Mob Lawyer 3: A Legal Thriller

by Dave Daren

  “To party crashing,” he chuckled and clinked our glasses together.

  “They won’t know what hit them,” I agreed and threw back the warm amber drink.

  We arrived at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden amidst a flurry of other limos and fancy SUVs. I saw a handful of celebrities exit their vehicles onto the red carpet ahead of us as the bright lights of media cameras flashed in their smiling faces, and my breath caught in my throat at the thought of being at the same event as people who were actually famous.

  What was I doing here? I was just some average kid from Jersey with a dream of being a defense attorney, and now, I was taking that dream so much further.

  When it was finally our turn at the red carpet, our driver rushed over to Anthony’s door and pulled it open with a dramatic flourish. Anthony stepped out onto the curb, and the crowd issued an audible gasp before the camera flashes became frenzied and seemed to light the entire block.

  “Mr. Morgan?” the driver whispered when I hesitated.

  I took a deep breath and nodded as I slid over and stepped out behind my client. I adjusted my suit and ran my fingers through my shortened mane as a few stray cameras took pictures of my entrance, though I was fairly certain they were nowhere near as interested in me as they were in Anthony.

  My client was eating it up as he strolled forward and posed for a few shots with a wide smile.

  “Mr. Febbo!” one of the reporters called out with her microphone extended out over the barrier. “Why are you at Mayor Webber’s event? Are you voting for Brian Chatel?”

  “I’m here to show my support for the campaign,” Anthony answered and flashed another winning grin. “I think what Mayor Webber and Mr. Chatel have in mind for Brooklyn is fantastic.”

  “You aren’t worried about your business?” another reporter yelled and shoved his phone toward my client.

  “Why should I be?” My client chuckled and waved for me to follow him to the entrance despite more questions from the press.

  “Ticket?” The security guard frowned as he took in the two of us with our Cheshire cat smiles.

  “Here you go,” I said and held out my phone with the confirmation email on the screen. “Two for Lamon.”

  “I see,” he murmured.

  The guard scanned my e-ticket with his phone and stepped to the side with a huff before he gestured for us to enter the building. I could hear him muttering under his breath, likely into a walkie-talkie, as we walked inside, and I figured he was warning the rest of the security team or Webber that we’d arrived.

  Politicians, fat cats, and celebrities were dressed in their best attire as they mulled around the room, but almost every person we passed turned to look at us with complete bewilderment. The guests couldn’t figure out what we’d be doing at Chatel’s party, which meant their imaginations would be going wild with their theories.

  The handful of reporters inside the party looked confused at our arrival, though several still took our picture and murmured notes into their phones. It seemed the Mayor didn’t exactly have everyone in his pocket like he’d hoped when he sent out his press invites.

  “Fellas, are you lost?” a raspy voice asked with a thick Staten Island accent.

  We turned to see Chief Flores, the head of the NYPD, and I had to stifle a laugh when I realized he was much smaller than I’d pictured. He was a head shorter than my six-foot frame, though he puffed out his well-decorated chest as he glared at the two of us.

  “I don’t think so,” I said as I looked around with feigned confusion. “This is a support party for Mr. Chatel, right? The guy running for Brooklyn DA?”

  “You know damn well it is,” Flores growled. “The real question is why you’re here.”

  “I just wanted this great city to see my support, Chief,” Anthony replied with a shrug. “Isn’t that what every candidate wants? Support from local business owners?”

  “You’re a crook, Febbo, just like your old man,” the chief muttered and then looked past us with a malicious grin. “Save your innocent schtick for the Mayor ’cause I ain’t buying it.”

  He brushed past us and nodded to Webber as the Mayor and Chatel walked by him with matching grimaces. I slipped my phone out from my pocket and accessed my camera as the two approached us.

