Foreclosure: A Novel Read online

  David turned back around to face the bartender, but he could still see everything she was doing in the mirror behind the bar. After a few more laughs, she hugged the other women and told them good-bye. Then she hesitated, as though she were weighing whether she really wanted to talk to him. Finally she took a deep, furtive breath, turned, and entered the barroom.

  David kept his eyes on the TV while she mounted the stool next to him.

  “Still drinking bourbon?” she asked.

  “I’ve grown into scotch,” he said, avoiding eye contact.

  “You been drinking here all night? I didn’t see you in there.”

  “I was at a client event. I hate the bar association scene.” He kept his eyes on the television, wishing she would say something else. But she was quiet. So he asked, “What are you doing in town?”

  “I moved here a few weeks ago. I meant to give you a call.”

  “No worries. We’re all busy.”

  The bartender returned to David. “Make up your mind yet?”

  David turned to Beth and got the first good look he’d had of her in years. She still wore her silky brown hair tied back, accentuating her intense blue eyes and the strong but somehow gentle angles of her face. Another look at her eyes and his heart made his lungs forget how to breathe for a moment. Those eyes just went on forever, telling him she was smarter and more confident than him, and they wouldn’t mind if he got lost in them every once in a while. Just like the good old days. He tried to fight them, pulling back to refocus on her face. If the practice of law had taken any toll on her, she hid it damn well.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

  “I have to be in the office early.”

  “Still worried about getting the highest grade in class?”

  “Still acting like you’re not?”

  David chuckled. “I’m more worried about being the highest paid these days.”

  “How’s that working out for you?”

  “Fine,” he sighed.

  The bartender smirked at David getting played and asked whether he was ready for his check. David nodded, thankful for the mercy.

  The air outside was clean and crisp, but he had felt warm inside since Beth asked him to walk her to her car. Across the parking lot, a rock band was doing some modicum of justice to the Allman Brothers in a nearby bar.

  “Are you still playing?” Beth asked.

  “No time for that.”

  “I thought you were going to start a blues band wherever you ended up after law school.”

  “Maybe it’s time. I don’t know. I try to play sometimes, but I can’t do it. It’s like the musician’s equivalent of writer’s block.” He instantly regretted confiding such an admission to someone he hadn’t seen for seven years.

  “Maybe because you’re the oppressor now. Blues is music for the oppressed.”

  “Give me a break, Beth, you’re a federal prosecutor. How many poor people have you sent to prison since law school?”

  She stopped and put her hand on her hip, the way she used to when she’d get fired up in trial advocacy. “I’m not the one with writer’s block who drinks himself to sleep every night.”

  He felt like he’d gasped, but was unsure whether she’d heard it.

  Regardless, she sighed and turned apologetic. “Look, I’m testy tonight, I guess. I don’t like bar association events, either. Everyone wants to know every detail of your personal life since law school.” She started walking again, and he followed. “So what the hell brought you here, anyway?”

  “Something about working for Florida’s most prestigious law firm.”

  “I always thought Hollis & Alderman was a country club. Not the kind of place I saw you working.”

  “People change.” He sensed her shaking her head. “What brought you back?”

  “I did grow up here, remember? Seven years in DC was enough. The US Attorney here offered me a job I couldn’t pass up. I’m leading a new mortgage fraud section.”

  “Sounds official.”

  She let out a long moan of ecstasy. “Honestly, I miss this.”

  “I can see why you’d miss me.”

  “I mean the weather. It won’t thaw out in DC for a few more months.” She stopped at a green Toyota Camry.

  “Isn’t this the same car you had in law school?”

  “Same model. I bought a new one a few months ago.”

  “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

  She shrugged. “Something tells me you have.” She unlocked the door to her car, hung her head down, and bit her lip.

  David took her left hand and rubbed her ring finger.

  “We’re getting divorced,” she said.

  “And you’re tired of talking about it tonight?”

  She nodded.

  “I told you he was no good for you.”

  “You told me lots of things.” She took her hand back and slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Beth,” he said as she rolled down the window. “Something I should tell you.”

  “I’m listening.” Her tone said she’d rather not be.

  He glanced around and leaned over. “I’m getting over a tough relationship too.”

  She laughed. “I’m so glad you were compelled to share that with me.”

  “I just thought you should know.”

  “Otherwise, I might not have been able to keep my hands off you.”

  He sighed. “You always do this to me. You get me to confide something in you, and then you act like that.”

  “So don’t confide in me.” She gave him a puppy-dog face. “Good night, David.”

  He watched her drive away, hoping the direction she turned would give him some clue about the part of town where she was staying. Wherever it was, she wasn’t living downtown. As he started his trek across the parking lot to the Saab, he regretted not saying more to her about the way they’d left things at the end of law school. And during the slow walk, he realized there were a lot of things he would regret if he were honest with himself. But he knew that was a big if.

