The Creed of Violence - Boston Teran [12]
In the morning he was awakened by his landlord. There was a call on the hall phone. Justice Knox ordered him to come immediately to the courthouse, and to speak with no one. Rawbone was going to be released.
SEVEN
HE DOWNTOWN COURTHOUSE was an ornate three-story edifice that stood out grimly against the Spartan timelessness of the west.
There was no official federal courthouse; the U.S. court and federal offices were housed on the second floor. The building had a dome, and light from that dome spilled down through a ceiling well.
Justice Knox was in conversation with an attorney when John Lourdes arrived. He waited impatiently, the coming sunlight from the dome hot against his neck until the conversation was done. Knox, alone, approached him.
"Mr. Lourdes. I appreciate your promptness. We have a lot to-"
"Sir. Am I to understand that-"
"Mr. Lourdes, you will understand when I am done explaining. And then you will have no need to jump-start my conversation."
"My apologies, sir."
Knox took him by the arm and they paced off a few steps. Knox spoke privately about the previous night. The district judge had given Knox use of his private office so as few people as possible would know about the meeting. Knox had sat behind the judge's desk. He'd removed the one comfortable attorney's chair, leaving only a stiff-backed shaker for Burr when he arrived. Burr, dressed in an elegant evening suit, could well have been going to the opera. He'd sat in that rigid chair with his legs crossed and smoked with one hand while letting the ashes drop into the palm of the other.
"You had an operative in the Mills Building when my client arrived," he said.
"Yes," said Knox.
"And unless he was having coffee at the Modern Cafe or shopping at that pedestrian department store, he was on duty."
Knox did not proffer an answer.
"We both know what profligates that building has started to attract since it became apparent there was going to be an insurrection. As I have indicated, my client possesses information you might find acutely relevant to an ongoing or future investigation."
"We'll have him deposed and if his information proves to be reliable and valuable, then-"
"I have no intention of allowing my client to rely on the future goodwill of the federal government."
"I see. That being the case, in what small way can you be of service to us?"
"My client has unique access to certain parties operating in strict violation of American law. My client has a singular curriculum vitae that allows him to come and go freely and without exception amongst the very element that you need to unearth, investigate and ultimately indict. In short ... for my client's services, you guarantee in writing an earned immunity."
Burr stood. He walked to the window, opened it, then flicked his ashes out into the night. He let time pass before coming about. He was smiling when he did. "It seems one of the judge's chairs is missing."
"Really?" said Knox. "I wouldn't know."
"It was here last week when I came to see him. No matter." He remained at the window, leaning back against the sill.
"One day, Mr. Knox, the government will come to the purely utilitarian decision that to efficiently and successfully deal with profligates it must enlist the services of efficient and successful profligates. As a matter of fact, I could foresee a time when our law enforcement hierarchy, the backbone of your prized bureaucracy, will all be onetime members of that wayward class."
"I guess that means my job would be in jeopardy under your definition of government service."
"Is it better to hire good men and fail, or solicit men who are ... contra bonos mores ... and succeed?"
Knox leaned forward. Thoughts were forming, possible plans of action, the weighing of realities. He rested his elbows on the table, set his chin on clasped and upturned hands. He studied Burr. The electric light from the wall sconce left the lawyer's complexion all the more sallow; his neck was noticeably too thin for the ruffled shirt collar. "Was it the drugs?" he asked.