“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 The Firm.”

“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?”

“No. No one but you. I’m not sure what to do.”

Lamar picked up the phone. “We need to tell Avery. I think this has happened before.”

“What’s going on, Lamar?”

Lamar talked to Avery’s secretary and said it was an emergency. In a few seconds he was on the other end. “We’ve got a small problem, Avery. An FBI agent contacted Mitch yesterday. He’s in my office.”

Lamar listened, then said to Mitch, “He’s got me on hold. Said he was calling Lambert.”

“I take it this is pretty serious,” Mitch said.

“Yes, but don’t worry. There’s an explanation. It’s happened before.”

Lamar held the receiver closer and listened to the instructions. He hung up. “They want us in Lambert’s office in ten minutes.”

Avery, Royce McKnight, Oliver Lambert, Harold O’Kane and Nathan Locke were waiting. They stood nervously around the small conference table and tried to appear calm when Mitch entered the office.

“Have a seat,” Nathan Locke said with a short, plastic smile. “We want you to tell us everything.”

“What’s that?” Mitch pointed to a tape recorder in the center of the table.

“We don’t want to miss anything,” Locke said, and pointed to an empty chair. Mitch sat and stared across the table at Black Eyes. Avery sat between them. No one made a sound.

“Okay. I was eating lunch yesterday at Lansky’s Deli on Union. This guy walks up and sits across my table. He knows my name. Shows me a badge and says his name is Wayne Tarrance, Special Agent, FBI. I look at the badge, and it’s real. He tells me he wants to meet because we’ll get to know each other. They watch this firm real close and he warns me not to trust anyone. I ask him why, and he said he doesn’t have time to explain, but he will later. I don’t know what to say, so I just listen. He says he will contact me later. He gets up to leave and tells me they saw me at the funerals. Then he says the deaths of Kozinski and Hodge were not accidents. And he leaves. The entire conversation lasted less than five minutes.”

Black Eyes glared at Mitch and absorbed every word. “Have you ever seen this man before?”

“Never.”

“Whom did you tell?”

“Only Lamar. I told him first thing this morning.”

“Your wife?”

“No.”

“Did he leave you a phone number to call?”

“No.”

“I want to know every word that was said,” Locke demanded.

“I’ve told you what I remember. I can’t recall it verbatim.”

“Are you certain?”

“Let me think a minute.” A few things he would keep to himself. He stared at Black Eyes, and knew that Locke suspected more.

“Let’s see. He said he saw my name in the paper and knew I was the new man here. That’s it. I’ve covered everything. It was a very brief conversation.”

“Try to remember everything,” Locke persisted.

“I asked him if he wanted some of my tea. He declined.”

The tape recorder was turned off, and the partners seemed to relax a little. Locke walked to the window. “Mitch, we’ve had trouble with the FBI, as well as the IRS. It’s been going on for a number of years. Some of our clients are high rollers—wealthy individuals who make millions, spend millions and expect to pay little or no taxes. They pay us thousands of dollars to legally avoid taxes. We have a reputation for being very aggressive, and we don’t mind taking chances if our clients instruct us to. We’re talking about very sophisticated businessmen who understand risks. They pay dearly for our creativeness. Some of the shelters and write-offs we set up have been challenged by the IRS. We’ve slugged it out with them in tax litigation for the past twenty years. They don’t like us, we don’t like them. Some of our clients have not always possessed the highest degree of ethics, and they have been investigated and harassed by the FBI. For the past three years, we, too, have been harassed.

“Tarrance is a rookie looking for a big name. He’s been here less than a year and has become a thorn. You are not to speak to him again. Your brief conversation yesterday was probably recorded. He is dangerous, extremely dangerous. He does not play fair, and you’ll learn soon enough that most of the feds don’t play fair.”

“How many of these clients have been convicted?”

“Not a single one. And we’ve won our share of litigation with the IRS.”