by Webb Hubbell
I smiled, kissed her cheek, and whispered. “Did I ever tell you how much I love you when you scowl?”
“Jack...” A glimmer of a smile crossed her face.
I walked up to the clean-cut, fortyish-looking man—with his white Oxford shirt, loose tie, cuffed, dark slacks, and running shoes, he could have been a Mormon missionary–and stuck my hand out.
“Hi. I’m Jack Patterson. I’m here to see Dub.” I tried to walk forward but one of the burly marshals stepped in to block my way.
“He’s in a meeting, unavailable,” Mr. White Shirt said without a smile.
“I know that. I can wait.”
“Sorry, he’s simply not available.”
“Neither is my client. That’s why I’m here. I need to prepare him for tomorrow’s arraignment, but I understand he’s in Oklahoma City. I can be at the federal prison in less than an hour, but I want to make sure he’ll be available when I get there. Marshal Maroney said I should take this up with Mr. Blanchard. Since he won’t take my calls, I thought I’d take it up with him in person.” I smiled kindly—like I would to a cable guy who was five hours late.
He didn’t budge an inch.
“You’re correct; the prisoner isn’t here. He was moved because we’re concerned for his personal safety. Mr. Blanchard will tell you tomorrow when you’ll be allowed to see Dr. Stewart, not before.”
Micki couldn’t hold back. “We have a right to see our client. What do you mean by ‘allowing us to see?’” she demanded hotly. “You—”
I held out my hand to catch Micki’s arm. “I didn’t catch your name.” I asked.
“Jim Bullock, assistant U.S. attorney.” He stood a little straighter.
“Well, Jim, you’re denying me access to my client. I’ve told you I’m willing to charter a plane, but you tell me that even if I do, I will be denied access to my client. Is that correct? I want to get this straight. Assistant U.S. Attorney Jim Bullock is telling me I may not talk to my client either in person or by phone?”
I hoped by getting personal I’d at least get an audience with Dub. Most junior lawyers would back down to the point of checking.
His eyes narrowed. “I repeat that Dr. Stewart is unavailable today. Mr. Blanchard will inform you when and under what circumstances you may see the prisoner. Mr. Blanchard has meetings scheduled all afternoon. His schedule is quite full just now. This building is closed and our offices are off-limits to uninvited visitors. Do I make myself clear?”
“Very clear. May I at least inquire as to the condition of my client? I understand there was an altercation last night. Is he okay? Is he isolated from the other prisoners?”
Jim knew he had the upper hand. “When the prisoner left Little Rock he appeared to be unharmed. Any other questions concerning his condition or the nature of his housing should be made through channels to the Bureau of Prisons.”
Now it was Micki’s turn to hold me back.
“I wish I could say you’ve been helpful. But in fact, you’ve been a real pain in the ass. Tell Dub I’ll see him tomorrow. I hope he’s ready.”
Bullock finally managed a real smile.
“Oh, he’s ready, all right.”
13
I OPENED THE door of the Tahoe for Micki. She was seething. I was just plain pissed. Clovis had the sense to keep quiet.
“Jack, one of these days you’re going to hold out your hand to calm me down one too many times, and I’m going to chop it off. That bastard couldn’t even look at me? Misogynist pig! How in the hell are they going to get Doug back for the arraignment? Dub is jerking us around. He’s not in Oklahoma City. They’ve probably got him at a safe house near the courthouse. I can’t begin to imagine what this is all about—what on earth are they up to?”
I had a feeling I knew exactly what they were up to.
“Micki, if it’s okay with you, why don’t we drop you off at your office—you’ve got a lot of paperwork to prepare. I need to tell Liz what happened. Clovis, if I promise Liz will behave, will you join us for dinner?”
“Only if you promise.” He was dead serious.
“Micki, I’m sorry about the hand thing. Old habits die hard, and those marshals were hoping you’d light into Bullock. Assault an assistant U.S. attorney, and you will land in jail.”
She didn’t like it, but knew I was right. She reached over to squeeze my hand, and I realized the time had come to fish or cut bait.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to be your second chair, at least for now.”
