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- •I can almost hear the champagne corks popping below me. The tumor has been confirmed!
- •It'll never be seen by the vultures.
- •It was such a good idea that the other lawyers couldn't argue. They arrived, along with Flowe, Zadel, and Theishen, at Gettys' office after five. A court reporter and two video cameras were waiting.
- •In recent years the fighting had almost stopped. Neither could change, so they simply ignored each other. But when the tumor appeared, tj reached out again.
- •It seemed almost cruel to bother her.
- •It was obvious Josh had been thinking about Nate all along, and this slightly irritated Tip. “You kidding?” he said.
- •It would be a vicious, glorious, thoroughly unique moment in the history of American law, and Josh suddenly couldn't wait. “The twenty-seventh is fine with me,” he said.
- •It was made of brown leather, new but built to look well used, and large enough to hold a small legal library. Nate sat it on his knees and popped it open. “Toys,” he said.
- •It was the day before Christmas Eve. Not all memories were painful.
- •Valdir continued, “Even if you flew into the area, you would then have to use a boat to get to the Indians.”
- •Valdir rerolled the last map. “I can arrange an airplane and a pilot.”
- •Valdir had been informed by Air. Josh Stafford that money was no object during this mission. “He'll call me back in an hour,” he said.
- •It was a quick shower, a cool rain the children played in while the adults sat on the porch and watched them in silence.
- •Internal, Jevy said, glancing at Milton.
- •It was almost two when Welly heard them coming. Jevy parked on the bank, his huge truck scattering rocks and waking fishermen as it roared to a stop. There was no sign of the American.
- •If Josh was worried, his voice didn't convey it. The firm was still closed for Christmas, et cetera, but he was busy as hell. The usual.
- •In a corner of the cabin, not far from the four bunks, Nate ate alone at a table that was bolted to the floor.
- •It was overcast and threatening more rain. The sun finally broke through at about six. Nate knew because he'd rearmed himself with a watch.
- •If the fisherman was happy to see another human in the middle of nowhere, he certainly didn't show it. Where could the poor man live?
- •In return for his good work, the children and wives had called him a fag.
- •I will die here, Nate said to himself. I'll either drown, starve, or be eaten, but it is here, in this immense swamp, that I will breathe my last.
- •It was a slight affront to Jevy's pride, but under the circumstances he could not argue. “He may want a little money.”
- •If you only knew, thought Nate. “Thanks. You, uh, said something about seeing a patient.”
- •It had been three years since the Ipicas had seen a death by snakebite. And for the first time in two years, Rachel had no antivenin.
- •Very gently, she touched him. She patted him three times on his arm, and said, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that you are lonely. How would I know?”
- •In fact, Troy Junior had already threatened to fire them. They grew quiet and listened. Hark had the floor.
- •If dengue fever didn't get poor Nate, the irs was waiting.
- •In his sleep, Nate was refortified with drugs he didn't need.
- •Valdir took the phone and walked to a corner. He tried to describe Nate's condition.
- •In Valdir's office, alone, Nate dialed the number of the Stafford Law Firm, a number he had trouble remembering. They pulled Josh out of a meeting. “Talk to me, Nate,” he said. “How are you?”
- •Valdir's despachante in Corumba knew another one in Sao Paulo, a powerful one with high contacts, and for a fee of two thousand dollars a new passport would be delivered.
- •In the narrow dining room between the kitchen and the den, a table had been set for four. Nate was pleased that he had accepted their invitation, not that he'd had the chance to decline it.
- •It certainly wasn't okay with Snead, but he'd taken their money. He had to play along.
- •In St. Michaels, only the Rector and his wife knew who he was. Rumor had it that he was a wealthy lawyer from Baltimore writing a book.
- •In eleven years, Rachel had never received a personal letter, at least not through World Tribes.
- •It was difficult to believe that for most of his professional life he often worked until nine or ten at night, then had dinner in a bar and drinks until one. He grew weary just thinking about it.
