The Great Divide

by T. Davis Bunn

  Randall watched him set down the phone and said, “That wouldn’t happen to be old Charlie Hayes, now, would it? I thought he was dead.”

  Randall Walker stood waiting to be recognized and ushered into a chair. But because of Randall’s lofty probing to discover if Charlie had spoken of their conversation, Marcus tossed his manners aside with his pen. “What do you want, Randall?”

  The smile vanished. “And I suppose the Professor refers to Dr. Austin Hall.”

  Marcus leaned back in his chair, liking the way it creaked and settled under his weight, and waited.

  “Quite a nice spread you’ve got yourself here.” Randall gave the room another slow inspection. “Lot nicer than I expected, I got to admit.”

  Marcus had to agree. The room was spacious and lit by a brass chandelier that once held gas lamps. Tall sash windows spilled late-morning light. A grand sycamore and the oldest dogwood he had ever seen stood lookout. The oak flooring shone ruddy and ancient. His desk was battered old solid mahogany that reeked of Fay Wilbur’s application of linseed oil. The air was redolent with the odors of a newly completed house. It was a good place to work and live, and Randall Walker’s presence was a bane on this new start. Marcus repeated quietly, “What do you want?”

  Randall accepted the question as the only invitation he would receive, and slid into the hard-backed chair opposite Marcus. “I came out here to make your day.”

  Marcus settled his hands across his middle and tried to ease the knot of sudden tension.

  “No. Scratch that. Make your entire year, is more like it.” Randall offered his full-wattage beam, the one that had melted the hearts of a thousand female jurors. “You know our firm.”

  “I know of it.”

  “ ’Course you do. Retired governor, two senators, Congressman Hodges, all partners. Nationwide reputation. Why, we’re even thinking of opening an office in London, England.”

  Marcus realized the man had paused because he expected a response. “Long way from Rocky Mount.”

  “Now you’re talking.” If anything, the smile broadened. “How’d you like to run that office for a couple of years. Leave all this mess and baggage behind.”

  “Are you offering me a job?”

  “More than that, son. More than that. I’m offering you a future. A chance to start over. We’ve been watching you. Saw how you almost collapsed, watched you recover. Not many men could come back from what you’ve faced.” The smile was gone, the mask now showing deep concern. “You’re a strong man, Marcus. A good man. We want you on our team.”

  Marcus reached for his pen, his hands suddenly restless. Listening to words about his past slip from between those lips filled him with a homicidal urge. “I’m honored.”

  “Well, you oughtta be.” The benign smile returned. “Yes sir, honored is the absolute right response.”

  Marcus studied his opponent. Randall Walker’s suit was navy mohair, his shoes handmade. His hair was as precisely cut and fitted to his head as his smile. The skin of his cheeks and neck flowed over his starched collar. “What’s behind the offer?”

  “That’s simple enough.” Randall was not the least bit shaken by Marcus’ query. “The legal world is full of, I’ll scratch your back, you scratch mine. Successful lawyers learn early and well to do one another favors. But you know all this, don’t you. ’Course you do. Life its own self is built on finding how everybody wins.”

  “You want me to throw the Hall case.”

  “Well, now, it’s hard to tell sometimes just how good a job a lawyer’s done.” The smile tightened, a thin line cut across pasty features. “You can always blame a negative verdict on the judge or the jury. Or the wind.”

  Marcus nodded slowly, as though taking it all in. Finally he said, “Release the girl and we drop all charges.”

  The smile slipped away unnoticed. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Deadly.”

  “Son, we’re talking a lifetime career opportunity here.”

  Marcus leaned across the desk. “I want Gloria Hall.”

  “Do you now.” The words hardened. “Shame I don’t have the first idea what you’re talking about.”

  Marcus met the man and his glutinous gaze head-on. “Then we don’t have anything to discuss. Do we.”

  “If I wasn’t the gentleman I am, I’d say something about your landing in over your head.”

  “Thanks for stopping by, Randall.”

