Дэвид Балдаччи - Absolute Power

“Well, no one told me we were having one.”

“A memo was sent around, but then your office hours have been somewhat erratic of late.” He looked disapprovingly at the shambles of Jack’s desk. His own was unfailingly in pristine condition; more a testament to how little actual legal work he did than anything else.

“I’m here now.”

“I understand you and Sandy met at his house.”

Jack eyed him keenly. “I guess nothing’s private anymore.”

Kirksen flushed angrily. “Partnership matters should be discussed by the full partnership. What we don’t need are factions developing that will decimate this firm any more than it already has been.”

Jack almost laughed out loud. Dan Kirksen, the undisputed king of the faction-builders.

“I think we’ve seen the worst.”

“Do you, Jack? Do you really?” Kirksen sneered. “I didn’t know you had so much experience with this sort of thing.”

“Well, if it bothers you so much, Dan, why don’t you leave?”

The sneer quickly evaporated from the little man’s face. “I’ve been with this firm for almost twenty years.”

“Sounds like it’s about time for a change then. Might do you good.”

Kirksen sat down, removed a smudge from his glasses. “Piece of friendly advice, Jack. Don’t throw your lot in with Sandy. If you do that, you’ll be making a big mistake. He’s through.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

“I’m serious, Jack, don’t endanger your own position in some futile, however well-intentioned attempt to salvage him.”

“Endanger my position? You mean the Baldwins’ position, don’t you?”

“They’re your client... for now.”

“Are you contemplating a change at the helm? If you are, good luck. You’d last about a minute.”

Kirksen stood up. “Nothing is forever, Jack. Sandy Lord can tell you that as well as anybody. What goes around comes around. You can burn bridges in this town, you just have to make sure there’s no one left alive on those bridges.”

Jack came around the desk, towering over Kirksen. “Were you like this as a little boy, Dan, or did you just turn into a fungus during your adulthood?”

Kirksen smiled and started to leave. “Like I said, you never know, Jack. Client relationships are always so tenuous. Take yours, for example. It’s primarily based on your future nuptials with Jennifer Ryce Baldwin. Now, if Ms. Baldwin happened to find out, for instance, that you had not been going home at night, but, instead, had been sharing quarters with a certain young woman, she might be less inclined to refer legal business to you, much less become your wife.”

It only took an instant. Kirksen’s back was flat against the wall and Jack was so close in his face the man’s glasses were fogged.

“Don’t do anything foolish, Jack. Regardless of your status here, the partnership would not look kindly on a junior partner assaulting a senior one. We still have standards here at Patton, Shaw.”

“Don’t ever fuck with my life like that, Kirksen. Don’t ever.” Jack effortlessly threw him against the door and turned back to his desk.

Kirksen smoothed down his shirt and smiled to himself. So easily manipulated. The big, tall good-looking ones. As strong as mules and no smarter. About as sophisticated as a brick.

“You know, Jack, you should realize what you’ve gotten yourself into. For some reason you seem to implicitly trust Sandy Lord. Did he tell you the truth about Barry Alvis? Did he happen to do that, Jack?”

Jack turned slowly back around and stared dully at the man.

“Did he use the permanent-associate, no-rainmaking-capabilities line? Or did he tell you Alvis had screwed up a big project?”

Jack continued to look at him.

Kirksen smiled triumphantly.

“One phone call, Jack. Daughter calls complaining that Mr. Alvis had inconvenienced her and her father. And Barry Alvis disappears. It’s just the way the game works, Jack. Maybe you don’t want to play that game. If you don’t there’s no one stopping you from leaving.”

Kirksen had been crafting this strategy for a while now. With Sullivan gone, he could promise Baldwin that his work would be the firm’s top priority, and Kirksen still had the core of one of the best army of attorneys in the city. And four million dollars of legal business coupled with his own existing business would make him the largest rainmaker at the place. And the name Kirksen would finally go on the door, in substitution for another that would be unceremoniously dropped.

The managing partner smiled at Jack. “You may not like me, Jack, but I’m telling you the truth. You’re a big boy, it’s up to you to deal with it.”

Kirksen closed the door behind him.

Jack stood for a second longer and then collapsed back into his chair. He lunged forward, scattered his desk clear with quick, violent thrusts of his arms, and then slowly laid his head down on its surface.

Seth Frank looked at the old man. Short, with a soft felt cap covering his head, dressed in corduroy pants, a thick sweater and winter boots, the man looked both uncomfortable and greatly excited at being in the police station. In his hand was a rectangular object covered in brown paper.

“I’m not sure I understand, Mr. Flanders.”

“You see I was out there. At the courthouse that day. You know, when the man got killed. Just went to see what all the fuss was about. Lived here all my life, nothing ever came close to that spectacle, I can tell you that.”

“I can understand that,” Frank said dryly.

“So anyway I had my new Camcorder, real nifty thing, got an image screen and all. Just hold, look at it and shoot. Great quality. So the wife said I should come down.”

“That’s terrific, Mr. Flanders. And the purpose of all this?” Frank looked at him inquiringly.

Realization spread over Flanders’s features. “Oh. I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I’m standing here rambling, have a tendency to do that, just ask the missus. Retired for a year. Never talked much at work. Assembly line at a processing plant. Like to talk now. Listen too. Spend a lot of time down at that little café over behind the bank. Good coffee and the muffins are the real thing, no low-fat stuff.”

Frank looked exasperated.

Flanders hurried on. “Well, I came down here to show you this. Give it to you, really. Kept a copy for myself of course.” He handed across the package.

Frank opened it and looked at the videocassette.

Flanders took off his cap, revealing a bald head with cottony tufts of hair clustered around his ears. He went on excitedly. “Got some really good shots, like I said. Like of the President and right when that fella was shot. Got all that. Jesus did I. I was following the President, you see. Ran me right into all the fireworks.”

Frank stared at the man.

“It’s all there, Lieutenant. For what it’s worth.” He looked at his watch. “Huh. I gotta go. Late for my lunch. Wife doesn’t like that.” He turned to leave. Seth Frank stared down at the cassette.

“Oh, Lieutenant. One more thing.”

“Yes.”

“If anything were to come from my tape, do you think they might use my name when they write about it?”

Frank shook his head. “Write about it?”

The old man looked excited. “Yeah. You know, the historians. They’d call it the Flanders Tape, wouldn’t they, or something like that. The Flanders Video maybe. You know like before.”

Frank wearily rubbed his temples. “Like before?”

“Yeah, Lieutenant. You know, like Zapruder with Kennedy.”

Frank’s face finally sagged in recognition. “I’ll be sure to let them know, Mr. Flanders. Just in case. For posterity.”