by Dave Daren
“I can work with that,” I chuckled then frowned as my stomach growled fiercely. “Guess I needed a dinner break anyway.”
“Alright, enjoy your move,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll check in with you Monday.”
“You want me to take off the rest of the week?” I asked with wide eyes.
“Well, you’re too sick for court, aren’t you?” Anthony chortled as he ended the call.
I’d been working almost non-stop for the mob boss since I’d become his personal attorney, and having the next few days to relax and get moved into my house sounded great. I’d have time to unpack and organize before things got back to the normal wild and crazy.
I ordered some Chinese delivery, confirmed my delivery time for the movers, and went back to packing. I put dishes that I never touched, books with dust along the spines, and DVDs from God knows when into boxes.
My food arrived an hour later, and I sat down to eat some chicken lo mein while I caught up on the news. The commissioner’s statement had only expanded to include an apology to Officer Bradford’s family and a promise to bring his killer to justice, but the rest of the media was already reporting the info I’d given to Brenda. DA Adams would be under a microscope until he named the killer-- well, killers, according to the video-- and he had to be feeling the pressure.
By the time nine o’clock rolled around, I’d finished my dinner, packed the last few things into boxes and an overnight bag, and made my way to my bed. It was weird to think about this being the last night I’d sleep in the apartment I’d called home since I finished law school almost two years ago, but I knew my house would feel more like home than the apartment had.
I plugged my phone into the charger and set my alarm for eight. The movers would be here at nine, so I wanted to be ready when they arrived.
My plan fell through when I awoke to the sound of knocking on my apartment door. I rubbed my eyes and looked at my phone.
8:50.
Well, so much for being up and around before the movers showed up.
I let them in and showed them what I had ready to go before I returned to my room and tossed the last of my belongings into the overnight bag. I planned to take the bag with me in my car, so I’d have my necessities as soon as we got there.
By the time I walked back into the living room, it was completely bare. The wood floors looked naked without my furniture and thin beige rug, and the movers had already returned to get the last few things from my room and bathroom.
Even though it had taken me a few days to pack up my belongings, the movers had the entire place cleaned out in less than an hour. They were quick and efficient, and I gave my empty apartment one last look before I closed the door and headed downstairs to drop off my key.
I slipped it into the drop box at the front office and walked out to the parking garage. The movers were back in their truck and gave me a wave as I rushed to my car and pulled into the street ahead of them. Then I led the way to my new house in Floral Park.
By lunch time, the movers had unloaded all my furniture and boxes, and I gave them each a hundred-dollar tip for their speed. Though I hadn’t asked for them to be so quick, I was grateful to be out of my apartment and on the road before I’d seen the feds’ Crown Vic make its daily cruise by my building. It gave me hope they hadn’t seen me moving out, so maybe they wouldn’t be able to pop up on me at a moment’s notice.
I plopped onto what was about to become my office couch and looked around at the high ceiling of my new living room and the bare walls around me. I needed some artwork or something, I decided, or at least some color.
I would have been happy to sit there and imagine what type of pictures I wanted, but that would only delay the inevitable. With a sigh, I put aside my artistic plans and got to work unpacking. About an hour later, the doorbell rang, which nearly gave me a heart attack. I wasn’t used to having an actual doorbell, but I moseyed around the boxes and let in the delivery team who carried my new couch and desk for the office.
We arranged the furniture to fit my old couch and new desk in the office before they brought in the huge sectional for my living room. Liz had been right about getting the new furniture. My old loveseat just didn’t quite cut it in this living room that was nearly the size of my entire apartment.
I paid the delivery drivers once again and then returned to unpacking. It was nice to be able to put all my work supplies in one room instead of using the multi-functional table for eating and working, like I had before. I felt almost like a real lawyer now.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I looked down to see a text from Liz.
Need any help?
I sent back a ‘hell, yes’ and got back to work. By the time Liz arrived, I was drenched in sweat.
“Uh, didn’t you have movers?” she asked with a teasing smile.
“Yeah, but I decided I want a new bed, too,” I replied as I gestured toward the stairs. “So, I moved my old one into the guest room.”
“Well, then where am I going to stay the night?” Liz cocked her hip to the side and grinned.
“Looks like I need to order a new one now,” I murmured and pulled her inside.
We found a furniture store willing to do a same-day delivery, and I picked out a king-sized bed with the same industrial style I had throughout my house. Then we went online and found some art, bedroom furniture, and a dining table. The bed was delivered just after we’d ordered delivery from a new burger joint down the road, and we decided we had plenty of time to break it in before the food arrived.
“Nothing to do tomorrow?” I asked as we sat on the floor with our burgers and fries spread out between us.
“Nope.” Liz shook her head and bit off a piece of her French fry. “All your cases are taken care of, and I’m still on vacation from my firm.”
“Then you can be my co-counsel for organizing my house,” I chuckled. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
“Ah, first you want me as a paralegal and now an interior decorator?” she teased. “My price is going up, Mr. Morgan.”