She gave me a sweet smile as she opened the door.
“As you said to me once before, no second chair. We’re partners. But don’t get any other ideas.”
“Of course.” I could see Clovis trying not to laugh. Right.
“What about Liz? Does she need security tonight? What with everything else you’ve got to tell her, is this a good time?” he asked, as we watched Micki go into her office.
“There won’t ever be a good time. You’re going to join us for dinner. Why don’t you ask her bodyguard to come as well? She’s here waiting, right?”
“What makes you think it’s a she?”
“Liz makes you nervous. You don’t think you can trust Liz around another guy. I figured if you’d found just the right person, she had to be a female. Besides, earlier you slipped and used the word ‘her.’
“Look–my gut tells me Doug’s arrest is bigger than drugs-–he said as much. I’ll bet you two doughnuts he’s not in a safe house: they really did fly him to Oklahoma City. They want him miserable, scared, and willing to say or do anything. Oklahoma City is the Federal Transfer Facility. The Bureau has adopted the Federal Express approach to inmate transfer. Prisoners are handled like chain-wrapped packages. Almost every federal inmate who is moved from one jail to another goes to OKC and then out again. Prisoners aren’t there long enough to get phone privileges or mail. The Bureau of Prisons won’t even acknowledge who’s there. That’s why Bullock referred me to them. Your cellmate can be some poor guy who’s in for a minor drug offense or a skinhead doing life.
“A lawyer friend of mine, convicted of a petty, white-collar crime, went through exactly this ordeal. He told me about it over a beer—called it ‘diesel therapy.’ He barely escaped with his life. I remember he said, ‘One more night, and I wouldn’t be telling you a thing; I’d be dead.’ It’s a terrible way to treat anyone. Thank God, it’s never happened to any of my clients.”
I dreaded breaking the news to Liz.
14
“I’M ON TIME,” Liz announced brightly, jumping up from a couch as we walked into the hotel lobby.
“That you are. Come on, let’s find a table in the bar.” Clovis opted to stay in the lobby, muttering that he needed to make some calls.
I asked the waiter for a couple of Diet Cokes, but Liz interrupted, insisting on a Silver Patron margarita. Ah, what the hell. So far nothing had gone right, and it clearly wasn’t about to get easier. So I ordered a margarita, and we made small talk until our drinks arrived. She told me about her decorating efforts and the hassles she’d had with the caterer for her party. She’d been able to get the club, but . . .
“Enough with the party, Liz, I need to tell you about this afternoon. As far as I know, Doug is okay.”
“What do you mean, as far as you know?” Her breezy attitude vanished.
“I didn’t get to see him. The marshals have moved him to a prison transfer facility in Oklahoma City.”
I braced myself, ready for some kind of outburst, but nothing happened. She bit her lip, and her face began to quiver. Gripping her drink with shaky hands, she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.
Finally she looked up and said quietly, “Tell me everything.”
I explained what had happened at the courthouse and outside the office building. I gave her the highlights of Micki’s call to her friend at the U.S. attorney’s office. I didn’t want to frighten her about conditions at Oklahoma City, but I didn’t sugarcoat it eith
er. She took it all in, asking questions about how this might affect the arraignment and whether Doug could still get out on bond. She took it without crying or hysterics. I started to compliment her, but she stopped me abruptly.
“Thanks, but don’t. Order me another margarita. Don’t worry—I won’t lose it. I told you at breakfast. Southern women don’t make scenes in public. Don’t kid yourself: I’m scared to death. You think Doug will be in court tomorrow. I don’t. You say he’s safe. I’m not so sure. The only reason I have to think this might turn out all right is that you’re here.
“I thought Doug was being dramatic when he warned me that things would get really bad. But he also thought you would show up, and you two would figure it all out. Everything Doug told me could happen is happening, so maybe, just maybe, I’ll get through this.” She produced a weak smile.
It didn’t seem like the best time to ask her what else Doug had told her.
