He had done it and, boy, was that woman in for the surprise of her life! Just because a female using minimal language of the law was outrageously gorgeous, with a face and body created by a straight Botticelli, she had no right to give his address to a cabdriver and imply some vague legal threat without being properly introduced! No, sir, Samuel Lansing Devereaux, attorney of high regard, was made of sterner stuff.… Maybe he should change his trousers. He started toward the path that led to his private entrance when the front door opened, revealing Cousin Cora beckoning him rather wildly, even for her.
“What is it?” he asked, instantly vaulting over the white picket fence and rushing up to the steps, with a slight inkling of impending doom.
“What is it?” repeated Cora in high dudgeon. “Maybe you’d better tell me what it is you’ve done, other than the obvious,” she added, glancing at his trousers.
“Oh, oh.” It was all Sam could think to say.
“I guess that’s a start—”
“What happened?” interrupted Devereaux.
“A little while ago, this long-legged sunburned dish who musta stepped out of one of them California beach commercials came to the door inquiring about a certain unmentionable person. Well, Sammy, I thought your mother was goin’ to have a stroke, but the leggy lady with a face you could kill for calmed her down and now they’re both inside the living room with the doors closed.”
“What the hell is all this?”
“I can only tell ya that the hoity-toity went into the pantry for her teapot but she didn’t order no tea.”
“Son of a bitch!” cried Devereaux, racing across the marble hall and flinging open both French doors of the living room as he burst inside.
“You!” shouted Jennifer Redwing, lurching out of the brocaded chair.
“You!” yelled the furious son and attorney. “How did you get here so quickly?”
“I used to live in Boston. I know several shortcuts.”
“Several …?”
“You!” shrieked Eleanor Devereaux, rising from the brocaded couch, her mouth agape as she stared at Sam. “Your trousers, you terrible, incontinent boy!”
“It’s coffee, Mother!”
“It’s coffee,” said the bronzed Aphrodite. “He says.”
12
“Now you’ve got the broad outlines of the Mac-and-Sam international blackmail carnival as it pertains to the general’s ability to dig way down deep and come up with indictable dirt,” said Devereaux. They had moved to his château’s lair, into his office now stripped of all photographs and newspaper articles, without his mother, who found it imperative to take to her bed with “the vapors.” Sam sat at his desk, Jennifer Redwing in the chair in front of him, which still had strips of torn sheets tied to the arms.
“It’s only incredible, but you have to know that.” She slowly opened her purse, a bright lady in shock. “Good God, forty million dollars!”
“No Mace!” cried Devereaux, pushing his swivel chair back into the wall.
“No Mace,” confirmed Redwing, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. “It’s only a vice I give up every other week until something like this happens, but then nothing like this has ever happened.… At least, I cut down.”
“It’s a crutch, you know. You should have stronger discipline.”
“All things considered, Counselor, I don’t think you’re in a position to be holier-than-me. Do you have an ashtray, or shall I set this expensive rug on fire?”
“Since you’re adamant,” said Sam, opening a desk drawer and pulling out two ashtrays, along with a pack of cigarettes. “I guess I’ll concede.… I see we both use low-tar.”
“Let’s get back to the low blows, Mr. Devereaux.” Both lawyers lighted their crutches and Miss Redwing continued. “This brief to the Court is all nonsense, you also have to know that, too.”
“Redundancy, Counselor. ‘Also’ and ‘too’ are redundant.”
“Not when used for emphasis in front of a jury by a competent attorney, Counselor.”
“Agreed. Who’s which?”
“We’re both both,” said Redwing. “Speaking as the latter on behalf of the Wopotamis, the tribe’s interests are not served by this frivolous litigation, which has gone entirely too far.”
“Speaking as an equal once disastrously associated with General Hawkins,” countered Sam, “the litigation is not at all frivolous. Realistically, it doesn’t have a chance, but the tribe’s case against the government is pretty damn convincing.”
