Accidental Lawyer_A humorous peak into Baltimore's legal community, with a thread of mystery

by Kim Hamilton

  “Shit, O’Mallory. You’re a real asshole.”

  Kari came through the door. “They found the money. Franco said the piece of shit can go.”

  O’Mallory stood up. His eyes were pinned to mine. “Just like that? I can go?”

  “You can go, but you won’t get far.” I picked up the phone on my desk. “I’m calling my friend at the State’s Attorney’s office. They’ll be hunting you down before you hit the JFX.”

  He bolted, knocked Kari out of the way, then slowed as he passed Paulie. Once he was sure Paulie wasn’t going to pop him, he took off through the front door and disappeared into the humid shadows of the city.

  I called Chip and told him what I had learned about the missing drug money and O’Mallory’s involvement and recent confession. I explained that both Kari and Helen Holman had witnessed the confession and that I had documents that showed he’d invested a windfall of money. This was enough to get Chip’s attention.

  “We had a feeling it was an inside job,” Chip said. “But we didn’t get anywhere with our investigation. I’ll call the Commissioner. He’ll be able to mobilize the other agencies. Send me a copy of the documents so I can justify taking action. I’ll keep you posted.”

  I called Mark next, but it went straight to voicemail. I left a message saying that my hunch about O’Mallory was half right and told him not to worry.

  It was super-sleuth work. We had coerced a Baltimore City detective into admitting to stealing gobs of money from the clutches of a mobster. After we passed around our mutual congratulations, there was silence. I realized it was a hollow victory. There had been no arrest and no confession to killing Metzger. Sure we had recovered mob money, but that’s not an accomplishment to be shared in polite circles.

  “We’ve still got work to do, ladies,” I said. “At this point, we’ve served Franco’s agenda, but not our own. We have O’Mallory dead to rights on the theft charge, but we still haven’t caught a murderer. I was naive to think it would be that easy.”

  “It’s only that easy on the cops shows,” Kari said. “This real-life shit is tricky.”

  Helen nodded. “True, but you all did some good work here. You exposed a dirty cop. That’s a victory in anyone’s book.” She headed for the door. “Plus, I got an exclusive. I’m off to write my story.”

  Chip called back to let me know everything was in place. “We’ve got our people on notice, as well as the DEA unit that worked on the bust originally. O’Mallory’s identity is all over the wires. Every law enforcement officer and TSA agent knows his face. They’ve flagged his passport. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “That’s great, Chip. Thank you.”

  “I’ll keep you posted.” He disconnected.

  I knew I should have been excited about my part in O’Mallory’s impending capture, but the truth was, we were no closer to finding Metzger’s murderer. How did I get so off track? I had made too many assumptions about the fact that O’Mallory was one of Metzger’s investors. From that fact alone, I concluded he had both stolen the money and killed Harvey. It was possible that he was a thief, but not a murderer. I had to consider the possibility that someone else murdered Harvey.

  #

  The air was heavy with humidity as I cruised toward home. My timing was bad. Another Orioles game had ended, leaving beer-bloated baseball fans to spill onto the crosswalks. They formed an endless swell of orange and black that did not let up for three traffic light rotations. Even though I was anxious to get home and watch the finale of Next Food Network Star, I watched them with patience, enjoying the spirit of the city. Devoted baseball and football fans were a united force—part of the charm of Baltimore. I included myself among them. They ambled along inches from my front bumper. Eventually, the green light coincided with a brief ebb of the pedestrian flow and I drove on to the next block, and so on, until finally reaching my neighborhood.

  It was late, so parking near my row house was impossible. I circled the block twice before settling on a spot two blocks south. As I walked home, I took stock of where things were and concluded that everything was pretty messed up. For all my efforts, I had nothing. Except for maybe a mob guy who owes me one. I supposed that was something.

  I reached my house and noticed Mrs. Bianco’s front porch light was off. Her porch swing was vacant. At this hour, I was not surprised that she had turned in, but I was surprised that her porch light wasn’t on. I always counted on it to guide me up my own stairs. As I reached for the handrail, I felt a presence behind me and a sudden pressure in my back. I couldn’t see him, but I knew it was O’Mallory. He wrapped his fingers around my forearm, squeezing through to the bone. Fear gripped me almost as hard when I felt his gun at my spine.

