Sparring Partners(34)

But that afternoon they met at Lucien’s and couldn’t agree on what to do. They assumed that Harry Rex’s phones were tapped too, and he was ready for war. The surveillance was illegal, in his opinion, and he wanted to sue the government. Lucien kept things calm and thought they could use the knowledge to their advantage, or at least have some fun with it.





(33)


Monday morning, Jake’s first phone call, and the first with a potential audience, was to the circuit clerk’s office across the street, routine business. He made three more and tried to grow accustomed to the possibility that someone else was listening. He was careful with his language and tried to sound natural. It was still difficult to believe. He went downstairs to the kitchen, poured some more coffee, walked to the closet, stared at the phone lines and wires running everywhere, and kicked himself because he didn’t know beans about his own systems. Somewhere hidden in one of those boxes was a wiretap. Touching nothing, he retreated and returned to his office. At precisely 11:00 a.m., as rehearsed, he called Harry Rex and they discussed a zoning dispute they had been arguing about for three months. As usual, Harry Rex showed no signs of controlling his tongue, regardless of who might be listening.

Then Jake said, “Look, something’s come up. You’re alone, right?”

“Of course I’m alone. I’m locked in my office. It’s Monday morning and half of my idiot clients out there have either guns or knives. What do you want?”

“I heard from Mack.”

A long pause, in which both Jake and Harry Rex smiled at the visual of some half-asleep FBI flunky with a headset getting jolted in the ass with the reference to Mack.

Quietly, suspiciously, Harry Rex asked, “Where is he?”

“Says he’s living in a cheap apartment on the south end of Tupelo. Wants us to drive over this afternoon for a drink.”

“Where’s he been all this time?”

“He’s not too generous with the facts, but he did mention a trip to Florida. Now he’s back and says he’s found a job.”

“A job? What’s he want with a job? I thought he stole enough.”

Harry Rex thought this was clever, sort of a left-handed admission that his client had indeed stolen something. Jake smiled too. Both were almost snickering at the fun and games.

“We didn’t talk about that, but he said he’s bored and needs to get busy. Said he’s going to work as a paralegal in Jimmy Fuller’s law office.”

“Fuller? Why’s he working for a crook like that?”

“I like Jimmy. Anyway, he wants to meet us at the Merigold at six.”

“I got four piles of shit on my desk and a nasty divorce trial first thing in the morning.”

“Since when do you prepare for trial?”

“And I got a room full of blubbering women out there all wanting me to hold their hands.”

“What else is new? We really can’t say no. I’ll be there at four thirty.”

“All right, all right.”

With his ever-expanding girth and natural lack of coordination, Harry Rex did not enter the passenger side as much as he crashed onto the seat and rocked the car from side to side. As soon as he slammed the door he asked, “You think your car is bugged too?”

“I doubt it,” Jake said.

“Kinda weird talkin’ on the phone with the FBI in the background.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I need a beer.”

“It’s four thirty.”

“You sound like my wife.”

“Which one?”

“You gonna chirp all the way to Tupelo?”

“Probably. Any thoughts about the penalties for impeding a federal investigation?”

“Sure. You?”

“Yep. I did some research this afternoon and I think we’re okay. We’re not touching the investigation, if in fact there is one. We’re just playing cat-and-mouse with the FBI.”

“Sounds harmless to me, unless of course we get caught.”

“We’re driving to Tupelo to have a drink with Mack, who, as far as we know, is not under investigation. We have not met with the FBI and do not know what they’re up to. So, we’re fine. So far.”

“Okay, so why are we doing this?” Harry Rex pointed to a gas station. “Pull in there. You want a beer?”

“No. I’m driving.”

“So. Can’t drive with a beer in one hand?”

“I prefer not to. We’re doing this to see if the FBI shows up at the bar so we can confirm it’s the FBI.”

“Brilliant. And how are you supposed to know if and when the FBI shows up in the bar? Ask them to whip out their badges?”

“Haven’t got that far yet. I’ll take a Diet Coke.”

Harry Rex rolled himself out of the car and went inside.





(34)


The Merigold Lounge was one of three well-known bars on the west side of Tupelo, in Lee County, which happened to be wet. For fifty miles in all directions the counties were dry as a bone. The drinkers who lived in those small towns and rural places had little choice but to drive to the big city for refreshments. Back home, most of them continued to support bans on the sale of all alcoholic beverages.