  Mayor Webber’s pudgy face was flushed a deep pink, while his buddy’s pale skin glistened with sweat. Chatel dabbed at his face with a handkerchief, and I snapped a quick picture of the nervous idiot before they finally reached us. Anthony held out his hand, and the two gentlemen visibly struggled with their response before they each shook it with pained half-smiles.

  I took at least a dozen shots of the awkward greetings and then offered my own handshake while Anthony introduced us.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I said as my voice oozed with melodramatic excitement. “We’ve been following the campaign closely.”

  “I’m sure you have,” Webber replied with disdain. “Now, you can follow the line right out the door.”

  “Oh, I’m afraid I’d like to get my money’s worth,” Anthony insisted politely. “Unless you think my two grand doesn’t have as much value as everyone else’s.”

  “Are you crazy?” Chatel finally hissed as he mopped more perspiration from his pasty forehead. “Your money is dirty! I can’t have that here!”

  “No dirtier than yours,” my client sneered as he gave Webber a sideways glance. “Or doesn’t he know who you really answer to?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” the Mayor boomed, and then he cleared his throat and forced a smile as several heads turned our way. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with here, Febbo.”

  “It’s Lamon,” I interjected. “Anthony Lamon. Maybe you would recognize his name from your guest list.”

  “Lamon,” Chatel snorted. “Everyone knows he’s Salvatore Febbo’s son. You aren’t fooling anyone.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” Anthony gasped dramatically and turned to look at me. “Do you think that’s why all those reporters out front were surprised to see me here?”

  “Damn, I thought it was our fancy new suits,” I chuckled.

  “You’re a fool,” Webber declared as a trio of reporters began to make their way toward our obviously tense conversation. “You’ll regret this.”

  “Regret coming to a party?” Anthony asked innocently. “I’m sure your party planning skills aren’t that bad, Mayor.”

  “You’re just like your father,” the Mayor hissed as he clenched his fists at his sides. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you ended up like him, too.”

  Anthony’s face remained smooth as stone as he leaned forward and grabbed Webber’s hand to shake it again for the cameras. While the flashes lit their faces, he whispered into the Mayor’s ear and stepped back with a cold smile. The color had drained from Webber’s face when he shook his hand free of Anthony’s and scurried away, leaving Chatel behind.

  “He sure cut that conversation short,” I murmured, though I didn’t dare ask Anthony what he’d said to the Mayor.

  Images of baseball bats to kneecaps and bullet wounds flashed through my mind as I wondered what my client had whispered, but my mind’s wanderings were cut short when one of the reporters took a timid step closer with her cell phone in hand.

  “Mr., uh, Lamon,” she said just loud enough for us to hear. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions for the Metro New York?”

  “Of course not,” Anthony replied and took a smooth step toward Chatel with a winning smile. “What’s your name?”

  “Lily,” the reporter answered as she tucked a nonexistent stray hair behind her ear and blushed. “I’d like to talk to you about the Brooklyn District Attorney election, if that’s alright.”

  “He has no pertinent information about a race he’s not even in,” Chatel pointed out desperately. “Why would you want his opinion?”

  “Our readers like to get the opinions of prominent business owners in our community,” Lily shot back. “The endorsement of the M
ayor is impressive, but it pales in comparison to a Senator and the current DA who endorsed Ms. Pizzano, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Chatel?”

  “I would say the two endorsements are very different,” Chatel hedged.

  “You know, I agree with you,” Anthony cut in, and Lily turned to face him with her phone still recording. “Ms. Pizzano seems to have garnered the attention of two highly respected politicians despite her youth and inexperience, while you have been hand-in-hand with the Mayor since the inception of your political career. So, yes, you merely have the endorsement of the person who talked you into running, while Ms. Pizzano has chosen to run on her own and still continues to add supporters to her party.”

  The candidate stared at Anthony for a solid five seconds in utter disbelief before he finally shook his head.

  “I have other supporters, too, as you can see,” he insisted as he gestured around the room.

