Tom Hartsfield took a seat at a table in the corner of the Easy Street Bar and Grill. He had a clear shot to the front door so he could see everyone who came through it. He lit up a cigarette and opened the menu, pretending to be undecided as to what he should order.
Tom was the office manager for the Debt Relief Centers. He was a short, stout man of about forty-five, with dark brown hair and a husky voice. He majored in business administration at Austin College but never graduated. His wife was a nurse for an orthopedic surgeon in Plano. They had five children and as one would expect, had difficulty making ends meet. Tom had been one of Rich's paralegals and had always performed well. When he found out Matt was looking for an office manager, he begged Rich to let him apply because the job paid more. Rich acquiesced, and since he had referred him, Matt trusted him implicitly.
Tom gave everyone who entered a once over. He had no idea what the man who had summoned him looked like, but he figured he’d know him when he saw him. Finally, a tall, bald-headed man entered the bar. He said something to the hostess and she pointed toward Tom. He squirmed in his chair as the bald-headed man approached.
"Tom Hartsfield?" he said as he stood over the table.
"Yes, you must be Hans."
"That's right," he said and then took a seat.
"So, I'm here. What do you want?"
"How is your son these days?"
"My son? He's fine. What's he got to do with this?"
"Nothing, if you do as you're told."
"Do as I'm told? What are you talking about? I don't have to do anything for you!" Tom said as he stood up.
"Sit down, Mr. Hartsfield," Hans ordered.
Tom remained standing. "I came here out of curiosity, but if you think—"
"Your son Ronnie is a sophomore at Baylor University. He lives at 442 Ridgeway, Apartment 222, in Waco. Every morning he jogs 2.6 miles from his apartment to the Student Union and back. His girlfriend drives a red Chrysler Le Baron. She has a tattoo of a rosebud just to the right of her belly button."
Tom sat down and said, "Okay, okay. I'm listening."
"Your boss is messing with something that’s none of his business. He's pissed a lot of people off. You need to talk some sense into him. Get him to agree to a permanent injunction. Get him to back off this crusade of his. He's already made lots of money. It doesn't pay to get greedy."
"He won't back off. He's a very stubborn man and even if he wanted to quit, Lynn wouldn't let him. She's more driven than he is."
"If you care about him, you'll convince him. You won't like the alternative."
"What alternative?"
"Jail."
"Jail? Matt would never commit a crime."
"Not knowingly . . . but that's where you come in."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"It's really very simple. You're going to set up another bank account for the firm but you're not going to tell Mr. Coleman about it. Approximately 10 percent of the firm's deposits will go into that account."
"Are you going to steal his money?"
"No, just leave it in that account but under no circumstances should the account ever be disclosed to Mr. Coleman."
"How am I supposed to keep this account secret? All client payments are reconciled each month."
"You'll figure out a way. Your son's life depends on it. Of course, if you can get Mr. Coleman to quit using his TV ads and drop his campaign then all this becomes moot."
"How do you know I won't go to the FBI?"
"Because the moment I smell an FBI agent, you'll be a dead man. And when I'm done with you, I'll still track down your son and kill him too."
"You've got the wrong man. I'm not a good liar. I'll never be able to pull it off."
"Maybe so, but it's too late to worry about that now. Either you do it or we kill you. It's your decision."
Tom took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. Finally, he raised his eyebrow and said, "Okay, but how do I know you'll leave me and my son alone once this is all over? It would be a lot safer for you just to kill us. If I'm going to die anyway, why should I set Matt up?"
He grimaced. "You're starting to irritate me, Tom. I gave you my word. That's the best I can do, okay?"
Tom chuckled. "Your word? I'm supposed to trust a hoodlum."
Hans stood up, walked around the table, and grabbed Tom by the collar. Some customers nearby stopped what they were doing and watched. Hans whispered, "Okay, come on outside so I can kill you right now!"
Tom raised his hand. "No! No! I'm sorry. Your word is fine."
Hans let go. Tom dropped back in his chair and Hans sat down. Hans glared at the customers staring at them and they turned away. He said, "That's better. Just do your job and nobody will mess with you."
After Hans had left, Tom went to the telephone and dialed a number. The phone rang several times before someone picked it up.
"Hello."
"Is Ronnie there?"
"No, who's this."
"His father."
"Oh, no. He just left for class."
"You saw him?"
"Yes, he just left here a minute ago. Is everything okay?"
"Yes, just tell him I called to say hello. It wasn't anything important."
"Okay, I'll tell him."
Tom hung up the receiver and stood staring at the telephone. Finally, he picked up the receiver and dialed 1411.
"This is Bob, what city please?" an electronic voice said.
"Dallas."
"What number please?"
"The FBI."
"Thank you."
Tom dialed the number and waited.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation. May I help you?"
Tom didn't respond.
"Hello. May I help you?"
Tom started to talk and then slammed down the phone. "Shit!" he muttered under his breath. "No matter what I do, someone is going to get hurt. Oh, God, what am I going to do?"