Mark Gimenez - The Common Lawyer

"Because I asked the wrong question."

"Which was?"

He glanced from Andy to Frankie and back.

"It's okay."

Tres gestured at Frankie. "This is her? Patient X?"

"No." Andy nodded at Jessie. "That's her."

"Thought Patient X was a woman?"

Andy shook his head. "A girl. Baby X."

"Well, you were right, the Feds know all about her."

"You found something?"

He nodded. " 'Patient X: A Cost-Benefit Analysis.' "

"They studied her?"

"They studied the idea of her. No one knew if Patient X was real or some kind of medical hoax, but they run analyses on all kinds of hypothetical scenarios. You know, what-ifs. Like war games. Would she be good or bad for the economy? They discovered Patient X could bankrupt the government, put the country into another Great Depression. At least that's the conclusion after they ran the numbers."

"What numbers?"

"The decreased cost of Medicare and Medicaid if Patient X could cure even a few diseases-the numbers are staggering."

"So that's good."

"Yeah, but those numbers are nothing compared to the increased costs of social security. Right now, life expectancy is seventy-four. What if it were a hundred? People start living that long, it would bankrupt social security. They'd have to raise the tax to fifty, sixty percent on top of the income tax. People would be paying ninety percent of what they make to the federal government. Society would collapse, there'd be social chaos. Our social programs are predicated on people dying on time."

"But I pay fifteen-point-nine percent of my income into the social security trust fund. The government's investing all that money to pay me when I retire."

Tres laughed. "Andy, there's no trust fund. Your taxes aren't invested. Social security is a Ponzi scheme: the money you pay in today is paid out to old folks tomorrow. Any money left over is spent just like regular tax money. Last year there was a $175 billion social security surplus. But it wasn't invested in the trust fund. It was spent for farm programs and the Iraq war and pet projects for members of Congress. The so-called 'trust fund' is nothing more than a stack of IOUs from the government to the Social Security Administration. They're literally sitting in a file cabinet in D.C. The trust fund is just a huge hoax on the American people."

"So the government won't help her?"

Tres shrugged. "I called a buddy over at the FBI. He said they'll take her into the witness protection program, give her a new identity, move her to a new place."

"We don't need the FBI for that," Frankie said. "And if she goes into protective custody, she'll be a freak again." She shook her head. "We're on our own."

"No, Frankie, you're not on your own. I'm here."

"Mom, what are we gonna do?"

"What we've always done, honey. Run."

Jessie started crying. "Mom, I'm tired of running. I want to live with Jean and Paul and Max and the birds. I want to fish and learn to ride a horse. And Paul's teaching me the guitar."

Andy pulled Frankie aside and said, "You can't run forever."

"What choice do we have, Andy? They'll never stop coming for her, as long as she's alive."

Andy looked over at Jessie sitting on the rock and crying with her face in her hands. He turned back to Frankie.

"Then we'll have to kill her."

Three miles away, Cecil said, "What do you want?"

Harmon put his hand over the phone. "Caramel macchiato and a sugar-free brownie."

Cecil got out of the car and went inside the Starbucks. Harmon said into the phone, "Where the hell are they?"

"We don't know."

The boss.

"Why don't you know?"

"We can't ping Prescott's phone."

"Why not?"

"He either figured out we're tracking him with his cell phone and turned it off, or he's in a dead zone. When he comes out or turns it on, we'll have his location in minutes."

Harmon hung up.

When Cecil returned, he said, "Well?"

"We wait."

Andy drove them to Dave's listing. He opened the lockbox, removed the front door key, and unlocked the door. They stepped inside and Jessie said, "Wow."

It was in fact a mansion.

"You guys check the place out, I'm going to run over to SoCo and pick up a few things. What kind of pizza do you like, Jessie?"

"Pepperoni and Italian sausage."

"Frankie?"

"Same."

"I'll be back in a few hours."

By eleven that night, they had eaten pizza, drunk a few beers, and prepared everything for the next morning. Jessie had fallen asleep in a recliner. Frankie and Andy were on the couch, watching a movie on the TV: The Way We Were with Robert Redford. He was handsome. Frankie had rested her head against Andy's chest. He had his arm around her.

"Andy, what if we killed them instead?"

"I don't think we could. They're professionals. But even if we could, they'll just send someone else. You're right-they'll never stop coming for her. It's the only way."

Andy turned his cell phone on.

"Are you sure about this?" Frankie said.

"No. But we've got no choice."

It was eight the next morning. They were in the vacant parking lot of the Barton Creek Square Mall on the Capital of Texas Highway, also known as Loop 360, on the southwest side of Austin. The greenbelt was just across the highway. But that Sunday morning Andy Prescott wasn't bombing the Hill of Life on a mountain bike. He had a different kind of adrenaline rush in mind that day.

"Go."

Frankie flicked her cigarette to the ground and hugged Jessie then jumped into the passenger's seat of Tres' Beemer.

"Good luck, Andy," Tres said.

They drove off. Andy watched as they veered onto Loop 360 heading north, then he popped the top on a can of Red Bull.

"What's that?" Jessie asked.

"Rocket fuel."

"Doesn't that have lots of caffeine?"

"It'd better."

"That's bad for your health."

"Two guys shooting at me is bad for my health."

He downed the Red Bull then faced Jessie.

"You ready?"

"I'm scared, Andy."

"Me, too."

He gave her shoulder a little squeeze.

"Undo your hair."

She removed the clip in the back and shook her hair loose. It hung to her shoulders and lay on the black jacket he had bought for her the day before.

"I wish my hair were still that long," Andy said.

"Why?"

"The Samson theory."

The black sedan entered the far end of the parking lot.

Harmon was riding shotgun. He spotted the big black motorcycle across the vacant parking lot. Prescott was kneeling beside it; the girl was standing next to the bike. He had engine problems. Harmon said into the cell phone, "We got him, boss. I'll call you when it's done."

He ended the call and released the safety on the Glock.

"Pull up next to them, Cecil. I'll pop her and we can be back on the highway before she hits the ground."

Cecil accelerated the Crown Vic across the black asphalt. Harmon lowered his window, but Prescott spotted them and jumped up. He straddled the motorcycle; the girl jumped on behind him. They sped off.

"Damn, he got it going. Don't lose them, Cecil."

The motorcycle exited the parking lot and accelerated onto Loop 360 heading north. The girl's red hair stood straight out behind her as they flew across Scottish Woods Drive. Cecil pointed to an undeveloped treed area on his left.

"That's the Barton Creek Greenbelt. Must've named it after the mall. Eight hundred acres. Got a creek with trails and waterfalls. It's supposed to be really neat."

"Maybe you should bring Harriet here for a vacation."

"But then I couldn't get a hooker."

"Life is full of dilemmas, Cecil."

They were only a few car lengths back of the motorcycle, but Harmon had no chance of hitting the girl at that speed. Fortunately, traffic was light that early on a Sunday morning; there were more cyclists in the bike lane than cars on the highway. They crossed Lost Creek Boulevard; the valley to the east offered a big view of downtown Austin in the distance.