"Ah, yes, the woman. And why do you want her name?"
"She has something we want."
"Yes, I suppose she does. Something everyone wants. Something I wanted. But she did not want to share her gift with the world."
Patient X had been Tony Falco's greatest professional disappointment. Three years later, he was still not over it.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Smith, I can't help you."
"A hundred million."
"Are you the donor?"
"My client is."
"You're a lawyer?"
"Yes."
"And who is your client?"
"Confidential. I've been sworn to secrecy. The attorney-client privilege."
"So was I."
"An attorney?"
"Sworn to secrecy."
"The law doesn't recognize a doctor-patient privilege."
"I do."
"Two hundred million. Just give me the woman's name."
"Mr. Smith, I take it you work for the pharmaceuticals?"
Smith said nothing.
"Patient X wouldn't be good for business, would she? Well, neither am I. Sorry, Mr. Smith, but I'm trying to put your clients out of business. Goodbye."
Harmon Payne sat across the desk from Tony Falco. The doctor was gaunt, probably a runner, and middle-aged. His hair was gray and thinning, and he wore wire-rimmed glasses. He looked smart. Harmon wasn't in China to kill Dr. Falco, just to bribe him or threaten him into revealing a name. Which, in his experience, seldom worked. Killing was a much more effective tool. But he was just a hired hand, so he had to keep his employer happy. Those corporate suits were so conservative.
"What can I do for you, Mr. Payne?" Falco said.
"It's what I can do for you, Doctor."
"And what's that?"
"Money."
The doctor smiled. "Two Americans in two days offering me money. Just a coincidence, Mr. Payne?"
"What did you tell Mr. Smith?"
"Not that it's any of your business, but nothing. I don't help the pharmaceuticals."
"Smith was working for the drug companies?"
"I assumed he was."
"Which one?"
"He didn't say."
"What did he want?"
"Again, Mr. Payne, that's none of your business."
"Patient X?"
"Mr. Payne, I told Mr. Smith nothing and I'm telling you nothing."
"You don't want money?"
"Not your money."
"I have other methods."
Dr. Falco clicked a button on the intercom. "Ling Su, please call security." He turned back to Harmon. "Mr. Payne, security will be here in under two minutes. You can leave now or be arrested and spend the rest of your life in a Chinese prison. They do things differently here."
Harmon stood.
"We'll meet again, Dr. Falco, when you come home."
NINE
Cactus chandeliers, metal tables and chairs, a neon Budweiser sign, and Mexican movie posters constituted the decor of Guero's back room. Andy Prescott scanned the crowd. The room was noisy with conversation and the clinking of beer bottles and silverware against white porcelain plates piled high with enchiladas and tacos, flautas and fajitas, refried beans and Spanish rice. All of SoCo had packed into the back room that evening: homeowners and the homeless, renters and roommates, shop owners and tattoo artists, students and professors, male and female, straight and gay, white, brown, black, and Asian; and their tattoos. A room full of wackos and weirdos-at least that's what the people north of the river would call them.
Andy called them his friends.
It was two weeks later, and they had all come to see Russell Reeves' plans for their neighborhood and to hear Andy Prescott explain why those plans were good for SoCo-Reeves was renovating, not developing- and to drink Coronas and margaritas and eat Mexican food for free. Russell's secretary had sent over a blank check to cover the night's expenses.
The artist's rendition of the town house project was displayed on one easel and the architectural plans on another. The locals were studying the plans and arguing over the future of SoCo. But on their faces was the knowledge that they no longer controlled SoCo's future.
The money did.
Andy rapped a fork against a beer bottle and whistled loudly to quiet the room. When the noise subsided, he said, "So, guys, what do you think?"
Rodney (Ph. D. in English, adjunct faculty member at UT, worked at a bookstore) said, "Andy, what's to prevent Reeves from changing his mind and putting up an office building instead of low-income housing?"
"Zoning. It'll be changed from commercial to multi-family residential with a special use permit that allows only low-income housing."
LuAnn (nose ring, tattoos, M.A. in sociology): "How are you going to choose who gets in?"
"I'm not. We are. It'll be a co-op with rules to keep the place nice. There'll be a lottery among current SoCo residents who apply. There'll be criminal background checks-not drug use-but dealing and violent crimes. We all want this to be a safe place for the residents."
Zelda (struggling artist, part-time masseuse): "How much will rent be?"
"Three hundred to a thousand, depending on your income."
Gustavo (dreadlocks, tattoo of Our Lady of Guadalupe across his back, limo driver): "Noticed you got a new bike sitting out front there. Russell Reeves' money buy that?"
"Gus, I wouldn't sell out SoCo for a trail bike."
"What about an IronHorse? Would you sell us out for a Slammer?"
"I'd sell my soul for a Slammer." Everyone laughed. "But I wouldn't sell out SoCo. This is my home, too."
"You sold out your hair, Samson."
"Gus, my hair, it's not as important to me as your dreads, okay?"
"Point is, Andy, his money's changing you. And his money's gonna change SoCo."
"Yes, it is, Gus. For the better."
"A developer's gonna make SoCo better? Man, I can't believe you're lawyering for a developer."
"He's not a developer. He's a renovator. "
Ray (taking a break from the Great American Novel): "Andy, it's hard for us to trust someone north of the river who says he wants to make SoCo a better place. Every time they come down here, they just want to make money."
"That's why I've fought those developments with you, Ray. With all of you. But Russell's doing this through his foundation. It's a charitable organization. Not all rich guys are bad, Ray."
"Not when they're paying you."
"Yes, Ray, I'm getting paid."
"By a developer."
"By a renovator."
"By a rich guy north of the river."
"Yes, he lives north of the river. But look what he did in East Austin. Look what he's done for all of Austin. He's in the business of giving his money away. And now he's trying to give it away down here in SoCo, and you want us to say no? We've been trying to get the city to do this for years. Now Russell Reeves wants to do it and you're balking? Would you rather have that vacant grocery store? Guys, I wouldn't tell you we should do this if I didn't believe it. There's no ulterior motive here."
Helping them helped him.
LuAnn: "Andy's right."
"Guys, we've been through this before. Apartment rents in SoCo run fifteen hundred for a one-bedroom, two thousand for a two-bedroom. With regular developments, the city tries to get ten percent of the units designated as affordable housing, and that's at eighty percent of median family income, but the developers always balk and the city always backs down. This project is one hundred percent affordable housing at fifty percent median income. Who else would do this kind of deal except a billionaire who doesn't need to make money?"
A grudging murmur of acknowledgment from the crowd.
"Russell Reeves is going to give us affordable housing-that's what we've always wanted. Are you going to turn it down because he lives north of the river? Because he's rich? Guys, he hates Republicans! And he's thinking about getting a tattoo! He's one of us!"