by Dave Daren
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Chapter 1
“Court may take a few hours today,” I told Hank as I climbed out of my black Mercedes AMG.
The mobster bodyguard followed me around like a giant muscular shadow. He’d been assigned to me months ago by my employer, Anthony Lamon, and we’d become friendly since then. He’d even helped me learn how to shoot my Smith and Wesson with damn near perfect accuracy, but where I was headed there were no weapons allowed, so the big man acted as my backup instead.
“I’ll bring a book,” the beefy man laughed as he fell into step beside me.
I’d found a spot where both of us could park that was only a block away from the courthouse so it wouldn’t be a long walk. I shivered as an icy breeze wound through the buildings to wrap around me. I’d need to break out my winter coat soon, though the damn thing was almost threadbare. I added it to the growing list of things that I needed to buy now that I actually had disposable funds.
Liz, my sometime co-counsel and part-time lover, had helped me come up with a long list of everything that I hadn’t already bought for my new house, but she hadn’t made it to my wardrobe before her vacation ended. She’d gone back to London and her job at her law firm where she represented celebrities rather than mobsters. She was safe from the threats that had come in from whoever had kidnapped my client, Rossi, but I did miss having her with me.
She and I had been in law school together and had reconnected when I’d taken Anthony on as a client. She’d had more experience with criminal law by that point in our careers while I’d been stuck at a soul-sucking corporate firm. She’d been the first person I’d called for advice, and she’d turned into the perfect partner, until the firm she’d worked for offered her a plum job in London and a real chance at a partnership.
She’d come home for vacation a few weeks ago and had helped me to balance my overwhelming caseload. She’d also been my temporary paralegal, my interior decorator, and a thousand other things I’m sure I was forgetting.
Unlike Liz, I’d taken the first job offer out of law school because it had come from a large Wall Street firm with plenty of money to throw around. I’d been so in debt on my student loans that I hadn’t even considered how long it would really take me to pay off everything on the salary they offered. I’d just figured I’d be moving up the ranks until I made partner.
But a few years in, I was still spending most of my income on my student loans every month, and there hadn’t been much left for rent or disposable income. I’d just barely made it through before I’d been offered the job as Anthony’s personal lawyer. I was grateful for the escape from the drab, mind-numbing paperwork, even if the Lamon family affairs were stressful.
I had even started to get used to all of the death threats.
I’d managed to pay off all of my student loans with my new salary in a matter of months, and I’d bought a new car since the old beater my parents had bought me as a graduation present had been shot up in a showdown between the Italian mobsters and their Serbian bodyguards. And as of last week, I was the proud owner of a two bedroom house in Floral Park.
In the last year, I’d kept Anthony out of jail, helped him to turn his father’s balsamic vinegar business legit, and had made sure the feds didn’t have a reason to look too closely at him and his family’s dealings. I had also kept all of his guys out of prison despite the mayor’s vendetta against the Febbo family. I did have to run around the city like a madman, but Liz had been my saving grace, and the number of arrests of Febbo men had dropped since we’d stolen Galic’s laptop.
I could hardly wait to see if there was something on the corrupt mayor, but he and the Chief of Police had been careful to cover their tracks so far. I also wanted to get something on the Manhattan DA, Adams, the man I was about to face, since the bastard had basically threatened my life.
“Pretty sure Adams will give a better show than anything you’ll find in a book,” I said with a shake of my head as I started to climb the steps of the courthouse.
Adams was a slimy piece of shit in and out of the courtroom. He was too busy with his Serbian bosses to be anything more than a passable lawyer, though I still hadn’t been able to find any solid evidence that would link him to them. He would slip up eventually, and I would be there to make sure he was arrested when he did.
In the meantime, the Manhattan DA had given me more than one warning to back off of my current client’s case, but there was no way in hell that I was going to let Rossi rot in jail for something he didn’t do. Especially since his short stint in Rikers a few weeks ago had almost ended with him being framed for the murder of a CO.
My phone vibrated in my pocket right after I walked through the doors into the courthouse, and I fished it out to see a message from Anthony while I shook off my irritation with the politicians of New York City.
Need to talk ASAP.
Shit. I was due in court in ten minutes, and if it was an ASAP text, then it probably had to do with the Serbs. I wouldn’t be able to talk about anything on the phone unless we wanted to risk the Feds overhearing everything, but Anthony was smart enough that he could at least give me hints without letting everyone else know what we were talking about. I sent a quick text back to let him know that I was about to go before the judge, but that I’d call him as soon as I got out. I knew he’d want an update on Rossi.
The enforcer’s case had already been pushed back once since he’d been kidnapped. He had been due to appear in court after his release from Rikers, and when he hadn’t shown up, I knew that something was wrong. He had managed to escape the assholes who had snatched him up, and it had been exactly what I needed to ensure that he wouldn’t be sent back.
It had been an added bonus when the sneer that Adams had been sporting all morning had fallen away to be replaced with splotchy red rage.
Call me as soon as you’re out.
I shook my head as I read the message and then dumped my cell phone and keys into a plastic gray tub next to my wallet.