  “Well.” The man rose to his feet. “Glad I had one final chance to meet you, Marcus.” He tapped the desk lightly. “Don’t bother to get up, I can show myself out.” Another tap. “You just go on sitting there. Enjoy the place just as long as you possibly can.”

  THEY LEFT ROCKY MOUNT just after midday, heading east. Marcus drove. Austin Hall sat beside him. Charlie Hayes and Deacon Wilbur took the backseat and argued over directions with the good-natured banter of old friends. Occasionally Marcus glanced over to see if the dispute was bothering his client. Austin remained silent and still in the manner of the stiffly bereaved.

  There was a reason to be cautious with directions, as their destination had no name and shifted location every second or third autumn. Marcus left the highway for a county road, and that for a long thin strip that cut an asphalt swath through tobacco fields and time-washed farmhouses. The journey became a withdrawal from worry and the world for all save Austin Hall.

  They knew they were drawing near when their car joined a convoy. Most of the other vehicles were pickups with rifles in the rear window and kids and dogs jumbled in the back. Leathery arms rose in languid salute to other mud-spattered pilgrims. Everybody was headed in the same direction.

  The parking lot was a newly plowed field. Close up to the road sparkled a few Buicks and Cadillacs, their owners not wanting to muddy up a citified shine. Marcus followed the pickups down a red-clay track and stopped by an ancient tobacco barn. A long-forgotten painting advertised Redman chewing tobacco in letters washed of all color. Below that, just beside the door, was an almost invisible ad for Burma Shave.

  Charlie Hayes was talking as they walked the hard-beaten clay path and joined the swift-moving line. “Back there used to be the Columbia Road.”

  “Naw, Judge,” Deacon corrected. “You got that wrong. That road led down to New Bern.”

  Charlie looked affronted. “You saying you know this region better than me?”

  Deacon’s grin creased his face worse than the field they had just crossed. “Reckon I am.”

  Charlie turned to the man in coveralls in front of them. “Mister, you know this area?”

  “Cropped ’baccy not five miles north since I could walk.”

  “Then set this gentleman straight on where this road is headed.”

  “Like to, but I cain’t.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “ ’Cause he’s right and you’re wrong.” The man aimed a brown stream and a well-chewed plug at the stained paint can by the door. “Can’t make it no plainer than that.”

  “Well, I’ll be …” Charlie threatened to toss his cane away. “Never thought I’d live to see the day I’d stand sandwiched between such ignorance.”

  Argument was halted by the line moving them inside. The barn’s interior was just slightly cooler than a blast furnace. The air was thick and cloying with the smells of tobacco and sweat and pork. Two men worked a tall brick oven; one tended the wood-chip fire and the other turned a huge iron handle. Through the cast-iron door Marcus could see three entire hogs roasting and dripping fat. A third man used a razor-edged machete to carve off hunks that fell onto a wooden spatula he gripped in his other hand. He cut and caught and turned and deposited the steaming pork onto a paper plate, then wheeled back. Marcus set down two twenties for the four plates, one price for all they could eat. No one lingered long inside the barn.

  Out back the air seemed springtime fresh. Trestle tables stretched out in long lines, with plastic barrels of beans and slaw and potato salad and iced drinks marching down the c
enter aisle. While the others loaded their plates and claimed a table, Marcus went over to where two women operated a fryer and returned with a basket of hush puppies. Deacon led them in prayer, then they dug in.

  Their table garnered more than its share of glances. There were many groups made up of blacks and whites and Native Americans, but none where one of the black men wore a suit and vest and gold fob. Attention soon turned elsewhere and they were left alone to feel as welcome as they cared. For a moment on this balmy autumn day, in a restaurant walled by ripened tobacco and ceilinged in endless blue, the farmers sat united in tired satisfaction. Another growing season was ended. The auctioneers and tobacco buyers were in town to bid and pay. In the warehouses and back rooms, where experts rolled gold-leaf panatelas and sampled the crop’s flavor, word was spread of where this year’s pig picking would be held. If any health inspector happened to be among the crowd, he showed the good sense to feast in silence.