“I’m willing to pay,” I growled as I pressed my greasy lips to hers.
We fell asleep in a tangle of naked arms and legs after a few more hours of testing out my new bed. When we woke up Friday morning, we got back to work on making my house look like someone actually lived in it. We unpacked box after box over the next two days, and it started to feel like my home.
Having Liz around helped, but I knew I couldn’t get attached to that feeling. It had already been a week since she’d returned from London, and I knew she’d have to go back soon enough.
“So, you’re wanting to make your home office your regular office?” Liz asked as she looked around the room. “Attached to your house?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged and pointed to the front of the house. “I could have another door put in over there, and I could make the interior door lock from either side, so no one could sneak into the house or something.”
“You aren’t worried about your, ah, clients?” she pointed out.
“No,” I chuckled. “Between Anthony and Hank, I think I’m pretty safe here. Besides, I’m not going to put it on my business cards or anything. I just think it would make things easier when it comes to meeting with clients who aren’t already used to being interrogated.”
“You have those?” she laughed.
“I will,” I said hopefully.
When we finally tossed the last of the empty boxes outside, it was Sunday afternoon. I knew I’d have to get back on the grind tomorrow, but it had been a nice few days to focus on something I’d been wanting for a while.
Liz walked in from the porch and sat down on the couch next to me with a sigh.
“I like it here,” she murmured. “This feels much more like you than that apartment ever did.”
“Definitely,” I agreed. “Now, we just need to decide what’s for dinner. Maybe now that I have a real kitchen, I can cook something before all the shit hits the fan tomorrow
.”
“Do you think it will be that bad?” Liz worried.
“Adams still hasn’t announced the inmates responsible for the murder,” I pointed out. “Between him trying to keep secrets, and the commissioner investigating the warden, whoever is behind this whole thing is probably about to flip out. Who knows how many trumped up charges I’ll have to rescue Anthony’s guys from?”
“Sounds like a nightmare,” she muttered. “And I won’t be around much longer to help you.”
“I know.” I frowned and leaned back against the couch. “At least you’ll be with me this week, right?”
“Yeah, then back to good old England,” she sighed.
“Then we better take advantage of the time we have,” I murmured as I leaned over to pull her warm body closer to me.
My tongue had just slipped between her lips when my phone buzzed in my pocket. My first instinct was to ignore it, but she pulled back and arched an eyebrow.
I groaned as I pulled out my cell, saw Anthony’s name, and answered.
“Hunter, I need you here,” he said in a hushed voice. “The estate.”
“When?” I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain when you get here,” Anthony replied. “But you need to come now.”
Looked like shit wasn’t waiting until Monday to hit the fan.
Chapter 11
I took the LIE faster than I normally would, but the road was smooth in the Mercedes, and something told me things were about to go down at the Febbo estate. From my apartment, it would have taken at least an hour-and-a-half to get to Riverhead after we made it through Brooklyn traffic to the highway, but from my new house, it was barely an hour.
Liz sat in the passenger seat with her hands curled in her lap. Neither of us seemed to want to play the guessing game about why Anthony had called us out to his house for the second Sunday evening in a row. Last weekend, we’d had to talk his dad out of whacking someone.
I couldn’t wait to see what surprise was in store today.
When we pulled up onto the circle drive, I recognized one of the vehicles that had also been at the house during the previous Sunday visit.
“Oh, great,” I muttered. “Guess who’s here?”
“Hopefully, we don’t get any more glass showers,” Liz said with a forced smile.
Michael opened the door before we’d even made it out of the car, and he ushered us into the house. The aroma of dinner filled the house, but the mood was somber. Gulia and Annie sat in the living room and held up their wine glasses in a quiet greeting, while Michael closed the door behind us.
“Do you know what’s going on?” I whispered.
“I try to stay out of, ah, Sal’s business, you know,” Michael replied as he wrung his hands together and looked down at his feet. “I just know he’s, um, less than thrilled that Anthony called you.”
“Ah, so, he’s still hating me, then,” I grumbled. “Perfect.”
“He could come around eventually.” Michael grimaced as he spoke, and I knew neither of us believed him.
Sal didn’t like that I did things the legal way. As much as he wanted Anthony out of the family business, he seemed to think everything was black-and-white, which meant his son had to either be in or be out. He didn’t see the gray area where Anthony and I had been teaming up to keep things running smoothly and legally, but I didn’t know how much longer his opinion would play a role in the Febbo business.
“In the office, I presume?” I pointed upstairs, and Michael nodded. “Let’s go.”
Liz followed me up the staircase to the second floor, and I knocked softly on the office door. The muffled voices inside ground to a halt.
“Who the hell is it?” Sal demanded.
“Hunter and Liz,” I answered.
“Come in,” Anthony huffed.
They all sounded so thrilled at our arrival.