Anthony Lamon wasn’t exactly a patient man, but I knew him well enough to know that he’d rather wait than have to have more than one phone call. It had been almost a year since I’d taken his pro bono case at my old law firm. I hadn’t known then that he was the son of Salvatore Febbo, the head of the infamous Italian mob family in New York City, but that hadn’t mattered. I always fought for my clients with everything I had, and Anthony had made it easy since he was innocent of the bullshit murder charge that the corrupt cops had tried to pin on him.
“Everything okay?” Hank asked when we’d passed through security.
“Yeah,” I said as I stuffed everything back in my pockets and grabbed my Tom Ford briefcase. “Anthony wants to talk to me. I’ll call him once we’re done in court.”
“I hope this goes fast, then,” the bodyguard said.
“Me, too,” I muttered.
It had been a week since we’d acquired Vlado Galic’s laptop. The damn thing had been encrypted, but Anthony had said he’d take care of it, and I trusted the Mafia boss to have someone that could hack into it. I was eager to find out what he’d discovered on the Serbian mobster’s computer and whether we’d finally have enough to link the mayor and his cronies to the Serbs.
Vlad Galic was the face of a shell company called Gryffon that was a front for the Serbian mafia. He’d left his laptop at his house when his son was arrested for possession of a controlled substance with the intent to sell, and my employer had seized the device as soon as they had left the house. Galic was probably on the loo
kout for me since the security guard at his house that night had recognized me before I knocked him out.
Galic was smart enough that I didn’t think he would attack me in public, but I’d been jumpy as I waited for the retaliation that was no doubt on its way, and it made me even more grateful that Liz was out of harm’s way. And, of course, for the presence of my bodyguard.
I hadn’t asked any questions when Anthony had taken possession of the laptop. As an officer of the court, the less that I knew about my client’s illegal behaviors, the better, and I’d already pushed the boundaries when I’d been the lookout at the break-in, especially since I’d assaulted that guard.
Anthony had been happy about my fighting abilities, and he’d told his father about it. He had managed to convince the made man that I was more than just a lawyer and that maybe, just maybe, I could be trusted.
The old Mafia boss had finally been released from the hospital a couple weeks ago. He’d survived an attempt on his life, but it had taken months for him to recover. He was back in charge of the Febbo family, which meant that Anthony was now the second-in-command.
The tension between the father and son had been crazy since Sal’s return, though, because Anthony had a much different approach to the family business than his father and those who came before him. Anthony had never wanted anything to do with the Febbo business, but he’d stepped in when Sal had been recovering, and I’d done the best that I could to give him legal options to get what he wanted. That had been an issue for his father, though the old man had planned to make the family business legit before the attack, so I hoped that he’d eventually come around to my way of thinking.
Until then, I still had plenty of cases to attend to, and I had a plan to get Rossi’s case dismissed entirely.
“I’ll be in the back of the room,” Hank said as we entered the courtroom.
Judge Goldberg was already at his bench with his nose stuck in paperwork. He glanced up when I entered, lifted an eyebrow at my shadow, and then shrugged before he went back to the papers in front of him.
The gallery was filled with reporters and cameras. They were like locusts, but it would keep Adams accountable during the trial. The Manhattan DA was already under scrutiny because of the incident at Rikers, and I knew that he had to feel the pressure to win Rossi’s case from his mobster bosses.
“I doubt anyone will try anything in here,” I said with a grin despite the flutter of fear in my stomach as I looked around at the unknown faces.
“Adams is a killer,” the massive bodyguard said with a dark glance toward the Manhattan DA.
Lincoln Adams stood at the prosecutor’s desk. He had on a dark gray Brooks Brothers’ suit that was just a few shades darker than his salt and pepper crew cut. As if he could feel me watching him, he turned to glare at me with his icy-blue eyes. He’d made it clear that my life was in jeopardy when I’d gotten Rossi released on habeas corpus, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one that would pull the trigger.
“But he’s not a complete idiot,” I said with a nonchalant shrug. “He won’t do it with all of these cameras in here.”
“Mr. Morgan,” Rossi said as he came in through the door behind us.
The large man had a new scar above his right eyebrow from the beating he’d been given during his kidnapping. He had worn the suit that I’d suggested for him. It was a far cry better than the ripped, blood-stained clothes that he’d worn the last time, but at least the previous outfit had lent credibility to his claim that he’d been kidnapped.
“Mr. Rossi,” I said with a small nod. “Are you ready for today?”
“I am,” the enforcer said. “Hey, Hank.”
“Hey, Rossi,” my bodyguard returned. “Glad to see you’re doing better.”
My client grunted and shrugged as if his kidnapping and subsequent beating were an everyday occurence before he turned his attention back to me.
“What should I do today?” he asked.
“Just sit and look contrite,” I said.
I led him through the small gate that separated the gallery from the front of the courtroom, nodded toward the bailiff in the corner, and then set my briefcase down on the defense table.
“Are you ready to go back to Rikers?” Adams sneered from his table.
