by Dave Daren
“It’s my job,” the beefy man said with a smirk and a nonchalant shrug.
“I didn’t know they made throwing stars like that,” I commented as we started up the stairs and back into the courthouse.
“My nephew found them at a comic book convention,” Hank said. “I keep one with me at all times. They’re supposed to be like Gambit’s playing cards from the X-Men.”
“Huh,” I said. “That’s pretty cool.”
I hadn’t heard the big man talk about his family much, but it was nice that his nephew had bought him something that he could use at work. I wouldn’t be surprised if the kid was an associate of the Febbo family as well, and he might even be one of the guys that I’d seen guarding the main house.
“Back again?” the security officer asked when I walked back in.
“Yeah,” I said. “Judge Rivers wants to chat.”
“I’ll write it down in the book,” he said. “The doors will be locked in fifteen minutes, so you’ll need to be let out.”
“Right,” I said as I walked through the metal detector.
“Who’s this, your bodyguard?” the older man asked with a chuckle.
“He is,” I said.
The security guard looked shocked for half a second before he narrowed his eyes and looked Hank up and down. He produced a wand to wave over the Italian man despite the metal detector giving him the all clear when he walked through.
“No weapons on you?” the guard asked.
“No, sir,” Hank said. “I’m mostly here for show.”
I pressed my lips together as I held back a laugh. I retrieved all of my belongings from the gray tub once again and then shoved everything into my pockets. I grabbed my briefcase and then moved aside so that Hank could grab his stuff when he’d been cleared.
“Some show,” the older man said with a frown. “The judge’s chambers are on the second floor. Take the elevator up, go left, and it’s the third door on the right.”
“Thanks,” I said. “We shouldn’t be here too long.”
The guard’s instructions were spot on, and in a few minutes I was in front of Judge River’s door. I knocked, glanced over at Hank, and then waited to hear something from inside.
“Come in,” the Judge called.
I took a deep breath and then opened the door. The room was the pale light of the late afternoon, and so it was hard to pick out much detail at first. But Judge Rivers sat behind his desk, and he looked at me expectantly as I walked into the room.
Once I was in the room, I could see that the walls of his office were lined with bookshelves that were filled with leather-bound law books, awards, and pictures of himself with his family. The carpet was the same color as the rest of the courthouse, and his dark red mahogany desk glittered like he’d just finished shining it with oil. His guest chairs were made of the same dark wood, and the cushions were covered in a forest-green leather that looked like it had been made yesterday.
He was a dark-skinned man in his late fifties with a cleanshaven face and a flat nose. His almost black eyes were sharp, and his full lips were pulled down into a frown. He had a pale-blue button-up shirt on, and his robes hung on a hook on the wall behind him.
“Good evening, Your Honor,” I said with a smile as I strolled over to his guest chairs.
“Good evening, Mr. Morgan,” the older man said. “Take a seat. I assume that’s your bodyguard hovering in the hallway?”
“It is,” I said. “Just a precaution.”
The magistrate frowned but didn’t say anything. He gestured to the file in front of him with my RICO case paperwork. He lifted an eyebrow while I sat down and then took a long swig of the black coffee to his right.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this, Mr. Morgan?” the judge asked. “There’s no going back once the ball starts rolling.”
“I do,” I said. “The Gryffon company is responsible for the kidnapping and subsequent beating of my client.”
The older man sighed as he ran a hand over his face.
“This could get messy,” Rivers said. “But, if you’re sure, then I’ll let it go through. But only after you prove enterprise.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with a smile. “I can have that for you tonight.”
“No,” the judge said as he held up a large hand. “I have a dinner date with my wife. And I have no intention of canceling those plans for this. I’ll give you until nine a.m. tomorrow.”
I nodded my head as I stood and offered my hand to the man, but he looked at me and then shook his head.
“Go on, Mr. Morgan,” the magistrate said. “And might I suggest that you get some sleep. You’re going to have a busy few weeks, if not months. And make sure your bodyguard gets some rest, too.”
“Is that a threat, sir?” I asked as I dropped my hand.
“Not from me,” the older man said. “But when you’ve been here as long as I have, you hear things. And when the Gryffon corporation is mentioned, it’s always in hushed whispers.”
I stared the man down as I tried to decide whether he was trying to scare me off, or if he was genuinely concerned. He didn’t have the malice that Adams had when he’d threatened my life, but maybe the judge was just a very good actor.
“Thanks for the warning,” I said. “I’ll make sure to keep an eye out. I’ll have that information for you first thing in the morning.”
I picked up my briefcase, nodded, and then left the judge alone in his office as I joined Hank in the hallway.
“That was fast,” the bodyguard said as he fell into step beside me.
“It was,” I agreed. “He suggested we both get some rest before the onslaught.”
“He threatened you?” the Italian man said.
“No,” I said with a shake of my head as we stepped off of the elevator. “Not the way Adams did, at least. He said he’s heard talk about Gryffon, and that I should be careful.”
