by Rick Santini
Boris and Viktor were told to split up. One was to tail Anthony, the other the judge. They were to watch them from dawn to dusk for the next seven days. Alexey was looking for a pattern. We are all creatures of habit and that would eventually put them both in harm’s way.
Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.
It could just as easily have been said by Alexey Demetrius Kummovitch.
***
The Governor of the Great State of New Jersey decided to act quickly, before his desk overflowed with politically motivated requests. He was known for being quick in asking favors and could never quite find the time for granting them. A typical politician. As everyone knows, the governor carries a great deal of weight—both physically and politically.
He called Irv Weinstein.
Two days later, the announcement was made. It was now official. The seat on the bench, vacated by Walter A. Kolkolski, would be filled, for the remainder of the term, for the new Superior Court Judge for the Fifth Judicial District of the State of New Jersey, by the Honorable Robert Samuel Sugarman.
Bob Sugarman had received the call the day before but had been sworn to secrecy. He was beside himself as he cancelled all appointments, requested adjournments on pending matters, and paced his home.
He had not even told his secretary.
I’m going to be a God damn Superior Court judge. Holy crap. All because I learned how to play the game.
Not to mention the dozens of checks made to various political and charitable organizations. Money can buy anything. Even at times, respectability. Or so it would seem.
Little did Robert know that day how greatly this would affect him—and his old friend Wally Kolkolski.
***
So, Bob Sugarman, that money hungry, power hungry, little kike is about to be my new brother.
Chief Judge Steven Saltmeyer, a closet anti-Semite, sat at his desk thinking of ways to derail the newest member of the bench.
Irv can select all he wants, I set the rules. It’s still my bat, my ball, my rules.
The judge was not referring to baseball.
Judge Saltmeyer asked his secretary to call a next day emergency early morning meeting of the other judges—to welcome its newest member. The date for the swearing in ceremony had not been set yet. Salty wanted everyone to be prepared for what he had in mind.
The soon-to-be Judge Robert Sugarman would not be invited.
When Wally heard the news, he had mixed feelings. He had liked Bob from the very beginning. They had worked together, they ate and drank together, and they even shared a few personal war stories. But to now become a superior court judge, no way. He wondered how much Bob had contributed to the party.
This was a political payoff and everyone knew who had ever studied Poli-Sci 101 knew it.
Another case of justice being purchased by the pound; or was it the dollar?
Wally knew Sugarman was an ass kisser. He was a party lackey. He would do as he was told and not get his nose dirty. But dispensing justice; that was a whole other matter. It was not Wally’s concern. The only thing that mattered to him was Anthony Pauli Ricardo and how he could ruin his life, just like he ruined his.
Wally decided to drive to Ricardo’s neighborhood, just to see where he lived. How he lived. He was a lawyer, then a judge; he had absolutely no experience as a P.I. He never spotted the dark sedan with a single person in the front seat. Obviously, the driver recognized the judge. That was his job. To observe. Observe and report.
Judge K walked around till he stood across the street from where Anthony lived. It was a shabby neighborhood at best. When it got dark, all the gangbangers would rule the street. It was their turf. After a few minutes Wally became self-conscious. He didn’t want to be recognized. He turned around to leave. A boy in his late teens, early twenties was staring at him. He appeared to be slow.
“Hi Mister. My name is Donnie. Are you new here? I don’t think I have seen you before.”
Wally lowered his head and did not answer.
He had not seen Anthony peeking from behind the chintzy curtain and then quickly run out the back door. Anthony was wearing a hoodie.
He fit right in.
It was almost comical, like an episode of the Keystone Cops. Anthony was tailing the judge and Viktor and now Boris, were tailing the two of them. It never occurred to either of the henchmen they would run into each other. Viktor had been assigned to watch the judge and Boris was to keep tabs on Anthony. All four of them ended up within a block of Wally’s house. Only Boris and Viktor were driving. The other two had used public transportation. Boris had recorded Wally across the street from Anthony’s home and Anthony watching the judge walking up to his front door.
They now knew where each other lived.
Alexey was thrilled. He had now found the link he had been looking for. The one that connected one to the other.
Forever.
The parts to the puzzle were slowly falling in place.
Alexey decided to invite his daughter out to dinner again. He had reason to celebrate. Alexey was no stranger to celebrations. When he was living in St. Petersburg, it was all work.
He was paid handsomely for what he had done. Now was supposed to be the time to relax. So far, it had not worked out that way. Alexey was still a relatively young man and by most standards, a very wealthy and successful businessman. No one was quite sure what business he was in.
“Investments,” he would tell anyone who asked.
Few asked.
“America is the land of opportunity. Mr. Gates started in a garage with a high school friend. He dropped out of college—Harvard, I believe—and now look how rich he is. I represent investment bankers back in Russia. I find, they invest. We all make lots of money.”
***
Victoria knew her papa did not take her out to dinner, especially at a very expensive restaurant, without a reason. She was looking forward to dinner and the reason why.