  Marcus waited until the others had finished to say to Austin Hall, “I asked Charlie along because I’m hoping he will help me with this trial. He already is in an unofficial capacity. Do you mind if we talk a little business?”

  “I have no secrets from Deacon,” Austin replied.

  “It’s a measure of the man who’s talking,” Deacon offered, “that he actually means what he says.”

  “We need to make a decision here. I’m sorry Alma couldn’t join us, but this can’t wait.”

  “She couldn’t get out of the faculty meeting. She told me to make the decision for us both.”

  Deacon gave the man a gentle smile. “Then miracles do indeed abide in this land.”

  Austin replied with a look of woeful openness. “We can’t thank you enough.”

  “Ain’t no need to say anything.”

  “Yes there is. Alma and I, we were so moved, you can’t imagine.” Austin turned his gaze toward Marcus and explained, “The church is helping us put together the ransom.”

  “Just being there for a friend in need, is all.” Deacon took a breath. “Since we’re talking about this, there’s one more thing that needs saying. A lot of the money came from Kirsten Stanstead.”

  Austin’s control threatened to crumple. “What?”

  “She figured if she went to you direct, you’d say no. But the only reason she didn’t give the whole amount was because I wouldn’t let her. There’s others at the church who wanted to help. And Fay said to tell you we got people praying ’round the clock, gonna keep at it till your girl’s been brought home.”

  Austin’s struggle for control needed outside help. Marcus used his most clinical tone to demand, “So you’ve decided to go ahead and pay the ransom?”

  “I don’t see what choice we have.” Austin managed a ragged breath. “The police and the FBI are against it, but what have they done for us? They’ve spoken with the embassy. The embassy has written a letter to the Chinese authorities.”

  “More than that,” Marcus countered.

  “Not enough!” A few heads turned their way. Austin lowered his voice. “Not enough. They haven’t got a thing to report. All we hear is how they don’t understand what Gloria was doing in China. Over and over the same words.”

  “That’s natural enough.” Charlie Hayes spoke up for the first time. “They’re government employees. Government employees learn early on the most important part of their job is making sure blame gets stuck to somebody else’s hide.”

  Marcus said, “As your attorney, I cannot officially advise you on the payment of ransom. Unofficially, I would urge you to inform the police the moment the transfer of funds is made.”

  “Gloria said no police.”

  Charlie said, “It’s good advice, Dr. Hall. I’d take it if I were you.”

  Because Austin’s gaze remained on the old man, Marcus said, “Charlie and I have worked together on more cases than I care to count. He’s been a friend since I started practicing, and my best source of advice since he retired from the federal bench. He’s still a member of the bar and knows federal court procedure from the inside out.”

  “Then I suppose,” the professor said, “you’d best call me Austin.”

  “It’d be a pleasure, sir.”

  “We also need to discuss timing,” Marcus went on. A soft breeze touched the surrounding plants, most of them well over seven feet tall and cropped of all but the highest leaves. These whispered and clattered amidst an orchestra of birdsong and buzzing insects and quiet conversation. The other tables granted them privacy in the manner of country-born. “I’ve received a call from the judge’s aide. The defense has requested a meeting for tomorrow, and another for the day after.”

  “So?”

  “My guess is they’re going to ask for an immediate trial, giving us almost no time to collect depositions and evidence.”

  Charlie broke in. “Normally this works in the defense’s favor, since it keeps the plaintiff from preparing fully. Or fishing for new leads.”

  “But we don’t have much of a case,” Marcus went on. “And to be honest, I don’t think more time will help us. We want to make some noise. Nothing more.”

  Austin rolled that around in his analytical mind, and came up with “The payment.”

  “Exactly. If you are going ahead with the transfer of these funds, do you want to give it more time? I have no idea whether time pressure will work in our favor or against us.”

