Mob Lawyer 3: A Legal Thriller

by Dave Daren

  “I have to actually get to work today,” she giggled. “You aren’t helping.”

  “Fiiiine,” I teased.

  We finished cleaning up and got out to get dressed. Alessia tugged on a tight blouse and tucked it into a pencil skirt that perfectly outlined her curvy hips, and I had to resist pulling them right back off her slender body.

  “I have just enough time to finish getting ready,” she said when she caught my gaze. “So, quit giving me those bedroom eyes. Where are you going?”

  “Shooting range,” I answered as I yanked on a pair of jeans. “Bear was right. I need to practice in case I actually have to use my gun.”

  “Well, be careful,” Alessia murmured and pecked me on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

  She scooped her clothes up from the living room floor on her way out the door. My apartment felt quiet once she was gone, and I picked up my phone to scroll through my notifications. I hadn’t touched it since we got back to her place, and I had several messages from Anthony and one from Brenda.

  Did the goons get you? she asked.

  Nah, I’m good, I sent back. Find anything on Chatel?

  He’s slick, but I’m better, she answered. Once I have enough for a story, I’ll let you know.

  Then I read through Anthony’s messages asking about the town hall meeting tonight. He didn’t think it was a good idea to put her in a public place like that and wanted to hire a security team. I decided to call him.

  “Finally,” he grunted when he answered. “You think sleeping with our candidate is a good idea?”

  “How did you--” I started to ask.

  “I have guys following you, remember?” I could almost hear him smirking. “Anyway, your business is your business, but I don’t like this meeting your little team cooked up for tonight. You know they don’t even have metal detectors in that school program building, right?”

  Mateo must have changed the event to Rob’s main building, but it made sense for its size, location, and Rob had likely offered it up for free. I knew Bear had been concerned about costs, especially when the Legion couldn’t guarantee the entire hall.

  “The security team is how we have Chatel caught up with the Serbians,” I pointed out. “Do you really think having your guys work security at Alessia’s event would turn out well for us?”

  “It doesn’t have to be my guys,” Anthony argued. “I can hire from an actual security company.”

  “What about Gomez?” I asked suddenly. “We know he’s legit, and we could offer to pay him and a few of his buddies for off-duty work. Then we can pay them from the campaign and not worry about anything else.”

  “That makes sense,” he agreed. “Set it up.”

  “I’m on it,” I replied and disconnected the call before I pulled up Detective Gomez’s number and called it.

  “Gomez.” His voice was gruff when he picked up.

  “Detective Gomez, it’s Hunter Morgan, the defense attorney?” I said in my best customer service voice. “Do you have a moment?”

  “For what?” Gomez asked with an air of suspicion.

  “A job offer,” I chuckled. “I know you’re a good cop, and I figured you might be interested in a little extra cash.”

  “I don’t do mob work,” he huffed.

  “No, it’s not for me or any of my clients,” I interjected before he could hang up. “I’m sure you know my old friend Alessia Pizzano is running for the DA in Brooklyn, and she has an event tonight that could use some security.”

  “So, this isn’t related to your work at all?” Gomez asked carefully.

  “Not at all,” I assured him. “I just want her to be safe. I’m not part of the event, just looking out for a good friend.”

  “How many guys do you need?” He sounded more convinced.

  “I’d say six ought to do it,” I answered. “It will be at seven at the after-school building on Twelfth. You know it?”

  “Rob’s place,” Gomez said. “Yeah, I’ll bring some guys. That girl getting attacked once was bad enough. I’m surprised to see a defense attorney sticking up for a prosecutor.”

  “Like I said, we’ve been friends for years,” I replied. “I just want to look out for her.”

  “And the money is coming from the campaign?” he clarified. “Not from you or… anyone else.”

  “Yes, the campaign team is paying for your security services,” I chuckled. “Don’t be late.”

  I hung up with a sigh of relief. It seemed he’d been just as concerned about how he got paid as he was with Alessia. Gomez wasn’t dirty, and he didn’t want anything to do with dirty money, either. I sent Bear a text to let him know security was taken care of tonight before I grabbed my pistol and my keys to head to the shooting range. I wanted to get plenty of practice time in before the meeting tonight.

  I trotted downstairs and out the front to see the security guys’ car was still parked out front. I wondered if they ever slept or switched shifts with anyone, but it was still the same two guys when I walked up to the window.

  “You know, we can’t stay hidden well if you keep talking to us,” the giant pointed out as I leaned down to talk to them.

  “Sorry, I’m not used to all this,” I said as a blush crept up my cheeks. “I was just going to tell you I’m going to the shooting range for some practice.”

  “We’ll follow you there,” he replied and rolled up the window.

  I walked back to my car, pulled up the range on my GPS, and followed the directions to a place called Woodhaven in Queens. I parked and started inside when the giant security guard put a huge hand on my shoulder.

  “Do you need help?” he asked.

  “Shooting?” I turned to look at him in surprise. “You’d help me?”

  “Come on,” he said and led me inside while the other guard leaned against the 300 and watched the door. “My name is Hank, by the way.”

  “Of course,” I murmured as I followed him to the counter. “Got it.”