CHAPTER 28
Bill Johnson watched the eleven o’clock news with more than a passing interest. It was near the end of the fifteen minute broadcast; it was not a particularly big story. Walter Kolkolski, the judge who let the alleged rapist, Anthony Ricardo, walk, had retired. Attorney Robert Sugarman, the lawyer for the same accused Anthony Ricardo, was appointed by the Governor of New Jersey, to fill his remaining term.
Coincidence—the news commentator did not think so.
Neither did Bill Johnson.
Bill had heard nothing since he met with the father of the victim, Mr. Cummings. He was certain his information had something to do with the unexpected resignation of the judge. He was now curious why the attorney for the accused had been appointed. It just didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
The throw away cell was inside his desk at work. It was too late to call anyway. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
***
“What are we celebrating, Papa?”
“Do I need a special occasion to take my lovely and charming daughter out to dinner?”
Victoria smiled. To her friends she was Vicky. To her papa, she would always be Victoria. She could read her father and his motives like a well-worn textbook.
“What are we celebrating?”
Alexey knew his plan regarding Anthony and Walter would be put in effect shortly and also knew it was time to move. He wanted to be as far removed from the crime scene as possible. He had already made a few preliminary calls to St. Petersburg. The question was where. There was a whole world out there waiting to be seen and conquered.
“How would you feel about moving? Moving a long ways away. I am not sure where, but my investors are looking at different areas.”
Vicky’s eyes lit up. She was thrilled. She’d had enough of New Jersey. Any place would be better than Newark. She was hoping for a warmer climate. Maybe Panama or someplace like that.
“Oh Papa, that would be wonderful. I will need a whole new wardrobe. Perhaps my own car.”
Alexey smiled. He knew
what her reaction would be. He had counted on it.
“I think that can be arranged. Now it is time to order. This is the best Russian restaurant outside of Manhattan.”
They both ordered vodka. Samovar, the best vodka on the menu.
Alexey requested blini, a Russian style crepe stuffed with meat, cheese and cherries. His main course was a simple pan-fired sturgeon.
Vicky was not surprised. Her papa ordered the same dish at every Russian restaurant he had ever taken her to. She asked the most attentive and good looking Russian waiter, not more than twenty-five, for country style cold borscht and chicken Tabaka.
“A good choice, Miss. You will not be disappointed.”
Alexey made immediate eye contact with the grinning waiter.
“You are not invited to join us. Your role is to serve us. Do I make myself clear?”
“Oh Papa, he was just being polite. Besides, he is very good looking.”
Vicky knew how furious he became anytime she began to flirt.
“Za Zdarov’e!”
“Cheers and good health to you, my Papa.”
The drinks went down as smooth as water on a baby duck’s back.
The most solemn-faced waiter served the rest of the meal. Vicky smiled and thanked him for every little thing. She knew her papa was about to explode.
“You are so funny, Papa. Especially when you are mad. I’m just having fun with you.”
“Da.”
Alexey was no longer thinking about the waiter. A new thought crept into his mind. Once he got home he would begin to refine it.
He asked for the check and added a generous twenty-five percent tip.
As the waiter thanked him, he whispered, “She’s taken; find a girlfriend of your own.”
***
Alexey purposely did not return the message on his cell phone. Nor the one later in the day or that evening. As far as he was concerned, nothing could be gained in talking to Mr. William Johnson. The further he distanced himself from the IBMer, the better.
Bill did not feel the same way. He had been taught there should always be closure, regardless of the subject matter. He wanted to meet with Alexey again, one-on-one. He had no idea how to get a hold of him.
***
Boris was the first to report. Judge Kolkolski was again heading toward Anthony’s house. He would be there in less than thirty-five minutes. Alexey phoned Viktor with new instructions. It was going better than planned.
Anthony stood by the upstairs window and observed, just as he was told to do. A few minutes before twelve he saw Judge Kolkolski walking down the opposite side of the street. He stopped short by two houses and just looked. No one knew why.
All Wally knew was, he had to be there. He was too nervous or afraid to knock on the door. He wanted to confront the kid and ask him how and why. How did he possibly hook up with Bernice, his ex, and what were his future plans with her? Or were there any?
Boris and Viktor were now watching everything and reporting it all back to Alexey.
The noose was tightening.
***
The swearing in ceremony, as it should be, was the absolute height of his career. Everyone was there. Except Walter Kolkolski. His invitation had obviously gotten lost. Wally would not have come on a bet.
Robert Samuel Sugarman, wearing a new gray pinstriped suit, proudly took the oath of office. He swore to uphold the constitution of the Great State of New Jersey. Those members of the bar who truly liked Bob and those who knew they could turn the judgeship into an advantage of their own, were all present.
Irv Weinstein made a few introductory remarks as to how lucky everyone was to have such an upstanding and righteous lawyer to move from the bar to the bench.
Steven Saltmeyer smiled and bit his tongue.
The actual swearing in was conducted by the Chief Justice.
The celebration moved from the steps of the courthouse to the country club where Bob and Irv were both members. The club, though not restricted, was known by one and all as Tel Aviv West. Judge Saltmeyer expressed his regrets. He had another commitment. Bob, without thinking, said he understood.