- •It occurred to Nate that it was nine o'clock in Houston. She was calling from home, and this seemed more than odd. The voice was pleasant enough, but tentative.
- •If his client didn't want the money, why should he care who got it?
- •It was the only time during the two-day ordeal that Troy Junior fought to a draw. Nate knew to move on, then to come back later.
- •It would take a billion dollars in therapy to straighten out this poor kid, Nate thought. He finished with him in less than an hour.
- •It was a well-rehearsed little oration, and it convinced no one. Nate let it slide. It was five o'clock, Friday afternoon, and he was tired of fighting.
- •It was a game of high-stakes chicken, and Snead held firm. “Of course I'm sure,” he said with enough indignance to seem plausible.
- •It took about fifteen minutes to figure this out.
- •In the loneliness of the hotel room, in a city where he knew no one, it was easy to pity himself, to suffer once again through the mistakes of his past.
- •It was a risk, and they were still talking about it.
- •It was Josh. “It couldn't have gone better,” he announced. “I stopped at twenty million, they want fifty.”
- •If they only knew, he thought as he left the courthouse.
In return for his good work, the children and wives had called him a fag.
And in return for a career of faithful service, Mr. Phelan left him nothing. Not a cent. He'd been paid well over the years, and had some money in mutuals, but not enough to survive on. He had sacrificed everything for his job and his master. He'd been denied a normal life because Mr. Phelan expected him to be on duty every hour of the day. A family had been out of the question. He had no real friends to speak of.
Mr. Phelan had been his friend, his confidant, the only person Snead could trust.
Over the years, there had been many promises made by the old man about taking care of Snead. He knew for a fact that he'd been named in one will. He'd seen the document himself. He would inherit a million bucks upon Mr. Phelan's death. At the time, Troy had a net worth of three billion, and Snead remembered thinking how small a million seemed. As the old man got richer, Snead imagined his own bequest growing with each will.
He'd occasionally asked about the matter, subtle, gentle inquiries made at just the right moments, he thought. But Mr. Phelan had cursed him and threatened to cut him out completely. “You're as bad as my children,” he had said, crushing poor Snead.
Somehow he'd gone from a million to zero, and he was bitter about it. He would be forced to join the enemies simply because he had no choice.
He found the new office of Hark Gettys Associates near Dupont Circle. The receptionist explained that Mr. Gettys was very busy. “So am I,” Snead replied rudely. Because he'd been so close to Troy, he had spent most of his life around lawyers. They were always busy.
“Give him this,” he said, handing her an envelope. “It's quite urgent. I'll wait over there for ten minutes, then I'll walk down the street to the next law office.”
Snead took a seat and stared at the floor. Cheap new carpet. The receptionist hesitated for a moment, then disappeared through a door. The envelope held a small handwritten note that read: “I worked for Troy Phelan for thirty years. I know everything. Malcolm Snead.”
Hark appeared in a flash, holding the note, smiling goofily as if friendliness would impress Snead. They practically ran down the hall to a large office, the receptionist behind them. No, Snead did not want coffee, tea, water, or a cola. Hark slammed the door and locked it.
The office smelled of fresh paint. The desk and shelves were new and the woods didn't match. Boxes of files and junk were stacked along the walls. Snead took his time examining the details. “Just move in?” he said.
“Couple of weeks ago.”
Snead hated the place, and he wasn't sure about the lawyer either. He wore a cheap wool suit, much less expensive than the one Snead was wearing.
“Thirty years, huh?” Hark said, still holding the note.
“That's right.”
“Were you with him when he jumped?”
“No. He jumped alone.”
A fake laugh, then the smile returned. “I mean, were you in the room?”
“Yes. I almost caught him.”
“Must've been terrible.”
“It was. Still is.”
“Did you see him sign the will, the last one?”
“I did.”
“Did you see him write the damned thing?”
Snead was perfectly prepared to lie. The truth meant nothing because the old man had lied to him. What was there to lose?