  Hank talked to the clerk, grabbed two boxes of ammo and two pairs of headphones, and rushed to another door.

  “Put these on,” he ordered as he handed me one of the headphones.

  I slipped them over my ears and followed Hank through the door into a gray room lit by row after row of fluorescent lighting. We passed three other shooters practicing with a variety of weapons, and he stopped at the last stall and laid our ammo on the table next to it. Then he held his hand out for my gun, and I carefully removed it from the holster and set it in his huge palm. With lightning speed, he clicked off the safety, slid out the magazine, and cleared the chamber. He caught the chambered bullet and set it on the table.

  “Wow!” I yelled to be heard over the headphones and discharging guns behind us. “You’ve done this a few times.”

  “A few,” he laughed. “Did you load this yourself?”

  “No,” I admitted. “The guy at the gun shop did it.”

  “Okay, we’re starting from step one,” Hank advised.

  He spent the next fifteen minutes explaining every step of loading and unloading my gun, checking for a round in the chamber, and finding the safety in a quick moment. I painstakingly shoved the ammo into the magazine after he popped them all out onto the table. Then we loaded and unloaded my pistol several times until I was finally able to do it on my own without any assistance. He showed me how to draw my weapon, even if I wore something that covered it like my shirt or jacket.

  “This is pretty cool,” I murmured to myself, but Hank nodded his agreement. “Can I shoot it yet?”

  “Watch me first,” he said. “You need to have your feet here. Once your right hand is holding the gun, wrap your left hand underneath it like this. Don’t do that dumb shit you see in the movies where you turn the gun to the side.”

  Hank walked up to the stall and pushed the button that dragged the target about ten feet away. He explained how he lined up the target in the sights of the pistol, and then he fired.

  The sound was unreal
. Even with the headphones covering my ears, I felt like my eardrums would never stop vibrating. Then he fired five more shots until the slide was sticking out over his hand, and he set the gun down on the table before he gestured for me to take my turn.

  “I just… aim for that circle?” I pointed to the target that now seemed really far away.

  “Keep it between your sights,” Hank confirmed. “Squeeze the trigger, don’t just yank on it. That keeps your aim true.”

  “Squeeze it,” I murmured. “Oookay.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d thought I could just do all this on my own. I walked forward and took a deep breath. I lined up my feet and then raised my gun and aimed for the target. I squeezed the trigger, and the pistol bucked in my hand. The sound of the shot was so much louder when I was shooting, but the adrenaline rush was unbelievable.

  I fired off the rest of my magazine with glee and hit the button to pull the target closer.

  Shit.

  “Needs a little work,” Hank chuckled.

  His rounds were clearly clustered in the center of the target circle, while mine were all over the map.

  “At least I hit the paper,” I muttered.

  We spent the next two hours blowing through the boxes of ammo, and I ended up stepping out to the counter to buy two more. I was determined to get this right. My or Alessia’s lives could depend on it, and I needed to know what the hell I was doing.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I brought the last target forward and saw that all but one of the shots were grouped within a few inches of each other in the center of the circle.

  “Quite an improvement.” Hank sounded impressed. “You should frame that one.”

  “Maybe I will,” I laughed. “I need to get home and shower before tonight.”

  “Ah, the town hall meeting,” he said with a nod. “Yes, we have to keep a wide perimeter for it, but it seems you have closer security covered.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know if he’s quite the shot you are, but he’ll work for now,” I chuckled. “Thank you for all your help.”

  “I don’t think Tony would be happy if I let you get shot, so it was a win-win.” Hank grinned and began to clean up the table.

  I reloaded my handgun, clicked the safety on, and slipped it back into my holster. Then we headed back out into the afternoon sun and got into our cars with a simple nod. I drove back to my apartment with a feeling of accomplishment. I was definitely glad I’d gone to the shooting range and grateful that Hank had offered to teach me.

  Plus, shooting felt pretty badass.

  I got back to my apartment, showered, and changed into some navy slacks and a gray and blue striped button-up shirt. I tamed my curls that had already started to grow wild after my haircut a few days ago and shaved the scruff on my face. Then it was time to head to the town hall meeting.

  I debated walking to the event, but I decided to drive just in case Alessia needed a ride again. I never saw her drive, and it wouldn’t surprise me if she was one of many New Yorkers who didn’t even own a car.

  The Chrysler pulled onto the road behind me, but Hank and his partner stayed at the back of the parking lot once we arrived at the after-school center. The lot was already half full, though the event didn’t start for another forty-five minutes. I parked near a side door to make a stealthy entrance, but Mateo caught me as I stepped inside.

  “The seats are almost full already,” he whispered excitedly. “I found a spot for you in the back, so you can still see what’s going on.”

  “Thanks,” I murmured as I followed him behind a giant set of thick red curtains to a desk that looked made for a junior high student and stared at it doubtfully. “This?”

  “Hey, at least it’s a chair,” Mateo pouted. “I could have brought a stool.”

  “Fair enough,” I laughed. “Would you let Alessia know I’m here if she needs anything?”

  “Will do, boss,” he replied and strutted backstage.