“Hmm,” Hank said with a deep frown. “Interesting.”
“It is,” I said. “I don’t think he’s on the payroll since he said that he’d file the case, but he did warn me that he won’t do it until after I’ve proven enterprise.”
“Hello, gentleman,” the old security guard greeted us at the doors with his giant keyring in hand. “How did your appointment go?”
“It went well,” I said with a smile. “I hope you have a good night.”
“I will,” the man replied before he let us out.
There was something about the way he smiled at me that reminded me of something out of an old horror movie. I half-expected his grin to become too wide for his face or for claws to extend, but he just waved goodnight and locked the door. I shook my head to get rid of the sudden rush of anxiety I felt, and then glanced at Hank to make sure he hadn’t sensed anything. I decided it was probably only because he was an overnight security guard, and I’d seen enough scary movies to know that they were either the bad guy or the first victim.
“That man is terrifying,” Hank said as we walked toward our cars.
“He is,” I agreed. “He reminds me of Freddy Kreuger.”
The beefy Italian chuckled as he unlocked his door and then sobered as he looked over at me.
“I’m going to follow you home,” he told me. “There’s going to be a guy down the street, just in case it’s not just the feds that found your address.”
“Thanks,” I said.
I climbed into my Mercedes AMG, tossed my briefcase into the passenger seat, and reveled in the purr of the engine as it turned over. I put my phone in the holder before I found the number for the detective on Rossi’s kidnapping case. I had the information from the laptop, but that wouldn’t be usable in court, yet. I could use whatever names the officer had managed to find, and if she didn’t have any, then I knew that she was just as bad as the corrupt Detective Toscani.
“Detective Keziah Gage,” the female detective said on the second ring.
Her voice was bright and perky, and I wondered if she stayed
like that all day, or if she’d just come on shift.
“Detective Gage,” I greeted as I pulled out of my parking space. “This is Hunter Morgan, I wanted to see how you’re doing with my client’s case.”
“The Rossi kidnapping,” the officer said.
I heard the scrape of a metal drawer being opened, and then the unmistakable flap of a file as it hit the desk.
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.
“I found the location where your client was held,” Gage said. “There was plenty of evidence that Rossi was held there-- blood, prints, and urine. It took a little while to sort through all of it, but there were some fingerprints that led me to two suspects.”
“What are their names?” I asked as I merged onto the LIE.
I checked my rear-view mirror to see that Hank was a few cars behind me. I glanced around to see if there were any other cars that seemed like they might be following me, but nothing stood out. I doubted that whoever it was would use the blue Impala again, but that meant that it could be anyone.
“Evan Stevenson and Morgan Thomas,” the detective said. “Do you know them?”
“The names don’t ring a bell,” I hedged.
“Well,” the female officer began, “they’ve both been arrested for assault, but no one has seen them since Rossi escaped. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Why would I?” I asked. “I didn’t even have their names.”
“I’ve heard around the precinct about who your boss is,” Gage said. “I suggest that you, and he, allow me to bring these men to justice.”
“I assure you,” I said. “We both want Rossi’s kidnappers to rot in prison for a long time.”
“I’m sure,” the detective said. “I’ll let you know if I find anything else. I expect you to do the same.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Have a wonderful night.”
I hung up the phone and focused on maneuvering through the twists and turns of the roads that led to my new home in Floral Park. I waved to Hank as he drove down the street and parked behind an identical black Chrysler 300.
I waited until the garage door had closed behind my car before I climbed out of my car, and then I grabbed my briefcase and unholstered my gun as I stepped into the hallway. I doubted that anyone would be hiding inside with the guard down the street, but Galic could afford to hire someone that could sneak past one man.
The house was empty, but I still did a quick sweep of each room before I tossed my briefcase onto the sectional. I considered the office, but I wanted nothing more than to change into my sweats, order a pizza, and work from the comfort of my couch.
I took my phone with me into the bedroom while I peeled my suit off and tossed it into my hamper. I dialed Anthony’s number, put it on speaker, and then slid into my favorite gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt with ‘I moustache you a question’ printed in white block letters.
“Did you file the RICO case?” my employer asked.
“Yes,” I said. “But the judge wants me to prove enterprise before he makes it official.”
“What the fuck?” the Italian man huffed.
“It won’t be hard,” I said. “I have the names of the guys that kidnapped Rossi.”
“From the female detective?” Anthony asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “She’s more reliable than Toscani. I don’t think she’s on the payroll. She said that the guys’ names are Evan Stevenson and Morgan Thomas, but nobody has heard from them since Rossi escaped.”
There was a string of Italian curse words from the other end of the line.
“They’re dead,” the mafioso said after he managed to calm down.
“Probably,” I said. “But if we can tie them to Gryffon, then I can prove enterprise, even if they never show up.”
I paused as I walked back into the living room. I had just blown past the fact that two men had likely been murdered, and what was more disturbing was that it didn’t have any real effect on me. I shoved the thought out of my head as I forced my feet to start moving again. I knew who my employer’s enemies were, and I figured the two men who had kidnapped and beaten my client and held him captive for days deserved whatever they got.