  He reached the Saab and patted the driver’s door. Seven years of the Florida sun had taken a toll on the red finish. He wondered what it had done to him. Not just the sun and the heat—the job. Having a career that defined everything he was and wanted to be. One that robbed his soul, if he’d ever had one. He remembered reading someone who said that humans did not have souls—humans were just souls who happened to have bodies. How that used to resonate with him when he thought about soul, at least the way Stevie Ray Vaughan played the guitar with all his might and being, as though his very existence depended on it. Or the way a mother held a crying baby and something about her touch and warmth could ease away all the anguish and tears and bring about tranquility and order in the universe. These days, he yearned for soul. Any notion of it.

  “Good night, Beth,” he muttered to himself.

  As soon as he unlocked the car door, a blaring horn startled him. It was followed by the rumble of a diesel engine. He could not see the entire vehicle over its blinding high beams, but at first glance it could have passed for Ed Savage’s Yukon.

  “David Freeman?” a voice yelled.

  “Friedman,” David corrected him, stepping aside a few feet to get away from the glaring headlights. “Who wants to know?”

  The driver’s window rolled down, and Robbie stared out. “He wants to see you.”

  “Who?” David asked.

  “Who the hell you think? Get in if you want to meet him.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The air vents in Robbie’s truck blew an arctic stream through David’s wool pants. He leaned forward and closed the vent to his right. His fingers were numb.

  “If you close one of them, you change the air in the entire cabin.” Robbie leered at David after stopping at a red light. “Are you really that cold?”

  “My knuckles are blue’s all.”

  Robbie held a button to raise the temperature on the digital thermostat from
66 to 69. “That should help.”

  This was the most David had heard Robbie speak since they’d left the Hilton. He couldn’t quite place his accent. It could be European, or Californian with a speech impediment. “You from around here?”

  “No.”

  David glanced at the bandage on Robbie’s forehead. “What happened to your head?”

  “A fishing accident.”

  “Some accident. Did the fish stab you?”

  “Something like that.” Robbie punched the gas the instant the light turned green.

  David glanced at the in-dash GPS navigation, the first one he’d ever seen in person. He could tell they were traveling east, away from the Gulf and Gaspar Towers, where he had presumed they’d be meeting Frank. “Where are we meeting?”

  “At some property he owns.”

  Even though Robbie’s answer told him absolutely nothing—Frank’s company probably owned more property in Gaspar County than the government—David nodded. “So how do you know Frank?”

  “You should save your questions for Frank.”

  “He really doesn’t like lawyers?”

  “From our experience, lawyers only create problems.”

  “I hope I can change your minds about that.”

  “Save the sales talk for Frank, too.”

  After Robbie made a few turns off the highway, they entered a zone of suburbs on what must have been the northeastern edge of Gaspar County. “Is this Lahey Acres?” David asked.

  Robbie nodded. “You’re a pretty smart lawyer.”

  David had heard about this neighborhood in the news, but never had any reason to visit. One of the areas of Florida hardest hit by the housing bubble, it had attracted investors and homeowners from all over the world. At the height of the bubble, houses were flipped in this neighborhood daily, until the music stopped and the banks holding the paper lined up at the courthouse steps to sue the investors left holding title. Now, For Sale signs had sprouted up in front yards like over-nourished weeds.

  “Looks like a warzone,” David said.

  “It is.” Robbie turned into a driveway of one of many identical, abandoned houses on a street that seemed to go on forever. “And this is our safe house.” He hit the garage door opener. The garage door rose, revealing a silver Lexus coupe surrounded by heaps of bankers’ boxes and building scraps. Robbie killed the engine in the driveway.

  David followed the Swede into the garage, through a laundry room, and into a kitchen gleaming with white Formica and kitchen appliances still wrapped in plastic sheathing. Inside, the house was pitch-black.

  “He must be out back,” Robbie said.

  “Out back” was a screened lanai, where a wobbling ceiling fan noisily beat down a cloud of smoke. The instant David noticed Frank lounging in a fold-up lawn chair, he smelled the unmistakable odor of cannabis burning.

  “What took you so long?” Frank asked without turning around.

  “Ask this guy,” Robbie said. “He stayed inside the hotel for an hour.”

  Frank grimaced at David with an eye patch covering his right eye. “Did you have a date at the hotel tonight? A high-priced Bettie give you the old recession-repression special?” Frank grinned before exploding into obnoxious laughter. Then his face quickly soured. “What the hell is wrong with this kid? Never seen a man smoke?”

  David realized how terrified he must look reacting to this surreal scene. The weak excuse of a light on the rickety ceiling fan glowed like a black light on the macabre. In the shadows, Frank appeared to be missing teeth that David suspected were really there. And there was Robbie hovering around like a zombie, waiting to devour David after Frank had his way with him.

  “Hey, Robbie,” Frank yelled. “Mr. Hotshot don’t look so hot right now.”

  Robbie nodded with a muted chuckle.

  “Guess I’m a little surprised to be here’s all,” David said.

  Frank slid his chair around so he was facing David. “And I was a little surprised that you’d be at that dinner tonight. The same night my attorney is firing me, another one shows up wanting to jack me off in front of my friends.”

  “Some coincidence.” David scanned the row of dark houses behind the safe house.

