Sparring Partners(3)
Gene said, “When we got home we did some digging and found a couple of stories in the local newspapers, but it was pretty general stuff. His divorce, bankruptcy, and the fact that he was gone.”
Kathy asked, “Can we ask you, Mr. Brigance, did Mack do something wrong? Is he on the run?”
Jake wasn’t about to confide in these strangers, two nice people he would probably never see again. The truth was that Jake didn’t know for sure that Mack had committed a crime. He deflected the question with “I don’t think so. It’s no crime to divorce and leave town.”
The answer was completely unsatisfactory. It hung in the air for a few seconds, then Gene leaned in a bit closer and asked, “Did we do anything wrong by talking to him?”
“Of course not.”
“Aiding and abetting, something like that?”
“No way. Not a chance. Relax.”
They took a deep breath.
Jake said, “The bigger question is: Why are you here?”
They exchanged knowing little smiles and Kathy reached into her bag. She withdrew a plain, unmarked, unstamped manila envelope, five-by-eight, and handed it to Jake, who took it with suspicion. The flap had been sealed with glue, tape, and staples.
Gene said, “Mack asked us to stop by and say hello, and tell you that he sends his greetings. And he asked us to deliver this. We have no idea what it is.”
Kathy was nervous again and asked, “This is okay, right? We’re not involved in anything, are we?”
“Of course not. No one will ever know.”
“He said you could be trusted.”
“I can.” Jake wasn’t sure what he was being asked in trust, but he didn’t want to worry them.
Gene handed him a scrap of paper and said, “This is our phone number in Memphis. Mack wants you to call us in a few days and say, simply, yes or no. That’s all. Just yes or no.”
“Okay.” Jake took the scrap of paper and placed it next to the envelope and the pound of coffee. Kathy finally took a sip from her cup and remained expressionless.
They had completed their mission and were ready to go. Jake assured them that everything would be held in the strictest of confidence and that he would tell no one about their meeting. He walked them to the front door and outside onto the sidewalk, and he watched them get into a shiny BMW sedan and drive away.
Then he hustled back to the conference room, closed the door, and opened the envelope.
(5)
The letter was typed on one sheet of plain white paper, tri-folded, with a smaller envelope stuck in the fold.
It read:
Hello, Jake. By now, you’ve met my two newest best friends, Gene and Kathy Roupp, of Memphis. Fine folks. I’ll cut to the chase. I want to talk to you, down here in Costa Rica. I want to come home, Jake, but I’m not sure that’s possible. I need your help. I’m asking you and Carla to take a little vacation and come see me, next month during spring break. I assume Carla is still teaching and I assume the schools take their normal spring break the second week of March. I’ll arrange six nights at the Terra Lodge, a splendid eco-tourist resort in the mountains. You’ll love this place. Enclosed is $1800 in cash, more than enough for two round-trip tickets from Memphis to San Jose, Costa Rica. From there, I’ll have a car waiting to bring you here. It’s about three hours and the drive is beautiful. Rooms, meals, tours, everything is on me. The dream vacation of a lifetime. Once you get here, I’ll eventually find you and we’ll talk. Privacy is my specialty these days and I assure you no one will ever know about our meeting. The less said about the vacation the better. I know how people love to talk around that awful town.
Please do this, Jake. It will be well worth your time, if for nothing else than an unforgettable trip.
Lisa is not well. Okay to discuss this with Harry Rex, but please swear that loudmouth to secrecy.
I will not do anything to jeopardize your well-being.
Think it over. In a few days, call Gene and say either “Yes” or “No.”
I need you, pal.
Mack
The small envelope contained a slick brochure from the Terra Lodge.
(6)
The most dangerous place in downtown Clanton on a Monday was undoubtedly the law office of Harry Rex Vonner. With a well-earned reputation as the nastiest divorce lawyer in the county, he attracted clients with assets worth fighting over. Monday was volatile for various reasons: bad behavior on Saturday night, or too much time in the house arguing over this and that, or even another explosive Sunday lunch with the in-laws. There was no shortage of detonators, and the frazzled and warring spouses rushed to get legal counsel as soon as possible. By noon, the place was a tinderbox as the phones rang nonstop and litigants, both current and brand-new, dropped by with and without appointments. The harried secretaries tried to maintain order as Harry Rex either stomped around, growling at everyone, or hid in his bunker-like office out of the fray. It was not unusual for him, on a Monday, to storm out of his back room and order someone, client or otherwise, to get the hell out.
They always complied because he had a reputation for unpredictability. It, too, was well earned. A few years earlier, a secretary had rushed into his office and said she had just hung up on a husband who was headed into town, with a gun. Harry Rex went to his closet, and from his impressive arsenal chose his favorite, a Browning 12-gauge, pump-action shotgun. When the husband parked his truck near the courthouse and started for the office, Harry Rex emerged onto the sidewalk and fired two shots into the clouds. The husband retreated to his truck and left. The blasts boomed like howitzers over the square. Offices and stores emptied as folks scurried to see what was going on. Someone called the police. By the time Sheriff Ozzie Walls parked in front of the office, a crowd had gathered on the courthouse lawn, a safe distance away. Ozzie went inside and met with Harry Rex. Discharging a firearm in public was a crime all right, but in a culture where the Second Amendment was revered and every vehicle had at least two firearms, the statute was rarely enforced. Harry Rex claimed self-defense and vowed to aim lower next time.