by S. D. Thames
C-Rod grumbled something while his eyes tried to drill a hole in me. “Actually, I have another question,” he said abruptly. “Who the hell did that to your face?”
“Yeah, you missed that part, too,” Shields said.
“So enlighten me,” C-Rod said.
“Like I told your partner, a couple of goons tagged me last night.”
“You don’t say. You press charges?”
I shook my head. “Didn’t see the point.”
He was studying me hard now, and I knew the money shot was coming. “You said you didn’t go back to Scalzo’s place after Armani’s. Did you see him anywhere else?” C-Rod had a way of getting under your skin. Good bad cop.
I reminded myself of the penalty for obstructing justice, and nodded. “He had his goons pick me up last night. We met him at a garage off Gandy.”
“Hillsborough or St. Pete side?” C-Rod asked.
“Pinellas, I think.” I checked Shields, but he sat stone-faced.
“And these are the same goons that did this to your face?” Shields asked.
“That’s right. One of them fit the bill for the three-hundred pound beast you described. I think his name was Kiki.”
“Kiki?” Shields looked to his partner with amusement. “What kind of name is that?”
I shrugged.
“You like having your face danced on like that?” C-Rod asked.
I shook my head.
C-Rod to Shields: “I wouldn’t either. In fact, someone did that to me, I’d want revenge.”
Shields nodded back; good point. What a duo these two were.
“I’ll tell you, lieutenants. I’ve had my fill of revenge over the years.” I looked C-Rod right in the eyes. “And it doesn’t satisfy.”
C-Rod tried looking mean and unimpressed, but I could see in his eyes that he agreed with me on some level, and if he was angry about anything now, it was that he agreed with me.
Shields nodded at me. “We know about your service, Porter. I spent some time over there myself during the first Gulf War.”
“Then you might know what I’m talking about.” But I was still looking at C-Rod.
C-Rod pulled his eyes back to mine, and something flickered in them, something that looked like anger, fear, and regret all balled up together. He said nothing, but swallowed hard. “So let’s hear the rest about the garage,” he said.
I looked to Shields. “Scalzo left the garage last night. He seemed to have received an important call about somewhere he had to be. I don’t know who or what. I left about five minutes after he did.”
“If we find this garage, we going to find extra bodies?” C-Rod asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, let’s hope not, for your sake.” He glanced at Shields and then looked back to me. “So after you got out of there, where’d you go?”
“Home.”
“Anyone vouch for that?”
“My neighbor, Hector Garcia. He was with me until after midnight.”
Shields wrote that down. Then he looked up. “You know a guy named Don Alexi?”
It took a second to place the name, uttered by Scalzo as he was giving me a beating. “Not really.”
“Not really?” C-Rod asked.
“Not really. I’ve heard of him. I don’t know him.”
Shields and C-Rod exchanged glances, asking each other if they had any other questions.
I stood. “Am I free to go?”
Shields nodded back. “Yeah, just don’t go far.”
“You both should know,” I said, “that I’m probably going to be working this case, too.”
C-Rod rubbed his chin. “Free country. Just don’t get in our way.”
Shields stood to show me out. C-Rod remained seated. He took out his phone and started dialing as the door closed behind me. Shields led me by a row of cubicles, and when we turned, we passed Mitchell’s office. I wasn’t surprised to see Dane Parker in there. They were really chatting it up like long-lost friends. They looked to be about the same age, and I wondered if they’d gone to law school or ever worked together.
Shields walked me to the office lobby. “So, this same lawyer hired you to stay on the case?” he asked.
“Something like that.”
“Well, what C-Rod said is right. Don’t get in our way.”
“That won’t be a problem,” I said.
“And let me know if you find anything helpful.”
I nodded. “Sure thing.”
Shields turned, but I called him back.
“Any chance you could get me in to see the crime scene?”
He grinned and shook his head. “Sorry, Porter. You should know better.”
I should have, and I did. But his eyes told me a lot about our level of trust.
Outside, I was hit by a few gusts of humid wind from different directions, vying for my attention. They dissipated as quickly as they hit me, almost like a prelude to the few cracks of thunder that ripped through the sky. The funny thing was, the sky above me was blue and I could feel the August sun tearing into my back. I walked a block south on Twiggs and from there I could see a few thunderheads rolling in from the southwest. It was probably storming in St. Pete right now, and we’d be getting our share of it soon.