Irv Weinstein silently commented to himself. I knew that anti-Semite bastard wouldn’t show up. I’ll have to have a talk with Bob one of these days.
The party lasted till early evening. It was not a drinking crowd.
***
Across town final preparations were being made for the next day. Alexey was almost beside himself with anticipation.
CHAPTER 29
“Boss, you were absolutely right. The judge is on his way.”
Of course I am. That’s why you do what you do; and I do the heavy lifting.
Alexey glanced at his watch—11:15. Judge Kolkolski, like most of us, was a creature of habit. He also had an obsession to talk to Anthony but did not have the nerve to confront him, one-on-one.
***
At 11:50 Wally was standing across the street from Anthony’s when his cell phone rang. Wally froze.
“Yes.”
The voice sounded unfamiliar.
“It’s me, Anthony. I can see you across the street. I spotted you the other day and followed you home. Didn’t know you lived just a few blocks from the courthouse. My mama is out shopping and won’t be home for three or four hours. I have something of yours. Bernice gave it to me and I’m pretty sure you would like it back. Why don’t you walk across the street and come in. I think we should talk.”
Wally was far too nervous to pick up the slightest trace of a foreign accent. Probably Russian.
The last thing Wally remembered when he woke up was walking in the front door and yelling Anthony’s name.
“Come on in. I’m in the kitchen.”
Wally felt a blow to the side of his head and that was it. He was now sitting up looking at a young, nervous police officer. He had no idea what had happened.
The officer observed the obvious crime scene. There appeared to have been a struggle, furniture was upside down, a lamp was broken, and the victim lay on the floor with three bullet holes in his chest. There was a gun on the floor. The officer touched nothing. The apparent killer sat not five feet from him, rubbing his head.
“Identify yourself and state what you’re doing here?”
The cop had his gun out, and pointing it at Wally, who was still on the floor.
The corpse was going nowhere.
“Walter Kolkolski. I just came here to talk.”
Wally looked at the body that was still oozing blood.
“I didn’t do it. I swear to you, I just came inside to talk.”
The cop had no idea what the hell was going on. He had been on the force less than sixty days. He cuffed the suspect, told him to stay sitting on the floor and not move. He called for backup. A 10-28. Homicide. That’s when he spotted the weapon in the corner. It was an old Smith & Wesson 38. It had recently been fired. He looked at the side of the older gentleman’s head and called for an ambulance.
Officer Beegan was obviously nervous. This was his first homicide, far above his pay grade. He thought he was responding to a simple domestic dispute. That’s what dispatch said.
JUDGE KILLS PERP IN FIT OF RAGE
The morning paper’s headline was followed by the lead story of the day.
Recently retired Judge Walter A. Kolkolski was found dazed at the home of Anthony Pauli Ricardo. Judge Kolkolski had recently retired from the bench. The deceased, who had been shot at least three times in the chest, had previously appeared before the judge on a charge of rape in the first degree. Although the jury voted twelve to zero for conviction, the court granted the most unusual motion of defense attorney Robert Sugarman to direct a verdict of not guilty. Legal experts say the motion is seldom if ever granted. Sugarman was recently appointed to fill the remaining term of retired Kolkolski. Police Chief Seth Adams promised a statement as soon as the preliminary investigation is completed.
No one thought to question Donny Dombrowski who was standing acros
s the street watching everything. Donny had the mental capacity of a twelve-year-old. He was as much a fixture in the neighborhood as the tree he was now leaning against.
At the time of the shooting, Alexey Cummings was also talking to a police officer—on the other side of town. Someone had backed into his parked car, causing a significant amount of damage. He was not looking for anyone to be arrested, no one was in the vehicle, but felt a report should be made for insurance company purposes.
CYA, cover your ass, create a credible alibi, Alexey thought.
***
Walter Kolkolski now appeared in the courtroom he had spent a good part of his adult life in. This time there were no black robes. He was now wearing an orange jumpsuit with black lettering on the back. ‘ESSEX COUNTY JAIL’. There was not an empty seat in the gallery. It was mostly filled with attorneys. Surprisingly enough, the Chief Justice sat in the back of the courtroom, sans his robes.
He had to be the most interested spectator in the room.
A Judge David Comstock had been assigned the case for purposes of arraignment only. He would not be the trial judge. He would handle the bail hearing and then hopefully hide in the background. No one wanted to become involved in a capital case, and this had all the makings of one, with a former judge on trial for his life.
The wheels were already spinning in the ever devious mind of Steven Saltmeyer.
Wally waved the reading of the indictment. It was too painful; too embarrassing. He had not had time to retain counsel. He knew he would be in for a fight—the fight of his life. He also knew he didn’t do it. He did not own a gun and had not fired one since he was in basic training at Ft. Knox, Kentucky close to forty-some years ago. He also knew he had been set up. Set up by whoever called him on his cell phone. He had asked the phone be returned to him. The jail guard just laughed.