  “Keep moving, counselor. Get up the stairs.”

  He pushed me forward. The fear turned to anger. Sure I was scared. I was Freddy-Kruger-at-my-door scared. But I’d had enough of O’Mallory. I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. I went limp like a rag doll and crumbled to the ground. My legs bent out to my left side, my right hip hit the cement sidewalk, and my head flopped forward. He held his grip on my left arm. My upper arm was parallel to the ground, and my hand and forearm were perpendicular. I must have looked like a life-sized marionette.

  “Get the hell up or I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

  The barrel of his gun found its way from the small of my back to the side of my dangling head. I moved my feet in an effort to get them back under my hips so I could stand. Rising, I heard the screechy sound of an MTA bus coming to a stop at the curb. Delroy. Please let Delroy be out for a late-night ride.

  O’Mallory heard the bus, too, and tried to look nonchalant. He let go of my left arm and spun me around, so I was facing him. He smiled down at me and brought me into a giant bear hug. My arms hung straight down at my side.

  “Don’t move a fucking inch.”

  I managed to turn my head toward the bus. There he was. Delroy! He looked confused to see me standing there in an awkward embrace with this man. O’Mallory held me until he heard the bus pull off. Then he grabbed my right arm with his left hand, spun me around, and pulled me up the steps. I had to signal my distress to Delroy. I put my left hand to the side of my head, my forefinger and thumb forming the classic gun shape, and shot myself in the head with my finger pistol. My last hope was that Delroy saw, and that he would do something to save me.

  We reached the top step. I stumbled, fell forward, and pulled down the side table that housed my sole plant, a cactus. It hit the cement floor and shattered. I hated to sacrifice it, but I wanted the sound of breaking ceramic to awaken Mrs. Bianco.

  “You’re a fucking disaster. Get up.” He yanked me to my feet again, and this time he put the gun to my gut. “Find your keys and open the damn door.”

  Once we were inside, he shoved me into a chair and drew the curtains on the two windows facing the street. He either failed to notice or didn’t care that the curtains were merely sheers. At night, with the lights on inside, anyone standing on the sidewalk could make out silhouettes. I pull down the horizontal blinds most evenings, but not tonight. After his careless drawing of my curtain sheers, he took a seat opposite me. His chest was heaving like he’d dragged an elephant inside.

  “Don’t think I don’t know you pulled that shit on purpose. The rag-doll act, tripping up the stairs. I should have put a bullet in you.”

  “You’re supposed to be halfway across the state by now. What the hell are you still doing here? What is it you want from me?”

  “You’re my insurance, counselor. The feds have blocked all the roads leading out of the city. I’m a wanted man. And I’m not so sure Franco isn’t done with me. He’s not one to forgive and forget, you know. You got any beer? Whiskey or something?”

  “I’ve got some Corona in the fridge. Help yourself.”

  He pointed the gun toward me and then toward the kitchen. I rose to my feet and headed for the kitchen with him right behind. I grabbed a beer and handed it to him with sh
aky hands. We reversed direction and headed back out to the front room, where he motioned with the gun for me to sit.

  “So what’s your plan?” I asked.

  “Don’t ask me so many fucking questions.” He massaged the area around his eyebrows with his free hand and struggled to keep one eye pinned on me. The gun was hanging heavy in his hand. He was unraveling. Why not help him along?

  “It was one question, asshole.”

  His hand stopped their massaging motion. “Asshole. You’re calling me an asshole? You conspire with a mob boss to get me to confess to stealing the drug money. You accuse me of murder. You can’t even walk up your own stairs without having me drag you to your feet, and you call me an asshole.”

  “Okay. Since you’re holding the gun, I’ll stop calling you an asshole.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes while he downed his beer.

  “If you didn’t kill Harvey, then who did?”

  “I told you. I don’t fuckin’ know. How should I know?”

