| It was Marlee’s pre-Lawrence days that had them losing sleep. “You’re both using aliases, aren’t you?” he asked. “No. We’re using our legal names. No more questions about us, Fitch. We’re not important. Time is short, and we have work to do.” “Perhaps we should begin by your telling me how far you’ve gone with the other side. How much does Rohr know?” “Rohr knows nothing. We danced and shadow-boxed, but never connected.” “Would you have cut a deal with him had I not been willing?” “Yes. I’m in it for the money, Fitch. Nicholas is on that jury because we planned it that way. We have worked for this moment. It’ll work because all the players are corrupt. You’re corrupt. Your clients are corrupt. My partner and I are corrupt. Corrupt but smart. We pollute the system in such a way that we cannot be detected.” “What about Rohr? He’ll be suspicious when he loses. In fact, he’ll suspect you’ve cut a deal with the tobacco company.” “Rohr doesn’t know me. We never met.” “Come on.” “I swear it, Fitch. I made you think I had met him, but it never happened. It would have, though, had you not been willing to negotiate.” “You knew I’d be willing.” “Of course. We knew you’d be more than anxious to purchase a verdict.” Oh, he had so many questions. How did they learn of his existence? How did they get his phone numbers? How did they make certain Nicholas would be |
They practically threw the system on the ragged sofa, where Dubaz piled on cushions and clothing, then poured charcoal lighter fluid from a plastic jug. When the sofa, chair, computer, cheap rugs, and assorted clothing were sufficiently doused, the two men walked to the door and Dubaz threw a match. The ignition was rapid and virtually silent, at least to anyone who might have been listening outside. They waited until the flames were lapping the ceiling and black smoke was boiling throughout the apartment, then made a hasty departure, locking the door behind them. Down the stairs, on the first level, they pulled a fire alarm. Dubaz ran back upstairs where the smoke was seeping from the apartment, and began yelling and beating on doors. Pang did the same on the first level. Screams followed quickly as the hallways filled with panicked people in bathrobes and sweatsuits. The shrill clanging of ancient firebells added to the hysteria. “Make damned sure you don’t kill anyone,” Fitch had warned them. Dubaz pounded on doors as the smoke thickened. He made certain every apartment near Easter’s was empty. He pulled people by the arms; asked if everyone was out; pointed to the exits. As the crowd spilled into the parking lot, Pang and Dubaz separated and slowly retreated. Sirens could be heard. Smoke appeared in the windows of two upstairs apartments—Easter’s and one next door. More people scrambled out, some wrapped in blankets and clutching babies and toddlers. They joined the crowd |
