CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Before entering the closed-door hearing, Peter gave Alex his legal counsel: "When dealing with the United States Judicial system, say nothing. There are no fair shakes. We're transitioning to kangaroo courts. Say nothing to state officials, not even if innocent or an eye witness. Not if you value your freedom and possessions. We are the nation of metaphorical black bags over heads, convictions without evidence; don't let propaganda convince you otherwise."
Alex had sat mute for the past hour, waiting for mention of his infraction for accessing the Lobby. The topic had yet to be breached, despite the lawyers' non-stop bickering.
"You cannot extend a ban without concluding the initial fraudulent investigation," Peter said, for what seemed the dozenth time.
"Your client is killing people," Agent Andrews said. "You're fine with that?"
There was a new line. It cinched Alex’s stomach.
"Are you saying Alex Cutler murdered Charles Arnold? Roy Guillen?"
Agent Andrews bit his bottom lip, puffed out his top, as if he believed the answer yes, but presumably mulled over a reply that matched the evidence.
"Elderly men die," Peter said. "Some naturally, some over medicate-"
"Commit suicide," Agent Andrews barked.
“That's not unheard of, Agent. Moreover, there is no law against providing a conducive environment to die. That could be labeled big-hearted, philanthropic."
"Oh, you make me sick. Big-hearted," Agent Andrews appeared about to spit. "Suicide is against God's law."
"We didn't cover that section of penal code at Harvard," Peter leaned over the table and closed his leather binder. "I think we are done here."
The half-dozen other lawyers—essential spectators, like Alex—seemed relieved by the statement.
"We are nowhere near done," Agent Andrews said. "We are going to file endless motions and briefs and keep that dangerous machine offline until we have proof of its appetite."
"And we'll fight you long enough for the angry mob to climb over the gates, carry you out of power, and demand their favorite pastime is reinstated."
"Are you threatening me?"
"Mr. Cutler," Peter said. "It's time for us to make our exit." He stood, his briefcase by his side.
"We will continue this tomorrow morning, nine a.m.," Andrews said.
While keeping his gaze on Alex, Peter nodded.
With no objections from Andrews, also because the room gathered their belongings in a show of support, Alex stood.
The previously quiet hall—for it had to be past eight in the evening—echoed with the approaching footsteps of Alex's head of security. Luke stepped in front of Alex, stopping him and his attorney. "I need to prep you before our departure. There's a swarm of reporters out front, some camped out back. We'll need to be swift and orderly.
"I need a few more minutes of Mr. Cutler’s time." Peter said. Luke checked with Alex, who nodded, and followed Peter into the same meeting room they met in before the hearing.
With the door shut, Peter loosened his tie, and stared at the wall, occasionally shaking his head ever so slightly.
While his anxiety rose, and since Alex only wanted to get home, update Rosa, and find some peace, he interrupted the rumination, "Peter."
The younger man inspected Alex. Distress showed: a slight frown, raised eyebrows, one hand tucked under the opposite armpit. Peter swallowed, nodded toward the chairs, "Let's sit for moment."
Alex sat. Peter remained standing, inspecting Alex long enough to raise Alex's temperature. The moment before he addressed his being uncomfortable, Peter spoke.
"You have to tell me what's happening here, Alex."
What's happening...Flashes entered his head: the nurses wheeling out Roy's body—a ruin of flesh that seeped a foul odor—to the young, confused, and soon giddy Roy they had found in Nebraska, 1871. What could he say?
"I felt like I was tiptoeing through a mine field in there," Peter said. "If I step wrong, that psycho will get his wish: The Lobby will be iced."
As much as Alex didn't want that (it possibly represented his worst-case scenario) he couldn’t focus on the now. He pondered the last time he saw Roy in Starbucks, particularly Charles's calm face. At what point did the old part of the young Charles die? Did he feel a tingling throughout his body as Alex prattled on, and know his gamble was succeeding?
"Let me be clear, if you want me to protect you, which I will do until the end of time, then you need to tell me what's happening. The truth. Understand, I don't care if you are murdering your friends—although I will advise against it in the future and suggest you seek help from a specific doctor I know—but out of everyone on this planet, I must know the truth, so I can best maneuver around it."
Alex and Rosa represented the only living people in the know. Staring at Peter, he recalled a saying, “It takes two to keep a secret, three to make it common knowledge.”
"I'm bound by oath, and honor to never divulge what you tell me. I am your most trusted advisor."
Alex told him. Everything, Roy’s death, finding him in Malcom, Charles, he ended by voicing, since the Lobby offered so much space, he'd never see his two friends again. Given a do-over, he'd have scheduled a more composed good-bye for a later date.
Peter had eased into the chair across from Alex halfway through his retelling. He'd scooted closer on two occasions, putting the man directly across from him, where their knees almost touched. When Alex finished, he read nothing on the attorney's blank stare.
The man placed both hands over his face, hung his head.
Alex considered placing a consoling hand on his shoulder; wondered if he'd made a big mistake. Peter could easily go retell this story.
Peter dropped his hands, looked up.
The man’s enormous smile shocked Alex. "And what," Peter slapped Alex's thigh, squeezed the knee hard enough to make Alex flinch, "you think they're going to be there forever?"
"What?"
"Like, just what, forever?" Peter. "What if the power goes out?"