  “Because you’re the detective. You must have some idea who did it.”

  “Look, I went through the motions. I followed a lead or two, but my head wasn’t in it. I was killing time until I could grab the money and lose myself in Morocco for a while. Thanks to you, I still have to lose myself, but without the money.”

  “I didn’t mean to uncover your colossal corruption. I was just looking for a murderer. If you had been doing your job then maybe I wouldn’t have stumbled on your little secret. So you see, it’s all actually your fault.”

  “Right. It’s my fault you’re a real pain in the ass.”

  “I have to use the bathroom.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Some detective you are. We walked past it on our way to the kitchen. It’s the open door on the right.”

  He stood with his gun at his side and walked sideways to the bathroom door. He peeked inside, then waved for me to get up. I stood in the hallway as he looked through the cabinets and drawers of my tiny powder room, all the while with the gun trained on me.

  He stepped out of the bathroom and waved me in.

  “Keep the door open.”

  “What the hell.? No way I’m keeping the door open.”

  “Then there’s no way you’re taking a leak.”

  My bladder left me no time to negotiate.

  “Fine, but at least position yourself so you can’t see in.”

  He took a step back toward the living room and looked toward the back door. He couldn’t see me from that angle. I fumbled with my pants and assumed a position on the commode. I had just finished washing my hands when ktaashh. My front windows exploded. Water rushed past the bathroom door through the narrow hall. O’Mallory screamed. I peeked out and saw his feet fly up, sending him headfirst past the bathroom door and into the back door.

  A powerful geyser pummeled him, pinned him down, then suddenly stopped. I stepped out. He wasn’t moving. My front door crashed open. Mrs. Bianco rushed in brandishing her handgun like she’d been FBI-trained. She spotted me in the bathroom doorway. “Get back, Jess.”

  I complied and saw her march past me. “Don’t move.” O’Mallory remained a huddled mass on the floor. He must have lost his gun while he surfed through the hall because he didn’t attempt any defense. Mark entered next and rushed toward me. His fellow firefighters, John and Kyle, dashed past him toward Mrs. Bianco and O’Mallory.

  Mark took me by my shoulders and pulled me into his soggy arms. “Are you alright?”

  I was trembling. “Yes. I’m fine.” We turned toward the others. Mrs. Bianco’s gun stayed trained on O’Mallory. She did not waiver. She pulled a zip tie out of her housecoat and handed it to Kyle. “Do you always carry one of these with you?” he asked.

  “It’s smart. Never know when one will come in handy.” She reached into her housecoat again. Duct tape, too.”

  “I don’t think we’ll need the duct tape,” Kyle said. He secured O’Mallory’s hands behind his back. “You can put your gun away now.

  O’Mallory offered no resistance. He sat mumbling to himself.

  I looked up at Mark. “How did you know I was in trouble?”

  “It was Delroy.” He nodded his head toward the living room. Delroy was standing there, watching me with wide eyes. I peeled myself away from Mark and went to join Delroy. The floor was covered with water. My feet flew up and I landed on my ass. Delroy reached down to give me a hand, but his feet came out from under him, too, and he landed by my side. “Damn Sperry’s. These shoes are supposed ‘ta be water shoes.”

  Mark pulled us up, and we patted at our soggy clothes. I turned back to Delroy. “Tell me what you did.”

  “I knew you needed help, so I called Kari.”

  “And Kari called me at the firehouse,” Mark added. “I knew we couldn’t call 911. We had to act fast. John and Kyle were with me at the station. We grabbed the truck and headed over here. Mrs. Bianco was standing on her porch with her finger on the trigger when we arrived. We could see through the curtains that he had a gun on you.”

  Mrs. Bianco looked at me with concern. “I heard a crash on your porch. I looked out and saw your cactus had fallen, and the pot had broken. You wouldn’t have left it there and gone along inside. I knew something was wrong. That asshole is lucky these firefighters showed up when they did because I was seconds away from blowing his head off.”

  I found my phone and called Chip. After listening to my version of events, he sounded concerned. “Jess, I’m sorry. I had no idea it would come to that. I should have protected you. I should have assigned security.”

