The Hunted

They left and found seats in the small, cramped lobby. MP worked the phone for almost twenty minutes. It was Saturday, late afternoon. He was calling home numbers and getting the expected responses. The lawyers of INS were either out watching their spouses shop, clubbing divots into the back nine, or observing their kiddies tumble around soccer fields. He finally caught Tommy Kravitz, on a cell phone, apparently.

Kravitz was a lifer who did as little work as possible, an inveterate busybody who amused himself by knowing everybody else's business. The roar of a baseball game, live, loud, and raucous, made it difficult to hear.

"Who's winning?" MP yelled.

"Not the Orioles, damn it. Why do I root for these guys? I'm an idiot."

"You are an idiot, Tommy. Nineteen years in the INS trenches. You should've left ten years ago, gotten a life."

"Yeah? Hey, seriously, how's the money out there? Great, right?"

"Just okay. The kids love their new private schools, Terry considers our mansion in Great Falls to be too ostentatious, and I'm looking around to replace my six-month-old Jag with a Mercedes. The Jag picked up a small scratch on the bumper and it's just too embarrassing to be seen in. What do you think? Mercedes 500, or splurge and go all out for a 600? It gets better mileage, that's what I hear."

Tommy laughed. "You're a lousy liar. Still got that same tiny shoebox in Arlington?"

"Yeah. The air-conditioning compressor went on the fritz last year, but we Joneses are tough. We'll sweat it out until Terry wins the lottery."

"Don't depend on her luck, pal. She got herself knocked up on your fourth date."

"Thanks for pointing that out."

"And that dented-up Chrysler minivan? That clunker still getting by the inspectors?"

"What do they know? We're driving it, anyway. Hey, you ever hear of a guy named Konevitch? Alex Konevitch."

A long moment of silence. Amid a loud roar, Tommy finally answered in a low whisper, "He your client?"

"Who scored?"

"Damn-that was a Yankee bat boy. The Orioles, remember? He your client or not, MP? Curious minds demand to know."

"Yeah, he is."

"Drop him. Just drop him, and run far, buddy."

"What's going on, Tommy? Tell me."

"I don't care if you were my brother. It's hush-hush, times ten. No can do. Mucho trouble's about to land on his head. Your guy's got problems he can't begin to imagine."

"Like that, huh?"

"Insist on cash, and make him pay you up front, MP. He has the dough, believe me. And count it real close-he's a rotten thief."

"Who's handling him?"

"Kim Parrish. That's not good news for you, either, pal."

The name was familiar: a vague memory, though. She had come aboard during his final year, when MP was more concerned with putting the INS in the rearview mirror than acquainting himself with the new associates he intended to leave in the dust. Like all new attorneys, she started out with the soft cases where she wouldn't embarrass the service-immigrants who snuck over a border or allowed their green cards to expire or committed some petty offense. Inside six months-record time-she was bumped up to the big leagues, the narcotraffickers, the big-time tax cheats, high-profile cases reserved for the best and brightest. She was old for a starting attorney, forty-five, maybe fifty. She was also smart and good, very good. Single, no children, intense, and very married to the law.

In a knowing tone, MP asked, "Who's pushing the case?"

"Are you deaf? I can't tell, MP. I swear I can't."

"Tommy, Tommy. That Gonzalez case, remember it? The one where you let the ball drop and the director wanted your-"

"Damn it, MP, I know I owe you. I'm not gonna say. Can't, just can't."

"I understand. I really do."

"Good. Believe me, if there was any way, I'd tell you everything."

After a brief pause. "So what aren't you gonna say?"

"You're a dogged bastard, you know that?"

"I can barely stand to eat with myself. Spill it, Tommy."

"All right, all right. For starters, I'm not gonna say the director was dragged over to Justice last week. I'm not gonna say the attorney general and FBI director reamed him purple 'cause he let this slimeball lie and cheat his way into asylum. I'm definitely not gonna say that this guy has the entire machinery of the Justice Department after his ass. I hope you're listening, MP. He's toast."

"Thanks for everything you didn't say, Tommy. I'll sleep better tonight knowing it's such an easy case."

"He's going home."

"He's got me as a lawyer."

"I'm telling ya, he's going home. Nothing you do will stop it."

"Watch me."

"You'll hurt yourself, pal. You're jumping in front of a steam-roller. The heat on this guy's nuclear. Take the cash up front, then take a fast dive. Don't still be standing for the second round."

Tommy punched off, but MP still felt compelled to say, "I owe you one."

He called Alex and Elena and they filed back into his office. MP paced behind his desk, trying not to look overly concerned. The wrinkles on his forehead told a different story. They held hands as they fell back into their chairs.