by Dave Daren
Then I locked up and headed downstairs to the street. I noticed a dark gray Chrysler 300 parked across the street and gave a small wave to what I assumed were my bodyguards inside. The driver’s window cracked just enough for me to see a pair of sunglasses as one of the men watched me and then called out.
“Where are you going, Mr. Morgan?” he asked.
“To a diner for breakfast,” I explained. “Are you supposed to go with me?”
He opened his door in response, and the passenger door opened a second later. Two large men emerged from the Chrysler into the morning sunlight. They stuck out like sore thumbs in the neighborhood with their dark suits and even darker sunglasses. I recognized the passenger as the giant who often stood guard outside the Febbo estate.
I waited a moment for them to cross the street, and they followed along behind me in complete silence as I headed for the Happy Days Diner a few blocks from Alessia’s office. It was an odd feeling to have not only my gun on my hip but also the dangerous looking duo at my back. What was probably the weirdest part was how I was starting to get used to the Mafia around me.
Before I could really ponder that thought, I arrived at the diner and strolled inside where Alessia waited at a booth near the back. Her eyes widened when she saw my entourage, and the two men folded themselves into the booth next to ours.
“You brought friends?” the ADA asked in a hushed voice.
“Trust me, I won’t be going many places without them for a while,” I answered. “And I think soon you’ll understand why. Besides, this place is small, but I need to make sure no one is listening. They’ll take care of that.”
Curiosity colored her face, but she clamped her mouth shut when the waitress appeared at our table.
“I’d like a mocha cappuccino and a stack of strawberry pancakes, please,” Alessia said.
“Black coffee and biscuits with jelly for me,” I added.
“Coming right up,” the waitress said cheerfully and rushed toward the kitchen.
She returned almost immediately with my coffee, and as I sipped the hot liquid, it seemed to finish soothing my strained body. I was definitely sore from my fight with Nelson, but I didn’t feel as bad as I thought I would, though my shoulder had seen better days.
“Okay, spill,” Alessia demanded. “Can we start with why you’re walking like you’re eighty years old and have bruises on your neck?”
Shit. I’d forgotten to cover up the marks from the attack last night, and I felt a blush color my cheeks as I cleared my throat.
“I had a bit of a scuffle,” I answered carefully. “It’s part of why I have extra guests and why I needed to come talk to you.”
“Are you in danger?” she whispered with concern. “Should we call the police?”
“No,” I scoffed. “A cop did this to me.”
“What?” Alessia’s voice raised a few octaves before she covered her open mouth. “How? Why?”
“I’ll tell you everything,” I assured her. “Let me start at the beginning.”
I laid out the details of what Anthony and I knew about Chatel and Webber, their obvious disdain for only Italian Mafia, and our belief about their connection to the Serbians. I told her about the bust we had helped make at the dock and how the media was given limited information in order to cover up the Serbians’ escape from charges. I told her about Nelson's threats the night he pulled us over after dinner and how he’d planned to finish out his threats last night.
“I can't believe you didn't tell me this sooner!” Alessia gasped in shock. “We should have pressed charges on him or something.”
“Do you really think your boss would have let those charges go through?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. “Jordan may not be in bed with the Serbians, but he's certainly letting them run the show from behind the scenes. Why do you think he follows what Webber and Flores tell him to do?”
“They’re getting orders from the Serbian mob?” The ADA leaned back against her seat with a look of bewilderment. “I thought they were just helping their friends. I mean, I guess they are in a way, but I had no idea their friends were Mafia.”
“And it goes pretty hard against the whole anti-mob campaign that Chatel has been pushing,” I reminded her. “So, we’ve been trying to find a way to expose them.”
“Is that why you went to the Mayor’s gala last night?” Alessia wondered.
I opened my mouth to respond when our waitress glided over to the table with our plates and Alessia’s whipped-cream-covered coffee. My companion drizzled maple syrup over her sweet pancakes, while I spread grape jelly onto my biscuits. We ate in silence for a few minutes before I finally answered her question.
“We actually just went to make them look bad,” I said with a mischievous smile. “If the Mayor campaigns on the premise of getting rid of all the mob, how does it look to have a guy like Anthony Febbo buying a ticket and schmoozing at the event?”
“Bad,” she snickered. “That’s very clever, though it can be explained with the fact that the ticket purchases were open to the public.”
“That’s true,” I agreed. “But the damage was pretty clear. Reporters took a ton of pictures of the two of them, and I took a few of my own. I sent them to a friend at the Daily News, so I’m sure they’ve already gone public.”
“Oh, yeah, those are up,” Alessia laughed. “Chatel and Webber sweating bullets while they shake Anthony’s hand at the party, it’s on the front page of the social section.”
“No wonder they were so pissed,” I said with a grin. “They were ready to get both of us out of the picture last night after the party, but it wouldn’t have stopped those pictures from hitting the news.”
“So, the Mayor tried to have you killed?” Her voice suddenly grew serious as her eyes dropped down to my throat again. “His guy really did a number on you.”
