Sparring Partners(4)

After dark on Monday, Jake eased around the square and, avoiding the chaos in the front, ducked into an alley and entered the office through the rear door. Harry Rex was at his desk, rumpled and wrinkled as always, his tie undone, food stains on his shirt, his hair a mess. He actually smiled and asked, “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

Jake said, “We need to split a beer.”

It was code for: We need to talk, and now, and it’s top secret. Harry Rex closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “What is it?” he asked in a low tone.

“Mack Stafford.”

Another deep breath, then a look of disbelief.

Jake said, “Meet me at the Riviera at eight.”

At home, Jake kissed, hugged, and pestered Carla as she put a chicken in the oven and prepared dinner. He went upstairs and found Hanna busy with her homework. He went to Luke’s room and found him playing quietly under his bed. Back in the kitchen, he asked his wife to have a seat at the breakfast table and handed her the letter. As she read it, she began shaking her head and tapping her teeth with a painted fingernail, an old habit that could mean several things.

“What a creep.”

“I always liked Mack.”

“He left his wife and kids and disappeared. And didn’t he steal some money from his clients?”

“That’s the legend. He vanished three years ago, but he didn’t really leave his wife. They were getting a divorce. Is she sick?”

“Come on, Jake. Lisa’s had breast cancer for a year now. You knew that.”

“I must have forgotten. There’s so much cancer. She was never your favorite, as I recall.”

“No, she wasn’t.” Carla looked at the letter again. “Check those potatoes.”

Jake walked to the stove and stirred a pot of boiling potatoes. He filled a glass with water and returned to the table.

She asked, “Why does he want you? Wasn’t Harry Rex his lawyer?”

“He was, guess he still is. Maybe it’s because Harry Rex is afraid of flying and Mack knew he wouldn’t make the trip. There’s nothing wrong with going down, I mean, nothing illegal.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Why not? An all-expenses-paid week at a fancy resort in the mountains.”

“No.”

“Come on, Carla. We haven’t had a real vacation in years.”

“We’ve never had a real vacation, like, you know, getting on a plane and flying off somewhere.”

“Exactly. This is the chance of a lifetime.”

“No.”

“Why not? The guy needs help. He wants to come home and, I don’t know, maybe make things right with his family. There’s no harm in going down and meeting with him. Mack’s a nice guy.”

“He has two daughters that he left behind.”

“He did, and that’s terrible. But maybe he wants to make amends. Let’s give the guy a break.”

“Is he a fugitive?”

“I’m not sure. I’m meeting with Harry Rex at eight and I have some questions. The rumor was that Mack took a bunch of money and left town, but I don’t recall hearing about an indictment or anything like that. He filed for bankruptcy and divorce and vanished. Most of the lawyers in town were envious. Not me, of course.”

“Of course not. I remember all the gossip. The town talked of nothing else for months.”

Jake slid across the brochure and she took it.





(7)


The Riviera was a small 1950s-style motel at the edge of town. It had two wings of tiny rooms, some rumored to be available by the hour, and a dingy bar where lawyers and bankers and businessmen hid to discuss things that could not be overheard. Jake hadn’t been there in years and got a few looks as he walked in. He smiled at the bartender, ordered two draft beers, and took them to a table near the jukebox. He sipped one for fifteen minutes as he waited. Harry Rex was always late, especially for drinks. Getting him to the bar, though, was the easy part. Getting him out of one was usually a challenge. Things were not going well with his third wife and he preferred to stay away from home.

He lumbered in at 8:20 and spoke to three gentlemen at a table as he passed by. At times, it seemed as though he knew everyone.

He fell into a chair across from Jake, grabbed his mug, and drained half of it. Jake knew it wasn’t his first beer of the evening. He kept a fridge filled with Bud Light in his office and popped a top each evening after the last client left.

“Poachin’ my clients again, huh?” he said.

“Hardly. I doubt if Mack’s looking for a new lawyer.”

“Tell me what you know.”

“He left town, what, three years ago? Any word from him since then?”

“Not a peep. Nothing. The last time I spoke to Mack he was in my office lookin’ at the divorce papers. Gave her everything, includin’ fifty thousand in cash. That’s in the settlement. Nash was her lawyer, told me later that they’d never had fifty thousand in cash, nowhere close to that. He talked to Freda, his old secretary, and she had no idea where the money came from. Said they could barely pay the bills most months.”

“So, where did the money come from?”

“Slow down.” Another gulp. “This beer’s hot. How long’s it been sittin’ here?”