The Common Lawyer (42 page)

Frankie found Jessie down by a low dam on the river. The morning sun glistened on the smooth water that was almost white.

"Blanco means white in Spanish," she said.

Jessie tossed a few rocks into the shallow river.

"Will it hurt?"

"Maybe a little."

"But it might save the little boy?"

"Yes."

"And his father will save Paul?"

"Yes."

"I can do it."

Frankie put an arm around her daughter.

"You've always been so brave."

Andy arrived at the park store to find a black sedan parked outside. Not the limo. Not a Mercedes-Benz. And not Darrell.

Andy shifted the Slammer into gear.

A tall man got out of the passenger's seat. He raised his left hand. His right hand was tight to his leg. He was holding something. He called over to Andy.

"Andy Prescott?"

"Yeah."

The man raised his right hand. He had a gun.

Andy gave the gas to the Slammer and spun it around. He ducked down and heard the gun discharge behind him. He sped down the dirt road.

Frankie turned at the sound of the motorcycle. She saw Andy driving fast toward the cabin and kicking up a cloud of dust. He was yelling.

"Come on."

They ran back up to the cabin just as Andy skidded to a stop.

"Get on!"

"What's wrong?"

"Two men at the store. They're coming."

"To pick us up?"

"I don't think so. They shot at me."

"Darrell shot at you? Why?"

"It wasn't Darrell. And I didn't stop to ask."

Frankie grabbed the sleeping bag and started rolling it up, but Andy shouted, "Leave it!"

A black car barreled down the dirt road. Frankie wrapped her purse around her shoulders and jumped on the bike. Jessie squeezed on between them.

"How'd they find us?"

"Russell must've told them."

"But he needs her to save his son."

Andy gunned the Slammer and drove around the cabin then sped away from the black car. They blew through the park exit and the town square, still vacant that early in the morning, then hit Highway 281 heading south to San Antonio. He opened the throttle; the speed limit was seventy, but he soon had the bike running ninety.

He checked the rearview. Nothing was in sight. He slowed, geared down, and turned east then doubled back north on the county roads and headed to Henly. When they arrived in the tiny town, Andy pulled over at a gas station/convenience store. The Slammer needed gas, and he needed to call Russell Reeves. Andy hit the speed dial and waited for the call to ring through.

"Andy."

The voice sounded small.

"Russell, why are your guys shooting at us? Call them off! She'll give you her stem cells! She'll save Zach!"

Russell said nothing, but Andy heard breathing on the line.

"Andy … Zach died last night."

"Aw, Jesus."

Little Zach. Gone.

"Russell, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

"No, Andy, I'm not okay. My only son is dead and my wife had a nervous breakdown. She's in the psych ward."

His son. His wife. His life. Andy couldn't save Zach or Kathryn or even Russell Reeves. But he had to save Jessie.

"Russell, this girl didn't kill Zach. Don't kill her. Call your people off."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"They're not my people."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I didn't send Darrell out there. I didn't send anyone out there. Those people shooting at you, they don't work for me."

"Then who do they work for?"

"Drug companies, probably."

"Why?"

"They don't want Baby X to ruin their business."

"How would she ruin their business?"

"Andy, Baby X could be the greatest medical breakthrough in history. If her immune system could be cloned through her stem cells, suddenly there's no disease—no cancer, no AIDS, no common cold. And no drugs. No pharmaceuticals grossing hundreds of billions selling drugs for all those diseases. They're not going to allow a little girl to take that away."

"How'd they find her?"

"Darrell."

"Darrell?"

"They bribed him."

"Darrell sold your secrets?"

"He's not a lawyer. Andy, no one knew if Baby X was real or just a myth. But just the idea scared the pharmaceuticals. They've been searching for her ever since word got out."

"They wouldn't kill her just to keep their profits."

"You said they shot at you. And Andy …"

"What?"

"I think they killed Larry Smith. And Mickey Doyle."

"But she's just a kid!"

"Andy, the tobacco companies kill a thousand people a day and have for forty years. They knew their products were killing people, but they kept the real dangers secret all that time, to keep their profits. They killed millions of people for profit. What's one kid to the drug companies? These are people who will do anything to preserve their business model."

"What business model?"

"Death and disease. Drug companies thrive on death and disease, Andy, not health and happiness."

"Darrell's information was good," Cecil said.

Harmon nodded. "Prescott's pretty good on that bike, but he can't lose us now. And he can't save the girl. Turn north."

Harmon Payne had hired out to the pharmaceuticals after the Fed's Organized Crime Task Force put all the mob bosses in prison. He had gone corporate. Drug companies, now that's a racket. And it's all legal. Well, most of it. His work was definitely in the gray area, but it had put him in the green. With most of the contract assassins working for the U.S. government in Iraq, he commanded a high price in the marketplace. He was good, he was professional, and he never stopped until the job was done.

"What are we going to do now?" Frankie asked.

Andy had pulled the Slammer around behind the convenience store next to a picnic table. He was sitting on the bike, and Jessie was sitting on the table. Frankie was smoking.

"Are we going to save the little boy?" Jessie said.

"No, honey, the boy died last night."

"Oh. What about Paul? Will he still get a liver?"

