by Rick Santini
***
Where do I go? What do I do?
Judge K was now back home, such as it was.
After the divorce he saw no need for a large house, not that it ever felt like a home. It was a place for him to have breakfast, dinner, and sleep. He kept his clothes there on weekends and locked himself in his basement chambers. At least there he felt safe and his wife knew better than to bother him.
The house was sold and the profits split equally. Eighty-three thousand, four hundred and twelve dollars each. He would never forget that figure. All those years of licking bootstraps, being the good little soldier, doing the dirty jobs no one else had the stomach for, and after all was said and done, he was now divorced, his son hardly spoke to him, and all he was left with was a lousy eighty-three thousand dollars.
Home was now a two bedroom apartment within walking distance of the courthouse. Why, on good days he didn’t even need a car. An apartment. He didn’t even own the damn place. He paid rent every month and knew the rent would go up a good ten to fifteen percent every three years. Inflation, he was told.
Bullshit. It was greed, pure and simple.
Now he had five days before he could report back to work.
What the hell am I going to do? Where do I go?
Wally was afraid to use his laptop. If they, whoever they were, could break into one computer, they sure as hell could break into a new one.
Maybe I’ll go down to Best Buy and see if they can sell me a secure laptop that has firewalls or whatever they use to prevent hackers from breaking in. What else can I do?
Had Judge K known the truth, he would have rested much easier.
A simple phone call to his chambers asking the judge to sign an emergency restraining order on a case he had on his docket, brought a response from the haggard clerk stating the judge was not available. After being pushed, the clerk revealed the judge was on vacation in Miami. The lawyer insisted only Judge Kolkolski was familiar with the facts and circumstances and the lawyer, or so the voice claimed to be, was sure if he sent the proposed order FedEx, the judge would sign it and send it back the next day.
So much for confidentiality. Everyone has access to all cases assigned to a particular judge. Ten minutes in the Clerk’s Office and five questions on a throw away cell phone was all it took to locate the good judge.
The only problem with Judge K’s laptop was it was old. Just like him.
CHAPTER 11
“What’s wrong, Anthony? You seem so jumpy.”
“What’s wrong? Ma, they want to kill me. I’m sure of it. The girl’s father is Mafia. Not bad enough, the God damn Russian mafia. I’m a dead man walking.”
“Don’t you use that language in this house. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ma.”
Anthony had lost more than ten pounds since the trial. He had dropped out of school and spent most of his time at home. In his room. In bed. He only went out at night, when it was dark.
“You heard the judge. He didn’t believe for one minute that girl was telling the truth. She was scared and claimed it was rape afterwards. Now do you really think her father is going to believe the judge or his own daughter? He’s going to kill me. Did you see those big goons sitting in the back of the courtroom every day? Just staring. Staring at me.”
Anthony didn’t believe one word he had just told his mother. Oh, he damn sure believed his life was over. He knew he could never walk the streets of New Jersey again without looking over both shoulders and at every car coming at him. What he didn’t understand was why the judge didn’t believe Victoria. She was telling the truth and everyone in the courtroom knew it. The jury knew it, his own attorney knew it, and he damn sure knew it. So why? Why was he still a free man?
What was the judge thinking? What did he gain by setting me free? Who came up with this crap about a directed verdict? I just don’t understand. It makes no sense at all.
“I don’t feel good, Ma. I think I’m going to lie down for a while.”
“Anthony, it’s only eleven in the morning. You just finished breakfast. I think you should talk to someone.”
“All right, Ma. Maybe tomorrow.”
Anthony knew there was no one to talk to. Certainly not his ex-lawyer whom he was now suing. The cast was off his leg and he was now walking with a cane. When no one was around, no one was looking, he ditched the cane. The minute the check was cashed, the cane too would be history. All he wanted now was a settlement so he could boogie out of town. New Jersey was not the safest place under the best of circumstances. Now it was worse than some parts of Beirut.
His new lawyer, Angelo DeAngelo, had promised him a big settlement, but he had to be patient. “If the insurance company,” there was always insurance in the picture, “thought you were desperate, they would offer mere pennies on the dollar. After all, they would much prefer to see the money sitting in their accounts earning interest, not paid to some kid who would probably blow it on a car or a girl in a matter of weeks.”
Anthony remembered DeAngelo telling him, “I have told the adjuster we have no intent of settling. Once Mr. Sugarman pleads to a lesser charge, and he has no choice, then we have our victory. Any jury would just love to give you close to $100,000 to punish a lawyer who attacks his own client, in his own office, with no provocation. I can’t wait for summation.”
Here DeAngelo had begun rubbing his hands in anticipation of his one third that was already in the bank as far as he was concerned.
Anthony recalled vividly their first conversation where he was promised the case would be settled in a matter of weeks, a month at the most, for maybe thirty or forty thou.
Maybe it’s time to hire a new attorney; one I could trust. If I can get twenty or thirty grand quick, I can be somewhere in the Caribbean before anyone even knows I’m missing. I can change my name and get a job as a bartender at some swank resort hotel.