I pushed the door open, and we entered a room with tension so thick, it was nearly stifling. Sal sat behind the desk with anger in his eyes, while Anthony paced the room behind him. Jovanni, the capo who had punched out the window, stood in the corner to our right, and he eyed me with obvious disdain but didn’t say anything. His temper seemed to be under control today, and I figured Anthony had taken care of his attitude problem.
My gaze drifted over to the recently repaired window and then to Anthony, who seemed to be waiting on me to say something.
“So, uh, what’s going on?” I asked carefully.
“What did you bring this guy in for, eh?” Sal hissed at his son. “He doesn’t even know what’s going on.”
“I didn’t tell him anything over the phone,” Anthony shot back and rolled his eyes. “Come on, Pop, you know I’m smarter than that, especially with the feds being on his ass.”
“The feds?” Jovanni’s eyes widened in surprise. “What do they want with the kid?”
“I’m not a kid,” I cut in with an icy stare. “And they want information I haven’t given them, but they keep popping up with their questions.”
“They know a weak link when they see one,” the capo chuckled.
“Then why haven’t I broken yet?” I shot back. “You know all about breaking stuff, right?”
Jovanni clenched his jaw but averted his gaze.
“My attorney here has been fending them off for a few weeks now,” Anthony said with a twinge of amusement in his voice. “So, I wasn’t about to ruin all his hard work by letting them hear everything over the phone.”
“Wait, hear what?” I focused on my client and the grin that stretched over his face.
“That we got the details about Vlado,” he replied. “Check this out.”
Anthony walked over to the desk where his father still sat quietly and dumped the contents of a manila folder onto the surface. Dozens of pages floated across the desk. Notes, letters, official documents, and a multitude of other papers were spread out between us.
“Vlado Galic, born July 29, 1974, in Pancevo, Serbia,” I read and then looked up at Anthony in surprise. “A whole dossier on this guy?”
“Yep,” he replied proudly. “DOB, parents’ names, sibling names, the works. We know where he had his first job, who he was supposed to marry, and what his favorite ice cream is.”
“I’m not sure how ice cream helps us,” I murmured. “Unless he uses ‘pistachio’ for his office password.”
“I doubt a high-ranking Serbian mobster would be so asinine,” Sal drawled. “I imagine the code to get into his office is rather complex, and I don’t fancy myself a spy.”
“I feel the same way,” I agreed as I recalled my one day of undercover work. “I still feel bad about leaving Nate out to dry.”
“Who is Nate?” the senior Febbo asked with a furrowed brow.
“No one.” I shook my head and returned my attention to the dossier. “This has literally everything about this guy. I know better than to ask how you got it, but what are we going to do with it?”
“I was hoping you could help with that part,” Anthony replied. “I need to know how he ties in with the NYPD or that asshole DA or something. We haven’t found a single connection yet.”
“Let me take a look,” Liz murmured as she began to flip through pages.
“Hey, he said his lawyer,” Jovanni growled as he took a step closer to us.
“She’s my co-counsel, so you can back off.” I stepped between the capo and Liz. “Anthony knows she’s good.”
We had a brief alpha male moment as we faced each other before Jovanni looked past me, nodded, and stepped back into the corner with a scowl. I glanced over my shoulder, and Anthony motioned for me to get back to the paperwork.
Liz and I scoured every document for a sign that Vlado was connected to any of the political powers of New York, but nothing jumped out at us. His personal accounts were filled with payments from Gryffon, and the dude was loaded, but there were no payments labeled “Serbian mob” or anything that seemed remotely obviou
s.
“What about company bank statements?” Liz suggested. “We can see he’s paying himself through the company, but we already know it’s a shell corporation, so the incoming payments to Gryffon or their payroll might be the records we really need to see.”
“Haven’t gotten that far yet,” Anthony muttered. “Business documents are a little harder to come by.”
“Makes sense,” I said as I scanned over a page of Vlado’s tax returns. “What about that laptop?”
“I think getting it would certainly help,” my client agreed. “But you said he takes it everywhere, right?”
“Oh, yeah.” I nodded vigorously. “Places a laptop shouldn’t go.”
Liz cringed as she began to gather the papers on the desk.
“Then the solution is simple,” Sal said and nodded. “We take it.”
Ah, shit, this was why Anthony wanted me here.
“No way.” The younger Febbo shook his head. “We figured out this much without getting in too deep. We can keep working it.”
“You’re going to get one of our guys locked up for good, Tony!” Sal thundered. “You saw what happened to Rossi, and he was only in for a couple days.”
“And I got him out,” I interjected. “Whoever is pulling the strings can’t keep sending people to jail to get killed or framed. It won’t work forever.”
“If that’s even the goal,” Liz murmured as she nudged my side.
“Yeah, we talked a little about that possibility,” I said as I recalled our brainstorming session. “What if the goal isn’t even just to get your guys off the streets?”
“What else would be the point?” Sal curled his lip with doubt.
“To get you focused on your guys instead of on something the Serbs are doing,” I explained. “If all your efforts are centered around your, ah, associates, then you won’t necessarily be looking for whatever their big move is.”
“Interesting,” Anthony hummed. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”