"I'm not sure it can."
"Okay. Okay. Well, you know those guys, what do you think they're doing right now. Just enmeshed in some massive orgy of chicks and champagne?"
Alex lacked an appropriate response.
"Two old geezers squeezing titties and making it rain."
"Peter," Alex snapped his fingers. "Are you with me right now?"
Peter faced him, but his eyes were wide, looking off in the distance.
"Listen to me; I'm worried about going to jail. Do you think Agent Andrews is going to pursue my violating the court order."
Peter twisted his wedding band and stepped away. "They were both single, right." He furrowed his brow. "I'd love to leave Wanda some type of note, make sure she was taken care of, but I could have a virtual wife." He scrutinized Alex. "Did I ever tell you that's how I spend most of my vacations, with Lydia, my virtual girlfriend? She gets me, Alex. I mean, I know she's a program, but...I don't know. She remembers things, cares about me like no American woman can."
Alex rapped his knuckles on the table, "Hey. Are you here, man."
"Here? Of course, but what the fuck, ya know. Fuck. I never wondered if Lydia could leave her world? Can she do that? Like visit other worlds with me?"
"I need you to calm down."
"I am calm. Just asking a question. I mean it's not an unreasonable question."
"Am I going to go to jail? That's a reasonable question. Can we save the Lobby from annihilation?"
"Save the Lobby? OF. COURSE. I will do anything to keep it safe. I'd break the law." Peter's grin widened to a point where Alex feared a giggle. "I would. It's the one thing I've spent my life saying I'd never do. But I'd break the darn law to help the Lobby. It's too valuable now. Us lawyers know what a wicked machine the courts are. It's why we're scared to death of it. But," he licked his lips, "what you've just told me. Growing old in society or retiring in Paradise." He snorted. "I'll break that law."
"You're not giving me much confidence you'll keep this secret."
Peter jerked his head like a bird, inspected Alex from toe to head. He straightened his tie, licked his lips, "I'm an excellent attorney. Attorney client privilege is a sacred pact, as far as I'm concerned."
"After the shock wears off, I need you to consider the implications. If you want to save the Lobby, we must work to keep the anomalous fact of life carrying on in the Lobby a secret."
Peter settled into his chair. Leaning across, he took Alex's hand in both of his. "You have my solemn loyalty, Mr. Cutler. You can trust me. I'll never repeat what you've said. I'll beat back this hiccup. Things will return to normal. I only ask one thing: when the time comes; years, a decade from now, after it's all died down and a thing of the past, you'll permit me to transfer in...permanently."
Alex tried to pull back his hand, but Peter held tight.
"No one will know. I'm talking years from now. I'll plan it out for us; you'll do a little clean up." He licked his lips. "I'll never tell a soul. No one should know the Lobby's secret. I'm just thinking about myself here. Give me your word and you have mine. I'll wipe the floor with this agent, have everything smooth, the wellness plan will avoid future incidents, the world ticks on happily. I only need your word."
Alex itched behind his ear with his free hand. Seeing no alternative, feeling he'd benefit from the alliance, he nodded.
"Great," Peter released his hand and stood. "You trusted the right person, Mr. Cutler. Consider this done. I'll still have to bill you, but this inquiry will blow over in a matter of months." He grinned, "if you can keep your friends from dying on your private access points, that is."
"That won’t be a problem,” Alex had no friends left. As Alex stood, he felt comforted. Conviction emitted a perceptible energy: Alex lathered in Peter's aura.
Luke waited in the hall and peppered Alex with exit instructions as Peter moved on, a little skip to his step.
The security team ushered him out the back Rugby style: defenders all around, moving in centipedal fashion.
The cries of reporters and gathered onlookers hardly registered. Alex had shared his secret with one person. He felt confident he could now keep Tara and Adisah out of it, netting him one less conspirator.
The guts of the return commute passed without commotion. Arriving home stirred the reporters posted outside his gate, but only long enough for them to film the passing vehicles. Inside, Alex called Rosa's name. He wanted to update her on him avoiding jail, leave out the Lobby unless she asked, maybe have a meal on the second level patio under the stars.
Feeling good, well...decent, for the first time in days, Alex decided to short-cut the search, "Victor, can you tell me where Rosa is?"
"Mrs. Cutler left the premises at precisely five thirteen.”
Left the premises? Four hours ago. Six additional steps solved the mystery. A digital note flashed on a section of Legion's wall they used as a community board. Alex pressed the icon to open it.
"I've packed a bag and gone to the beach house. I have calmed. I do feel better, but I stand by my request. You must remove that thing from our house. We will talk in a few days. I love you with all my heart, Alex. I am positive this crisis will bring us closer. I simply need a few days for myself. With love, Rosa."
Alex first admired his wife's commitment to their living happy, forever. Next, he worried who would be with her at the Malibu house. They couldn't afford to share this. He had intended to harp that point over dinner.
Deleting the message, he accepted he trusted her to keep it quiet. Privacy mattered to Rosa. Standing in an empty house, knowing he wouldn’t be holding her made him feel icky, as if someone tossed a bucket of swamp water over him, leaving him feeling weighted, dirty, totally out of sorts.
Moving to the library, he grabbed a thin blanket, laid on the nearest couch, and courtesy of resurging depression, fell asleep within seconds.