how valuable his law license might be.
"Our client will pay a million dollars," Chap said.
And Trevor laughed. He couldn't help it. He cackled as if he'd just heard the perfect punch line, and across the street in the rental they laughed because Trevor was laughing.
Trevor managed to control himself. He stopped chuckling but couldn't wipe off the smile. A million bucks. Cash. Tax-free. Hidden offshore, in another bank, of course, away from the clutches of the IRS and every other branch of the government.
Then he managed to arrange a lawyerly frown, a little embarrassed that he'd reacted so unprofessionally He was about to say something important when three sharp raps on glass came from the front. "Oh yes," he said. "That would be the coffee."
"She's gotta go," Chap said.
"I'll send her home." Trevor said, standing for the first time, a little light-headed.
"No. Permanently. Get her out of the office."
"How much does she know?" Wes asked.
"She's dumb as a rock," Trevor said happily.
"It's part of the deal." Chap said. "She goes, and now. We have a lot to discuss, and we don't want her around."
The knocking grew louder. Jan had unlocked the door but was caught by the security chain. "Trevor! It's me!" she shouted through the two-inch crack.
Trevor walked slowly down the hall, scratching his head, searching for words. He came face to face with her through the window of the front door, and he looked very confused.
"Open up." she growled. "This coffee is hot."
"I want you to go home," he said.
"Why?"
"Why?"
"Yes, why?"
"Because, well, uh-" Words failed him for a second, then he thought of the money. Her exit was part of the deal. "Because you're fired." he said.
"What?"
"I said you're fired!" he yelled, loud enough for his new pals in the back to hear.
"You can't fire me! You owe me too much money."
"I don't owe you a damned thing!"
"How about a thousand bucks in back salary !"
The windows of the rental were crowded with faces hidden by one-way shading. The voices echoed down the quiet street.
"You're crazy!" Trevor screamed. "I don't owe you a dime!"
"One thousand forty bucks, to be exact!"
"You're nuts."
"You sonofabitch! I stick with you for eight years, making minimum wage, then you fmally get the big case, and you fire me. Is that what you're doing, Trevor!?"
"Something like that! Now leave!"
"Open the door, you little coward!"
"Leave, Jan!"
"Not until I get my things!"
"Come back tomorrow. I'm meeting with Mr. Newman." With that, Trevor took a step back. When she saw he wasn't opening the door, she lost it. "You sonofabitch!" she screamed even louder, then hurled the tall latte at the door. The thin, rickety window shook but didn't break, and was instantly covered with creamy brown liquid.
Trevor, safe on the inside, flinched anyway and watched in horror as this woman he knew so well lost her mind She stormed away, red-faced and cursing, and took a few steps until a rock caught her attention. It was a remnant of along-forgotten, low-budget landscaping project he'd once okayed at her insistence. She grabbed it, gritted her teeth, cursed some more, then launched it toward the door.
Wes and Chap had done a masterful job of playing it straight, but when the rock crashed through the door window, they couldn't help but laugh. Trevor yelled, "You crazy bitch!" They laughed again and looked away from each other, trying gamely to tighten up.