The Common Lawyer

TEN

Kelly Fitzgerald always felt a bit stupid, a nurse smoking on the job. She had tried to quit, but she could not beat her addiction. Still, she was down to two cigarettes per shift. And she never allowed her craving to interfere with her patient care. It was 3:00 A.M. and all the patients on Three West were asleep. Five minutes off the floor wouldn't harm anyone. She had ducked out the back door of the hospital to grab a quick smoke and was almost finished when the door behind her opened, and a man in a suit walked outside.

"Ms. Fitzgerald?"

"Yes."

The man flashed a badge. "I'm Agent Smith, FBI."

She laughed. "And I'm the president."

"What?"

"Take your store-bought badge and your game somewhere else."

"Pardon me?"

"Try another line."

"What are you talking about?"

"What I'm talking about is, I'm an Irish girl married to a cop, my two brothers are New York City cops, and my father was a cop. You're not a cop. You're a lawyer."

The man seemed disappointed.

"How'd you know?"

"Cops don't say 'pardon me.' "

"I knew that wasn't good as soon as I said it." The man sighed. "Okay. I'm a lawyer."

"And use a better name-I mean, Smith? "

"That is my real name."

"Oh. Well, Lawyer Smith, what do you want?"

"You were the night-shift charge nurse on Third Floor West three years ago?"

"Yes."

"You attended Dr. Falco's patients?"

"Why are you asking?"

"We're looking for one of his patients."

"Who?"

"Patient X."

Kelly took a slow drag on the cigarette and exhaled. The smoke hung like a gray cloud in the cool night air.

"I guess you would be looking for her. Kind of surprised it took this long."

"She's in hiding."

"She would be."

"So she just walked out of here three years ago? What kind of security do you have here?"

"You got in easy enough."

"And she's never been seen since?"

Kelly had been on duty that night. Falco had not been pleased to find his prized patient missing the next morning.

"No."

"We don't want to harm her."

"You want to use her, like Falco."

"All I need is the woman's name."

Kelly turned to the lawyer. "The woman's name?"

"Yes."

Kelly's mind raced. She bought time with another long drag on the cigarette. She exhaled again.

"I never knew her real name. Falco was paranoid."

"Ms. Fitzgerald, she won't be harmed in any way. We just need to find her and talk to her. We will pay her well. And we will pay you well for her name. One million dollars, Ms. Fitzgerald. For her name."

"I don't know her name."

"Two million."

"Goodbye."

Kelly dashed the cigarette on the iron railing, flicked the butt into the garden, and walked back inside; but she thought, What is his game?

The next morning, Dennis Lott sat behind his desk. He would soon be fired as administrator of the hospital. He was sure of that. He had been hired two years ago, just six months before Tony Falco had jumped ship for that Chinese research institute. It was like getting the last berth on the Titanic.

Falco had left, and the research grants had followed. Dennis was now the administrator of a research hospital without funds to conduct research. The money followed the name scientists like groupies followed rock stars. Falco was a star.

Dennis Lott was not.

He had been completely unsuccessful in attracting new scientists and funding to the hospital. So the board of trustees would soon find another administrator who might prove more successful. Dennis figured he had two months, at the longest. This was his fifth hospital. There would not be a sixth.

Ellen, his secretary, knocked lightly on the door and entered. She shut the door behind her.

"Mr. Lott, there's a gentleman here to see you. A Mr. Smith."

"What does he want?"

"He says he wants to give money to the hospital."

"Give him a brochure and tell him who to write the check to."

"He wants to give us fifty million dollars."

Dennis sat up.

" Fifty million? "

Ellen nodded. Dennis stood up.

"Show Mr. Smith in."

Dennis came around his desk while Ellen opened the door and said, "Mr. Smith, please come in."

A middle-aged man in a suit entered. Dennis had met enough lawyers in his time to recognize another one. He extended his hand, and they shook.

"Mr. Smith… Dennis Lott. Please sit down."

Smith took a seat in front of the desk; Dennis sat behind it.

"So you want to donate fifty million to our hospital?"

"That's correct, Mr. Lott."

"Dennis. Well, that's wonderful, Mr. Smith. May I ask why we're the lucky beneficiary of your generosity?"

"Because you have something I need, Dennis."

"And what is that?"

"A name."

"Whose name?"

Mr. Smith dug papers out of his briefcase and put them on Lott's desk. Dennis looked at the top page and laughed.

"What, you work for a drug company?" Mr. Smith didn't answer. "You think Patient X is real?"

"Don't you?"

"No. I think it was all a hoax perpetrated by Falco to hype his research and attract more funding. Researchers do that, you know. Hell, it worked. The Chinese paid him millions to move his research over there."

"I talked to Falco."

"You went to China?"

"Yes. I need that name."

"Falco wouldn't reveal it?"

"No."

"Did you offer him a donation?"

"Yes."

"That's Tony. Well, Mr. Smith, I'd take your money and give you the name, but unfortunately for both of us, I don't have the names of Falco's research patients."

"They're not in the hospital records?"

"No. Falco insisted on absolute privacy for his patients. Only he knew their names."

"But it's your hospital."

Dennis snorted. "That's not how things work, Mr. Smith. Falco brought in hundreds of millions in research grants. Three West was his kingdom."

"Well, Dennis, I have fifty million dollars to offer you, if you can give me that woman's name."

"What woman's name?"

"Patient X."

Dennis sat back and thought about what Mr. Smith knew and what he did not know. Which made him smile. Because what Mr. Smith did not know had just saved Dennis Lott's career.

"Mr. Smith, I have something much more valuable than a woman's name. But it will cost your client one hundred million dollars."

Larry Smith was sweating profusely. How could he end up here, kneeling on the concrete floor of an abandoned warehouse in Ithaca, New York, with two thugs standing over him and a gun pointed at his head? He had graduated summa cum laude from Yale Law School and had been recruited by prestigious law firms from New York to L.A. Ten years later, he was a partner making $800,000 a year. Sure, that required he handle somewhat sleazy assignments from time to time, but even sleazy clients were entitled to a lawyer, right? Well, if they had enough money.

"What did the nurse tell you?"

"Nothing. I swear."

"What about Lott? Did he give you her name?"

"I can't tell you that. My God, that's attorney-client privileged information!"

The man named Harmon touched the barrel of the gun to Larry's head.

"This is a Glock 9. It doesn't recognize the attorney-client privilege, Mr. Smith."

To hell with the privilege.

"In my briefcase."

"Open it."

Larry opened the briefcase. "There."

The man removed the papers Lott had given Larry and thumbed through them.

"Very good. Is this all he gave you?"

"Yes."

That was a lie.

"Who else knows this?"

"I can't say."

"Give me a name."

Larry tried to think. He had already sent the items he had purchased from Lott to his client by overnight delivery. So he had completed his assignment. If he revealed his client's identity to this creep, and if that got his client killed, his career would be over because his richest client would be dead; on the other hand, if he revealed his client's name and his client survived, his career would still be over-he would have violated the attorney-client privilege and could be disbarred. He would certainly be fired. Either way, it was so long $800,000 salary. So there seemed to be no upside to revealing his client's identity. But his only chance of survival was to give the man a name. So he gave him the name of someone whose life he would readily trade for his own.

"Andy Prescott."

"Who's Andy Prescott?"

"A lawyer in Austin." Larry looked up at the man named Harmon. "Please don't kill me."

"Motion denied, Mr. Smith."