  He was right about the placement of my seat. I was just enough in the shadows that my face would be well-hidden from anyone in the crowd, but I had a great view of both Alessia’s podium and the first few rows of the audience. And they were already full. Even with a last-minute event, it seemed the people of Brooklyn were eager to get to know Alessia Pizzano.

  I watched as Gomez and his buddies made their way inside, and Bear lined them up along the outer wall of the auditorium. The off-duty officers stood stoically with their hands crossed in front of them while they eyed the growing crowd. Soon, the building was at capacity, and the campaign volunteers had to start asking people to listen through the open front doors.

  Bear made his way to the stage at seven o’clock on the dot and tapped on the mic.

  “Welcome, everyone,” he boomed, and the audience quickly quieted down to listen. “Tonight’s meeting is a chance for you to get to know the best candidate for the District Attorney’s office of Brooklyn. We ask that you wait to be called on for your question, and when called on, please stand and speak loudly. We want to ensure your question is clear and answered accurately. Now, without further ado, please join me in welcoming Ms. Alessia Pizzano!”

  The crowd erupted into nearly deafening cheers and applause as Alessia stepped onto the stage in a dazzling green top over a pair of dark-blue jeans. Her casual look was brilliant, and it seemed to ease the audience to see her look so comfortable.

  The ADA welcomed everyone again, and then she got right down to business. Volunteers walked up and down the aisles to indicate who had a question and who was up next. The system was nearly flawless, so I had a feeling it was Mateo’s doing.

  “If elected, how would your office handle violent crimes?” one young woman asked. “Obviously, we all want violent offenders punished, but some groups are pushing for a violent offender registration, much like the sex offender registry. What are your thoughts on that?”

  “I think the first step to preventing recidivism, especially of violent crime, boils down to our prison system,” Alessia answered. “When offenders are put in prison, they aren’t taught things like managing anger or job skills outside of a gang. They learn how to defend themselves from a shiv or what it’s like to be in solitary confinement for thirty days at a time. Do I understand the desire for the registry? Absolutely. Do I think one should be in place? Not necessarily. I think it’s a lifetime reminder of a mistake, and some people, even those the law considers violent offenders, want to move past that mistake and become contributing members of society. Forcing them to register for a violent offense could hinder their ability to do just that.”

  “But what about warning the other members of society who haven’t committed such a crime?” the woman pressed. “Don’t they matter, too?”

  “Of course, they do,” Alessia assured her. “But they can’t matter more simply because they haven’t been prosecuted for a crime. Once someone has paid the price for their crime, I believe they should be given the opportunity to regain a sense of normalcy.”

  The woman seemed satisfied with the ADA’s response and finally sat down in her seat before she began scribbling on a notepad. The next person was invited to stand, and a young man who looked no older than seventeen rose to ask his question.

  “Do you feel so strongly about convicted felons because of your sister?” he asked bluntly.

  The question clearly took Alessia by surprise, and she took a deep breath before she responded.

  “I do believe my sister’s conviction weighs on my heart when I speak about these issues,” she agreed. “While not every case is like hers, I can relate many of the cases I see to her. For those who are unaware, my sister was convicted of armed robbery for her role as a getaway driver who obviously did not get away.”

  Her smile drew a few laughs from the crowd, but the young man continued.

  “Yeah, but she has a job now, right?” he insisted. “Isn’t that one of your arguments for prison reform? Why do we need to reform it if someone you care about did just fine after s
he got out?”

  “Just fine,” Alessia repeated and shook her head. “No, not just fine. She struggled a lot when she was released from prison. She was lucky to only have to serve five years, but they were at a time in life when one should be attending college or a trade school. Instead, she was learning to eat her meals quickly to avoid having them stolen. Then she had to find a job that pays enough to live, but at first, she could only work enough to survive. Over the years, she’s worked her way into a sense of normal life, but she still has to tell potential employers about her past, and that has closed many doors. All I want from our prison system is to teach offenders how to contribute to the real world once they’re released, so we can reduce the number of people who go back in because it’s all they know how to do.”

  Bear directed the volunteers to call on the next person as the kid opened his mouth again, and I had to resist going over and shutting it for him. He’d already opened a can of worms asking about Alessia’s sister, but he didn’t seem to know when to quit.

  An older man stood and called out his question.

  “Do you think prison reform will do anything to help with the overcrowding we see in prisons now?” he asked.

  “Absolutely,” Alessia confirmed. “If we can--”

  Suddenly, a sound I’d heard dozens of times today rang out through the auditorium, and the audience began to scream and run for the exits.

  It was a gunshot.

  Chapter 12

  My heart climbed into my throat, and I sat in the small chair frozen in time for a few seconds while my mind raced with questions.

  Did someone really just shoot a gun in here?

  Who would do that?

  And who were they aiming for?

  What the hell was going on here?

  Then my brain kicked back into gear, and I drew my weapon from the holster on my hip. The Smith & Wesson felt heavy in my hand, but I’d grown familiar with its rugged handle and smooth trigger under my finger. I rushed up onto the stage, where Alessia sat curled up behind the podium for cover. Her bright hazel eyes were alert, though she had wrapped her arms around her torso. I started to ask if she was alright when she cut me off.