She raised her eyebrows to the man as the bodyguards stood up. The leader said, “No, do not hurt them. We are not monsters. We got what we came for. Cuff their ankles together and leave them. They should be all right.”
When they were all set to go, the leader held up the towel from Leo’s mouth and having soaked it in the gas mix, lit it with a lighter and threw it into Leo’s office. He jumped in the truck and as they drove off, the flames had spread through the entire building. Within minutes, Leo’s pride and joy would be an unsalvageable inferno. By morning, when the fire had been put out, it would be little more than charred rubble.
EIGHTY-NINE
Vivian had watched in horror as the woman and one of the men guided the hooded bodyguards to the empty field adjacent to the restaurant’s back parking lot. She knew they would be armed and her worst fears were about to come true. She believed she was going to witness the cold-blooded murder of four people right before her eyes. When the four men had been forced to kneel she stopped breathing and her mind went blank, not knowing what she could do to stop it. Then one of the Russians, the man, knelt down and looked to be doing something to their feet and ankles. He pushed each one face first down on the ground and when he was finished, the two of them simply turned and ran back to the truck. Much to her relief, it appeared they were not going to murder the four men. She turned her attention back to the back door of the restaurant and a couple of minutes later she saw the sixth one come out, light a rag on fire and toss it into Leo’s office.
Vivian knew exactly where the truck was headed so she waited a couple of minutes before leaving. Then realizing the fire would be reported, she quickly fled from her vantage point and drove toward her destination. During her brief trip through downtown St Paul, she noticed the headlights in her mirror and with a feeling of relief, smiled to herself.
It was almost 2:00 A.M. when she pulled the small SUV off to the side of the road along Eaton Street at the downtown St. Paul airport. There was very little traffic on the street or in the airport. Apparently, the Russians had called ahead because their plane was ready to go as soon as they arrived. Vivian got out of the vehicle and stood alongside it. It was a cool, wet, misty night with wisps of fog hanging in the air. She took out her glasses, held them to her eyes and watched through the fence as the box containing Leo Balkus was loaded up the lowered tail ramp of the small cargo plane.
A few minutes later, she watched it taxi toward the runway and heard the footsteps behind her. As they got closer, without turning her head, she said, “Hello Anthony. I’m very happy to see you.”
Tony stepped up to her and she slipped her arm through his and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “It reminds me of the last scene from Casablanca. When the plane takes off in the fog,” he said.
“It does, doesn’t it?” she answered as she put the glasses on the SUV’s hood and clutched her coat closed in the chilly night air.
“So, who was he, anyway?”
Vivian didn’t answer at first. She thought it over as she watched the plane take off. Finally, she relented and said, “I guess you deserve to know.” As they stood together huddled against the damp night air, she told him what she had found out about the notorious Leo Balkus.
His real name was Grigory Kuznetsov and he had been born into Russian communist royalty in the midst of the cold war. His father was a lieutenant general in the KGB. His mother was the daughter of a prominent member of the Politburo. His father, Mikhail Kuznetsov was a legendary brute, a reputation solidified upon the Afghan people during the Russian war in Afghanistan through the 1980’s.
Grigory had been raised with all of the privileges that his family connections demanded. The best schools, the best homes, servants, everything a pampered life for the elite of the Soviet Union provided for themselves. Truly, everyone was equal, but some were more equal than others.
He followed in his father’s footsteps and became an officer in the old KGB. It seems the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Grigory had the same psycho, anti-social, genetic make-up as his father and rose rapidly to the rank of major. Then the whole rotten system collapsed when the Soviet Union came crashing down.
“By this point, dear old dad was dead. Cancer of some kind. Grigory had attached himself to a mentor. One of the early stars of the new KGB now known as the FSB. Ever hear of that?”
“Sure,” Tony said. “They put lipstick on a pig. Pretty much the same as the KGB only with a smiley face.”
“In the mid to late nineties, Grigory, with the help of his mentor, was doing quite well. Then, it seems he got a little greedy and careless. Eventually, like almost all of the new government then and still today, he climbed into bed with the Russian Mafia. After a while, Grigory got greedy and started siphoning money for himself. A couple of million into Swiss accounts. The mob boys don’t like this.”
“No, they don’t.”
“And if that wasn‘t bad enough, his mentor’s favorite mistress confessed to cheating on him with Grigory. It was then that he fled and contacted the CIA.”
“Wait, a low-level thug in the FSB, a major, doesn’t merit the treatment Leo got.”
“Normally, no, you’re right, he wouldn’t. Except, shortly after he defected, his mentor became President Vladimir Markoff. The same Vladimir Markoff was a senior KGB officer, then head of the FSB and corrupt backer of the Russian mob. The same nasty bastard who has shown nothing but contempt for us and our president. Yes, that Vladimir Markoff,” she continued when she saw the surprised look on Tony’s face. “Leo knew everything about everybody in the Russian government inside and out. He was, and still is, a fountain of information about the personal lives of everyone who matters in Russia, including the Russian Mafia.”