  “Do it.” Austin did not hesitate an instant. “Do it now. No waiting. We do everything possible, soon as possible.” His face was as stern as Marcus had ever seen. “Hit them just as hard as you can.”

  “MOST LAWYERS don’t have the guts to tell their clients the good, the bad, and the ugly.” Logan’s opening remarks were not standard fare for either of his guests, and it showed on their faces. He didn’t care. He was less than twenty-four hours from his next in-chambers meeting with Judge Nicols, and the case was already a bad taste in his mouth. “That’s not my problem. Randall, you took me on with the express purpose of burying this guy Glenwood. Fine. You tell me there is no connection between New Horizons and the Chinese factory. So I go in armed for bear. What happens? Marcus gets up in front of the magistrate and proves there is a connection. And now you’re in here to tell me the connection is tenuous at best. I’m not sure I should believe that, Randall.”

  Randall Walker sat there and took it because he had to. He was the one who had requested this meeting, and for some reason had brought Logan’s senior partner in for backup. Two cronies of the old power structure, polished and easy, their meanness hidden down deep. But Logan knew it was there. He had seen them both in action. The only way to handle these guys was by holding hard to the offensive.

  Logan was ready when Randall started in with “I need you—”

  “Wait, Randall. Just wait, okay? This meeting is not about what you need. I’m the one going head-to-head in front of Judge Nicols tomorrow. Big meeting. And I’ve still got a lot of questions that need answering. Such as, where did Glenwood get that information he showed the magistrate?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  “Could it have come from your office?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “You’re not setting me up as a patsy, are you, Randall?”

  He reddened, but held to the even tone. “I want you to win this case.”

  “All right. So play ball with me.”

  “I’ve brought the chief North Carolina accountant and the two vice presidents of the Rocky Mount distribution facility.”

  “Hang on here. I’m smelling more than furniture polish in the air. Two low-level VPs with no knowledge of the international markets? Who are you kidding, Randall? Where are the board members?”

  “I told you. They’re all in Switzerland.”

  “Can I talk to them by phone?”

  “No.” Randall turned to Logan’s senior partner for emphasis. “No way.”

  Logan waited, giving his boss a chance to back him up. The older attorney remain
ed stone-faced. Logan sighed. “Okay. Right now I need everything you can give me to build us a fire wall. You tell me there’s not just an arm’s length between these two companies, but a nine-thousand-mile gap. Is that correct?”

  “Precisely.”

  “I need proof, Randall. You’ve heard that word before, I assume.”

  The senior partner shook his head and said mildly, “Logan.”

  But he would not be stopped. “Proof is what we’re after, Randall. Proof that I can wave in front of the judge’s nose.”

  “It’s right next door.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  The senior partner and Randall did not move. Randall said, “I want to make a request.”

  Logan glanced from one to the other. “What, you two had a strategy session and forgot to invite the defending attorney? Guys, in case it’s slipped your tiny minds, my good name is the one on the line here.”

  “Logan, Randall merely said—”

  “It’s all right.” But Randall’s expression did not back up his words. One glance was enough for Logan to know it was not all right at all. Randall was watching him cautiously, measuring vigilantly. Logan knew he was proving to be more of a handful than Randall had ever anticipated. Which was good. Because Glenwood was threatening to present the exact same risk. Randall went on, “New Horizons has an extensive trade relationship with Factory 101 in China. But we don’t want you to admit this tomorrow.”

  Logan gaped at the two older men. “You’re both certifiably insane.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Tomorrow is the next-to-last meeting in-chambers before we go to trial!”

  “We have to determine,” Randall went on, pressing down hard on each word, “exactly how much Marcus knows.”

  The senior partner spoke, “We realize this is a lot to ask.”

  “What’s this we business? Who’s side are you on?”

  “We’re all on the same side.” The senior partner patted his head of burnished silver, adding contentedly, “Randall Walker is offering to grant us a significant portion of the New Horizons corporate account. An account you would personally manage.”