Anthony had forgotten about a passport. It would come to him later. All he was thinking about now was Victoria’s father and the two stone pillars that sat in the back of the courtroom every day. He sat in his room for hours thinking what he could do. Then it hit him. He picked up his cell phone.
“Mr. DeAngelo. I need to see you right away. It’s important.”
Anthony sat and listened as to why he would have to wait. New client coming in, a hearing he had to prepare for in the morning, the adjuster was on vacation. His schedule was booked for the rest of the week and he would be trying the mother of all slip and fall cases the beginning of next week.
“No problem, Mr. DeAngelo. I have decided to change lawyers. My new attorney told me I can come in anytime and sign a Substitution of Attorney form whenever I want. Thank you.”
Anthony hung up. He knew DeAngelo would free up his schedule and call back in the next ten minutes.
He was wrong. It was only four and a half minutes.
While setting up an appointment for the first thing in the morning, eight thirty, before the office officially opened, Anthony peeked out the corner of his bedroom window. He thought he saw a black sedan drive by with No Neck Two at the wheel and his ever-present partner-in-crime, No Neck One sitting alongside him. He also was sure there was someone in the backseat. He could not make out any details.
Anthony freaked.
***
“That’s where he lives, Mr. C. He stays in his bedroom almost all day. I thought I saw the bedroom shade just move. He looks out at the street every fifteen minutes or so.”
Alexey thought a minute.
“Lease a car, a big, black sedan with tinted windows, in a dummy corporation’s name and park it right across the street tonight. I want him to stare at it all day and night. And I’ll have a package for you. Leave it on the front door porch late tonight. Don’t be seen.”
Alexey had no good reason to add the last few words.
Boris merely nodded. “Yes, Mr. C.”
***
The “package” contained a small, black metal cage. Inside was o
ne dead rat. There was no note. The message was loud and clear. Someone would die—soon.
Anthony was up and dressed by seven in the morning. He didn’t want to be late for his eight thirty appointment with Mr. DeAngelo. He almost tripped over the large brown paper bag sitting directly in front of the door.
The scream was heard two doors away. After seeing the dead rat, Anthony noticed the black sedan parked ominously directly across the street. He panicked, dropped the bag, and ran. He had no idea how long or far he ran, but fifteen minutes later he was a mass of sweat. Only part of it was caused by the running.
He was sitting in front of Mr. DeAngelo’s office, a store front a few blocks from the courthouse, when Angelo showed up.
“You look like shit. Or like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Anthony was still out of breath.
“I ran almost all the way, Mr. DeAngelo.”
“Did anyone see you? And where’s the cane?”
Angelo could see his one third fee floating out the door. No one with a broken leg runs like that. Ethically speaking, not that it ever bothered him; he had a duty to report the change of circumstances to the insurance company.
“Settle the case, Mr. DeAngelo. Settle it now or I want my file back. I checked. It’s my case, not yours. I don’t care what you tell them, just get me a check by the end of the week or you’re history. Am I making myself clear?”
“Perfectly.”
Neither of them saw the black sedan parked across the street. The one with the spy camera with the directional mike attached. The one that had recorded Anthony running down the street like an Olympic sprinter and then talking to his own attorney on the sidewalk in front of the law office. On a public street.
No violation of any privacy laws there.
“Let’s go. I have seen and heard all I need.”
“Da, Mr. C.”
CHAPTER 12
Angelo DeAngelo was not adverse to a few white lies. Maybe not so white. After all, he was a lawyer. He was a negligence lawyer. In fact, he was a perpetual ambulance chaser, the worst of the very worst.
In every insurance claims office in Newark was a small flyer in the coffee room.
BEWARE—Picture of negligence scum bags. Next to it was a photo of Angelo D. DeAngelo. He was that well known.
When the call came in from Mr. DeAngelo, bells and whistles went off in the adjuster’s head. DeAngelo never, never settled until he could squeeze the last buck out of the defendant, usually on the courthouse steps. If DeAngelo wanted to settle now, his case had to be in the crapper…or worse.
Charlie Whitehead, the old time insurance adjuster for LCI, Lawyers Co-op Insurance, agreed to meet with Angelo. Why not? He had nothing to lose. Besides, he couldn’t wait to hear Angelo’s latest fantasy.
The only question to be answered was, who wanted their money more? Angelo or Anthony. For Attorney Angelo DeAngelo, he had a file cabinet full of questionable cases. For Anthony Pauli Ricardo, it was his one and only chance at the brass ring.
If Alexey had any say, he would soon play a major role in the outcome.
***
“How would you like to study abroad for a year? Say in Barcelona or Paris.”
Vicky knew her father like a well-worn book. It was a bribe to stay out of the mess and he wasn’t even subtle about it.
“Papa, when I find out why, I’ll go anywhere you send me. For now, I need to know the reason why the judge didn’t believe me. Why did he do what he did? It wasn’t my fault and everyone in that courtroom knew it. So why did the judge let him walk?”
Alexey did not have the answer. Yet.
“Give me some time, my little dorogaya.”
Vicky did not respond. Like her father, she did not like to be placated. She wanted answers.
