by Rick Santini
Viktor and Bruno sat there, waiting. Was the bald-headed kid coming out next?
“It’s him. I’m sure of it. He shaved his head, but I would bet a bowl of cold borscht it’s him.”
Who?”
“The kid from the trial. The one who raped Victoria and walked, all because of the judge. What the hell is going on? It makes no sense.”
Boris nodded. He was going nowhere. He would sit across from the house till doomsday, but he would get the little shit on film.
***
“How did you know his name? What’s going on? Who the hell are you?”
Bernice had tightened her bathrobe. She was feeling very uncomfortable. She had no idea who was standing in front of him. All she knew was he looked like he had seen a ghost. A very live and angry ghost.
Antonio did not answer. He dressed in record time and bolted for the door. He needed to go home; he needed to think.
“I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Don’t bother. Ever.”
Boris had quickly moved from his car and was now less than ten feet from the front door. He had replaced the cell phone with a far more sophisticated piece of equipment from the trunk. It was the very latest spy cam with a powerful directional mike. It was pointed at the partially open window and was recording every single word.
Anthony—all of a sudden he was Anthony again—was running out the door and almost bumped into what appeared to be a giant oak tree with a camera in his hand.
“Who the hell are you? And what are you doing?”
Then Anthony remembered. It was one of the goons in the back of the courtroom. The one that worked for Vicky’s father. Now he was positive his life was over. He began to run and did not stop till he was safely back in his bungalow.
He locked the door and put a chair in front of it. Not that it would do much good. Or stop a bullet.
Anthony locked himself in the bathroom and began to cry.
Why me? Why didn’t she tell me she was a virgin? I would have been better off in prison. At least I would know I was safe and when I would go out. I could live the rest of my life without looking over my shoulder every five seconds. Shit.
***
Boris downloaded everything and sent it on to Mr. C.
“I think we can go back to the hotel. Don’t expect any more action here tonight. Looks like the judge spoiled their little party.”
Viktor nodded.
“Da.”
***
It was early the next morning that Alexey picked up his cell phone. There were at least a half dozen urgent messages from Boris. Alexey, not known for sleeping late, called him before reading the last few or watching the video.
“Well, Boss, whatta ya want us to do? Come home?”
Alexey said nothing.
“You did hear what I told you last night; you did watch the video, didn’t you?”
“I’ll call you right back, Boris.”
Alexey looked at the messages. He looked at the video taken on the new high speed spy cam that had been transferred to the cell phone, twice. After ten minutes he looked at it a third time—just to make sure. He still didn’t understand the connection, but he was sure he had all he needed for now. The rest would be worked out later.
He picked up the cell.
“Da, you are right, it is time to come home.” Then he added, “The two of you should buy some new casual clothes and spend a few days at the hotel as a reward. You have earned it.”
Boris replied, “If it’s all the same to you, Boss, we would much prefer to come back to New Jersey. It’s much safer.”
Alexey smiled.
“Da.”
CHAPTER 25
Boris and Viktor were on the last flight of the day from MIA to EWR, Newark International Liberty Airport. They had first class seats. They had asked for premium vodka to relax themselves. The senior flight attendant smiled and gave them the best she had. Her feet were hurting her. This was her third flight of the day and she couldn’t wait to get home and rest her abundant ass in a soft couch. The vodka was hardly premium. Not even close. They each ordered three mini bottles. The flight would take two hours, fifty-three minutes.
Had they arrived seven hours earlier, there would have been a good chance they would have run into a still very shaken young man also heading back home. Perhaps on the same flight. He had managed to get one of the last seats in economy. The middle of the second last row. He couldn’t have cared less. All he wanted was to get the hell out of Miami.
Anthony, I am no longer Antonio, had not slept all night. He kept thinking of the judge, what he would do when he found out who was sleeping with his wife—ex-wife—and the goon holding the camera with a mounted mike on top. He had to have recorded every last word.
By now it had probably gone viral.
Why didn’t she tell me her ex was a judge? Why didn’t I ask her last name?
A stiff dick does not ask a whole lot of questions.
“Mama, it’s me. Anthony. I’ll be home in a few hours. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll tell you all about it later. Yes, of course I’d love chicken parmesan. Maybe a lemon cannoli? And Mama, please don’t mention to anyone I’m back. I love you too.”
Fortunately their home had a front and back door. Anthony decided it was best if he walked past his block to the next street and cut through the backyard. No sense in advertising where he was.
The black four-door sedan would not be looking for him for at least the next few days. They still didn’t know he skipped Miami.
Yet.
Anthony, in his haste, had forgotten the airlines kept records, and those records included photo IDs of all their passengers. It took less than a day for Alexey to know the flight, the seat number, and the names of the two people who had sat on either side of him on the flight back.
Two phone calls from Area Code 202, Washington, D.C. with the false phone ID of Homeland Security were all that was needed. The hacker had a list of questions and forwarded them on to Alexey. The passengers were only too willing to cooperate, especially when they were told their three hour seatmate was on the No Fly list.
