The Brethren (39 page)

Argrow removed a folded sheet of white paper from his pocket, and gave it to Spicer. “I just saw my lawyer,” he whispered.

“What is it?” Spicer asked, holding the paper.

“It’s a wire confirmation. Your money is now in Panama.”

Spicer looked at the lawyer across the room, but he was oblivious to everything except his legal pad. “Thanks,” he whispered. Argrow left the room, and Spicer took the paper to Beech, who examined it carefully.

Their loot was now safely guarded by the First Coast Bank of Panama.

THIRTY-SIX

J
oe Roy had dropped eight more pounds, was down to ten cigarettes a day and averaging twenty-five miles a week around the track. Argrow found him there, walking and pacing in the late afternoon heat.

“Mr. Spicer, we need to talk,” Argrow said.

“Two more laps,” Joe Roy said without breaking stride.

Argrow watched him for a few seconds, then jogged fifty yards until he caught up. “Mind if I join?” he asked.

“Not at all.”

They went into the first turn, stride for stride. “I just met with my lawyer again,” Argrow said.

“Your brother?” Spicer asked, breathing heavily. His paces were not nearly as graceful as Argrow’s, a man twenty years younger.

“Yes. He’s talked to Aaron Lake.”

Spicer stopped as if he’d hit a wall. He glared at Argrow, then looked at something in the distance.

“Like I said, we need to talk.”

“I suppose we do,” Spicer said.

“I’ll meet you in the law library in half an hour,” Argrow said, and walked away. Spicer watched him until he disappeared.

There was no Jack Argrow, Attorney-at-Law, in the Boca Raton yellow pages, and this initially caused concern. Finn Yarber frantically worked the unsecured phone, seeking directory assistance all over South Florida. When he asked for Pompano Beach, the operator said, “One moment, please,” and Finn actually smiled. He scribbled down the number, then dialed it. A recorded voice said, “You’ve reached the law offices of Jack Argrow. Mr. Argrow keeps hours by appointment only, so please leave your name and number and a brief description of the real estate you’re interested in, and we’ll get in touch with you.” Finn hung up and walked quickly across the lawn to the law library, where his colleagues were waiting. Argrow was already ten minutes late.

A moment before he arrived, the same ex-lawyer entered the room carrying a bulky file, evidently ready to spend hours trying to save himself. To ask him to leave would cause a fight and create suspicion, and besides he wasn’t the type who respected judges anyway. One by one they retired to the small conference room, where Argrow joined them. The room was cramped when Beech and Yarber worked there, writing their letters. With Argrow as the fourth man in, and bringing no small amount of pressure, the room had never felt so crowded. They sat around the small table, each able to reach and touch the other three.

“I know only what I’ve been told,” Argrow began.

“My brother is a semiretired lawyer in Boca Raton. He has some money, and for years he’s been active in Republican politics in South Florida. Yesterday he was approached by some people who work for Aaron Lake. They had investigated matters and knew that I was his brother, and that I was here in Trumble along with Mr. Spicer. They made promises, swore him to secrecy, and now he’s sworn me to secrecy. Now that everything is nice and confidential, I think you can connect the dots.”

Spicer had not showered. His shirt and face were still wet, but his breathing had slowed. Not the slightest sound from either Beech or Yarber. The Brethren were in a collective trance. Keep going, they said with their eyes.

Argrow looked at the three faces, and pushed onward. He reached into his pocket and removed a sheet of paper, which he unfolded and laid before them. It was a copy of their last letter to Al Konyers, the outing letter, the extortion demand, signed by Joe Roy Spicer, current address of Trumble Federal Prison. They had the words memorized, so there was no need to read it again. They recognized the handwriting, that of poor little Ricky, and they realized that it had now come full circle. From the Brethren to Mr. Lake, from Mr. Lake to Argrow’s brother, from Argrow’s brother back to Trumble, all in thirteen days.

Spicer finally picked it up, and glanced at the words. “I guess you know everything, don’t you?” he asked.

“I don’t know how much I know.”

“Tell us what they’ve told you.”

“You’re running a scam, the three of you. You
advertise in gay magazines, you develop relationships with older men, by mail, you somehow learn their true identities, then you extort money from them.”

