Scott Turow - Personal injuries

FBI FOR SURE.

GET RID-NOW.

DON'T TELL ANYONE ANYTHING. EVEN MASON

On the replay, Rollo could be seen taking the most fleeting glance to be certain that Robbie had the message, then he crushed the napkin within his fist and slid it in his pocket.

"Whoa," Robbie said finally. He'd taken a tight grip on the bar. "Motherfuck. Are you sure?" Kosic looked up toward the piano. "Where the hell does this come from, Rollo? Why me? Does anybody know?"

Kosic took the bad nail and tapped it on his lips a little too precise to be random.

"Rollo, cut the crap. I'm trying not to have a bowel movement in my trousers here, Gimme some help. What's she there for? How do you know all of this? Listen, what I'm hearing is that they've been looking at accident swindlers, okay? Guys setting up phony accidents and suing. Fella I saw thinks that's what this is. Okay? Does that match?"

Kosic delivered his lethal glance, then scooped up the four cherries and popped them in his mouth all at once. He ate them after coming to his feet beside his stool. Bobbie grabbed Kosic's sleeve between two fingers to keep him from getting away.

"Listen, I'm the one hanging out there, Rollo. Way out there. That's okay, I'm a big boy. But I'll be fucked if I won't be treated with some respect. Anybody's got any more messages for me to take on faith, wanna hear them from the organ-grinder, not the monkey. You tell Brendan I said that, too."

Kosic finished chewing with his face lifted into the smoky air, then leaned Feaver's way before he departed. It looked as if he was going to whisper some final word, but instead he suddenly took hold of Robbie's necktie. Improbably, Feaver jerked back, virtually strangling himself, as he braced his arms on the smooth mahogany curve affixed the leading edge of the granite bar. At the time, it was unclear what was happening. But, looking at the tape later, you could see that as Robbie had first been elevated off the seat by Kosic's grip on his tie, Rollo had reached under the bar with the other hand and grabbed Feaver's genitals. As Robbie reported it, Kosic had one testicle and his penis inside his fist and he squeezed for quite some time, until he finally whispered in his high ladylike voice. What he said was too soft for the FoxBlte pick up in the clamor, but Robbie heard it and took note as well of the sick smile with which the message was delivered.

"I'm the only organ-grinder you know," Kosic had told him.

Evon did not see what was coming.

After they left Attitude, she sat in McManis's conference room while Jim went through the debriefings of Feaver and the surveillance agents. They replayed the tapes. On the audio, critical points in the conversations were frequently obscured by the piano and the raucous laughter; occasional odd remarks were sucked in by the directional mikes as unpredictably as coins rattling up in a vacuum. Someone complained bitterly about Clinton's proposed tax increase; another moment revealed the passing of insider information on an upcoming corporate spinoff. The listening took more than an hour and a half.

Including the surveillance agents, the core group was now up to fifteen, far more bodies than there were chairs. They passed around pop and chips, since no one had had dinner, and as ever tried to figure the next move. Sennett was still talking about another shot at Tuohey.

"As long as you can give me a transplant down there." Robbie answered. There was a lot of laughter. "Kosic'll pull it off, Stan, the next time I use Brendan's name."

Sennett looked toward McManis for his evaluation. Jim thought there was no chance of getting to Tuohey.

"They're writing notes, for fear of speaking."

"But Robbie passed the frisk. They have to trust him more now."

"Only so much. Stan, these fellows know better than to trust anyone. They told Robbie about Evon because they don't want him to get himself in any deeper. But they know he's radioactive-he's about to get it from the feds and all bets are off then. You can run all the scenarios you want with Tuohey. We'll just stack up the tapes he can play during his defense case. He's never going to step in quicksand with Robbie."

"They all do," Sennett shot back. "If you find the right thing, they all do." His eyes flashed over to me. This was a bit of prosecutorial parlor talk probably best not shared in front of a defense lawyer.

Jim's advice was to abandon the frontal assault. The best approach to Brendan was from the flanks. They had to hope that someone turned on him. Someone like Kosic-or Milacki-might be able to catch Tuohey unawares. If they kept pushing with Robbie, they could blow that chance.

The eminent good sense of what Jim was saying seemed to win over everyone else. But Stan was unwilling to say quit. His great scheming intelligence worked in service of the gratification he got from winning in the direct showdown. The triumph he craved was to outduel Brendan, one-on-one.

Near the end of their argument, the two stepped outside. When they returned, McManis waved Evon into his office. She still didn't realize what he was going to say. "We're pulling you in," he said. "It's over."

She felt like one of those eggs from which, as kids, they'd blown out the yolk and the white to make Easter decorations. That frail. That hollow.

"Because you're worried about what Kosic meant about getting rid of me?"

"We're not going to wait to find out. But that's not the problem. You're burned and Robbie's supposed to know that. He has to get you out of the office on Monday. There's nothing left for UCA Evon Miller to do."

"What does Sennett think?"

"This isn't Sennett's call. And he recognizes the logic." "Maybe I can stay in town, though? Maybe they'll make a move. "

"No," he said. "I'm done saying I dare you. There's no operational need. After Monday, it's adios."

She felt absolutely desperate. She couldn't go back.

"Go home," he said. "See your family. You've got accumulated leave for months. We'll probably pull you back when we start the flips. You won't miss the grand finale. But for now I want you out of harm's way. Orders," he said. He watched her absorb it, seeing how little good he was doing. "I told you," he said, "this isn't easy. The whole journey. Start to finish. It's rugged."

When Jim opened the door, Sennett was waiting. She hoped he was there to argue with McManis, but instead, he took her hand. He said all the right words. And meant them as near as she could tell. Extraordinary, she heard him say. He said Courage, more than once. He said Patriot.

"The people of this district will never know how much they owe you, DeDe. You're a tremendous pro. Everyone in the Bureau is proud of you. And I'm so honored to have worked with you."

They said that about Stan, that he could scrape bottom and then reach the stars. Whatever bitterness he felt over McManis's decision, he allowed it to have no impact on the way he spoke to her. His dark eyes glistened. At the oddest moments with this guy, you saw what was really important to him. She felt as if she were getting another Olympic medal.

Then the three of them went back to the conference room and announced that Evon was coming in. The fifteen or so people assembled stood and applauded. Klecker popped an empty chip bag and every person in the room hugged her or jostled her shoulders.

It was happening, she realized. Really happening.

She was done. FOR SEVERAL WEEKS NOW, a large garbage truck, painted in the red and blue colors of County Sanitation, had been periodically touring the alley behind Brendan Tuohey's home, picking up the trash from every house on the block. The truck, with its two-story walrus back and predatory iron maw on the rear, was the property of the DEA, but it was lent freely to the other federal agencies and even had a predetermined route each day, albeit one that frequently covered an area one hundred miles wide. Because no warrant is required to seize property the law views as abandoned, the confiscation of trash has become a standard armament in the war on crime. Tuohey's neighbors' trash was discarded, while the dark green bags from Brendan's cans were delivered to Joe Amari so that he and his crew could go through them with rubber gloves. Interesting tidbits had turned up. Brendan, improbably, had a deep interest in the lives of the saints, and there were several receipts each day for money orders, which the IRS bloodhounds would trace when the investigation surfaced.