Before I went any farther in the investigation, I needed to get up to speed on the lawsuit. The clerk’s office would be closing in ten minutes, so I’d have to settle for reviewing the court file in Mattie’s office. And I had a few questions for Mr. Wilcox himself.
I didn’t call to tell him I was on my way.
CHAPTER NINE
Wilcox & Associates, P.A.
As the rain came down, I ran a few blocks south to the Hilton, where I knew a line of taxis would be waiting for guests checking out. The Haitian driver didn’t seem to mind that I sat drenched in the backseat for the short ride to Mattie’s office. We crossed the Hillsborough River and took a few wrong turns at my direction before I finally spotted the old converted blue bungalow in Hyde Park that housed the office of Wilcox and Associates, P.A. Last time I’d checked, there were in fact no associates working for Mattie. To save cash, he’d started outsourcing research and drafting duties to contract attorneys, some of whom were in India, and none of whom were in Tampa. He liked to keep his above-the-line expenses lean. I guessed it helped pay for the new Porsche he seemed to lease every two years. I was pleased to see his newest one parked behind his building.
The front door was locked. I saw a cheap plastic door ringer and pressed it hard as I peered through the etched glass panes on the front door. There was a desk in the lobby, but no sign of a receptionist. The place looked deserted. I knocked as loud as I could without doing damage to the glass. A moment later, Mattie appeared.
He pushed the door and held it open for me. “What you got for me?”
“Nothing but questions,” I said. “More importantly, what have you got for me?”
“Your money’s in my office. I’ll get it out of the safe.”
I got a better look at the lobby: old floors of loosely-fit tongue-in-groove planks, and prints of black and white photos of downtown Tampa around the turn of the twentieth century decorating the otherwise bleak walls.
“Where’s your receptionist?” I asked.
He rubbed his eyes with the back of his palm. “A call center in St. Pete. She answers phones for a few dozen sole practitioners at a nice, cozy data center.”
“We need to discuss what you’re going to pay me to stay on this job.”
Mattie sighed and leaned against the wall with his foot planted against it. “I think the six grand I paid you to get him served should cover today as well.”
“I don’t think you’re asking me to work for free.”
“What do you want, Porter?”
I hadn’t really thought about what I expected to be paid for this part of the job, but I knew it would keep me from doing much of anything else this week. “I’ll give you a discount for the six grand you alread
y paid me. How about a grand a day, plus expenses, and this job gets my complete, undivided attention this week.”
Mattie thought about it for a moment before nodding. “Only for this week. This case is going to trial Monday, so I need you to give me a reason to get a continuance. Or better yet …” He trailed off, stared at the floor.
“What would be better yet, Mattie?”
He looked me dead in the eyes. “Give me a reason to withdraw.”
“Withdraw?”
He nodded. “I don’t trust my client.”
“You think Pilka had something to do with Scalzo’s death?”
“I wouldn’t put anything past him. Kind of strange—he wanted to make sure Scalzo couldn’t leave, and then the guy dies?”
“Yeah, but he wasn’t leaving until Monday. If he wanted to whack him Sunday, why go through the drill of serving him?”
Mattie’s glare glazed over. “I don’t know. That’s just the thing: nothing about this case makes sense anymore.” He checked his BlackBerry, as tense as ever.
“This trial seems to be getting to you, Mattie.”
He sighed. “Strangest case I ever had. The other side wants to just walk away. My client says no. He keeps saying he’s waiting. Waiting for something.” He caught his breath.
“Like waiting for Chad Scalzo to catch a bullet?”
“Is that how he died?”
I shrugged. “That’d be my guess. All I know is they found him in his condo.”
Mattie nodded and stared into space, sporting a look of indifference.
“Then again, you seemed to know back there that Scalzo had been murdered.”
“What?” Mattie said.
“At the courthouse, you said you wanted me to find his murderer.”
“What are you saying, Porter, that I had something to do with it?”
“I’m just saying, I got to push everyone’s buttons. You know the drill.”
