The Brethren

Trevor managed to control himself. He stopped chuckling but couldn't wipe off the smile. A million bucks. Cash. Tax-free. Hidden offshore, in another bank, of course, away from the clutches of the IRS and every other branch of the government.

Then he managed to arrange a lawyerly frown, a little embarrassed that he'd reacted so unprofessionally He was about to say something important when three sharp raps on glass came from the front. "Oh yes," he said. "That would be the coffee."

"She's gotta go," Chap said.

"I'll send her home." Trevor said, standing for the first time, a little light-headed.

"No. Permanently. Get her out of the office."

"How much does she know?" Wes asked.

"She's dumb as a rock," Trevor said happily.

"It's part of the deal." Chap said. "She goes, and now. We have a lot to discuss, and we don't want her around."

The knocking grew louder. Jan had unlocked the door but was caught by the security chain. "Trevor! It's me!" she shouted through the two-inch crack.

Trevor walked slowly down the hall, scratching his head, searching for words. He came face to face with her through the window of the front door, and he looked very confused.

"Open up." she growled. "This coffee is hot."

"I want you to go home," he said.

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because, well, uh-" Words failed him for a second, then he thought of the money. Her exit was part of the deal. "Because you're fired." he said.

"What?"

"I said you're fired!" he yelled, loud enough for his new pals in the back to hear.

"You can't fire me! You owe me too much money."

"I don't owe you a damned thing!"

"How about a thousand bucks in back salary !"

The windows of the rental were crowded with faces hidden by one-way shading. The voices echoed down the quiet street.

"You're crazy!" Trevor screamed. "I don't owe you a dime!"

"One thousand forty bucks, to be exact!"

"You're nuts."

"You sonofabitch! I stick with you for eight years, making minimum wage, then you fmally get the big case, and you fire me. Is that what you're doing, Trevor!?"

"Something like that! Now leave!"

"Open the door, you little coward!"

"Leave, Jan!"

"Not until I get my things!"

"Come back tomorrow. I'm meeting with Mr. Newman." With that, Trevor took a step back. When she saw he wasn't opening the door, she lost it. "You sonofabitch!" she screamed even louder, then hurled the tall latte at the door. The thin, rickety window shook but didn't break, and was instantly covered with creamy brown liquid.

Trevor, safe on the inside, flinched anyway and watched in horror as this woman he knew so well lost her mind She stormed away, red-faced and cursing, and took a few steps until a rock caught her attention. It was a remnant of along-forgotten, low-budget landscaping project he'd once okayed at her insistence. She grabbed it, gritted her teeth, cursed some more, then launched it toward the door.

Wes and Chap had done a masterful job of playing it straight, but when the rock crashed through the door window, they couldn't help but laugh. Trevor yelled, "You crazy bitch!" They laughed again and looked away from each other, trying gamely to tighten up.

Silence followed. Peace had broken out in and around the reception area.

Trevor appeared in the doorway of his office, unscathed, no visible injuries. "Sorry about that." he said softly, and went to his chair.

"You okay?" Chap asked.

"Sure. No problem. How about plain coffee?" he asked Wes.

"Forget about it"

The details were hammered out during lunch, which Trevor insisted they enjoy at Pete's. They found a table in the back, near the pinball machines. Wes and Chap were concerned with privacy, but they soon realized that nobody listened because nobody conducted business at Pete's.

Trevor knocked down three longnecks with his french fries. They had soft drinks and burgers.

Trevor wanted all the money in hand before he betrayed his client. They agreed to deliver a hundred thousand cash that afternoon, and immediately start a wire transfer for the balance. Trevor demanded a different bank, but they insisted on keeping Geneva Trust in Nassau. They assured him their access was limited only to observing the account; they could not tamper with the funds. Besides, the money would arrive there by late afternoon. If they changed banks, then it might take a day or two. Both sides were anxious to complete the deal. Wes and Chap wanted full, immediate protection for their client. Trevor wanted his fortune. After three beers he was already spending it.

Chap left early to fetch the money.Trevor ordered a longneck to go, and they got into Wes' car for a ride around town.The plan was to meet Chap at some spot and take possession of the cash. As they rode south on Highway AlA, along the beach, Trevor began talking.

"Isn't it amazing," he said, his eyes hidden behind cheap sunglasses, his head back on the headrest.

"What's amazing?"

"The risks people are willing to take. Your client, for example. A rich man. He could hire all the young boys he wanted, yet he answers an ad in a gay magazine and starts writing letters to a complete stranger."

"I don't understand it," Wes said, and the two straight boys bonded for a second. "It's not my job to ask questions."

"I suppose the thrill is in the unknown," Trevor said and took a small sip.

"Yeah, probably so. Who's Ricky?"

"I'll tell you when I get the money. Which one's your client?"

"Which one? How many victims are you working on right now?"

"Ricky's been busy lately. Probably twenty or so in the works."

"How many have you extorted?"

"Two or three. It's a nasty business."

"How'd you get involved?"

"I'm Ricky's lawyer. He's very bright, very bored, somehow he cooked up this scheme to put the squeeze on gays still in the closet. Against my better judgment, I signed on."

"Is he gay?" Wes asked. Wes knew the names of Beech's grandchildren. He knew Yarber's blood type.

He knew who Spicer's wife was dating back in Mississippi.

"No." said Trevor.

"He's a sicko then."

"No, he's a nice guy. So who's your client?"

"Al Konyers."

Trevor nodded and tried to remember how many letters he'd handled between Ricky and Al. "What a coincidence. I was making plans to go to Washington to-do some background work on Mr. Konyers. Not his real name, of course."

"Of course not."

"Do you know his real name?"

"No. We were hired by some of his people."

"How interesting. So none of us knows the real Al Konyers?"

"That's correct. And I'm sure it'll stay that way"

Trevor pointed to a convenience store and said, "Pull in there. I need a beer."

Wes waited near the gas pumps. It had been determined that they would not say anything about his drinking until the money changed hands and he'd told them everything. They would build some trust, then gently try to nudge him closer to sobriety. The last thing they needed was Trevor at Pete's every night, drinking and talking too much.

Chap was waiting in a matching rental car, in front of a Laundromat five miles south of Ponte Vedra Beach. He handed Trevor a thin, cheap briefcase and said, "It's all there. A hundred thousand. I'll meet you guys back at the office."

Trevor didn't hear him. He opened the briefcase and began counting the money. Wes turned around and headed north. Ten stacks of $10,000, all in $100 bills.

Trevor closed it, and crossed over to the other side.