“Liz, I don’t know how you’re going to feel about this, so please listen. I’m not just worried about Doug. I’m concerned for your safety, too.” I told her that we’d been followed, that Clovis was checking for bugs in all of our hotel rooms and Micki’s office, and I reiterated the warnings from Peggy and from Micki’s friend. I explained that Clovis had arranged for her to have a bodyguard for the next several days.
I was determined to be serious and stern, but failed utterly when she squealed, “Will he look like Kevin Costner?”
I told her the best we could do was Costner’s sister.
“You know, Clovis is a stick in the mud. The least he could do is give me a hunk. I don’t mind a bodyguard, but I’m not about to have a babysitter.”
I laughed, thinking that a babysitter was exactly what we had in mind.
I asked her to meet us for dinner at seven She could meet her bodyguard and we would map out a strategy. She left for her session with a massage therapist who was a “genius.” He apparently helped her get “balanced,” whatever that meant. I saw Clovis slink in—he’d been hovering around the door waiting for her to leave.
“That woman is going to be the death of me. On the way out, she called me a wuss and said her bodyguard better be ready to party.”
“Clovis, Liz hasn’t got a single friend in the world right now. Cut her some slack. What you’re seeing is an act.”
“I’m not so sure. Anyway, I’ve got some things to tend to before dinner. You need me?”
I waved him away, paid the tab and went back to my room to call Maggie.
“I thought you’d fallen off the map,” she answered.
I brought her up to date, and she filled me in on Dub’s performances on the talk shows.
“He’s making your friend out to be another Bin Laden. He also had a few choice words for you and Micki, calling you as much a part of Doug’s criminal enterprise as street pushers.”
“Nice. I have a few choice words for him, too, but I’ll save them for the courtroom. What about the foundation—any backlash?” I knew that neither Maggie nor Walter would volunteer any rumors of discontent, but I was sensitive to the fact that I was the president of their foundation. Lawyers can usually get away with representing bad guys. It comes with the job description. But foundation presidents don’t have that luxury.
“None,” she answered. “You know Walter. He’d love nothing better than to have somebody try to tell him how to run the foundation. Don’t worry.”
“I do worry.”
“I know. But no one here gives a fig. We know you wouldn’t be in Little Rock if you didn’t have a good reason.”
“That’s the problem. I’m still not sure why I’m here. I haven’t had enough time with Doug to understand what it’s all about.”
We talked a little about having the plane available to go to Oklahoma City. I asked her to email me a few things I hoped I wouldn’t need and said I’d call her after the arraignment. I detected a little melancholy in her voice. Tomorrow would be the first time I’d been in court as a private attorney without Maggie.
I also called a number at the Justice Department and left word for an old friend. He returned my call immediately, even though it was Sunday. I told him what I needed, and he said he’d have it to me by the end of the day.
I cleaned up and sank into the sofa for a good while, just thinking. I wasn’t at all sure I should be part of Doug’s defense. Given Dub’s attitude, my presence might hurt rather than help. I didn’t sense any personal danger, but foresaw plenty of surprises. I mulled over what had transpired so far, but my mind kept wandering back to Angie and her plea to help Doug. What had she known over four years ago? What could have been so important? One thing was certain: I wouldn’t figure it out from this couch.
15
CLOVIS AND MICKI were sitting at a quiet, corner table in the bar, but neither had a drink, and Micki’s lips were set in a thin line. She gave me a look that would chill a polar bear.
I pulled out a chair and asked casually, “What’s up?”
“Ask him!” Micki said hotly. “I’m not speaking to either one of you!”
I looked at Clovis. “What happened?”
“She left her office to go to Eric’s after we left and spotted a dark sedan following her. She’s convinced Dub ordered the tail.”
“Well, I don’t see how that’s your fault, or mine either for that matter.”
“I told her she should have protection when she left the office, and . . .”
“Hello—I’m right here,” she interrupted, “and I’m not helpless. I don’t need a guard. And I might just go see Dub myself!” Her leg bounced angrily under the table.
Ah, jeez—why did everything have to be so hard? Clovis waited patiently for me to respond.
