Chapter 14
“All right then.” Herbert sighed and crossed his arms, his eyes wandering around the office as the lawyer whispered into the phone. Secretly, part of him was pleased to be working again. Hauling stiffs was good money, but there wasn't much fun to it. It was dirty work, but there was nothing about it that got the blood flowing. Herbert basked in this pleasure before a bolt of guilt pierced him. There was nothing to take pleasure in. It was work. It was for Darius. That was that.
Trotman hung up the phone. “They're coming now.”
“They? Who's they?”
“Well, did you expect to engage a group of armed gunmen on your own?”
Herbert shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”
“You are going to be part of a team.”
“How many?”
Trotman shrugged.
“You don't know? Aren’t these your people?”
“I am not in charge of their comings and goings. I am merely a...facilitator. And a legal counselor, of course.”
“So, who the hell are these guys you're ropin' me in with?”
“They are professionals. I can't say I know much about them outside of that. They take their job very seriously.”
“That's good.” Herbert stared across the desk as an uneasy silence filled the space between them. “You...don't have anything else about them?”
“You'll see for yourself. They're on their way now.”
“Christ.”
Trotman sighed and lugged himself out of his chair. He tottered toward the back wall of his office and approached a bar cart. “Would you like one?” He said over his shoulder as he poured himself a scotch.
“Uh...” Herbert licked his lips. He clenched his jaw and flared his nostrils. Then he exhaled. “No, I shouldn't. Need to stay sharp for this.”
Trotman smiled knowingly as he lumbered back to his chair with his refreshment in hand. “I understand...” His chair squeaked as he dropped back into it. He took a long drink from his glass. The lawyer let out a satisfied sigh, swishing his scotch and making it flash like liquid gold. “I must say, Mr. Winslow, I am impressed by your tenacity.”
Herbert shrugged, his voice low and gruff. “Don't have much choice.”
“But you do.” Trotman took another sip then opened a drawer. He produced a small cedar box and set it on the desktop between them. “You had the choice to come to me. To pull the thread, as it were.” He opened the box, revealing two neat rows of thick, sausage-like cigars. “Can I interest you in one?”
Herbert took one from the ranks and looked down at it. The paper felt nice on the pads of his fingers. “I wasn't about to let the kid take the fall for something he didn't do.” He brought it to his lips.
“You've got integrity.” Trotman pulled a silver-plated lighter from his pocket and flicked it open. He leaned forward, pressing his girth against the lip of his desk.
The flame danced as Herbert sucked air through the cigar. The smoke was sweet and light. Herbert held it in his mouth for a moment, savoring the taste. He exhaled a small cloud. “Do you have any kids?”
“Yes, two girls.” The lawyer lit a cigar for himself.
“And you would do anything for them, if you could?”
“Of course.”
“So, it's not much of a choice, is it?”
“But my children are my own flesh and blood.”
“I don't see how that has to do with anything.” Herbert felt his face grow hot. He plucked the cigar from his mouth and grit his teeth.
“I don't mean to offend you, Mr. Winslow. I'm just making an observation that anyone else would make. Darius Freeman is not your natural-born son. To a lot of people, this would be enough to keep them from expending the effort that you're clearly willing to expend.” He removed the cigar from his mouth and swallowed down the rest of his scotch. “I commend you for it.”
Herbert puffed on his cigar and sat back in his chair. “Well, that sure means a lot coming from a big important lawyer like you...Mr. Trotman.”
Trotman smiled. “Like I said, I did not mean to offend.”
“You got an ashtray?”
The lawyer slid a heavy slate ashtray across the desk.
Herbert leaned over and stubbed out his cigar. “I know you didn't mean any offense. You deigned to acknowledge my good deed like you were Christ Himself. You might as well've patted me on the head.” He smiled. “See, you sit there in your chair behind your big desk in your fancy office. You forget your place. You forget that one day you're gonna have to answer for every single misdeed you've ever done when He finally calls you home.”
“I didn't take you for a religious man, Mr. Winslow.” Trotman shifted in his chair, a light flush coming over his face. “I find that very interesting, considering the...circumstances under which we have become acquainted. What about your misdeeds? Will you answer for those?”
A rueful smile spread across Herbert's lips. “Oh yes. I already know where I'm going. You don't even know the half of the things I've done.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. He badly wanted a scotch. He repressed the urge. “And that's why it's important that I do the right thing every chance I get. Darius is a good kid. He's innocent. I'm not gonna let him take the fall.”
Trotman rose, walking back to the bar with his empty glass in hand. “'The right thing'” He snorted. “What would you say is 'the right thing'? Is it the law? Something that could be changed at the whim of a handful of people?” He poured himself a very full glass. “If they wanted to, they could make black socks illegal tomorrow. Why? Because they can. Is that 'the right thing'?” His chair squeaked as he sat back down.
“I never said that the law was the end-all be-all of right and wrong.” Herbert clamped his hands around the arms of his chair, his knuckles cracking under the strain. “Far from it, to be honest.”
“Then what is?”
“Well...” Herbert faltered. “You just know. It's a feeling...” He patted his chest. “You just know.”
“You're playing a dangerous game there, Mr. Winslow. Individuals have different moral compasses. And think about how...well...stupid some people are. Do you really want to live in a world where the individual has the ultimate decision on right and wrong?”
“As far as I can tell, I already do.”
Trotman laughed. It was a low braying sound heavy with bass. “Touche, Mr. Winslow. Touche.” He raised his glass to his lips and slurped liquor. The phone on his desk shrilled. He set down his drink and answered it. “Yes? Well, let him in!”