Buying Time (38 page)

Erickson did not want to resign. That would only make him look guilty. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m going to be cleared.”

“We don’t have time for you to be cleared. We can’t have our Attorney General facing murder charges. The President will look like a laughing stock.”

“I still think you need to hear my story. You’re going to be getting lots of media inquiries. You’ll need to know exactly what—”

“I don’t want to hear your goddamn story. I’ll have one of my aides contact you later. In the meantime, you can either resign or we’ll fire you. You have until seven o’clock tomorrow morning. If I don’t have your resignation by then, the Press Secretary will make the announcement at her morning briefing that you’ve been fired.”

Erickson stood there with the phone to his ear as Wrigley hung up. Ashley had finally done him in. Or had she?

The more he thought about it, this whole chain of events appeared to bear the markings of a well-crafted Roland Becker plot. His law partner had aspirations to run Jankowski, Parkins. Had he arranged this whole chain of events to get Erickson out of the way?

On more than a few occasions, he’d seen Becker set a trap for an opposing counsel, carefully leading him down one path, while Becker quietly tiptoed down a different one. By the time his opponent finally figured out he’d been played, it was too late to do anything about it.

Erickson was not about to go down for a murder he did not commit.

If Ashley killed Claire, he would make her pay. And if Becker did it, Erickson would make him pay double.

I
really don’t mean to be rude,” Dre said, “but we need to figure something out ’cuz I ain’t lookin’ for no permanent roommates.”

Dre, Waverly and Angela were sitting in the living room of Dre’s apartment, still shell-shocked from their ordeal.

“Don’t think we’re glad to be here either,” Waverly said. “So what do we do?”

“Why you askin’ me?” Dre shot back. “This is your mess.
You
need to come up with a solution to
your
problem.”

Angela was curled up on the couch. She hadn’t spoken more than two words since they arrived. Cornell’s shooting was well over twenty-four hours ago and now this. Dre feared Angela was close to an emotional breakdown.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Dre,” Angela said stoically, “but you’re probably in the best position to help us figure out what’s going on.”

“And how’s that?” he asked. “You two are the attorneys, not me.”

“Let’s just say that because of your background and experience in the”—she paused—“real world, you have a better understanding of the mindset of the guys who’re after Waverly than we do.”

Dre chuckled. “Oh, I get it. You’re sayin’ because I’m a criminal—correction— former criminal, I’m more likely to understand how another criminal thinks. Is that it?”

“Exactly,” Angela said without apology.

Dre considered her statement. “I should be offended, but I’m not.” He sat down across from them. “I’ve only heard bits and pieces of your story,” he said to Waverly. “Why don’t you tell me the whole deal. Startin’ from day one?”

Waverly wiped sweat from his forehead with the cuff of his shirt and slumped further down on the couch. He began by explaining why he was disbarred, admitting that he had improperly borrowed client funds. Then, he recounted how Vincent had introduced him to the viatical business.

“Hold up,” Dre said, interrupting him. “Did you already know this guy?”

“Not really,” Waverly said. “I met him at a conference.”

“Somebody you don’t know offers you some get rich quick scheme and it didn’t raise any red flags?”

Waverly paused and took a deep breath. “Do you want me to continue or not?”

“Sorry, dude,” Dre said with a shrug. “Go ahead.”

Waverly explained how he researched the viatical industry on the Internet, then met with the executives of Live Now to further confirm that it was a legitimate business.

“And you didn’t think it was strange that this company hired you as a broker? Even though you were disbarred?”

“Only Vincent knew I’d been disbarred and he told me he didn’t plan to tell them.”

Dre turned to Angela. “Dude’s pullin’ my leg, right?”

Angela looked sympathetically at Waverly. “No, I think he’s for real.”

“You need to check your paperwork, dude. You probably don’t even have a real license.”

“No,” Angela said. “We checked. His license is legit.”

Dre wasn’t taking Angela’s word for it. He turned to Waverly. “Is it?”

“Technically, no. I couldn’t get a viatical license after being disbarred. We paid off somebody at the Department of Insurance.”