“Soon, Papa, soon.”
“Da.”
***
Anthony had no choice but to believe. He knew DeAngelo was stalling. He also knew if there was no settlement by the end of the week, Angelo DeAngelo would have one less client.
Anthony was afraid to go home. He was afraid of what his mother would say and do once she found the big, brown bag and what was in it. He had nowhere to go. He checked, he had less than ninety bucks in his wallet. He turned around and walked back to DeAngelo’s office. Anthony had a plan and nothing to lose.
At times, it’s difficult, if not impossible, to say no.
***
Vicky wanted to know everything her papa was doing. Her father felt it was best if she knew nothing. It was called deniability. She could never be sworn to testify what she had not actually heard, did not actually see, did not actually know. Supposition was merely an educated guess. It was not fact and clearly not admissible in a court of law. Vicky reluctantly agreed.
Then she did as she damn well pleased. She was more like her papa than either of them would ever acknowledge.
***
“I can’t. I simply can’t do that. Not only is it unethical; it’s against the law.”
Anthony refused to budge. He was not about to leave without what he came for.
“Since when did that ever bother you? The reason I came to you in the first place was because of your reputation. Not as a great lawyer, but a shyster that could always make a fast buck. You told me the case was worth fifty thousand at trial; at least thirty thousand for a quick settlement. Assuming you weren’t lying then, I would walk away with twenty and you would end up with ten.”
Anthony could see DeAngelo’s eyes shifting and his mind calculating.
“Now I’m willing to reverse the split. You end up with twenty, I get my ten. Today.”
Again, Anthony was watching the greedy eyes of his own lawyer.
“I could get disbarred.”
“But you won’t. You’re too smart not to get away with it. Let me sign a blank general release form right now, you pay me my ten today and whatever you can squeeze out of the insurance company is all yours. Wait a month or two and settle for thirty-five. You then put twenty-five in your own pocket and no one will ever know the difference.”
DeAngelo’s eyes said yes before his mouth had a chance to say no.
Fifteen minutes later Anthony signed the blank release form and DeAngelo signed the check made payable to Anthony for ten grand. A win/win situation for both of them.
“Nice doing business with you, Mr. DeAngelo. Have a nice day.”
Anthony practically ran to the bank on two good legs to cash the check.
I’m rich. I’m rich. Now I can get the hell out of this stinking town.
DeAngelo was trying to decide if he would wait before he made his final demand on the insurance company. He was thinking somewhere around thirty-five to forty. That would put a tidy twenty-five or more in his pocket. The poor dumb client would never know.
Angelo DeAngelo was feeling very proud of himself. Maybe he would convince other clients who were desperate to do the same thing.
Why, I can double my income almost overnight, he thought.
CHAPTER 13
Bill Johnson now had his first solid lead. Through divorce court records he found out the name of Judge Kolkolski’s ex-wife. It was Bernice Sophie Kolkolski. He had heard she’d moved to southern Florida—probably Miami, where she had some relatives. Bill then checked all records of Florida Power and Light and found three customers with the name Bernice Kolkolski.
One of them had to be the judge’s ex.
Using a scam as a bill collector trying to locate a Judge Walter Kolkolski for an overdue credit card bill, Bernice was only too quick to confirm he was her ex-husband, a sitting court judge in New Jersey who at times was late on his bills. As far as she knew, and she had not seen or heard from him in years, he was still in Newark and worked in the courthouse.
When Bill inquired if this was the same man who had a son by the name of Theodore, Bernice abruptly hung up.
Bill had no idea why.
He needed to talk to Theodore. He could help solve the puzzle. For now he
had other things to do. Things IBM was paying him to do.
***
The phone call got Bernice wondering. As she told the bill collector, she had not had any contact with Wally since the divorce was final. That had to be more than twelve, fifteen years ago. And why did the caller ask about Teddy? He had been dead for eleven years. Eleven years, three months, and five days. But who was counting?
Where was Wally then? Surely he could have pulled some strings or found a judge who was willing to listen and bend the rules, like she knew he had done. For the right price, rules can always be broken. Wally taught me that way back when.
Bernice thought about calling Wally. She wasn’t sure why. It was a gut feeling.
All these years. What would I say? And why now do I want to call?
The phone rang again. It was a neighbor reminding her of a luncheon appointment, and all thoughts of Wally were promptly forgotten.
At least for the present.
***
Approximately one thousand eighty-nine miles to the north, Judge K was preparing to return from his aborted vacation. As he walked the few short blocks from his apartment to the courthouse, he never saw the black sedan that was a half block behind him. It was the last thing on his mind. It shouldn’t have been.
The sky was threatening to rain; Wally kept his head down and was wearing an old fedora. As he recalled, Bernice bought it for him years and years ago. He could never bring himself to get rid of it. He had no idea why.
When he was in Miami last week, or was it now two weeks ago, he thought about Bernice. He didn’t have her phone number. As far as he knew, she had never remarried or gone back to her maiden name. He wanted to call and find out how she was doing. Maybe grab a cup of coffee. After all these years, it made no sense. Besides, she would probably just hang up on him—again.