“Okay,” Tony said truly impressed. “That explains why our government wanted to protect him and that also explains why the Russkis were so hot to get him back.”
“Exactly. After he defected, our government faked his death and got him the best plastic surgeon there was and set him up here. It was all because he could supply them with intimate details about the Russian government and everyone in it. Oh, I forgot to mention he is also the grandson of the sister of Leonid Brezhnev, the last great communist czar. Remember him? He knew everything about everyone.”
“And you nailed him. Do you know what they’re going to do to him? It won’t be pleasant.”
“Nothing he doesn’t deserve.”
“The FBI will figure out what happened to him. They’ll track down the flight of that plane,” Tony said.
“I’m sure they will. And do what about it? Complain? To whom? The Russian government? Vladimir Markoff isn’t exactly too concerned about what our president thinks.”
“Good point. Remind me never to get on your bad side. You can be vicious.”
“Speaking of bad sides and good sides,” Vivian said as she turned toward him, looked him in the eye and flirtatiously straightened a lock of his hair. “Where are we, you and me? Like Bogart said to Louie at the end of Casablanca: is this the start of a beautiful friendship?”
Tony looked at her and smiled, put his hands lightly on her shoulders and said, “I am very fond of you. You’re one hell of a woman, Vivian Donahue.”
“But,” she said.
“But,” he continued. “We aren’t just from different worlds, we’re from different galaxies. There is no way I would fit in yours.”
“Does it bother you what happened to Leo?”
“Are you kidding? No one deserves it more and I couldn’t be more impressed.”
“Okay,” she sighed as she lightly stroked his cheek with her right hand.
“On the other hand,” he softly said looking into her eyes, “Maybe we could be, well, real close friends.”
“What do the kids call it? Friends with benefits?” she smiled.
“They may have something there,” Tony said as he leaned down and kissed her.
Later that same day, it was announced in Washington D.C. that
Henry Wilson, the Secretary of Homeland Security, was resigning. The reason given, of course, was after all of his years of service, he wanted to spend more time with his family. This was the same family whose names he could barely remember most of the time and had seen only when they could be used as campaign props.
And of lesser note, over the next several days, a bank in Roseville, Minnesota was seized by state banking regulators. With the full cooperation of the bank president, Nathan Tollman, the bank was closed and all of its assets were confiscated. Legitimate customers, of course, were all protected, but the bank was suspected of money laundering. Along with the bank, several bookmaking ventures were raided, a couple dozen drug dealers arrested and a large house in East Oaks was closed for being a house of prostitution. Vivian Donahue had struck again.
NINETY
Gordon Prentiss had slept better last night than he had the first night. Because of his status as a judge in Minnesota, for his safety, the Minnesota Department of Corrections had transferred him to the Indiana State Prison in Michigan City, Indiana. Every state has these arrangements with other states to trade inmates for any number of reasons.
Following his conviction and sentencing, he had been taken to the facility in Michigan City to begin serving his sentence. The first day had been the most humiliating day of his life. Prentiss had been treated with little more respect than a rabid animal would receive or so he believed. In reality, he had gone through a routine medical exam which included a thorough cavity search for any possible contraband. Most of the day had been taken up with standard new inmate indoctrination which had been conducted more respectfully than he treated any criminal defendant who ever appeared in his courtroom. Despite being jailed for many weeks following his arrest, during his trial and while he awaited sentencing, the ever arrogant patrician refused to let go of his privileged attitude.
When his cell door slammed shut at lights out, it finally started to fully sink into him. That night, alone in his tiny cell, the reality of his circumstances gripped him. He spent most of the first night sitting on his cot. He sat fully clothed in his prison-issued uniform dungarees on the hard metal bed with the thin mattress and blanket. His back was against the corner of the cell, his knees tucked up under his chin, his arms around his legs and he spent the entire night staring at the door.
Prentiss tried to cry, to shed some tears in an effort to humanize his situation. Try as he might, the tears refused to come. So he sat, his eyes rarely blinking, his mind numb, an almost empty void, refusing to accept his situation. Unwilling to grasp the simple reality that this was what he had to look forward to, to deal with, likely for the rest of his life.
The second day was a little better except for the guards that treated him no better than the scum he had put in these places himself. Prentiss was given a huge break, although he didn’t realize or appreciate it, by being assigned to the prison library. An embezzler had made parole and a spot in the library had opened up which basically dropped in his lap. Considering his disdain for physical labor and those who spent their lives performing it, he was handed a significant gift.
By the time his cell door clanged shut on the second night he was so exhausted from the previous night and the spent emotions, the former judge almost collapsed on the bed and was out within moments. Despite the fatigue, he still woke up several times during the night. By morning he was wide awake and sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for his day to begin.
Gordon spent the morning with the inmate who basically ran the library. His name was Al and he had been in this prison for over ten years. Convicted of murdering his former business partner to collect insurance proceeds, Al wasn’t going anywhere for a long time, if ever.
At lunch, Al sat with Gordon and explained the reality of prison life. Two basic rules: keep your mouth shut and your ears open.