Dre slowly swung his head from side to side. “I don’t know much about the vi—whatever you call it, but I suspect they set you up from day one. That’s the reason we were dodgin’ bullets tonight. You should’ve known you were dealin’ with crooks when they agreed to get you a phony license.”

Waverly seemed genuinely confounded. “And exactly why would they set me up?”

“’Cuz they’re doing something illegal, like killin’ people to get their insurance money. If something goes wrong, they’ll have somebody to take the fall. That somebody, my brother, is you.” Dre shook his head again. “Dude, you got hoodwinked big time. Where you from? Iowa? You need to spend more time in the hood.”

“Tell him about the stuff involving your brother,” Angela urged Waverly.

Waverly rubbed his eyes as he spoke. When he finished recounting how he’d found his brother beaten to a pulp in the garage of his office building and how Rico had threatened to harm his wife, Dre stopped him.

“I would suspect that your brother didn’t know all that much about your new business. Am I right?”

Waverly’s lungs filled with air. “Uh . . . well, yeah. I never told him exactly what I did.”

“Didn’t you think it was strange that Rico knew what you did for a livin’ when he supposedly found out about you through your brother, who didn’t know?”

“I wondered about it, but he was threatening my family. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Like I said, somebody most definitely set you up. We just need to find out who.” Dre paused. “There’s something else that bothers me.”

Waverly grimaced. “And what’s that?”

“You owe Rico three hundred grand. He might waste you
after
he gets his money back, but not before. That tells me that maybe somebody else was tryin’ to take you out.”

“Like who?” Angela asked.

“Like Vincent maybe. Or the cats at Live Now. They certainly have a lot to lose if this insurance scam is traced back to them. If you’re dead and gone, they can just claim it was all your doin’ and they knew nothin’ about it. I really doubt you could’ve gotten your license under the table without the company knowin’ about it. If they were on the up and up, they would’ve checked you out. Maybe they wanted a disbarred lawyer precisely because you’d be the most likely suspect if something went wrong.”

Waverly leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “I’m an idiot.”

Angela folded her arms. “Does that mean you think Rico might be connected to the folks at Live Now?”

“Maybe,” Dre said. “I’d need a crystal ball to know that for sure.”

Dre turned back to Waverly. “Let me ask you something. If you were makin’ ten percent off of all those deals, you must’ve made a mint. Why didn’t you just pay the dude back with your own money?”

“I couldn’t.” He pointed at Angela. “Because of her.”

Before Dre could ask for an explanation, Angela volunteered one. “We froze his bank accounts. We think that whoever was killing his clients, may have had something to do with the death of one of our case agents. He was working undercover as a terminally ill policyholder as part of our sting operation. His car went off a cliff in rainy weather. But we don’t think it was an accident.”

Waverly sat up and moved to the edge of the couch. “Sting operation? Billington was part of an undercover operation? He wasn’t dying?”

“Nope. He was also a good friend of mine, so I’m determined to find out how he died.” Angela turned to Dre. “Thanks for the analysis. Actually, I’m quite impressed. I think it all makes sense. Now can you come up with a plan to get us out of this mess?”

“Probably,” Dre said. “Let me give it some thought. In the meantime,” he looked at Waverly, “here’s some free advice for you, my brother: If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”

Waverly slumped back against the couch again.

“Do you have any bottled water?” Angela asked.

“Yeah,” Dre said. “There’s a case of water on the floor next to the cabinet. You’ll need to use some ice if you want it cold.”

Angela made her way to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of water. “Where do you keep your glasses?” She reached up to open one of the cabinet doors.

Dre made a mad dash toward her. But by the time he reached her, it was too late.

Angela stared up at the contents of the cabinet, then at Dre. “You lied,” she said angrily. “You said you quit.”

“I did quit.”

“Then what’s that?” She pointed up at the cabinet. “I’m not stupid. I know what it’s for.”

Waverly stepped into the kitchen to see what Angela was so upset about. An entire shelf was stocked with bright, yellow boxes of Arm & Hammer baking soda.

“Exactly what
is
it for?” Waverly asked.

