Silence followed. Peace had broken out in and around the reception area.
Trevor appeared in the doorway of his office, unscathed, no visible injuries. "Sorry about that." he said softly, and went to his chair.
"You okay?" Chap asked.
"Sure. No problem. How about plain coffee?" he asked Wes.
"Forget about it"
The details were hammered out during lunch, which Trevor insisted they enjoy at Pete's. They found a table in the back, near the pinball machines. Wes and Chap were concerned with privacy, but they soon realized that nobody listened because nobody conducted business at Pete's.
Trevor knocked down three longnecks with his french fries. They had soft drinks and burgers.
Trevor wanted all the money in hand before he betrayed his client. They agreed to deliver a hundred thousand cash that afternoon, and immediately start a wire transfer for the balance. Trevor demanded a different bank, but they insisted on keeping Geneva Trust in Nassau. They assured him their access was limited only to observing the account; they could not tamper with the funds. Besides, the money would arrive there by late afternoon. If they changed banks, then it might take a day or two. Both sides were anxious to complete the deal. Wes and Chap wanted full, immediate protection for their client. Trevor wanted his fortune. After three beers he was already spending it.
Chap left early to fetch the money.Trevor ordered a longneck to go, and they got into Wes' car for a ride around town.The plan was to meet Chap at some spot and take possession of the cash. As they rode south on Highway AlA, along the beach, Trevor began talking.
"Isn't it amazing," he said, his eyes hidden behind cheap sunglasses, his head back on the headrest.
"What's amazing?"
"The risks people are willing to take. Your client, for example. A rich man. He could hire all the young boys he wanted, yet he answers an ad in a gay magazine and starts writing letters to a complete stranger."
"I don't understand it," Wes said, and the two straight boys bonded for a second. "It's not my job to ask questions."
"I suppose the thrill is in the unknown," Trevor said and took a small sip.
"Yeah, probably so. Who's Ricky?"
"I'll tell you when I get the money. Which one's your client?"
"Which one? How many victims are you working on right now?"
"Ricky's been busy lately. Probably twenty or so in the works."
"How many have you extorted?"
"Two or three. It's a nasty business."
"How'd you get involved?"
"I'm Ricky's lawyer. He's very bright, very bored, somehow he cooked up this scheme to put the squeeze on gays still in the closet. Against my better judgment, I signed on."
"Is he gay?" Wes asked. Wes knew the names of Beech's grandchildren. He knew Yarber's blood type.
He knew who Spicer's wife was dating back in Mississippi.
"No." said Trevor.
"He's a sicko then."
"No, he's a nice guy. So who's your client?"
"Al Konyers."
Trevor nodded and tried to remember how many letters he'd handled between Ricky and Al. "What a coincidence. I was making plans to go to Washington to-do some background work on Mr. Konyers. Not his real name, of course."
"Of course not."
"Do you know his real name?"
"No. We were hired by some of his people."
"How interesting. So none of us knows the real Al Konyers?"
"That's correct. And I'm sure it'll stay that way"
Trevor pointed to a convenience store and said, "Pull in there. I need a beer."
Wes waited near the gas pumps. It had been determined that they would not say anything about his drinking until the money changed hands and he'd told them everything. They would build some trust, then gently try to nudge him closer to sobriety. The last thing they needed was Trevor at Pete's every night, drinking and talking too much.
Chap was waiting in a matching rental car, in front of a Laundromat five miles south of Ponte Vedra Beach. He handed Trevor a thin, cheap briefcase and said, "It's all there. A hundred thousand. I'll meet you guys back at the office."
Trevor didn't hear him. He opened the briefcase and began counting the money. Wes turned around and headed north. Ten stacks of $10,000, all in $100 bills.
Trevor closed it, and crossed over to the other side.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Chap's first task as Trevor's new paralegal was to organize the front desk and rid it of anything remotely female. He put Jan's things in a cardboard box, everything from lipstick tubes and nail files to peanut candy and several X-rated romance novels. There was an envelope with eighty dollars and change. The boss claimed it for himself, said it was petty cash.
Chap wrapped her photos in old newspapers and placed them carefully in another box, along with the breakable knickknacks you find on most front desks. He copied her appointment books so they would know who was scheduled to appear in the future.The traffic would be light, he saw with little surprise. Not a single court date anywhere on the horizon. Two office appointments this week, two the next, then nothing. As Chap studied the calendars, it was obvious that Trevor had shifted to a slower gear at about the time the money arrived from Quince Garbe.
They knew Trevor's gambling had picked up in recent weeks, and probably his drinking. Several times Jan had told friends on the phone that Trevor was spending more time at Pete's than at the office.
As Chap busied himself in the front room, packing her junk, rearranging her desk, dusting and vacuuming and throwing away old magazines, the phone rang occasionally. His job description covered the phone, and he stayed close to it. Most of the calls were for Jan, and he politely explained that she no longer worked there. "Good for her" seemed to be the general feeling.
An agent dressed as a carpenter arrived early to replace the front door. Trevor marveled at Chap's efficiency. "How'd you find one so quick?" he asked.
"You just have to work the yellow pages." Chap said.
Another agent posing as a locksmith followed the carpenter and changed every lock in the building.
Their agreement included the provision that Trevor would see no new clients for at least the next thirty days. He'd argued long and hard against this, as if he had a stellar reputation to protect. Think of all the people who might need him, he'd complained. But they knew how slow the last thirty days had been, and they pressed him until he conceded. They wanted the place to themselves. Chap called those clients with scheduled appointments and told them that Mr. Carson would be tied up in court on the day they were supposed to stop by Rescheduling would be difficult, Chap explained, but he'd give them a call when there was a break in the action.
"I didn't think he went to court," one of them said.
"Oh yes," Chap said. "It's a really big case."
When the client list was pared to the core, only one case required an office visit. It was an ongoing child support matter, and Trevor had represented the woman for three years. He couldn't simply give her the boot.
Jan stopped by to cause trouble, and brought with her a boyfriend of sorts. He was a wiry young man with a goatee, polyester pants, white shirt, and tie, and Chap figured he probably sold used cars. No doubt he could have easily thrashed Trevor, but he wanted no part of Chap.
"I'd like to speak to Trevor." Jan said, her eyes darting around her newly organized desk.
"Sorry. He's in a meeting."
"And who the hell are you?"
"I'm a paralegal."
"Yeah, well get your money up front."
"Thank you. Your things are in those two boxes over there." Chap said, pointing.
She noticed the magazine racks were purged and neat, the wastebasket was empty, the furniture had been polished. There was a smell of antiseptic, as if they'd fumigated the place where she'd once sat. She was no longer needed.