The Racketeer

to his keepers, he was locked down in solitary confinement. Contact with his guards was minimal.The food was dreadful and he was losing weight. He was also taking antidepressants and sleeping fifteen hours a day. Often, he refused to meet with anyone from his family, or with Dusty. One week he demanded the right to plead guilty in exchange for life in prison; the next week he wanted a trial. He had fired Dusty twice, only to rehire him days later. He occasionally admitted killing Judge Fawcett and his girlfriend but always recanted and accused the government of doping his food. He had threatened the guards with promises of death and the deaths of their children, only to offer tearful apologies when his mood changed.
    Victor Westlake was in charge of the meeting and began by saying, “Let’s get to the point, Mr. Rucker. We have it on good intelligence that you and some of your fellow conspirators desire to knock off one of our witnesses.”
    Dusty touched Quinn’s arm and said, “Not a word. Do not speak until I say so.” Quinn smiled at Westlake as if killing a government witness would be a delight.
    Westlake kept going: “The purpose of this little get-together is to warn you, Mr. Rucker, that if any of our witnesses are harmed, then you will face additional charges, and not just you. We’ll go after every member of your family.”
    Quinn was grinning, and he blurted, “So, Bannister is on the run, huh?”
    “Shut up, Quinn,” Dusty said.
    “I don’t have to shut up,” Quinn said. “I hear Bannister has left the warm sun of Florida.”
    “Shut up, Quinn!” Dusty snarled again.
    “Got him a new face, probably a new name, the works,” Quinn continued.
    Stanley Mumphrey said, “We’ll indict Dee Ray, Tall Man, several of your cousins, anybody and everybody we can throw the book at, Quinn, if you harm any of our witnesses.”
    “You don’t have any witnesses,” Quinn shot across the table. “Only Bannister.”
    Dusty threw his hands up and slumped in his chair. “I advise you to shut up, Quinn.”
    “I hear you,” Quinn said. “I hear you.”
    Westlake managed to maintain a scowl as he stared at the defendant, but he was stunned. The meeting was supposed to intimidate Quinn, not frighten the government. How on earth were they able to find Bannister in Florida and now know he had fled? It was a chilling moment for Westlake and his assistants. If they could find their informant, they would certainly bring him in.
    “Your entire family could face capital murder charges,” Stanley plowed on in a feeble attempt to sound tough.
    Quinn just smiled. He stopped talking and folded his arms across his chest.

    I have to see Vanessa Young. A meeting has an element of risk; to be seen together by the wrong people would create questions I’m not ready to answer. But a meeting is inevitable and has been for several years.
    I saw her at Frostburg, on a snowy day when many visitors didn’t make the drive. While I was talking to my father, Henry, she walked in and sat at the next table. She was there to visit her brother. She was gorgeous, early forties, soft brown skin, beautiful sad eyes, long legs, and tight jeans. The whole package. I could not keep my eyes off her, and Henry finally said, “You want me to leave?” Of course not, because if he left, then my visiting time was over. The longer he stayed, the longer I could look at Vanessa. Before long, she was looking back, and we were soon making serious eye contact. The attraction was mutual, at first.
    But there were a couple of sticking points. First, my incarceration and, second, her marriage, which, as it turned out, was a mess. I leaned on her brother for information, but he wantedto stay out of it. We swapped a few letters, but she was afraid of getting caught by her husband. She tried to visit more often, to see both her brother and me, but she had two teenagers who were complicating her life. After her divorce was final, she dated other men, but nothing worked. I begged Vanessa to wait for me, but seven years is a long time when you’re forty-one. When her kids left home, she moved to Richmond, Virginia, and our long-distance romance cooled off. Vanessa’s background is such that she is extremely cautious and keeps one eye on the rearview mirror. I guess we have that much in common. Using encrypted e-mails, we manage to arrange a time and place. I warn her that I look nothing like the Malcolm Bannister she met in prison. She says she’ll