A week after his name was in the paper, he sat by himself at a table in the rear of the deli and ate a chili dog with a York. The place was empty. He read a prospectus an inch thick. The Greek who ran the place was asleep behind the cash register.
A stranger approached his table and stopped a few feet away. He unraveled a piece of Juicy Fruit, making as much noise as possible. When it was apparent he was not being seen, he walked to the table and sat down. Mitch looked across the red-checkered tablecloth and laid the document next to the iced tea.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
The stranger glanced at the counter, glanced at the empty tables and glanced behind him. "You're McDeere, aren't you?"
It was a rich brogue, undoubtedly Brooklyn. Mitch studled him carefully. He was about forty, with a short military haircut on the sides and a wisp of gray hair hanging almost to his eyebrows. The suit was a three-piece, navy in color, made of at least ninety percent polyester. The tie was cheap imitation silk. He wasn't much of a dresser, but there was a certain neatness about him. And an air of cockiness.
"Yeah. Who are you?" Mitch asked.
He grabbed his pocket and whipped out a badge. "Tar-ranee, Wayne Tarrance, Special Agent, FBI." He raised his eyebrows and waited for a response.
"Have a seat," Mitch said.
"Don't mind if I do."
"Do you want to frisk me?"
"Not till later. I just wanted to meet you. Saw your name in the paper and heard you were the new man at Bendini, Lambert & Locke."
"Why should that interest the FBI?"
"We watch that firm pretty close."
Mitch lost interest in the chili dog and slid the plate to the center of the table. He added more sweetener to his tea in a large Styrofoam cup.
"Would you like something to drink?" Mitch asked.
"No, thanks."
"Why do you watch the Bendini firm?"
Tarrance smiled and looked toward the Greek. "I can't really say at this point. We got our reasons, but I didn't come here to talk about that. I came here to meet you, and to warn you."
"To warn me?"
"Yes, to warn you about ."
"I'm listening."
"Three things. Number one, don't trust anyone. There's not a single person in that firm you can confide in. Remember that. It will become important later on. Number two, every word you utter, whether at home, at the office or anywhere in the building, is likely to be recorded. They might even listen to you in your car."
Mitch watched and listened intently. Tarrance was enjoying this.
"And number three?" Mitch asked.
"Number three, money don't grow on trees."
"Would you care to elaborate?"
"I can't right now. I think you and I will become very close. I want you to trust me, and I know I'll have to earn your trust. So I don't want to move too fast. We can't meet at your office, or my office, and we can't talk on the phone. So from time to time I'll come find you. In the meantime, just remember those three things, and be careful."
Tarrance stood and reached for his wallet. "Here's my card. My home number is on the back. Use it only from a pay phone."
Mitch studied the card. "Why should I be calling you?"
"You won't need to for a while. But keep the card."
Mitch placed it in his shirt pocket.
"There's one other thing," Tarrance said. "We saw you at the funerals of Hodge and Kozinski. Sad, really sad. Their deaths were not accidental."
He looked down at Mitch with both hands in his pockets and smiled.
"I don't understand."
Tarrance started for the door. "Gimme a call sometime, but be careful. Remember, they're listening."
A few minutes after four a horn honked and Dutch bolted to his feet. He cursed and walked in front of the headlights. "Dammit, Mitch. It's four o'clock. What're you doing here?"
"Sorry, Dutch. Couldn't sleep. Rough night." The gate opened.
By seven-thirty he had dictated enough work to keep Nina busy for two days. She bitched less when her nose was glued to the monitor. His immediate goal was to become the first associate to justify a second secretary.
At eight o'clock he parked himself in Lamar's office and waited. He proofed a contract and drank coffee, and told Lamar's secretary to mind her own business. He arrived at eight-fifteen.
"We need to talk," Mitch said as he closed the door. If he believed Tarrance, the office was bugged and the conversation would be recorded. He was not sure whom to believe.
"You sound serious," Lamar said.
"Ever hear of a guy named Tarrance, Wayne Tarrance?"
"No."
"FBI."
Lamar closed his eyes. "FBI," he mumbled.
"That's right. He had a badge and everything."
"Where did you meet him?"
"He found me at Lansky's Deli on Union. He knew who I was, knew I'd just been admitted. Says he knows all about . They watch us real close."
"Have you told Avery?"