"I don't know."

Andy pulled out his cell phone.

"I've got a friend who works for the federal government. Maybe he can help us."

"People are shooting at you? With guns?"

"Yes, Tres, with guns. And bullets."

"Jesus, Andy, what have you gotten into?"

"Trouble."

"Dump 'em."

"I can't, Tres. They're trying to kill her, the girl. I can't let that happen."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Call the FDA or the FBI or the CIA—hell, call someone. Tell them I've got Baby X … or Patient X. Someone with the Feds knows about her. And tell them she's for real."

"Okay, buddy, I'll see what I can find out."

Andy hung up just as Frankie and Jessie came through the back door to the store.

"Andy, they're here."

"Those guys?"

"Yeah, in the black car."

"How'd they find us?"

"I don't know, but they're inside the store."

"Both men?"

"Yeah. The car is parked out by the gas pumps."

"If they're inside, they know we're around here, but they don't know we're right here."

It was just like Russell's people knew he was in the loft building, but didn't know which loft.

"We've got to slow them down."

Frankie pulled a pocketknife out of her purse.

"Will this help?"

Inside the store, Harmon Payne said, "A dozen donuts? Cecil, you'll have diabetes time you're fifty."

"But they're good."

Harmon held their coffees while Cecil paid.

"So your oldest girl's going to an Ivy League school?" Cecil said.

"Wellesley."

"Isn't that expensive?"

"Yeah, but she's a smart girl, and I want her to have the opportunities I didn't."

"You're a good father, Harmon."

"I try. But it's hard raising kids in this world, all the bad influences in their lives—drugs, sex, violence in the movies …"

They turned to the door. Cecil pointed.

"Shit! Look!"

Outside, Prescott and the females had pulled up on the motorcycle on the far side of the Crown Vic. The woman jumped off and disappeared from sight. But Harmon knew.

"She's flattening the tires!"

He dropped the coffees, pulled his gun, and ran outside. But Prescott and the females sped off down the road. Harmon ran to the car and looked down at the flat tire. She only got one. He sighed.

"Why won't people just accept the fact that I'm gonna kill them? Why do we have to go through this every time?"

"Maybe they don't want to die."

"Cecil, shut up and change the tire."

Andy drove east on Highway 290 toward Austin. They had bought some time, so he kept the Slammer at the speed limit. If a state trooper pulled him over for riding three to the bike, just as well he not be speeding, too.

Other than a few big rigs blowing past them doing eighty and blasting their horns at the girls, it was a peaceful ride. Jessie pointed up at the vultures circling over dead deer lying on the side of the highway. The deer had come out of the brush to forage for food the prior evening and tried to cross 290; they didn't make it. Bad luck for them. Good luck for the vultures.

When they arrived in Dripping Springs, Andy pulled into a Dairy Queen next to the Cattleman's National Bank. Frankie and Jessie went inside for food and drinks. Andy sat on the Slammer and tried to figure things out: How had those guys found them at the park? And at the convenience store in Henly? And would they find them again? It was as if they were simply following them on a map, as if they had planted a tracking device—

A tracking device?

Andy pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. They were tracking his cell phone.

He hit the speed dial for Curtis Baxter. When he answered, Andy said, "Dude, tell me about that cell phone tracking stuff."

"Andy, Reeves' limo stopped coming for me."

"Zach died last night."

"Shit."

After a moment of silence, Andy said, "Tracking."

"Yeah, okay. Every phone can be tracked with either GPS or triangulation. GPS uses three satellites to plot the phone's location using a trilateration process—"

"Curtis, bottom line, as long as I have my phone, they can find me?"

"They who?"

"Long story. But that's the deal?"

"That's the deal."

"How can I stop it?"

"Turn it off."

"That stops them for sure?"

"Pretty sure. Some people think they can track even if the phone is off."

"What can I do to be sure?"

"Okay. Remove the back cover of your phone, pull out the SIM card then— "

"Dude. It's Andy."

"Hide it."

"The phone?"

"Yeah."

"Where?"

"Where they can't ping it."

"Curtis, there are cell towers everywhere."

"Yeah, but they can't reach everywhere."

"Like where?"

"Like in the canyons."

"Like in the greenbelt."

Thirty minutes later, Andy drove to the Camp Craft Road entrance to the Barton Creek Greenbelt. He parked the Slammer on the road. Frankie and Jessie climbed down first.

"Stay here," Andy said. "I've got to hide my phone down in the canyons."

"Why don't you just smash it with a rock?"

"I'm gonna need it."

"When?"

"When I want them to find us."

Andy ran down the Hill of Life and then the creek trail until he arrived at Sculpture Falls. He waded into the shallow water to where the crevices in the limestone had formed. He stashed the phone deep inside a dry crevice. No way a cell signal could get through three feet of solid rock. He ran back up to Frankie and Jessie.

"Andy," Frankie said, "it's going to be cold tonight and we left the sleeping bag and our blankets back at the park."

"We can't camp out here—coyotes and bobcats roam the place at night. We can't stay at my place or with Tres and Natalie—she'd want to put Jessie on the news. We can't stay with Dave or Curtis and get them involved. We can't stay in a hotel, they can track a credit card."