“I saw a lot of things,” he said. “And I know a lot more. This visit is about nothing but money. Mr. Phelan promised that he would take care of me in his will. There were many promises, all broken.”
“So you're in the same boat as my client,” Hark said.
“I hope not. I despise your client and his miserable siblings. Let's get that straight on the front end.”
“I think it's straight.”
“No one was closer to Troy Phelan than I. I saw and heard things no one else can testify to.”
“So you wanna be a witness?”
“I am a witness, an expert. And I'm very expensive.”
Their eyes locked for a second. The message was delivered and received.
“The law says that laymen cannot render opinions as to the mental capacity of one executing a will, but you can certainly testify as to specific acts and deeds that prove an unsound mind.”
“I know all this,” Snead said rudely.
“Was he crazy?”
“He was or he wasn't. Doesn't matter to me. I can go either way.”
Hark had to stop and contemplate this. He scratched his face and studied the wall.
Snead decided to help him. “This is the way I see it. Your boy got screwed, along with his brother and sisters. They each got five million bucks when they turned twenty-one, and we know what they did with the money. Since they're all heavily in debt, they have no choice but to contest the will. No jury's gonna feel sorry for them, though. They're a bunch of greedy losers. It'll be a tough case to win. But you and the other legal eagles will attack the will, and you'll create this huge mess of a lawsuit that quickly gets in the tabloids because there's eleven billion at stake. Since you don't have much of a case, you hope for a settlement before you go to trial.”
“You catch on quick.”
“No. I watched Mr. Phelan for thirty years. Anyway, the size of your settlement depends on me. If my recall is clear and detailed, then perhaps my old boss lacked testamentary capacity when he wrote the will.”
“Then your memory comes and goes.”
“My memory is whatever I want it to be. There's no one to question it.”
“What do you want?”
“Money.”
“How much?”
“Five million.”
“That's a lot.”
“It's nothing. I'll take it from this side, or the other. It doesn't matter.”
“How am I supposed to get five million bucks to you?”
“Don't know. I'm not a lawyer. I figure you and your cronies can conjure up some dirty little plan.”
There was a long pause as Hark began the conjuring. He had a lot of questions, but suspected he wouldn't get a lot of answers. At least not now.
“Any more witnesses?” he asked.
“Only one. Her name is Nicolette. She was Mr. Phelan's last secretary.”
“How much does she know?”
“Depends. She can be bought.”
“You've already talked to her.”
“Every day. We're a package.”
“How much for her?”
“She'll be covered in the five million.”
“A real bargain. Anybody else?”
“No one of consequence.”
Hark closed his eyes and massaged both temples. “I don't object to your five million,” he said, pinching his nose. “I just don't know how we can funnel it to you.”
“I'm sure you'll think of something.”
“Give me some time, okay? I need to think about this.”
“I'm in no hurry. I'll give you a week. If you say no, then I'll go to the other side.”
“There is no other side.”
“Don't be so certain.”
“You know something about Rachel Lane?”
“I know everything,” Snead said, then left the office.
TWENTY-SIX.
I HE FIRST STREAKS of dawn brought no surprises. I They were tied to a tree at the edge of a small river that looked like all the others they'd seen. The clouds were heavy again; the light of day came slowly.
Breakfast was a small box of cookies, the last of the rations Welly had packed for them. Nate ate slowly, wondering with each bite when he might eat again.
The current was strong, so they drifted with it as the sun rose. The only sound was the rush of the water. They were conserving gas and delaying the moment when Jevy would be forced to try and start the motor.
They drifted into a flooded area where three streams met, and for a few moments sat in the stillness.
“I guess we're lost, aren't we?” Nate said.
“I know exactly where we are.”
“Where?”
“We're in the Pantanal. And all rivers run to the Paraguay.”
“Eventually.”
“Yes, eventually.” Jevy removed the top cover of the motor and wiped the moisture from the carburetor. He adjusted the throttle, checked the oil, then tried to start the motor. On the fifth pull, the motor caught and sputtered, then quit.