“What?” Redwing locked eyes with Devereaux, her cigarette poised in front of her, the smoke suspended as if caught in a still photograph. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I wish I were. Life would be a lot easier.”
“Come again?”
“The evidence unearthed in the sealed archives appears to be authentic. Territorial treaties executed in good faith were replaced by legislated relocations without regard to prior agreements—existing rights of land ownership.”
“ ‘Legislated relocations’? Made to move?”
“That’s it, and the government had no authority to abrogate the legally arrived-at doctrine of ownership and force the Wopotamis off their lands. Certainly not without a federal court hearing, with full tribal representation.”
“They did that? No court, no hearing for the tribe? How could they?”
“The government lied—specifically with regard to the Treaty of 1878, finalized between the Wopotamis and the Forty-ninth Congress.”
“But how?”
“The Department of the Interior, obviously with a little help from the Bureau of Indian Affairs, claimed that such a treaty never existed, that it was a fantasy dreamed up by swacked-out medicine men pouring zombie-water down their throats while prancing around campfires.… The brief goes so far as to speculate on the origins of the fire that destroyed the First Bank of Omaha in 1912.”
“That rings a bell,” said Redwing, frowning and crushing out her cigarette.
“It should. It’s where the Wopotamis kept all their tribal records, none of which survived, of course.”
“What was the speculation?”
“That it was torched by federal agents acting on orders from Washington.”
“That’s pretty heavy, Counselor, even eighty years later. On what basis was the speculation?”
“The bank was supposedly broken into in the middle of the night, all the cash and valuables cleaned out, and the robbers escaped without a trace. Yet before they ran for it, they apparently decided to set fire to the bank, which was pretty stupid, since they were making a clean getaway and a fire like that might just wake up a few citizens.”
“Stupid but not unheard of, Mr. Devereaux. Pathological personalities aren’t a recent phenomenon, and the hatred of banks has a long history.”
“Granted, but when the initial source of the conflagration was determined to be the bank’s basement, where the document files were located, said files overturned, scattered, and the rooms soaked with lamp oil, it makes you kind of wonder, doesn’t it? If the whole structure didn’t go up, those rooms certainly would.… Also, it was the shortest abandoned manhunt in the annals of crime, as the perpetrators were reported to be seen in South America. Of course, Cassidy and Sundance said they’d never been to Omaha, and they were the only American bank robbers ever known to have surfaced down there in those days.… Naturally, I’ve just given you a quick overview, as my sainted employer would say—did say.”
“It’s disastrously convincing.” The lovely Indian attorney suddenly shook her head back and forth in rapid stabs. “It can’t go forward, you must understand that.”
“I’m not sure it can be stopped,” said Sam.
“Of course it can! This general, this catastrophic troublemaker Hawkins, can simply withdraw—take my word for it, the Court adores withdrawals, even my brother learned that while he was down there.”
“He’s the one?”
“The one who?”
“The y
oung brave of the tribe who worked with Mac but didn’t pass the bar.”
“Didn’t pass? I’ll have you know my little bro—my brother—passed in the highest percentile!”
“So did I.”
“It figures,” said Redwing, no enthusiasm whatsoever in her concession. “It seems you’re cut from the same crazy quilt.”
“He’s the one I remind you of? Is that what you meant before?”
“It means, Counselor, that your goddamned General Hawkins found another Samuel Devereaux for his latest cataclysmic frolic.”
“Your brother was in the army?”
“No, he was on a reservation—the wrong one.… Back to the mad general.”
“Actually, the ‘mad’ was part of his military nickname.”
“Why do I find that not totally surprising?” Jennifer fumbled in her purse for another cigarette.
“Hey, Counselor,” interrupted Devereaux as Redwing withdrew her pack. “You were doing so well; you only had a couple of puffs and you put it out. I did, too, sort of to help you.”
“Get off my case, Counselor! I don’t want to talk about your brain surgery or my frailties, I want to talk about Hawkins and his appeal to the Supreme Court and how we can squash it!”