  “There are quite a few people here,” Lily agreed carefully. “They must agree with something in your campaign to spend a thousand dollars per ticket. So, what do you think they liked about your promises if you win the District Attorney position?”

  “I’m sure they agree that I’ll need to be tough on crime, especially the, uh…” Chatel hesitated as he glanced over at Anthony, who waved an encouraging hand to continue. “Uh, I’ll need to be especially tough on the crime that has ruled our beautiful city for decades.”

  I made sure to snap a few extra pictures of my client next to Chatel with the reporter as the attorney stammered his way through the interview.

  “To what crime are you referring?” Lily pressed.

  “The Mafia,” Chatel finally answered without looking at Anthony. “Many Italian families have made the rules or paid people off to earn their dirty money, and if I’m elected as the Brooklyn DA, my first initiative will be to ensure that no one in these families gets the special treatment they’ve grown used to.”

  “What about other crime syndicates?” Anthony asked with an arched eyebrow.

  “Oh, great point, Mr. Lamon.” Lily nodded vigorously. “Rumors have been spreading that crime families from other nationalities have inserted themselves into New York. What would you say to any of those families who want to compete with the Italians in criminal activity?”

  “I, uh, would tell them I’ll be tough on all crime,” Chatel faltered.

  “Could you give me an example?” I cut in. “As a defense attorney, I’d be very interested in understanding how your office would punish, let’s say, a crime such as destruction of property.”

  “Oh, um, of course,” he sighed. “We would certainly rely on the information discovered by our investigators as to the value of the damages before we could truly assess the best course of action.”

  “Well, right, you’d have to figure out to what degree the culprit could be charged,” I agreed with a chuckle. “But would you base the mischief charge solely on the amount of property damages?”

  I knew criminal law, and I knew the degree of criminal mischief or tampering also depended on the type of building that was vandalized, but I had a feeling Chatel’s experience in estate law wouldn’t help him give me a solid answer.

  “I, uh, think that makes the most sense,” Chatel finally said with an uncertain shuffle of his feet. “You wouldn’t punish a teenager with eggs the same way you would punish an adult with a can of gasoline, right?”

  “Sure, sure.” I nodded with encouragement. “Unless, and I’m sure you know this, the teenager egged a public works building.”

  “Oh, ah, right,” the attorney muttered.

  “So, would you work out a plea deal with the teenager but not the adult?” I pressed. “After all, as you mentioned, the adult has gasoline.”

  “I would really just have to consider all the facets of the investigation,” Chatel insisted.

  “Certainly,” I replied. “Now, what if that adult was a member of one of the Italian criminal families you mentioned earlier?”

  “Well, I would obviously have to strike down any notion that he or she would receive leniency from my office,” he answered with a new degree of confidence. “I’ve made my vow to be tough on Mafia crime.”

  “So, essentially, you would plead out a minor on a possible felony but not an adult if he had the wrong last name?” I raised a doubtful eyebrow. “Your stance seems to put you in a position to dole out unequal amounts of justice, if your office determines the alleged criminal is Italian.”

  “That almost sounds like bias, rather than being tough on crime,” Lily pointed out. “Is that what you intend to portray to your possible constituents, Mr. Chatel?”

  “No, I, uh…” Chatel began to dab his face again with his handkerchief. “I simply want the public to know that my primary intention is to keep them safe, even from the criminals that have been around for a while.”

  “I see,” Lily murmured. “And what is your response to Ms. Pizzano’s campaign priority of keeping corruption out of the DA’s office?”

  “I think it’s a noble task,” he agreed heartily. “And it’s something I’m confident in my ability to do as well. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for my speech.”

  Before the reporter could open her mouth, Chatel scuttled away from us in a ball of sweat and nerves and disappeared into the crowd.

  “I think you upset him,” I teased Lily. “He didn’t like being compared to Ms. Pizzano, even though I heard she’s gaining on him in the polls.”