“Look, Maggie hired Clovis to protect me, but you’re the lead dog. The fact is we don’t have a clue what’s really going on here. We’ve got a client charged with God-knows-what, a vengeful U.S. attorney, some crazy Russian mob guy, and now you’ve got a tail. Be reasonable. I have no idea how to defend Doug without you, and we can’t stop Dub from tailing any of us. Let Clovis do his job. We can’t afford the luxury of your temper.”
I finally sat down, now in a bit of a huff myself. We all thought about it for a minute as I calmed down.
“Clovis, is this Dub’s doing?”
“Well, I guess it could be. But why? What would be the point? At any rate, I’ve asked Paul to be on stand-by.”
“Where’s Paul right now?” I asked.
“He’s waiting outside to stop Micki before she does anything to Dub she’ll regret.” Micki was having a hard time holding her frown.
“Okay, I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m through pouting. I guess we do need to talk about this. But first, I need to call Eric. I’ll be right back.”
I looked at Clovis. We raised our glasses in silent relief, the tension slowly dissipating.
“The wildcat sure has her claws out.” Clovis said, using his nickname for Micki. Needless to say, neither of us used it in front of her.
I said, “Don’t let that bravado fool you—she’s worried. Probably more about Debbie than about herself. She’s also worried how Eric’s going to react.”
Clovis asked, “You don’t seem too surprised. You thought this might happen, didn’t you? What tipped you off?”
“If this case is simply about Doug growing pot, why the hard line by the Feds? Why have they denied him access to his attorney, whisking him off to Oklahoma? Why is Dub involved at all? A simple drug case is a matter for a rookie U.S. attorney or the locals. What on earth is the terrorist charge about? Shoot, it looks like they want to lock Doug up and throw away the key. There’s got to be more to it than a backyard full of marijuana, and Micki is the one person who stands in their way. When you knock a team’s ace pitcher out of the game early, you clearly have a better chance of winning. Someone is trying to rattle her, throw her off her game. Maybe it’s not the Feds; maybe it’s someone else. Dub’s good for a lot of big talk, but why would he have
Micki followed? Even he’s not that dumb.”
“I don’t know—he hasn’t shown much between his ears so far.”
“Oh, I know he’s a weasel, but I have a hunch it’s not him. If Doug really is dealing, both the competition and his accomplices have good reason to make sure he doesn’t talk or that no one believes him if he does. Micki’s a damn good lawyer and the local traffickers know it.
“Then again, maybe whoever had her followed is completely off our radar. Maybe it’s that guy Novak. Micki’s clearly worried about him. Doug is probably safe with the Bureau of Prisons, but Micki’s another story. She’s got to be reasonable about needing protection.”
“Maybe Eric can make her see the light.” Clovis deadpanned.
Micki walked back into the bar with Liz at her side, and we quit laughing. Liz looked cool and collected, almost a different woman. She had pulled her hair back into a low ponytail and wore ink dark, straight-leg jeans, a linen jacket over a silk blouse, and sandals. Heads at the bar still turned, but this time to admire pure class.
We rose to greet them, and Liz kissed me lightly on the cheek, whispering, “I’m balanced.” I had no idea what her massage therapist had done, but I was ready to put him on the payroll.
“Where’s my bodyguard, Clovis? I hear the boys are all chicken. So where is she? I hope she likes dancing and staying out all hours of the night. I’m ready to party.” The vamp could return in a blink of an eye.
I guess we all looked worried. Liz punched Clovis on the bicep. “You need to lighten up, good looking. Seriously, where is she?”
“She’s outside with Paul.”
“Shit, Clovis,” Micki frowned. “It makes absolutely no sense to have them sit outside. What if some kind of a bad guy is camped out in here? Besides, we want to meet her. Please ask them to join us. Paul can drive me to Eric’s tonight, but that’s as far as it goes. I refuse to let Dub Blanchard intimidate me. Understood?” She looked directly at Clovis.
“Understood.” Clovis glanced at me. I shrugged.
