Sparring Partners(38)
“Whatever.”
“I want to keep in touch. Mr. Brigance has a secretary, Alicia.”
“I’ve met her.”
“Stop by the office and she’ll give you some envelopes addressed to me at a building in Panama. When I write to you, I’ll send the letters to Alicia. Call her at home if you need something, but do not use the office line.”
“Is this illegal or something?”
“No, I would never ask you to do something illegal. Please trust me.”
“I was just beginning to, and now you’re disappearing again.”
“I’m sorry, Margot, but I have no choice.”
“And what about the tuition thing?”
“I made you a promise and I intend to keep it. Found a school?”
“Yep. Rocky Mountain College of Art and Design, in Denver.”
“Sounds pretty exotic.”
“I plan to study fashion design. I’ve already talked to an admissions person.”
“Good for you. I can tell you’re excited.”
“I can’t wait, Mack. Just don’t screw up the tuition.”
“Got it covered. Can I come visit?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. Look, Margot, I’m determined to be a part of your life.”
“Are you sure that’s a good thing?”
“What a smart-ass.” Mack couldn’t help but chuckle. She smiled too and soon both were laughing.
They walked to her car without a word.
When it was time for the goodbyes, Mack said, “I gotta go. Please keep in touch.”
Her eyes were moist as she looked at him. “Be careful, Mack.”
“Always.” He took a step closer and said, “I’ll always be your father and I’ll always love you.”
She reached up for an embrace, and Mack finally got the hug.
She sniffled and said, “I love you, Dad.”
(39)
Mack drove an hour west on Interstate 20 to the river town of Vicksburg and took an exit. He entered the grounds of the national military park commemorating the crucial Battle of Vicksburg, another one lost by the South. He parked near the visitors center, walked through the cemetery, and followed a pathway to the top of a small hill where some picnic tables were arranged in an opening, with batteries of cannons nearby standing guard. In the distance, the Mississippi River curled for miles. The tables were empty but for one. A couple of Bubbas sat with a shoebox filled with roasted peanuts between them. Empty shells covered the ground. Harry Rex was drinking a beer from a tall can. Jake had a bottle of water. Both wore jeans, golf shirts, and caps.
It was six forty-five. Harry Rex looked at his watch and said, “You’re fifteen minutes late.”
“Good afternoon, fellas,” Mack said, as he scooped up a handful of peanuts.
“How was Millsaps?” Jake asked.
“Nice, but too close to home. She wants some distance.”
“Not a bad idea,” Harry Rex said, chomping.
“What do you know?” Mack asked.
“Indictments, Ford County grand jury. Don’t know how many counts, but one’s enough. I suspect the Feds are doing the same.”
“I’ll bet Herman’s behind this,” Mack said. “Someone’s pushing hard.”
“He’s the type,” Harry Rex said.
“Yes, he is. He’s wounded because his daughter is dead and now he has two teenagers to raise. I guess I underestimated the danger.”
Jake said, “All of us did.”
Mack asked, “What are the chances of cutting a deal?”
Harry Rex cracked another peanut, flung the shell on the ground, added to the pile, and looked at Jake. “You’re the criminal guy.”
Mack said, “What’s your opinion, Jake?”
“As a friend, and not as a lawyer, I’d say it’ll run its course. It’ll hit the newspapers and be the news for a month, and if you’re arrested—”
“There won’t be an arrest.”
“Okay, if they don’t find you, then pretty soon they’ll lose interest. Let a few months go by, maybe a year, then test the waters. See if they’ll take some fines and restitution and forget about it.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
Harry Rex said, “As your lawyer, I advise you to turn yourself in and face the music. I cannot advise you to flee the country.”
“Jake, as a friend?”
“Flee the country. Nothing good will happen if you stay here. Go back to Costa Rica and live the good life.”
Mack smiled and ate another peanut. He faced them both and said, “Thanks, guys, for everything. I’ll be in touch.” And with that, he abruptly turned and walked away and disappeared down the path.
He drove six hours and stopped at an interstate motel near Waco, where he slept late Sunday morning. He had biscuits and eggs at a truck stop, then drove seven hours to Laredo. He left the Volvo DL in the lot of a cheap motel, unlocked and with keys in the ignition, and caught a taxi. He carried a small backpack with some clothes, $40,000 in U.S. cash, and four passports.
At dusk, he walked across the bridge over the Rio Grande and left the country.