“Actually, in legal terms, it’s not an appeal—no decision was made in a court of law that requires overturning, like in appellate procedures—”
“Don’t you dare quote law to me, pee-pants!”
“It was coffee, and I changed my trousers and you agreed it was coffee.”
“It was also an appeal in the broader legal sense, an appeal to right a wrong,” said Redwing, a touch defensively.
“My trousers?”
“No, you idiot, the lousy brief!”
“Then you agree with Mac. If everything I’ve told you stands up to scrutiny, your scrutiny, a crime was committed against your people. Don’t you think it should be ‘righted’?”
“Whose side are you on?” protested the Native American beauty.
“At the moment, I’m a devil’s advocate suppressing my natural inclinations. I want to know what you think.”
“Don’t you understand? What I think doesn’t matter! I care for my people and I don’t want them hurt.… Come on, Devereaux, be realistic. A small Indian tribe against the majestic national power of SAC—how long would we survive? Even the specter of such a possibility, whether it had a chance or not, could result in new laws passed, land condemned by eminent domain, our people scattered—all resulting in economic and racial genocide, and it wouldn’t be the first time we’ve experienced it.”
“Isn’t that worth fighting against?” asked Sam, his expression passive. “Anywhere?”
“Theoretically, of course, and in the vast majority of instances, actively. But not here. Our people are not unhappy. They have the land they live on, with decent government subsidies—which I’m parlaying into investments with damn good returns—and to suddenly plunge them into a morass of legal violence—and that’s what it would be, violence—I simply can’t permit it.”
“Mac won’t go along with you. He’s an original, and violence of any kind isn’t a threat, it’s a come-on.… Also, Miss Redwing, and now I’ve got to speak for my admittedly terrified self, and I suspect for the greatest attorney I’ve ever known, namely my employer, one Aaron Pinkus, I don’t think we can go along with you, either. You see, when you come right down to it, we’re officers of the court, and a great crime was committed, and to turn our faces away wouldn’t be terribly appropriate. Not if we really believe what we think we are. That’s what Aaron meant when he said to me that we both had to make the individual decisions of our lives. Do we turn away or do we uphold a truth that may destroy us professionally, but knowing in our souls that we’re right?”
Jennifer Redwing, her eyes wide and staring at Sam, swallowed several times, then spoke haltingly. “Will you marry me, Mr. Devereaux?… No! I didn’t mean that! It’s like what you said to me in the elevator! A slip, a mental slip!”
“Hey, it’s okay, Miss … Miss—do you have a first name? After all, I said it first—the dumb slip, I mean.”
“People call me Red.”
“Not for your hair—Christ, it’s the most gorgeous, lustrous ebony I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“It’s the genes,” said Redwing, getting slowly out of the chair. “My people ate a great deal of red buffalo meat. I’m told it gives a sheen genetically.”
“I don’t give a wigwam damn what does it,” said Devereaux, also rising slowly and walking around the desk. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met in my life.”
“Looks are only surface, Sam—may I call you Sam?”
“It’s a good substitute for ‘idiot,’ ” said Devereaux, his arms encircling her. “You are glorious!”
“Please, Sam, that’s so irrelevant. If I’m attracted to you—and I obviously am—it’s not because of your handsome face and your tall lean body—which can’t be discounted—but it’s because of your basic integrity and great love of the law.”
“Oh, yeah, I got it! I really got that!”
“Don’t be frivolous, Sam. Please, don’t be.”
“Never, never!” And naturally the goddamned telephone rang. Devereaux’s hand crashed down on the desk, only glancing off the base of the instrument but causing the receiver to flip over onto the blotter; he picked it up angrily. “This is a recording,” said Sam in a loud, flat monotone. “You’ve reached the Lugosi Funeral Home, but there’s no one here who can get up and answer the phone—”
“Cut it out, boy,” interrupted the harsh, growling voice of MacKenzie Hawkins, “just you listen up sharp. We’re under attack and you’re a target, so I want you to take rapid cover.”
