The Traveler

“I hope you’re not here to offer me a motorcycle ride. It’s cold and dark and I’m tired. I’ve got to read three more depositions.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“What happened? Are you in trouble?”

Gabriel nodded.

Maggie stepped away from the doorway. “Then come on in. Virtue is admirable, but boring. I guess that’s why I practice criminal law.”

Although Maggie hated to cook, she had told her architect to design an extra-large kitchen. Copper pots hung from ceiling hooks. Crystal wineglasses were in a wood rack on the shelf. There was a huge stainless-steel refrigerator that held four bottles of champagne and a takeout carton of Chinese food. While Maggie brewed some tea, Gabriel sat at the kitchen counter. Just his being here might be dangerous for her, but he desperately needed to tell someone what had happened. Now that everything was so volatile, memories from his childhood began to force their way into his thoughts.

Maggie poured him a cup of tea, then sat on the opposite side of the counter and lit a cigarette. “All right. At this moment, I’m your lawyer. That means that everything you say to me is confidential unless you’re contemplating a future crime.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

She waved her hand and a line of cigarette smoke drifted through the air. “Of course you have, Gabriel. We’ve all committed crimes. The first question is: Are the police looking for you?”

Gabriel gave her a brief description of his mother’s death, and then described the men who had attacked Michael on the freeway, the meeting with Mr. Bubble, and the incident at the clothing factory. For the most part, Maggie just let him talk, but occasionally she asked how he knew a certain fact.

“I thought Michael might get you into trouble,” she said. “People who hide their money from the government are usually involved in other kinds of criminal activity. If Michael stopped paying them rent on his office building, they wouldn’t contact the police. They’d hire some muscle to track him down.”

“It might be something else,” Gabriel said. “When we were growing up in South Dakota, men came looking for my father. They burned down our house and my father disappeared, but we never learned why it happened. My mother told us this wild story before she died.”

Gabriel had avoided telling anyone about his family, but now he couldn’t stop talking. He gave a few details about their life in South Dakota and described what his mother had said on her deathbed. Maggie had spent most of her life listening to her clients explain their crimes. She had trained herself not to reveal any skepticism until the story was finished.

“Is that all, Gabriel? Any other details?”

“That’s all I can remember.”

“You want some cognac?”

“Not right now.”

Maggie took out a bottle of French cognac and poured herself a drink. “I’m not going to discount what your mother told you, but it doesn’t relate to what I know. People usually get into trouble because of sex, pride, or money. Sometimes it’s all three things at the same time. This gangster Michael told you about-Vincent Torrelli-was killed in Atlantic City. From what you’ve told me about Michael, I think he might be tempted to accept some illegal financing and then figure out a way not to pay it back.”

“Do you think Michael’s all right?”

“Probably. They need to keep him alive if they want to protect their investment.”

“What can I do to help him?”

“You can’t do much of anything,” Maggie said. “So the question is-am I going to get involved in this? I don’t suppose you have any money?”

Gabriel shook his head.

“I do like you, Gabriel. You’ve never lied to me and that’s been a pleasure. I spend most of my time dealing with professional liars. It gets tiring after a while.”

“I just wanted some advice, Maggie. I’m not asking you to get involved with something that could be dangerous.”

“Life is dangerous. That’s what makes it interesting.” She finished her brandy and made a decision. “All right. I’ll help you. It’s a mitzvah, and I can display my unused maternal instincts.” Maggie opened a kitchen cabinet and took out a pill container. “Now humor me and take some vitamins.”

22

When Victory From Sin Fraser was eight years old, a cousin visiting Los Angeles told her about the brave Harlequin who had sacrificed himself for the Prophet. The story was so dramatic that she felt an immediate connection to this mysterious group of defenders. As Vicki grew older, her mother, Josetta, and her pastor, Reverend J. T. Morganfield, had tried to guide her away from an allegiance to Debt Not Paid. Vicki Fraser was usually an obedient servant of the church, but she refused to change her views on this one issue. Debt Not Paid became her substitute for drinking alcohol and sneaking out at night; it was her only real act of rebellion.

Josetta was furious when her daughter confessed that she had met a Harlequin at the airport. “You should be ashamed,” she said. “The Prophet said that it’s a sin to disobey your parents.”