“That’s a pretty fair summary of the game,” Beech said.

“And Mr. Lake made the mistake of answering one of your ads. I don’t know when he did this, and I don’t know how you found out who he was. There are some gaps in the plot, as far as I’m concerned.”

“It’s best to keep it that way,” Yarber said.

“Fair enough. I didn’t volunteer for this job.”

“What will you get out of it?” Spicer asked.

“Early release. I’ll spend a few more weeks around here, then they’ll move me again. I’ll walk by the end of the year, and if Mr. Lake gets elected then I’ll get a full pardon. Not a bad deal. My brother gets a huge favor from the next President.”

“So you’re the negotiator?” Beech said.

“No, I’m the messenger.”

“Then shall we begin?”

“The first move belongs to you.”

“You’ve got the letter. We want some money and we want out of this place.”

“How much money?”

“Two million each,” Spicer said, and it was obvious this had been discussed many times already. All six eyes watched Argrow, waiting for the twitch, the frown, the shock. But there was no reaction, just a pause as he returned their stares. “I have no authority here, okay? I can’t say yes or no to your demands. All I do is relay the details to my brother.”

“We read the newspaper every day,” Beech said.

“Mr. Lake has more money than he can spend right now. Six million is a drop in the bucket.”

“He has seventy-eight million on hand, with no debt,” Yarber added.

“Whatever,” Argrow said. “I’m just the courier, the mail runner, sort of like Trevor.”

They froze again, with the mention of their dead lawyer. They glared at Argrow, whose fingernails had caught his attention, and they wondered if the Trevor comment had been laid across the table as some sort of warning. How deadly had their game become? They were giddy with thoughts of money and freedom, but how safe were they now? How safe would they be in the future?

They would always know Lake’s secret.

“And the terms of the money?” Argrow asked.

“Very simple,” Spicer said. “All of it up front, all of it wired to some delightful little place, probably Panama.”

“Okay. Now what about your release?” Argrow asked.

“What about it?” asked Beech.

“Any suggestions?”

“Not really. We thought Mr. Lake could take care of that. He has lots of friends these days.”

“Yes, but he’s not the President yet. He can’t lean on the right people yet.”

“We’re not waiting until January when he’s inaugurated,” Yarber said. “In fact, we’re not waiting until November to see if he wins.”

“So you want to be released now?”

“Pretty damned quick,” Spicer said.

“Does it matter how you’re released?”

They thought for a moment, then Beech said, “It has to be clean. We’re not running for the rest of our lives. We’re not looking over our shoulders.”

“Do you leave together?”

“Yes,” Yarber said. “And we have some definite plans on how we want to do it. First, though, we need to agree on the important things—money, and exactly when we walk out of here.”

“Fair enough. From this side of the table, they’ll want your files, all of the letters and notes and records from your scam. Obviously, Mr. Lake has to receive assurances that the secrets will be buried.”

“If we get what we want,” Beech said, “he has nothing to worry about. We’ll gladly forget we ever heard of Aaron Lake. But we must warn you, so you can warn Mr. Lake, that if anything happens to us, his story will be told anyway.”

“We have an outside contact,” Yarber said.

“It’s a delayed reaction,” Spicer added, as if he were helping explain the unexplainable. “Something happens to us, like, for instance, the same thing that happened to Trevor, and a few days later a little delay bomb goes off. Mr. Lake gets himself outed anyway.”

“That won’t happen,” Argrow said.

“You’re the messenger. You don’t know what will or will not happen,” Beech said, lecturing. “These are the same people who killed Trevor.”

“You’re not sure of that.”

“No, but we have our opinions.”

“Let’s not argue something we can’t prove, gentlemen,” Argrow said, ending the session. “I’ll see my
brother at nine in the morning. Let’s meet here at ten.”

Argrow left the room, left them sitting trancelike, deep in thought, counting their money but afraid to start spending it. He headed for the track, but turned away when he saw a group of inmates jogging. He roamed the grounds until he found a secluded spot behind the cafeteria, then he called Klockner.

Within an hour, Teddy was briefed.