They both confirmed what Alexey had already guessed. Anthony was scared out of his mind; he jumped every time anyone headed to the restrooms. He did little talking except to say he was a college student, was visiting a friend in Miami Beach, and was now going home. He did not mention who the friend was, whether it was male or female, or where he lived. It was almost as if he was afraid to get off the plane. Neither remembered seeing him at the luggage carousel.
He fled to Miami. Somehow the judge found out he was banging his ex-old lady and went there to confront him. Why would he care? There was a verbal fight, the judge leaves, and the next day, little lover boy heads back home. Why? Why? Why?
The odds the kid did not know it was the judge’s ex he was screwing had to be a hundred to one. More like a thousand or even ten thousand to one. The fact was, it was closer to five and half million to one.
Alexey made it a point to have an associate interview what’s-her-name—Bernice Kolkolski. No sense taking any chances. He already knew what he had to do. All he needed was the how and when. Then he would be happy. For Alexey and his precious daughter, justice would then be served.
***
“Whatta you crazy? How would I know? How could I know? He was sitting by himself, I was lonely, he smiled, I smiled, and the next thing you know, he’s over at my place fucking my brains out. I don’t usually ask for references, if he had a record, or if he ever appeared before my ex.”
Bernice was not overly concerned. The guy seemed polite; he certainly wasn’t a cop, and promised her five hundred for information. No funny stuff. Information only. She would have a conversation with the devil himself for five hundred an hour.
“Why would I ask his last name? It wasn’t a job interview; it was a roll in the hay. By the way, the kid has stamina. I’ll give him that. He sure as hell pleased this old lady. He could be in porno movies if
he wanted to. I’m sorta sorry he’s gone. It could have been fun.”
“What? No, Wally never recognized him. He had no fucking idea. That photo you showed me, he had a full head of hair. No, Wally was pissed at me, not the kid. He thought he could retire, forget about the misery he caused me the past dozen years, and just move in like it never happened.”
When Bernice was asked about Teddy, she clammed up. She didn’t want to talk about it except to say Wally did everything he could. The DA told him he was way out of his jurisdiction and to head home.
“Why the fuck do you care what happened to my son almost twelve, thirteen years ago. That’s ancient history.”
The gentleman thanked Bernice for her cooperation, handed her five crisp new Franklins, and left. He would have his report done and sent within the hour.
Case closed as far as he was concerned.
I’m going to buy me some new threads and party my ass off tonight.
***
So maybe it was a coincidence. Who cares? Now there is a motive. That’s all those dumb fuckin’ cops look for—motive.
The plan was beginning to come together. There were still a whole bunch of pieces missing, but Alexey had time. If nothing else, he had plenty of time.
It was Viktor who had been assigned to watch the courthouse. He saw Judge Kolkolski walking his usual route at 8:20 Monday morning. He did not appear to be in a very receptive mood. He spoke to no one.
Judge K bypassed the electronic scanning device and proceeded directly to his chambers.
Hmmm, judges do not have to be searched or go through any kind of security. I’ll have to report that to Mr. C.
Viktor hung around for a few minutes. Even court clerks, reporters, anyone connected with the court had to go through security.
Just not judges.
***
Superior Court Judge Walter A. Kolkolski was sitting on his fine leather high-backed chair behind his six foot tall wooden desk in his chambers by 8:45 in the morning. He didn’t have a damn thing to do. His emotions went from boredom to frustration to anger in a matter of just a few minutes.
Without thinking, he got up and marched to the chambers of the chief judge.
The look of horror was obvious as the secretary attempted to block Judge Kolkolski from entering the Chief Justice’s private chambers.
“I’m sorry, Judge Kolkolski, Judge Saltmeyer is busy. He’s in conference. You can’t barge in there.”
“Just you watch me.”
CHAPTER 26
It was agreed by all.
Actually Wally had no vote in the decision. He would take extended sick leave, he was suffering from an anxiety reaction and it was felt it would be best if his remaining obligation would be best served in a non-stressful environment. As to the environment, anywhere but the courthouse would do.
All his personal items would be boxed up and delivered to his home or wherever he wanted. His keys and security documents were taken from him. Wally stated he was volunteering them to the Chief Justice.
For all practical purposes, Judge Kolkolski was now persona non grata.
He was locked out of the only job he’d had for the past two decades.
He had no idea where he would go or what he would do. He was a judge without a courtroom, a man without a mission.
***
Bob Sugarman heard and wanted to reach out but could not, would not, do so. He was on the short list to replace Judge Kolkolski and it would not look good to be seen with him. Bob was now a regular at Saturday morning services and let it be known he would be pleased to volunteer for anything that was coming up. It would be nice if he could be on any committee chaired by Irv Weinstein.
I’ll kiss his pompous ass on the damn bema after Friday night services if that’s what it takes.