  Frank took a big hit off the joint, and while the smoke was still in his lungs, said: “I don’t believe in coincidences.” He slowly exhaled a cloud of smoke, blew it in David’s direction.

  David knew it was time to man-up. “It wasn’t a coincidence. I knew Sonny Kendrick was withdrawing. I overheard it in a hearing today.”

  “Well, at least you’re an honest lawyer.” Frank’s left eye, the only eye exposed, wandered aimlessly.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. But I know I can be of assistance to you.”

  “Is that so?”

  “You have twenty days to find a new lawyer. If you don’t, the court will strike your pleadings and you’ll lose your lawsuits. And you’ll lose those escrow deposits.”

  Frank groaned pensively. “Lose the escrow deposits? Let me think about that for a minute.” He glanced at Robbie, who was staring at the few stars that could be seen in the hazy sky. “Think I have to worry about that, Robbie?”

  Robbie, dazed, shook his head.

  Frank studied the joint for a moment and passed it to Robbie. “What do you think of it out here?” he asked David. “This somewhere you’d like to live?”

  “I prefer closer to downtown,” David said.

  “I own so many of these houses, I thought I’d keep this one. Just to be safe. It’s like hiding a twenty-dollar bill for a rainy day. Besides, you never know when I’m going to need a place to live.”

  Robbie coughed on smoke as though he were laughing at an inside joke.

  Frank chuckled too. “That’s some good stuff, Robbie. Why don’t you share it with our guest?” He grinned at David. “Don’t tell me you never smoked before.”

  David had smoked more than his fair share in high school and as an undergrad, back when he still thought making music would always trump making partner. He’d started the weaning process in law school, and hadn’t touched any herb since graduating and sitting for the bar. Nonetheless, he couldn’t remember ever smelling anything as potent as the weed burning in the joint Frank and Robbie were sharing.

  Frank held the joint now. “So tell me, Captain Cool Guy, why should I hire you?”

  David took a breath and prepared to answer.

  “Wait a minute,” Frank said. “Why don’t you take a hit before you answer?” He stuck the burning joint in David’s face. David took the sticky paper between his fingers and slowly raised it to his lips.

  “That’s it,” Frank said. “Don’t fake it. I hate fakers, Robbie. I hate them.”

  David inhaled through his nose, trying to make it seem like he was pulling a big hit.

  “You smoke like a woman,” Frank said.

  No turning back now. David closed his lips tight and inhaled as much of the smoke as his lungs would hold.

  “Hold it, baby,” Frank said. “Hold it as long as you can.”

  David did. And it hit him hard. He felt like he was riding a spinner at the fair. After a few seconds, he reached for the wall to hold himself up.

  “Getting dizzy?” Frank asked. “Bet you never smoked anything like this.” Frank tapped the patch over his eye. “It’s the only thing that relieves the pressure. You lawyers don’t know anything about pressure.” He laughed. At least it sounded like he was laughing. The most sinister laugh David had ever heard.

  David realized that he’d missed the wall; he was on the floor now. And he felt like he weighed a thousand pounds. He knew that even trying to stand right now would be futile: the cool floor was holding him down, like a mother gripping her baby during a storm.

  “Robbie, did I tell you this is some good weed?” Frank croaked.

  David didn’t hear whether Robbie answered. He just heard mumbling and the rattling of the ceiling fan. Then he realized the fan wasn’t moving anymore. Instead, the en
tire lanai was spinning, and its axis was the ceiling fan. David tried to grab the concrete ground, afraid he’d fall off.

  Frank looked down at David. “You okay down there?” Frank removed his eye patch to get a better look down at David. All David could see was a black hole underneath the eye patch. He told himself he was hallucinating.

  “You’re not hallucinating,” Frank said.

  “I was talking to myself,” David whispered.

  “I heard you too,” Robbie said.

  “We have ESP, David. It’s an effect of the smoke.” Frank began chortling hysterically. “Just messing with you, okay?”

  David let go of everything and lay flat and relaxed on the cool pavement. Don’t fight it, he told himself. Just go with it.

  “So, back to the question,” Frank continued. “Why should I hire you?”

  “Because I’m a fighter. And a winner.” David’s mouth was drying up like a forgotten stream in the Old West.

  “Wow, I’m impressed. Aren’t you impressed, Robbie? He sounds tough.”

  “He does sound tough, Frank.” Robbie coughed again.

  “So what have you won?” Frank asked, his left eye still off kilter.

  “I just won a jury trial, a residential foreclosure on a million-dollar home.” David’s mouth was too dry to speak complete sentences. He smacked his lips and tried to moisten his mouth.

  “I sure hope you don’t get cotton mouth like that in court,” Frank said. “Why don’t you give him something to drink, Robbie. Say, why don’t you piss in his mouth? He’d never know what hit him.”

  David jerked forward and covered his mouth, struggling to balance himself upright.

  Frank wailed with laughter. “We’re not going to piss on you, tough guy.” He pulled a cigarette and lit it. “But in all seriousness, I don’t need no two-bit foreclosure attorney. You guys are a dime a dozen.”