  “Nobody anticipated this. Besides, I’m fine.”

  Chip said he’d contact the police commissioner to arrange for the transport of O’Mallory. As I hung up, Kari bounded into the house. “I’m late. What’d I miss?” She looked at me. “You okay?” Then she looked at Mark, then back to me again. “Oh yeah, girl. You’re okay. Now tell me what happened.”

  I explained the kidnapping and water rescue to Kari. John and Kyle grabbed O’Mallory and hauled him out to the front porch. He stared at the floor and let the men escort him away.

  I surveyed my home. My front window was broken and the living room furniture was tossed about. All of it was drenched. The water took a straight path down the hall and to the kitchen. It was subsiding, but I was concerned about where it was going. Mrs. Bianco opened the basement door, peeked down, closed the door, and said, “I’m going to call my insurance company. Jess, you pack up some things and come stay with me until we get this mess cleaned up.” She sloshed out the front door. Delroy started to follow her out.

  “Wait, Delroy,” I said. I walked toward him and gave him a hug. “Thank you. You saved my life.”

  “Ah, it was nothing.”

  Mark approached us and reached out to shake Delroy’s hand. “It wasn’t nothing. You saw Jess was in trouble and you took action. You’re the true hero here.”

  “Is there a reward?” Delroy asked with pleading eyes. There was a second or two of awkward silence, and then he smiled wide. “Ha! I had ya going there for a minute.” He was still laughing as he left.

  The police commissioner arrived, and I gave him the play-by-play of events. A pair of DEA guys took O’Mallory into custody. They lowered him into an unmarked sedan. He seemed a shell of a man. I didn’t know what would happen to him next.

  Mark took me in his arms again. “Why don’t you get your things and I’ll walk you over to Mrs. Bianco’s.”

  I felt a shallow victory as I headed toward the stairs. I was pleased to have played a part in taking down a dirty cop, but I couldn’t be proud. The real murderer was still out there, and I was determined to find him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I awoke to the smell of sausage browning on the stove and followed my nose to the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” I said to Mrs. Bianco, who was tending the sausage skillet and scrambling eggs at the same time.

  “Ah, Jessica, how yo
u feel this morning?”

  “I feel pretty good.” And it was true. I felt relieved in a strange way. I guess that’s what happens when you get a good night’s sleep after your life is threatened and you’re saved by your friends.

  I helped myself to some coffee. “Thank you for letting me stay here last night. I’m sorry about the water damage next door.”

  “You did me a favor. I called the insurance company. They are coming out today. It’s all covered. We’ll get a brand-new wood floor for nothing. I guess I’m on the bright side.”

  “The saying is ‘there’s always a bright side.’”

  “Ahh. And I’m on it.”

  Mrs. B and I ate breakfast together. The sausage was crispy and the eggs were loaded with cheese. She was my kind of cook. After we ate, I helped with the dishes and took a shower. I was heading out the door when my mom called. “Hi, Mom.”

  I had decided not to tell my mother about the kidnapping last night. It would only fuel her concern for my safety and give her more reason to suggest I find another job. While I was rattled by what happened, I remained calm and confident. I had developed a second family here in the city. I found comfort in it, like I belonged.

  “What’s up?” I asked her.

  “I wanted to let you know the plumber came yesterday and installed the new parts for our toilets. We’re safe now. He was a nice young man. Single. Good job. I thought maybe you two would hit it off.”

  Good grief.

  “Thanks, Mom. But I’m kind of seeing someone.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? When do we get to meet him?”

  “It’s still new. If things work out, I’ll bring him by the house sometime soon.”

  “Okay, dear. I’d like to hear all about him, but right now your dad and I have to get ready for the funeral.”

  “What funeral?”

  “Mr. Marcone.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “You know, the Marcones. You went to school with their daughter, Chantel.”

  “I went to high school with Chantel Devista.”

  “Oh, right. She kept her birth father’s last name when her mom married Mr. Marcone. Anyway, he lost a long battle with cancer and the service is this morning.”