“Evan Stevenson and Morgan Thomas,” Anthony muttered. “They’re on the Gryffon payroll. They’re listed as consultants.”
“Perfect,” I said. “Can you email me that information? I’ll add it to the affidavit and file it with the judge in the morning.”
My eyes watered as I blinked at my TV screen. I shook my head and tried to force back the yawn that threatened to come out. I needed a cup of coffee if I was going to finish the rest of the paperwork. I had forgotten to stop on the way home, but I still had plenty of the strong dark roast that Liz had left for me.
“It’s sent,” the young mafia man said. “Make sure you get some sleep today. As soon as Galic finds out that you’ve filed, he’s going to make your life hell.”
“That’s what the judge said,” I mumbled as I failed to stop another yawn.
My head spun with exhaustion and it felt like somebody had it in a vise grip.
“He threatened you?” Anthony asked in a tight voice.
“No,” I said and shook my head even though he wouldn’t see it. “He just told me to be careful. He said that the Gryffon company name had been whispered around the office before.”
“Do you think he’s on the take?” my employer asked.
“No,” I said. “But I think he knows about it. He’s probably trying to keep his nose out of it, though he did say that he’d submit the case. Not that he could reject it if I have proof.”
“Good,” the Italian mafioso said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I nodded and tossed my phone onto the cushion next to me. I was too tired to eat a full meal, and my limbs refused to work when I tried to stand. I decided I could finish the paperwork in the morning, but until then I was going to bed. I managed to push myself to my feet, stumble into the bedroom, and collapse onto the comforter before exhaustion pulled me under.
My alarm went off at six a.m., though I didn’t remember when I’d set it. Sadly, it wasn’t the first time that my subconscious had set an alarm for me when I was too out of it. I’d spent plenty of long nights in the library while I studied for hours, and those usually ended with me crawling into bed with barely any memory of getting there.
There was drool on my pillow when I lifted my head, another thing I remembered about those long nights in the library. I groaned, ran a hand down my face, and then dragged myself into the bathroom to see that my hair stuck out at all ends. At least the bags under my eyes weren’t too bad. I looked, and felt, more refreshed than I had in the last few weeks.
I hurried through a hot shower that relaxed my stiff muscles, threw on a suit, and then started a cup of coffee before I grabbed a granola bar. I stared out of my back door like a zombie while I consumed my meager breakfast, and then downed a glass of water.
The affidavit wouldn’t take long to fill out. I’d written plenty of them when I worked for my white shoe firm, and even more since I’d started working for Anthony. I took my laptop out onto the back patio with another glass of water, my files, and my cell phone. I hurried through the paperwork, double-checked it to make sure that it was accurate, and then sent it to my printer.
It was only seven a.m., which left me plenty of time to grab a real breakfast before the court opened and to review the rest of the information that Anthony had sent me. He’d given me the entire list of Gryffon employees, and something told me that some of the payoffs would lead to other consultants, or to bonuses for security guards for unspecified reasons.
The Chrysler 300 was still parked down the block when I eased my car out of the garage, so I gave him a wave before I headed toward the LIE. I knew that Hank would find me wherever I went, and I doubted that anyone would attack me in broad daylight. I still kept an eye on the cars around me as I weaved through the traffic into the city, but everyone I saw
was focused on the road rather than me, and soon I was in the Bronx.
The Gryffon building was only a few blocks away from the courthouse, so it wouldn’t take long for me to get over there once the judge signed off on a subpoena for their records. I already had a large number of them from Galic’s laptop, but I was eager to see what the official records looked like so I could compare the two, and to have all of their associates’ names.
I knew that at least some of those payoffs we’d found would link back to a name somewhere in their files. I was glad that the two supposed consultants that had kidnapped Rossi had been on their list of company employees, but I couldn’t expect them to have all of their goons on their payroll, and the mayor would be smart enough that he’d filter his own payoffs through a shell corporation or charity.
I swung through one of the few drive-thrus inside the city and ordered a cheese-loaded bacon and egg sandwich with hashbrowns and a coffee, and then headed toward the Bronx courthouse. I still had half an hour before the doors opened, but there were already people milling around on the steps as I strolled up. I found a bench, plopped down on the cold stone, and unwrapped the foil that covered my greasy but delicious breakfast. I wolfed it down so quickly that I still had time before the doors were unlocked, so I pulled out my phone to idle away the last few minutes.
“Mr. Morgan,” a man’s voice said.
I looked up from the game of Call of Duty that I was playing on my phone to see a short man in his early twenties. He had on dark wash blue jeans that hung down too low, a black hoodie, and had two lip rings in the right corner of his mouth. He had his hands shoved into the pocket of his hoodie, and there was a bulge that could’ve been a gun.
“Good morning,” I said with a nonchalant smile as I tucked my cell phone into my pocket. “I apologize, but I don’t know your name.”