Mr. and Mrs. Sugarman wrote a rather large check, one they could ill afford, to the temple building fund. Bob made sure Irv heard about it. Now all he could do was sit and wait. And pray.
Something he was not used to.
***
Who was that little prick and how did he know my name?
Wally was obsessed. He now had a mission in life. Something to keep him busy. He wanted to know—no, he needed to know, who it was that had screwed up his plans for retirement. And was screwing his ex-wife in the process.
She knows who he is; she just has to know. She wouldn’t let some stranger stay at her place all night, would she? I’ll fly down and make her tell me. I’ll find a way. He won’t get away with this. I’ll make his life as miserable as he has made mine. I’ll kill the God damn son-of-a-bitch.
Wally had no idea how finding out would be so easy. He would be shocked at who was now apparently his ally.
The envelope came two days later. It carried no postmark. It had not been delivered by the USPS. On the front of the cardboard envelope was a sticker with his name and home address printed on it. There was no card or letter inside. All that fell out were two photos—presumably of the same person. The first photo was a mugshot taken at the Essex County jail. The subject was holding a plate with his name and booking number.
ANTHONY PAUL RICARDO
ESSEX COUNTY SHERIFF #371–449–8211
Wally had no trouble recognizing him.
Lucky little bastard.
The second photo was of a man coming out of Bernice’s house late at night. The man who called out his name. It was the same man, only now he was bald.
ANTONIO RICARDI
FORNICATOR—FREE MAN, THANKS TO YOU.
Wally just stared. His rage became uncontrollable. He was almost foaming at the mouth. He was as close to a heart attack as he had ever been.
Son-of-a-bitch. You little son-of-a-bitch. You’re the bastard who raped that girl and I let you go. That’s the thanks I get. I’ll kill you. God damn it, I’ll fuckin’ kill you.
Wally did not know the deliverer of the package was now sitting directly across the street with a spy cam and directional mike pointing at him. Had he been a bit more observant, Wally would have realized the wire running around the inside of the thick envelope was a mini transmitter and amplifier. The man sitting in the dark sedan was getting down every single word.
Gotcha.
The man marveled at the ease of getting the very latest in spy equipment for whatever assignment given him. Although Alexey had strong ties with the successor to the KGB and could make calls to the Israeli spy industry 24/7, it was a company that only sold on the internet that had the latest and greatest in whatever he needed.
Their prices were right and the equipment flawless.
Wally ripped the pictures in two and stormed out of the house. He had no idea where he was going. He needed to think. He needed to clear his mind. He needed to understand what he had done.
When he got back later that evening, the photos and the envelope were both gone. He assumed he had thrown them in the garbage but was too tired and too lazy to look.
All it would do was aggravate him all over again.
The man in the sedan was also gone. He had managed to get into Wally’s house, not very difficult, and plant a few bugs with transmitting devices. One in the bedroom above the night light, another in the living room under the end table, a third in the kitchen under a chair, and one in Wally’s land line.
Soon he would have everything he needed.
***
“Looks like he fucked both of us. I hope you’re now happy.”
“What are you talking about? It’s close to midnight and you sound drunk. When the hell did you start drinking?”
Wally sat in the living room next to the end table, with a half empty can of Miller Lite in one hand and his cell in the other. He was sorry he called Bernice, but he had no one else to talk to. He was all alone. And yes, he was drunk.
“I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day; a rough week, a rough everything. I screwed up, big time. I never should have done what I did.”
“What are you talking about?”
Wally
then proceeded to tell his ex-wife about what he did at the trial of Victoria Cummings, the Russian girl who had obviously been raped. He said it was not the first time he had done something like that. He needed to purge, to get rid of the hate and disgust for the legal bile still clogging his system. It was the first step in healing.
“Why, Wally, why? You swore an oath when you became a judge.”
“The system sucks. It’s corrupt. It’s broken. No one gives a crap about justice. It’s all about winning. It is only about winning. The asshole DA that convicted poor Teddy—he didn’t give a crap whether he was telling the truth or not. All he wanted to do was win. By the way, Teddy never lied. I found out after he was killed the girl broke down and told her best friend that she had lied on the witness stand. She was afraid what her father would have thought of her. That’s why Teddy is dead today. Because some girl was afraid to tell her father she cared about our Teddy and was all too willing to go to bed with him.”
Wally began to sob into the phone.
“I did it for Teddy. I tried to make up for all the injustices suffered by those falsely accused every day. That’s why, Bernice. That’s the God damn reason why. Now do you understand?”
There was no reply. What could she say? He was her son also.
Wally dropped the phone. He was suddenly tired and wanted to sleep.
“Wally, Wally, are you all right?”
Wally was fine; he was just now fast asleep.
The voice activated device also went to sleep. The confession had been fully recorded.
CHAPTER 27
Alexey sat and listened. If it had not been his own daughter who had been the victim, he could have felt sorry for the judge. He now knew why. He understood and sympathized, but it was not enough. He still had a job to do.
