A young man appeared from the back, and said, "Yes. Can I help you?" "Yeah," Nance said without a smile. All business. Rough day. "I'm with the Times-Picayune, you know, the paper in New Orleans. Looking for Reggie Love." Glint stopped ten feet away. "She's not here." "When might she return?" "Don't know. You have any identification?" Nance was headed for the door. "You mean, like little white cards you lawyers throw on the sidewalks. No, pal, I don't carry business cards. I'm a reporter." "Fine. What's your name?" "Arnie Carpentier. Tell her I'll catch her later." He opened the door, the buzzer worked again, and he was gone. Not a productive visit, but he'd met Glint and seen the front room and reception area. The next visit would take longer.
THE RIDE TO THE NINTH FLOOR WAS UNEVENTFUL. REGGIE held his hand, which normally -would have irritated him but was rather comforting under the circumstances. He studied his feet as they ascended. He was afraid to look up, afraid of more strangers. He squeezed her hand.
They spilled into the lobby on the ninth floor and had taken no more than ten steps before three people rushed them from the direction of the waiting area. "Ms. Love! Ms. Love," one of them yelled. Reggie at first was startled, but gripped Mark's hand tighter and kept walking. One had a microphone, one a notepad, and one a camera. The one with the notepad said, "Ms. Love, just a few quick questions." They walked faster toward the nurses' station. "No comment." "Is it true your client is refusing to cooperate with the. FBI and the police?" "No comment," she said, looking ahead. They followed like bloodhounds. She leaned quickly to Mark, and said, "Don't look at them and don't say a word." "Is it true the U. S. attorney from New Orleans was in your office this morning?" "No comment." Doctors, nurses, patients, everybody vacated the center of the hallway as Reggie and her famous client raced along, followed by the yelping dogs.
"Did your client talk to Jerome Clifford before he died?" She squeezed his hand harder and walked faster. "No comment." As they neared the end of the hall, the clown with the camera suddenly dashed in front of them, knelt low as he backpedaled, and managed to get a shot before he landed on his ass. The nurses laughed. A security guard stepped forward at the nurses' station and raised his hands at the yelpers. They had met him before.
As Reggie and Mark rounded a bend in the hall, one called out, "Is it true your client knows where Boyette is buried?" There was a slight hesitation in her step. The shoulders jumped and the back arched, then she was over it and she and her client were gone.
Two overweight security guards in uniform sat in folding chairs by Ricky's door. They had pistols on their hips, and Mark noticed the pistols before anything else. One had a newspaper, which he promptly lowered as they approached. The other stood to greet them. "Can I help you?" he asked Reggie.
"Yes. I'm the attorney for the family, and this is Mark Sway, the patient's brother." She spoke in a professional whisper as if she had a right to be there and they didn't, so be quick with the questions because she had things to do. "Dr. Greenway is expecting us," she said as she walked to the door and knocked. Mark stood behind her, staring at the pistol, which was remarkably similar to the one poor Romey had used.
The security guard returned to his seat and his partner returned to his paper. Greenway opened the door and stepped outside, followed by Dianne, who had been crying. She hugged Mark and placed her arm on his shoulder.
"He's asleep," Greenway said quietly to Reggie and Mark. "Doing much better, but very tired." "He was asking about you," Dianne whispered to Mark.
He looked at the moist eyes and asked, "What's the matter, Mom?" "Nothing. We'll talk about it later." "What's happened?" Dianne looked at Greenway, then at Reggie, then at Mark. "It's nothing," she said.
"Your mother was fired this morning, Mark," Greenway said. He looked at Reggie. "These people sent a letter by courier informing her she'd been fired. Can you believe it? Had it delivered to the nurses here on the ninth floor, and one of them delivered it about an hour ago." "Let me see the letter," Reggie said. Dianne pulled it from a pocket. Reggie unfolded it and read slowly. Dianne hugged Mark, and said, "It'll be all right, Mark. We've managed before. I'll find another job." Mark bit his lip and wanted to cry.
"Can I keep this?" Reggie said as she stuffed it in her briefcase. Dianne nodded yes.
Greenway studied his watch as if he couldn't determine the correct time. "I'm gonna grab a quick sandwich, and I'll be back here in twenty minutes. I want to spend a couple of hours with Ricky and Mark, alone." Reggie glanced at her watch. "I'll be back around four. There are reporters here, and I want you to ignore them." She was talking to all three of them.
"Yeah, just say no comment, no comment," Mark added helpfully. "It's really fun." Dianne missed the fun. "What do they want?" "Everything. They've seen the newspaper. The rumors are rampant. They smell a story, and they'll do anything to get information. I saw a television van on the street, and I suspect they're somewhere close by. I think it's best if you stay here with Mark." "Okay," Dianne said.
"Where's a telephone?" Reggie asked.
Greenway pointed in the direction of the nurses' station. "Come on. I'll show you." "I'll see you guys at four, okay?" she said to Dianne and Mark. "Remember, not a word to anyone. And stay close to this room." She and Greenway disappeared around the bend. The security guards were half-asleep. Mark and his mother entered the dark room and sat on the bed. A stale doughnut caught his attention, and he devoured it in four bites.
Reggie called her office, and Glint answered. "You remember that lawsuit we filed last year on behalf of Penny Patoula?" she asked softly, looking around for the bloodhounds. "It was sex discrimination, wrongful discharge, harassment, the works. I think we threw in everything. Circuit Court. Yeah, that's it. Pull the file. Change the name from Penny Patoula to Dianne Sway. The defendant will be Ark-Lon Fixtures. I want you to name the president individually. His name is Chester Tanfill. Yeah, make him a defendant too, and sue for wrongful discharge, labor violations, sexual harassment, throw in an equal rights charge, and ask for a million or two in damages. Do it now, and quickly. Prepare a summons, and a check for the filing fee. Run over to the courthouse and file it. I'll be there in about thirty minutes to pick it up, so hurry. I'll personally deliver it to Mr. Tanfill." She hung up and thanked the nearest nurse. The reporters were loitering near the soft drink machine, but she was through the door to the stairwell before they saw her.
ARK - LON FIXTURES WAS A SERIES OF METAL-CONNECTED buildings on a street of such structures in a minimum wage industrial park near the airport. The front building was a faded orange in color, and expansion had taken place in every direction except toward the street. The newer additions were of the same general architecture but with different shades of orange. Trucks waited near a loading dock in the rear. An enclosed chain-link fence protected rolls of steel and aluminum.
Reggie parked near the front in a space reserved for visitors. She held her briefcase, and opened the door. A chesty woman with black hair and a long cigarette ignored her and listened to the phone stuck in her ear. Reggie stood before her, waiting impatiently. The room was dusty, dirty, and clouded -with blue cigarette smoke. Matted pictures of beagles adorned the walls. Half the fluorescent lights were out.