  “I’m sure you’ve seen the polls for yourself, Mr. Morgan.” Lily’s bright-blue eyes were inquisitive and more intelligent than I’d initially realized. “I’ve seen you at a few of her engagements.”

  Anthony froze next to me for a moment, but I’d already prepared for the slight chance that someone had noticed me in Alessia’s corner.

  “Have you?” I shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m a fan of her campaign, and we’ve been friends for a long time. I don’t mind showing my support when I have some free time.”

  “So, that’s it?” Lily pressed. “Just old friends?”

  “What else would it be?” I laughed. “Ms. Pizzano has a full plate between her job and the election. I have to follow her on Twitter to find out about her events.”

  “She is quite busy,” the reporter agreed with a smile. “Have you discussed any of her promises with her? Or maybe know when she’s free? I’d love to interview her as well.”

  “I’ll text her your info right now,” I promised as I accessed my messages.

  I made sure Lily couldn’t see my screen as I typed out her name and phone number to Alessia. She didn’t need to see that the ADA and I had only been texting a few hours ago.

  Once the reporter was satisfied, she moved on to speak to a local Broadway star, and Anthony and I made our way to the drink table to grab flutes of champagne. We sipped the drinks and gazed out on the bustling crowd as several people began to make their way toward the podium where Chatel prepared for his speech and Mayor Webber waved at the crowd.

  “What a putz,” I muttered and shook my head as he clambered around to stand in the center and clear his throat.

  “He does seem a little jittery.” Anthony frowned and looked around us for a moment. “You don’t think that had anything to do with us, right?”

  I turned to look at my client who tried to stifle a mischievous grin before we both laughed. We kept going until the Mayor stepped up to the microphone to address the crowd, and several members of the audience shushed us. I snickered one more time and then watched as the Mayor’s flunky double checked the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming on this beautiful evening to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden!” Webber declared and paused for intermittent applause. “I am absolutely honored to welcome the man I just know will be the future District Attorney for Brooklyn, Mr. Brian Chatel!”

  The crowd clapped politely as the politicians switched places, and I rolled my eyes as Chatel began his speech. I turned to murmur to Anthony wh
en I realized he was looking around us with a look of intense thought.

  “When you look at the security team here, what do you notice?” he asked under his breath. “Don’t be too obvious.”

  I pretended to check my pockets for my phone and turned in a slow circle as I took in the appearance of six security guards posted around the room. Each of them was built like they belonged in the NFL, and they stood with their arms crossed over their chests and matching looks of focus directed toward us. A couple of the men weren’t as obviously staring our way, but the four I caught from my quick glance didn’t hide their concern at all.

  “They’re watching us,” I murmured as I turned back around and pulled my phone from my jacket pocket with a look of feigned surprise. “Like, really grilling us hard. At least a few of them are, anyway. And their suits look just as expensive as ours.”

  “And do they look like cops?” Anthony pressed quietly.

  “Cops?” I echoed and then sighed with understanding. “Off-duty cops normally patrol political events for extra cash, but most of them are wearing Rolexes and gold chains. And there’s no way a cop could afford that Burberry suit.”

  “A few of them have scuffed-up knuckles, too,” my client whispered. “And they’re all wearing a few rings, but they each have that gold one with the ruby center.”

  I glanced nonchalantly at the two guards I could see without turning my head and confirmed the bright red jewels sparkling in the center of the rings on their right hands. Not only were the rings huge, but the rubies were the size of a dime, and I couldn’t imagine a cop salary covering that kind of ice.

  “Yeah, I see it,” I agreed. “I’d take a wild guess that those guys are Serbian muscle.”

  “Yep,” Anthony muttered. “And they know exactly who we are, too.”

  “You think it’s about time to make our exit?” I suggested as an uneasy feeling washed over me.

  “Soon,” he said quietly. “We can’t make it too obvious that we only came here to embarrass the politicos. We need to schmooze a little bit.”