Thankfully, Rossi ignored the pitiful attempt to make him lose his temper, though I had to work hard not to walk over and punch the DA straight in his mouth. My client had proven himself to be remarkably good at controlling himself even when he was provoked, and I knew that his calm demeanor would help me to get his case dismissed.
“He won’t be going back to Rikers,” I said with confidence.
“We’ll see about that,” the corrupt prosecutor said. “I hope you received my updated witness list.”
I gritted my teeth but managed to keep the smile on my face as I nodded my head.
“Of course,” I said. “At three a.m. this morning.”
“Well, I thought that you might be up with Liz,” Adams said. “It’s best that you spend what little time you have together wisely.”
The unspoken threat sent a pulse of rage through me, but I managed to stop myself from saying anything that I would regret. I glanced toward Judge Goldberg and then forced a serene look onto my face as I turned my attention back to the slimy bastard across the aisle from me.
“Liz is back at work at her law firm,” I said.
I didn’t know if the bastard knew she was out of the country again, but I wasn’t about to tell him so he could use his Serb connections to set up an attack in London. I had no doubt that the Serbian mafia could get to her even though she was across the ocean, but I hoped that the distance would at least deter them a little.
“Oh, right,” the corrupt lawyer said with a Cheshire cat grin. “She’s in London. I bet that’s a real loss. She is a beautiful woman. Maybe she’ll come to her senses while she’s over there and find someone who isn’t tied to the Mafia.”
“Allegedly,” I retorted while I bit back the reply that I really wanted to give him. “My client hasn’t been convicted of anything other than a parking ticket. And that was years ago. You really should try to focus on the real criminals.”
“Like your boss?” the DA snapped as his cool demeanor slipped.
“My clients are all innocent of these ridiculous charges that you and the city, the state, and the feds have been trying to convict them of,” I said with a shrug. “You really should spend the taxpayers’ money a little more wisely.”
“Court is now in session,” the bailiff boomed before Adams could reply.
Adams gave me one last sour look before he turned to face the judge.
“That guy is a pain in the ass,” Rossi murmured.
“He is,” I agreed.
Alright, gentleman,” Judge Goldberg said as he set his papers down. “I’ve looked over the data from Mr. Rossi’s ankle monitor, and it seems that he has managed to stay out of trouble.”
“As far as we know,” Adams grumbled.
“What was that?” the sharp-witted judge asked with a lifted eyebrow. “Are you talking out of turn again, Mr. Adams?”
“No, sir,” the prosecutor said as his neck turned bright red all the way up to his ears.
“That’s what I thought,” the older man said with a curt nod. “Now, before we get started, I want to address those of you in the gallery today. I will not stand for any flash photography or interruptions. If you cannot contain yourselves during the proceedings, you will be escorted out.”
Murmurs of assent went up from behind me as the cameramen turned off the flash on their equipment.
“Now,” the judge continued. “Mr. Adams, are you certain about this list of witnesses that I received this morning?”
“Yes, sir,” the DA replied with a grin. “We have several witnesses that will prove that Mr. Rossi assaulted the victim during his attempted robbery.”
“Right,” Goldberg said as he glanced at the piece of paper in front of him. �
�It seems like you’ll be calling the entire neighborhood in.”
“Mr. Rossi was not discreet, your honor,” Adams replied with a sneer.
I almost laughed. I hadn’t known Rossi for long, but the man was nothing if not completely in control of himself. I knew that he wouldn’t have done anything where someone could see him, and the cops hadn’t even been able to get the so-called victim to make a statement against him.
“Mr. Morgan, do you have anything you would like to add before we get this started?” the magistrate asked.
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said as I stood to my full height and threw on a bright smile. “I would like the charges dismissed.”
“That’s bullshit,” the corrupt prosecutor snapped.
“Language!” the judge said with a glare toward Adams. “There will be no cursing in my courtroom.”
“I apologize, Your Honor,” my chastened opponent said.
He balled his hands into fists at his sides while his jaw worked to keep in any further outbursts.
“Now,” Goldberg huffed. “Mr. Morgan, can you please explain why you think that this case should be dismissed?”
“There is a complete lack of evidence, Your Honor,” I started. “The prosecution doesn’t even have a complaining witness. It’s clear that the allegations are unfounded. How can there be an assault charge when there isn’t even a victim?”
“There is one,” Adams growled.
“Then why isn’t he on your witness list?” I retorted.
“Gentleman,” the magistrate said as he held up a hand. “I am inclined to agree with Mr. Morgan. There is no complaining witness and therefore no case. What evidence do you have that a crime was even committed?”
“The witnesses on my roster will attest to Mr. Rossi’s violent assault as well as a history of extortion and robbery,” the prosecutor said with a confident nod. “The victim is too afraid of Mr. Rossi to come forward, but the brave men and women on that list are willing to stop his abuse.”
“Then where are they?” I asked with a glance toward the gallery.
It was full of reporters and cameras, but there were only a few people that looked like they could be possible witnesses against my client. And none of them looked like someone I would want to build my case around.