Before finishing their lunch, Al noticed a large, very well built inmate that he knew seated two tables from them. What caught Al’s attention was this particular man, whom Al knew as someone no other inmates dared trifle with, glanced in their direction several times. When this man arose, picked up his tray and started walking toward them, Al quickly stood up, picked up his tray and hurriedly said to Gordon, “I have to go. I’ll see you back at the library.”
When the cause of Al’s nervous flight sat down opposite Prentiss, three other inmates who were seated at the table quickly departed also. The intruder smiled pleasantly at Prentiss and stared at him while Prentiss tried to choke down as much food as he could. Gordon looked at the man, a flicker of recognition tickling his brain, trying to figure out if he knew the man.
“Hello, Judge,” Butch Koll finally said. “I’m guessing you don’t remember me.”
With the reference of his former title, Prentiss stopped breathing and the blood drained from his face. He didn’t remember the man but the smile on his lips was not a friendly one and for the first time, Gordon Prentiss fully realized exactly where he was.
“I must admit, I’m quite happy to see you again. Although from the look on your face, I don’t believe the feeling is mutual. Do you even remember who I am?”
“I’m um, um, sorry. You have me at a, ah, disadvantage. I’m trying to place you but…”
“Let me help,” Butch said as he reached across the table and lightly patted the back of Prentiss’s hand. “I’m the guy you bent over and screwed for Leo Balkus a few months back. I heard Leo is missing. Any idea where he is?”
“Um, no, I, ah, heard that too,” Prentiss quietly answered.
“No matter. I’m the guy that threw the table at you after you reneged on our deal. Remember me now?”
From how much Prentiss’ eyes had widened and his jaw dropped open, obviously the light had come on and he now knew who was toying with him.
“What do you want?” Prentiss croaked.
“Nothing, Judge. I just thought I’d stop by and say hello. You see,” Butch continued, “I just heard from my lawyer, I should say, lawyers, plural; both the guy handling my appeal and Marc Kadella. I hear Marc handled your case, too. I actually thought he was a pretty good attorney, I guess things didn’t turn out too well for you. Anyway, they told me because of your corruption and the fact Leo had you in his pocket, the appeals court back in Minnesota sent my case back to the district court for resentencing. Obviously you’re no longer the judge,” he laughed. “The new judge has agreed to the original deal and has allowed me to be released with time served. I’m getting out tomorrow.”
At that moment three good-sized, young, white inmates sat down at the table with Butch and Gordon. Gordon nervously looked over the newcomers while Butch silently watched him sweat.
About a minute after the three men had joined them, Butch leaned across the table, smiled a big smile at Prentiss and said, “These are three friends of mine. They know all about what kind of asshole you are and what you did to me. I just wanted to introduce them to you, before I said good-bye. They’ll make your stay at this fine institution as pleasant as you deserve. Good luck to you Gordy.”
Also available on Amazon.com by Dennis Carstens is The Key To Justice another Marc Kadella legal mystery located at:
http://www.amazon.com/Justice-Marc-Kadella-Legal-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00AC54HI4
PLEASE READ
Author’s Note
I personally like novels that make me think; novels that are not just entertainment for the mind. It is my preference to get entertainment from movies. It is my hope that while you read Desperate Justice, you had to think about it in terms of what is going on here? How is this all going to turn out in the end? And of course, I truly hope you enjoyed it and found it both a little thought provoking and entertaining.
There is a bit of a morality quiz contained in this story. I intentionally made Judge Gordon Prentiss as despicable, loathsome and disgusting as any human could be with the possible exception of a pedophile. I did this and then intentionally convicted him of a crime he did not commit. It would be a crime you, the r
eader, knew all along he did not commit. The morality quiz is this: How did you feel about that? How did you feel about seeing this loathsome creature convicted of a crime of which he was innocent? The quiz and its questions are, of course, strictly rhetorical. Morally, you should not be happy about an innocent man being convicted and sent to prison, even someone as vile as Gordon Prentiss. But if you do take a little guilty pleasure in seeing him get some sort of just desserts, don’t feel too bad. That probably means you’re human.
Regardless, again I hope you liked it and if you haven’t done so already, please check out my other Marc Kadella legal mysteries. The Key to Justice, Media Justice and Certain Justice. Also, due in the spring of 2016, Personal Justice. Leave a good review on Amazon and be sure to tell your friends.
Thank you.
Dennis Carstens
Media Justice
A Marc Kadella legal mystery
Dennis L. Carstens
Additional Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries
The Key To Justice
Desperate Justice
Certain Justice
Personal Justice
Delayed Justice
Copyright © 2014 by Dennis L Carstens
www.denniscarstens.com
Email me at: [email protected]
Author’s Note
As a lawyer I am asked, as I am sure are almost all lawyers and judges by friends and acquaintances to give my opinion about highly publicized trials. I always tell the person asking that I do not follow trials in the media. Forming an opinion based on what you have received through the media is third or fourth-hand knowledge filtered through any number of people involved in giving you the story.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 93
