2_The Firm by John Grisham

Author:John Grisham
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2010-09-27T23:00:00+00:00

"Who?"

"McDeere. It's time he and I had a little talk."

"About what?" Lambert asked nervously.

"You let me handle it, okay? Just stay out of my way."

"I think it's a bit premature," Locke said.

"And I don't give a damn what you think. If you clowns were in charge of security, you'd all be in prison."

Mitch sat in his office with the door closed and stared at the walls. A migraine was forming at the base of his skull, and he felt sick. There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," he said softly.

Avery peeked inside, then walked to the desk. "How about lunch?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry."

The partner slid his hands into his trouser pockets and smiled warmly. "Look, Mitch, I know you're worried. Let's take a break. I've got to run downtown for a meeting. Why don't you meet me at the Manhattan Club at one. We'll have a long lunch and talk things over. I've reserved the limo for you. It'll be waiting outside at a quarter till."

Mitch managed a weak smile, as if he was touched by this. "Sure, Avery. Why not."

"Good. I'll see you at one."

At a quarter till, Mitch opened the front door and walked to the limo. The driver opened the door, and Mitch fell in. Company was waiting.

A thick, bald-headed man with a huge, bulging, hanging neck sat smugly in the corner of the rear seat. He stuck out a hand. "Name's DeVasher, Mitch. Nice to meet you."

"Am I in the right limo?" Mitch asked.

"Sure. Sure. Relax." The driver pulled away from the curb.

"What can I do for you?" Mitch asked.

"You can listen for a while. We need to have a little talk." The driver turned on Riverside Drive and headed for the Hernando De Soto Bridge.

"Where are we going?" Mitch asked.

"For a little ride. Just relax, son."

So I'm number six, thought Mitch. This is it. No, wait a

'minute. They were much more creative than this with their killing.

"Mitch, can I call you Mitch?"

"Sure."

"Fine. Mitch, I'm in charge of security for , and-"

"Why does need security?"

"Just listen to me, son, and I'll explain. has an extensive security program, thanks to old man Bendini. He was a nut about security and secrecy. My job is to protect , and quite frankly, we're very concerned about this FBI business."

"So am I."

"Yes. We believe the FBI is determined to infiltrate our firm in hopes of collecting information on certain clients."

"Which clients?"

"Some high rollers with questionable tax shelters."

Mitch nodded and looked at the river below. They were now in Arkansas, with the Memphis skyline fading behind them. DeVasher recessed the conversation. He sat like a frog with his hands folded across the gut. Mitch waited, until it became apparent that lapses in conversation and awkward silence did not bother DeVasher. Several miles across the river, the driver left the interstate and found a rough county road that circled and ran back to the east. Then he turned onto a gravel road that went for a mile through low-lying bean fields next to the river.

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