“It looks worse than it feels,” I assured her. “My dislocated shoulder felt a lot worse than that.”
“Oh, my God,” she murmured. “This is serious. How do we stop them? We obviously can’t have the NYPD look into it. What about the FBI?”
“I have no idea how far up the Serbians have integrated themselves,” I said as I furrowed my brow. “We’d really only decided to--”
“Mr. Morgan,” the giant cut me off with a harsh whisper from the booth behind me. “Pause your conversation.”
I turned to see what was going on and saw DA Jordan walk into the diner with searching eyes. His gaze landed on Alessia, and he smiled until he saw me sitting across from her. His grin faltered, but he continued toward us and stopped at our table.
“Ms. Pizzano, how nice to see you this morning,” he said warmly. “And Mr. Morgan, is it?”
“Yes,” I confirmed with a handshake. “How are you, Mr. District Attorney?”
“Ah, well enough, I suppose,” Jordan replied before he turned to Alessia. “Are you headed back into the office soon?”
“Yes, sir,” she answered. “Just finishing up breakfast with an old friend from law school. I didn’t know you knew Hunter.”
“Well, I’d say I know of your friend here,” he said evasively before he turned to me. “You’ve created quite a buzz lately.”
“I tend to do that,” I chuckled and sipped my coffee. “Anything I should be concerned with?”
“It seems the concerns may have already been voiced to you,” Jordan replied as he looked down at my bruised skin. “Though I’m surprised to see you felt well enough for a meal after such a conversation.”
“Yes, it seems the messenger would have been happier to see Ms. Pizzano planning my funeral rather than our breakfast,” I retorted.
Jordan nearly choked on his gasp before he recovered and cleared his throat while Alessia covered a smile.
“Perhaps,” he agreed after he regained his composure.
“I’m sorry, have I missed something here?” Alessia interjected with feigned confusion.
The ADA was smart to pretend she had no idea what Jordan
and I were referring to, and I silently praised her for covering her ass.
“Not at all,” I assured her. “I’m sure Mr. Jordan should be getting back to the office now.”
“Yes, I’ll see you there.” Jordan nodded and scurried over to the register to grab a cup of coffee to go.
“You’re good now,” the giant guard advised as we heard the bell above the door ring with Jordan’s hasty exit.
“Good call,” I said with a smile. “We need to keep our cards close to the vest, and I’ve been trying to keep you out of harm’s way as much as possible.”
“Speaking of harm’s way, was that mugging for you or for me?” Alessia asked suddenly. “I assumed it was me because of the election, but knowing all of this now, I’m not so certain.”
“I’m not, either,” I admitted. “I thought it could be a message for you to back out of the election, but since it was after Nelson had already pulled me over and delivered his first warning, it could have been either of us.”
“The guy that pulled us over after dinner, that’s who came after you?” she whispered and reached across the table to grab my hand. “Why didn’t you listen to him? I could have dropped out of the race.”
“I would never want you to do that,” I replied with a burning intensity. “You are the best candidate for the DA’s office, and they didn’t want me poking around what they already had going there.”
“How did you know they were in bed with the Serbians?” she wondered. “Just the failed bust?”
“That was one of our first big clues, yeah,” I said. “But we also saw the Serbians working security at the gala last night, which is why I think they wanted us taken out.”
“Well, that would be circumstantial, at best,” Alessia argued. “What concrete evidence do you have against them?”
I felt the shift as Alessia took on her attorney persona to grill me for information about the link between the city officials and the Serbian mob.
“We’re working on enough evidence for exposure,” I explained. “And that’s part of why Anthony agreed you should be in the loop now. I wanted to pick your brain. What evidence would a prosecutor find strong enough to link them that couldn’t be swept under the rug?”
“The obvious answer is a paper trail,” she mused before she slurped some of her frothy drink. “When jurors see a clear connection between two people, it’s tangible, like a contract or emails or text messages.”
“These guys infiltrated the ranks of multiple Italian families without being noticed for years,” I pointed out. “I doubt they’re dumb enough to use regular cell phones or documents for their jobs.”
“I understand.” Alessia nodded and tapped her finger on her lip in thought. “Money always talks. You haven’t found any clear payments between them?”
“I can’t exactly file for a subpoena,” I chuckled. “And I don’t see Webber or Chatel giving me the go-ahead to check their bank records.”
“Obviously.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean, has anyone followed them to watch for an exchange? Surely, they don’t do everything over the phone.”
“I’m sure there are a ton of eyes on them right now,” I pointed out. “I don’t think they’d be that stupid to meet up during an election.”
“True,” she sighed. “And you can’t subpoena phone records, so that’s out. What about how they met?”
“Huh,” I muttered. “We haven’t really talked about that. I have no idea how Webber hooked up with the Serbians, though I suspect he’s the one who brought in Chatel. I don’t think a real estate attorney was high on their priority list of potential infiltrators.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” the ADA murmured. “He had a sabbatical overseas a few years ago. One of the volunteers dug it up a couple weeks back, but I didn’t really know what to do with the information.”
