They met there at a motel the first night. Joey, Kyle, and four other Beta brothers. They drank two cases of beer to celebrate the Fourth of July, and woke up with hangovers. Kyle, of course, stayed with diet soda and woke up pondering the mysteries of the bankruptcy code. One look at his five friends and he was proud of his sobriety.

Their guide was a rather rustic local named Clem, and Clem had a few rules for the twenty-four-foot rubber raft that was his livelihood. Helmets and life vests were mandatory. No smoking, period. No drinking was allowed in the “boat” while it was moving down the river. When it stopped, for lunch or for the night, they could drink all they wanted. Clem counted ten cases of beer and realized what he was facing. The first morning was uneventful. The sun was hot, and the crew was subdued, even suffering. By late afternoon, they were splashing water and began jumping in. By 5:00 p.m., they were parched, and Clem found a sandbar to settle into for the first night. After a couple of beers each, and one for Clem himself, they pitched four tents and set up camp. Clem cooked T-bones on a grill, and after dinner the crew ventured off to explore.

Kyle and Joey followed the river for half a mile, and when they were certain they could not be seen, they sat on a log with their feet in the backwater. “Let’s have it,” Joey said, cutting to the chase.

For weeks, even months, Kyle had struggled with the conversation they were about to have. He loathed the idea of upsetting his friend’s life, but he had decided that he had no choice but to tell the story. All of it. He justified his decision by convincing himself that he would certainly want to know if things were reversed. If Joey had been the first to see the video and knew of its dangers, he, Kyle, would want to know. But the bigger reason, and one that made him feel selfish, was that Kyle needed help. He had worked on a rough draft of a plan, and it was more than he could handle himself, especially with Bennie lurking in the shadows. The plan could easily lead nowhere, and it could just as easily lead to something dangerous. It could be aborted at any time. It could also be rejected outright by Joey Bernardo. The first step involved Elaine Keenan.

Joey listened in rapt silence to Kyle’s detailed replaying of the initial encounter with a man known as Bennie. He was sufficiently stunned by the existence of the video. He was thoroughly bewildered by the blackmail. He was terrified by the thought of some forgotten girl accusing him of rape and producing the evidence to back it up.

Kyle unloaded everything but the background on the lawsuit. He had not yet passed the bar and received a license to practice, but he had signed a contract with Scully & Pershing and felt an ethical obligation to protect firm business. This was silly in light of what he would be forced to do, but for the moment his career was unblemished and he felt rather ethical.

Joey’s first reaction was a halfhearted attempt to deny any contact with Elaine, but Kyle waved him off. “You’re on the video,” Kyle said as sympathetically as possible. “You’re having sex with a girl who’s probably floating in and out of consciousness. In our apartment. Baxter goes first, then you. And I saw it on a twelve-inch laptop screen. If it’s ever seen in court, it’ll be on a big screen, a massive one. It’ll be like sitting in the cinema with the images and sounds enhanced so that everybody there, especially the jurors, will have no doubt that it’s you. I’m sorry, Joey, but you’re there.”

“Totally nude?”

“Not a stitch. Do you remember it?”

“It was five years ago, Kyle. I’ve worked hard to forget it.”

“But you do remember?”

With great reluctance, Joey said, “Yeah, sure, but there was no rape. Hell, the sex was her idea.”

“That’s not real clear on the video.”

“Well, the video is missing several important details. First, when the cops showed up that night, we scattered. Baxter and I ran next door and ducked into Thelo’s apartment where there was a smaller and quieter party. Elaine was there, bombed as usual and having a good time. We hung around for a few minutes, waited for the cops to clear out, then Elaine tells me she wants to leave, wants to go back to our place for a “session,” as she liked to call it. With Baxter and me. That’s the way she was, Kyle, always on the prowl. She was the easiest lay at Duquesne. Everybody knew it. She was very cute and very easy.”

“I remember well.”

“I never saw a girl so promiscuous and so aggressive. That’s why we were stunned when she cried rape.”

“And it’s why the police lost interest.”

“Exactly. And there’s something else, another little detail not on the video. The night before the party, you and Alan and some others went to a Pirates game, right?”

“Yes.”

“Elaine was in the apartment, which was nothing new. And we had a three-way. Me, Baxter, and Elaine. Twenty-four hours later, same apartment, same guys, same everything, she passes out, wakes up, decides she was raped.”

“I don’t remember this.”

“It was no big deal until she cried rape. Baxter and I talked about it and decided to keep it quiet because she might claim we raped her twice. So we buried it. When the police started squeezing us, we finally told them. That’s when they packed up and went home. Case closed. No rape.”

A small turtle stopped swimming by a log and seemed to stare at them. They stared back, and for a long time nothing was said.

“Do Baxter and Alan know about this?” Joey finally asked.

“No, not yet. It was hard enough telling you.”

“Thanks for nothing.”

“I’m sorry. I need a friend.”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know. Right now I just need someone to talk to.”

“What do these guys want from you?”

“It’s very simple. The scheme is to plant me as a spy in my law firm, where I can extract all sorts of secrets that the other side can use to win a big lawsuit.”

“Simple enough. What happens if you get caught?”

“Disbarred, indicted, convicted, sentenced to five years in prison — state, not federal.”

“Is that all?”

“Bankrupted, humiliated, it’s a long list.”

“You need more than friends.”

The turtle crawled onto the sand and disappeared into the roots of a dead tree. “We’d better get back,” Kyle said.

“We gotta talk some more. Let me think about this.”

“We’ll sneak away later.”

They followed the river to the campsite. The sun had dropped below the mountains, and night was approaching quickly. Clem stoked the coals and added wood to the fire. The crew gathered around and opened beers, and the chatter began. Kyle asked if anyone had heard from Baxter. There was a rumor the family had locked him away in a high-security rehab unit, but this had not been confirmed. No one had heard from him in three weeks. They told Baxter stories for far too long.

Joey was notably quiet, obviously preoccupied. “You got girl trouble?” Clem asked at one point.

“Naw, just sleepy, that’s all.”

By 9:30 they were all sleepy. The beer and sun and red meat finally caught up with them. When Clem finished his third long joke in a row with a lame punch line, they were all ready for their sleeping bags. Kyle and Joey shared a tent, and as they were arranging two rather thin air mattresses, Clem yelled across the campsite, “Be sure and check for snakes.” Then he laughed, and they assumed it was another attempt at humor. Ten minutes later they heard him snore. The sound of the river soon put them all to sleep.

At 3:20 a.m., Kyle checked his watch and saw the time. After three rough weeks of bar review, his nights were erratic. The fact that he was essentially sleeping on the ground didn’t help matters.

“You awake?” Joey whispered.

“Yes. I assume you are too.”

“I can’t sleep. Let’s go talk.”

They quietly unzipped the front tent fly and eased away from the campsite. Kyle led with a flashlight, moving carefully, watching for snakes. The path led up to a rocky trail, and after a few minutes of tentative hiking they stopped near a huge boulder. Kyle turned off the flashlight, and their eyes began to focus in the darkness.