“Listen, fossil brain, I left you barely two hours ago and my instructions were that I was not to be disturbed until post meridiem! For your edification, that’s after twelve noon—”
“No, Sam, you listen to me,” the Hawk broke in, his very calm sending the message of genuine concern. “Get out of your house. Now.”
“Why the hell should I?”
“Because you don’t have an unlisted number and that means your address is in the telephone book.”
“So are several million others—”
“But only two of them ever heard of the Wopotamis.”
“What?”
“I’ll say this only once, son, because neither of us can waste time. I don’t know how it happened—it isn’t Hymie the Hurricane’s modus operandi. Oh, hell, he’ll send a goon or two but not an enforcer—and that’s exactly what we got on our rear flank, a hit man.”
“It’s a little early for you to get juiced, isn’t it, Mac?”
“Hear this, Lieutenant,” said Hawkins, his voice now both calm and cold. “My adjutant, Desi-One, who, unbeknownst to me, was temporarily employed in the New York area—specifically the Brooklyn barrio—spotted a man in the hotel lobby he’d seen before from a distance during his previous temporary employment. A very bad man, Lieutenant, and because the corporal is conscientious and dressed properly, he stood beside this hombre vicioso, as he called him, at the front desk and heard him distinctly ask about two gentlemen. The names were Pinkus and Devereaux.”
“Holy…!”
“Precisely, boy. This bad individual made a phone call, then returned to the desk, where he got himself a room two floors below us.… I don’t like that phone call, Sam.”
“Neither do I.”
“I just spoke to Commander Pinkus, and we agree. Take your mother and that wacko maid he said was a relative and get out of there. We can’t allow hostages.”
“Hostages?” cried Devereaux, glancing at the glorious Red Redwing, who watched him, her expression one of complete bewilderment. “My God, you’re right.”
“I’m rarely wrong under these conditions, son. Commander Pinkus orders you to head for that crummy joint where the two of us met in the parking lot, and he’ll send the gunny sergeant for you
as soon as he can locate him.… Seems the missus took over the limo for shopping and isn’t talking to the commander, except to yell about some dirty curtains and an odor in the backseat that smells like a combination of fish and Danish pastry.”
“We’re on our way, but I’ll have to use Mother’s Jaguar. Stosh hasn’t returned my car, so have Aaron tell Paddy to look for the yellow Jag.… What about you, Mac—not that I frankly give a damn—but that bad person is only two floors below?”
“I’m really touched by your concern, son, but I’ve got a little time to pick up the bivouac and remove all the papers.”
“How do you know that? I hate to tell you, but you’re not actually invincible. That son of a bitch could be coming up after you right now!”
“No, not for a while, Sam. Desi-Two did a job on that son of a bitch’s lock that jams it from both the outside and the inside. The only way he can get out is through the fifth-floor window or when the hotel takes the whole door down, which, being steel-plated under the fancy paneling, means a blowtorch. Goddamn, can I pick personnel or can I pick personnel?”
“I’ll reserve judgment on that, but I will tell you I had a very strange conversation with them last night.”
“Heard all about it, boy. Guess what? They’re joining the army! I told ’em to hold off for a day or two and I’ll have ’em sent directly to postbasic G-Two training. Christ Almighty, they’re already light-years ahead of the assholes who’ve finished the course! Naturally, Desi-One’s got to get his teeth fixed; it simply isn’t proper for him to have that gap in his mouth, but I’ve still got my connections. The army’ll take care of that—”
“We’re getting out of here, Mac,” interrupted Devereaux sharply. “As you said, we can’t waste time.” With those words, Sam slammed down the phone and turned to Red Redwing. “We’ve got a serious problem,” he said, his hands clasping her shoulders. “Recalling the essence of our prior communication, will you trust me, please?”
“Emotionally or intellectually?” asked the suddenly doubting legal adversary.
The Road to Omaha: A Novel Page 19