“You think Chatel is the inside man?” I asked, a little surprised. “He was the one who seemed the most nervous at the party.”
“Well, yeah, he has to play the part of the idiot attorney whose Mayor friend roped him into running,” she insisted. “He can pretend he has no idea about politics, but he knows enough to avoid making promises on his campaign.”
“Other than his anti-mob promises,” I agreed. “You may be right. I think it’s worth checking out. He could be the one playing all of us.”
“We still need evidence for it to matter, though,” she continued. “What about the contract for the event?”
“For the security guards?” I wracked my brain for how we could use their presence as a tangible link. “Do you think they actually signed something to bring them to the gala?”
“Not necessarily.” Her eyes lit up with excitement. “But they paid them to be there, right?”
“I assume so,” I answered with a shrug. “I don’t see the Serbs doing security for free.”
“Then it had to be paid for with campaign funds,” the ADA continued, and she shook like a chihuahua when she delivered her realization. “And campaign expenditures are public record.”
“Holy shit,” I muttered. “So, we could find the name they used for payment on the campaign records. That could work.”
“You really should have looped me into this sooner,” she admonished with a mischievous grin. “I have good ideas.”
“I didn’t want to taint your campaign,” I said and looked her in the eyes. “I know you want to win fairly, and I think you have a good shot at it, but you also can see now why we don’t want you to lose. Brooklyn deserves a fair DA, not a corrupt one who takes orders from a criminal enterprise.”
“Even though you work for one?” Alessia raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“I don’t discuss my clients,” I shot back. “I just know that some businesses would be happier with a fair shot, rather than with someone who just wants to get rid of them.”
“Okay, okay,” she agreed with her hands raised in a surrender. “I’m just so curious about your, um, private practice.”
“Well, maybe one day I’ll tell you everything,” I said and smiled. “For now, I think I have some research to do.”
“And I’d better get back to the office before Jordan opens his big, fat mouth,” Alessia sighed. “I really hope I win this, Hunter. We have to get the DA’s office back to its high standards. We’re going to start losing really good attorneys because they’re tired of his stupid deals and hearing the Mayor talk about which cases we should focus on.”
“I have a good feeling about it,” I soothed her. “Just keep making the people love you. The votes will come.”
“I hope you’re right,” she murmured and tossed a pair of twenty-dollar bills on the table. “You have the next dinner.”
The Amazonian woman stood from the table and glided past me, waved off-handedly to the security team, and strolled out the door. I exhaled a big sigh as I polished off my coffee and stood up.
“Time to walk it off, fellas,” I announced as I walked past their table and headed for the door.
I felt more than heard the duo rise to follow me outside and down the sidewalk to my apartment. I called Brenda as I walked, and she picked up in a rushed voice.
“What’s up, Hunter?” she asked.
“Just making sure you’re good,” I said. “I heard the pictures stirred up a bit of chaos.”
“Oh, hell, they’re going ballistic.” I could practically see the reporter’s girlish smile through the phone. “Comments on the online page are out of control, phones are ringing off the hook with more questions and answers, it’s insane. My editor made me a small team to help field and organize everything we get.”
“Wow,” I exhaled. “That’s awesome. Anything helpful?”
“I’m not sure yet,” she said. “There have been a few calls about Chatel being sketchy, something about a European sabbatical, I don’t know. I haven’t combed through everything yet.”
“His sabbatical was to Europe?” It seemed Alessia had been onto something about the DA c
andidate’s trip. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, got three-- no, four callers and at least ten comments asking our position on Chatel’s link to several European families from the Febbos to the Beruvics to the Romanos,” she answered. “I’m still looking into it.”
“Let me know what you find,” I said.
“Come on, can’t you read it in the paper like everyone else?” she teased.
“Hey, you could have seen those pictures in the paper like everyone else, too, you know,” I reminded her.
“Alright, alright, I’ll keep you posted,” Brenda sighed. “Later.”
My phone beeped in my ear that she’d disconnected the call just as I reached my apartment. My extra-large shadows headed for the Chrysler parked outside, and I walked in and headed upstairs. I set my phone and gun on the coffee table and retrieved my laptop. I powered it on and went into the kitchen for another cup of coffee while it booted up.
I sat back down on my couch with my coffee and computer and got to work. I wasn’t sure where to start, so I searched for campaign expenditure records. A link to the FEC website was the first option, and I clicked through the site to find the Brooklyn District Attorney campaign list.
The first thing that caught my eye was the fact that Brian Chatel had raised and spent more than triple what Alessia had done in her campaign. The numbers were staggering, and I knew more than half of that had to have come from the Serbians. It was a stupid amount of money to be spent on a small campaign like the DA’s office, and Chatel wasn’t even taking the time to call for campaign donations from the voters. He was simply raking in cash and spending it.
The important part now was finding out how he was spending it. I scrolled through row after row of raw data in the expenditures tab. Chatel had expensive tastes when it came to meals, but I quickly noticed he was a regular at a place in Manhattan called Café Devrek. It looked like he and his crew had at least one meal a week there, and they never paid less than five-hundred bucks.