THIRTY-SEVEN

T
he 6 a.m. bell shrieked through Trumble, through the corridors of the dorms, across the lawns, around the buildings, into the surrounding woods. It lasted for exactly thirty-five seconds, most inmates could tell you, and by the time it quit no one was left asleep. It jolted them to life, as if important events were planned that day, and they had to hurry and get ready. But the only pressing matter was breakfast.

The bell startled Beech, Spicer, and Yarber, but it didn’t wake them. Sleep had been elusive, the reasons obvious. They lived in different dorms, but not surprisingly they met in line for coffee, at ten minutes after six. With their tall cups, and without a word, they walked to the basketball court where they sat on a bench and sipped in the early dawn. They watched the prison grounds; the track was behind them.

How many more days would they wear their olive shirts and sit in the Florida heat, getting paid pennies by the hour for doing nothing, just waiting, dreaming, drinking endless cups of coffee? Would it be a month,
or two? Were they talking days now? The possibilities had robbed them of sleep.

“There are only two possible ways,” Beech was saying. He was the federal judge, and they listened carefully, though it was familiar ground. “The first is to go back to the sentencing jurisdiction and file a motion for reduced time. Under very narrow circumstances, the trial judge has the authority to release an inmate. It’s rarely done, though.”

“Did you ever do it?” Spicer asked.

“No.”

“Asshole.”

“For what reasons?” Yarber asked.

“Only when the prisoner has provided new information about old crimes. If the prisoner provides substantial assistance to the authorities, then he might get a few years off.”

“That’s not encouraging,” Yarber said.

“What’s number two?” Spicer asked.

“We’re shipped out to a halfway house, a really nice one where they don’t expect us to live by the rules. The Bureau of Prisons has sole authority in placing inmates. If the right pressure is applied by our new friends in Washington, then the Bureau could move us out and basically forget about us.”

“Don’t you have to live in a halfway house?” Spicer asked.

“Yes, in most of them. But they’re all different. Some are locked down at night, with strict rules. Others are very laid back. You can phone in once a day, or once a week. It’s all up to the Bureau.”

“But we’ll still be convicted felons,” Spicer said.

“Doesn’t bother me,” Yarber said. “I’ll never vote again.”

“I have an idea,” Beech said. “It came to me last night. As part of our negotiations, we make Lake agree to pardon us if he’s elected.”

“I thought of that too,” Spicer said.

“So did I,” said Yarber. “But who cares if we have a record? The only thing that matters is that we get out.”

“It won’t hurt to ask,” Beech replied. They concentrated on their coffee for a few minutes.

“Argrow’s making me nervous,” Finn finally said.

“How’s that?”

“Well, he drops in here from nowhere, and suddenly becomes our best friend. He does a magic trick with our money, gets it wired to a safer bank. Now he’s the point man for Aaron Lake. Keep in mind, somebody out there was reading our mail. And it wasn’t Lake.”

“He doesn’t bother me,” Spicer said. “Lake had to find somebody to talk to us. He pulled some strings, did some research, found out that Argrow was here and that he had a brother they could talk to.”

“That’s awfully convenient, don’t you think?” Beech asked.

“You too, huh?”

“Maybe. Finn’s got a point. We know for a fact that somebody else got involved.”

“Who?”

“That’s the big question,” Finn said. “That’s why I haven’t slept in a week. There’s somebody else out there.”

“Do we really care?” Spicer asked. “If Lake can get
us outta here, fine. If somebody else can get us outta here, what’s wrong with that?”

“Don’t forget Trevor,” Beech said. “Two bullets in the back of the head.”

“This place might be safer than we think.”

Spicer was not convinced. He finished a drink and said, “Do you really think that Aaron Lake, a man about to be elected President of the United States, would order a hit on a worthless lawyer like Trevor?”

“No,” replied Yarber. “He would not. It’s much too risky. And he wouldn’t kill us. But the mystery man would. The guy who killed Trevor is the same guy who read our mail.”

“I’m not convinced.”

They were together where Argrow expected to find them, in the law library, and they seemed to be waiting. He entered in a rush, and when he was sure they were alone, he said, “I just met with my brother again. Let’s talk.”

They scurried into their little conference room, closed the door, and crowded around the table.

“Things are about to happen very fast,” Argrow said nervously. “Lake will pay the money. It’ll be wired anywhere you want it. I can help if you want; otherwise you can handle it any way you wish.”