A wife! Brent struggled to think clearly. He didn't even know the lawyer had a wife! She had never been along when he had driven Chandler in the past, back in his university days. Did this change anything? Could he go ahead with his plan with her in the car? He had a right to be angry with Chandler, but the man's wife had done nothing to harm him.
The heavy stretch limo coasted regally through the darkening night, large flakes of snow beginning to accumulate on the front window. The power of the engine and the cacophony of the city were muted by the vehicle's superb engineering and reduced to a pleasant background hum. It felt right being behind the wheel of the huge car again.
Behind Brent, the opaque panel separating him from the plush passenger compartment was slightly distended and he could hear the conversation of the couple behind him. The portly lawyer was worried about his speech and his wife was placating him in a voice redolent of both amusement and boredom.
Galloway found it hard to concentrate. He had never been this drunk in his life. He was amazed to see his body drive the car with a kind of robotic professionalism even though his mind grew fuzzy and his mental focus became increasingly elusive, like a broken automatic transmission sliding in and out of gear.
"It's just nerves, Garnet. You've had them before, you'll have them again. You'll be fine tonight, trust me." Brent heard the lawyer's wife saying.
He found her voice annoying. She had no right to be here! Minutes away from death, she had no right being so cool! Of course, she didn't know she was about to die. Or was she? Could he still go through with it with her in the car? But if he didn't go through with it now, when would he ever get this chance again?
"The wall analogy makes sense to you, Sheila" Chandler was asking. "It doesn't sound trite?"
Galloway clicked on the windshield wipers and the city snapped into a gritty clarity in front of him. It was snowing heavy enough now that the windows became immediately spotted with flakes following each pass of the blades.
"No it doesn't sound trite. Besides, it's a little late to change anything now, don't you think?"
"So you do think it's trite?"
"Garnet!"
"Be honest with me!"
Brent heard a sigh. "Because I find it trite, that doesn't mean your fellow lawyers will."
"OH?"
"Now you're hurt. You twist my arm for a negative comment and now you're going to sulk."
The large flakes of snow were leaping out of the darkness like a horde of angels flying to their doom splattering against the window, their collective bodies scrapped away by the powerful wiper blades an instant later. A traffic signal suddenly turned red a half a block away and Galloway eased up on the gas. He was getting thirsty but was saving the last of the whiskey for consumption closer to the factory wall. Behind him the discussion went on.
"....not sulking. I'm thinking. Why do you find the analogy trite?"
"The metaphor of a wall sets up a very naive distinction, don't you think? You know, on this side of the wall is 'right', on that side 'wrong'. Here 'good', there 'bad'. But it's very 'lawyer', you know? It's the naive assumption that the world can be so neatly divided that provides the underlying rational for your entire profession. So go ahead and use it, they'll eat it up."
"You think concepts of 'right' and 'wrong' are naive?"
"Not at all. I believe in 'right' and 'wrong', 'good' and 'bad'; but those are extreme polarities and what separates them isn't the precision of a wall--only a lawyer could believe that, darling. No what separates them is more like an extensive fog bank, the kind where the edges are so blurred you don't even know you've wandered into it until you're surrounded. I also think it's those brave enough to venture into that fog who are responsible for life's most interesting discoveries."
The limousine stopped a little more abruptly at the light than Galloway had planned. Should never drink and drive, he thought. Somewhere, through the cloud of snow an all too real wall awaited his decision. No fog bank would separate 'right' or 'wrong' tonight. His irritation was increasing. You're the one whose naive, he almost shouted at her.
"...give you and example," Chandler's deeply pleasant voice was saying. "We had a young lawyer on our staff we recently let go and whose name we provided to the Ethics Committee of the Bar Association: Brent Galloway."
"Ah yes," Sheila Chandler interrupted, "I've heard this name before."
"I know, I've spoken of him too often in the past. Considered him one of our rising stars. I met him while he was still at law school and personally recruited him for the firm. Brent seemed totally dedicated to the firm, put in the hours and had the stamina and the intelligence it take to be a winner. And then he came to me a few months ago and told me he wanted to cut back, that the hours were taking a toll on his marriage."
"We can't have that, now can we," Sheila asked sardonically.
The light changed and Brent pulled slowly out into the intersection. The discussion now had his rapped attention. His hands locked tightly on the wheel.
"No we can't," Chandler said flatly. "This was a critical stage in his career and you only get one chance at the really big time. He was young and he was being sentimental. Besides, we had several important cases before us and we needed all of his time and his attention. He would be adequately compensated for any strain placed on his personal life."
"Of course he would."
"So he got back to work, or so it seemed. Then one day, Philip Hunter with the Layton Foundation, you know the big philanthropic organization, came to see me concerned about a sizable discrepancy in their financial affairs. The Layton Foundation is one of Galloway's corporate clients and he was one of only three people who had access to the missing funds. The other two were Mr. Hunter himself and their chief accountant, neither of whom could possibly be implicated. I recalled my earlier conversation with Galloway and my knowledge that he was having domestic problems and this, coupled with the potential damage to the firms reputation led to my having to draw the line. I had reached the wall, so to speak. There was no fog, Sheila. A criminal act had been committed taking with our firms good name. I was required to take immediate action, and did so."
Chandler was chatting away to his wife in such a relaxed and academic tone that Galloway was sickened with discussed. Hands still locked to the wheel, he signaled, braked careful and eased the car into a gentle turn to the right. Ahead, the road ran straight off into the a distance now obscured by clouds of snow. Before him lay the Kawloski wall--or the city. It was the last opportunity to change his mind. Brent snatched up the bottle from the seat beside him and began to drink.
"I sense a 'However...'", Sheila prompted.
"Yes, well, however, I also, as a matter of course, asked Yeager and Cruit, our investigative agency, to look into the matter. In the mean time, Mr. Galloway was dismissed, his name placed before the bar and his marriage fell apart. Most distressing, but a just punishment for the crime. 'However", last week, I received the report from Mr. Cruit and after a most complex and sensitive investigation of the matter, he concluded Mr. Galloway was innocent of the crime."
"I was Mr. Hunter."
"No, my dear, it was none of the three possible suspects. It was the impossible suspect."
"Very Sherlockian," Brent could hear the delight in Sheila's voice.
"The culprit was Mr. Hunter's 20 year old son who used his access to his father's files and home computer to transfer the funds to a private account. But there is another 'however', after presenting my findings to Mr. Hunter, he made me an offer. In essence what he said was, that Mr. Galloway has already suffered for the crime, he can be hurt no further. Confidence in the Layton Foundation, and in Mr. Hunter in particular, would be shaken if the truth came out. However, if we were to allow matters to continue I could be assured of the Layton Foundations continued business, and Mr. Hunter's not inconsiderable personal support in the recruiting of other corporate clients. And all I would have to do was to do nothing."
"I see," Chandler's wife paused thoughtfully. "The wall again. And just what did you finally decide to do?"
A weight was suddenly lifted from Brent's shoulders and he felt light headed and almost giddy. He didn't have to be the one to choose between the wall and the city, between life and death. The lawyer had already chosen! And he didn't have to wait for the answer, he had little doubt which choice the smug bastard had made.
Ahead of him through the thickening snow, ten precisely placed lights lit up a huge slab of ugly wall. Brent's trembling hand gripped the steering wheel with new determination as he drained the last of the alcohol from the bottle, threw it onto the seat beside him and gradually increased pressure on the gas peddle. The long white car surged into the night.
Click here for "Hitting The Wall" part 6 Continued
(C) B.E. Fraser, 1997 No copying of this material without the expressed permission of the author is permitted.