Both Dre and Angela gave him a look that said they both thought he was a moron.

“I bought that stuff months ago,” Dre said. “I just haven’t had time to get rid of it yet.”

“There must be enough baking soda up there to flood half of L.A. with crack.”

“Look, if I said I quit, then I quit.”

Angela just stared at him, looking more hurt than angry.

He reached over her head and closed the cabinet shut. “What I told you was the truth.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re just—”

Dre raised his hand, palm out, trying to calm her down. “Angela, just let it go before . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Before what?” She placed a hand on her hip. “Are you going to hit me, too?”

Dre’s face went slack. “Why would you even say some shit like that to me?”

“You didn’t answer the question,” Angela challenged.

“I don’t need to answer your question because it’s bullshit. I don’t hit women and I don’t owe you an explanation for what I’ve chosen to do with my life. So don’t keep harpin’ about what I
used
to do. You can either accept my explanation or not accept it. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Angela opened her mouth to speak, but instead pierced Dre with a look that told him his words had wounded her as much as her mistrust had wounded him. She calmly turned and walked out of the room. Seconds later, Dre heard the bedroom door open and slam shut.

Waverly scrunched up his face. “This is one messed up situation.”

Dre pulled a chair from the kitchen table and fell into it. “You ain’t never lied.”

Waverly’s BlackBerry chirped and he pulled it from his pocket.

“Damn!” he said, glancing down at the caller ID display. “I forgot about Britney!”

W
ho the hell is Britney?” Dre asked.

“One of my clients.” Waverly pushed a green button on his BlackBerry. “She’s the one who was in the garage and witnessed the shooting.”

As soon as he clicked over, all he heard was yelling. “I can’t believe you just left me here!” Britney screamed.

Waverly massaged his left temple. “Just calm down. I was going to call you. Are you okay?”

“I just woke up. You’re all over the news. I saw everything on CNN. You have to come get me! What if they come after me, too?”

“Nobody’s coming after you because nobody knows where you are.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Just calm down. I’m coming to get you.”

Dre shot him a mystified look. “Man, are you crazy? You can’t go nowhere. Until you figure out who’s after you, walkin’ out of here is suicide.”

Waverly pressed the BlackBerry to his chest so Britney couldn’t hear them. “I can’t just leave her there. Her life is in danger, too. And now that you’ve explained how I’ve been duped, it’s definitely my fault. I have to do something.”

“Is this some chick you’re screwin’ on the side? If it is, we don’t need the additional drama.”

“No, of course not. She’s practically a kid. I hid her away because I didn’t want her to be my next client they took out.”

“How come you’re not worried about any of your other clients?”

“Look, she has colon cancer and she doesn’t have any family in L.A. I got a little attached to her, okay?”

Dre tugged at his goatee. “Tell her you need some time to work something out.”

“What?”

“Just tell her,” Dre ordered impatiently. “I’ll take care of it.”

That answer wasn’t good enough for Britney, who continued to scream into the phone. Waverly finally hung up after warning her not to leave the room and promising to call back in ten minutes.”

Dre was already on his cell telling someone he had a job for them to do. “What does she look like?” he asked Waverly.

“Five-three, about a hundred and ten pounds, mid-twenties with short sandy brown hair.” He paused. “And she’s white.”

Dre gave him a look.

“Nothing’s going on between us,” he said. “I swear.”

Dre asked for Britney’s cell phone number, repeated the information into the telephone, then hung up. “My buddy’s goin’ to pick her up, but I don’t want you to call her back until he gets there and checks everything out. She could be part of a setup to get to you.”

Waverly waved away that possibility. “She’s just a scared kid, man.”

Just over an hour later, a burly, muscle-bound guy delivered a red-eyed Britney to Dre’s doorstep.

She ran over and threw her arms around Waverly’s neck and hugged him. “I’m so glad to see you. I was so worried about you after seeing that shootout on TV.”

By the way Dre was frowning, Waverly could tell exactly what he was thinking.

“This is Dre,” Waverly said, taking Britney by the wrists and placing her arms at her sides. “This is his place.”