“Not the buttons that are paying you. Forgive me for presuming it was murder. The cops show up talking about the guy being dead and wanting to interview you, I think it’s safe to say he was murdered.”
“Fair enough.”
Mattie seemed to be studying my face. “So his guys, they really did that to you?”
I nodded. “I didn’t fight back that hard.”
He crossed his arms. “Listen, Milo, I’m gonna be your attorney now, so everything we say will be privileged. I want you to tell me what happened after you got out of there last night. Did you go back to Scalzo’s place?”
“That would simplify matters, wouldn’t it? Sorry, I was home having a beer with my neighbor.”
“The cops buy that?”
“They seemed to.”
“What else did you find out?”
“That’s about it.”
He shook his head. “Then why are you here? You could have called to tell me that.”
“I want to see your file. The court file was checked out. Plus, I have a few more questions for you.”
He nodded and motioned for to me get on with it.
I started by asking, “Who’s Don Alexi?”
“Why do you ask that?”
“’Cause Scalzo seemed pretty convinced Alexi was behind having him served.”
Mattie stared off into space again. “Why’d he think that?” The question seemed more for himself than for me.
“I was hoping you could answer that question.”
He snapped out of his trance. “I’m not a mind reader.”
“Then let me see your file.”
I thought he was about to tell me to pound sand or argue about why I needed to see the file. But instead, he just moaned with resignation and yelled, “Kara.” Then louder, “Kara!” Then he looked to me and lowered his voice. “My paralegal will show you the file.”
She appeared. I was pretty sure she recognized me before I did her.
“You know Milo, don’t you?” Mattie asked her.
She froze for a moment. Her head started shaking before she said a word, but it was her eyes that gave it away: two eyes the size of golf balls etched with desperation, pleading: Please don’t tell him you saw me last night with Scalzo.
No doubt. She was the blonde sitting to Scalzo’s right at Armani’s the night before. “No, I don’t believe we’ve met,” she finally said.
Mattie turned to leave. “Milo, this is Kara. Kara, Milo. Show him the Pilka file and then meet me in my office.” Mattie glanced at me. “I’ll get your money, Porter.” Then he waved and disappeared down a dark corridor.
“Follow me,” she said, avoiding my eyes.
She led me upstairs, where she opened a creaky door and flipped a double-switch. The file was already spread across a cheap conference table, along with piles of pleading binders and stacks of documents tagged with exhibit stickers.
She closed the door behind us. “Here you go,” she said.
“You know the cops will want to talk to you.”
She cleared her throat. “So you remember me?”
I nodded. “Kind of hard to forget. In fact, I was just describing you to a detective about an hour ago. I take it you heard about Scalzo?”
She crossed her shaking arms across her chest. “Mattie just told me when he got back.”
“You didn’t already know?”
She shook her head. “I swear, I didn’t.”
“Mattie know about your moonlighting?”
“No, he doesn’t. And promise me you won’t tell him anything.”
“Why should I do that?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“And what do I think?”
She sighed as though trying to muster courage. “I can see where you’d need some blanks filled in.”
“When did you see Scalzo last?” I asked.
“When we left the restaurant last night. Angie and I left with the other guy.”
“Who was he?”
“All I know is his name’s Brian, and he’s someone Chad wanted to impress.”
“This Brian have a last name?”
“Blare or Blane or something like that.” A sheepish grin interrupted her train of thought. “Chad ordered us to show him a good time.”
“How’d that go?”
“Angie flaked out about an hour into it. That’s typical for her.”
“What do you mean?”
Mattie yelled for Kara from downstairs.
Her hands trembled, and the skin on her neck had turned blotchy. “Listen, I can’t talk here. I don’t know what I can talk about. I need some time to think all this over.”
“Kara!” Mattie was getting closer.
“Okay!” She bent over, scribbled on a sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Call me later tonight. I should be done here by eight.”
“Kara!”
She smiled uneasily. “If I’m lucky.”
She closed the door behind her and left me alone with the disarrayed file.
An hour later, I found Mattie at his desk, his chair turned around so his back was facing the door. It sounded like he was talking to himself.
“Practicing your opening?” I asked.
He turned and nodded. “It’s not going well.”
“You want an audience?”
“I’m getting one tomorrow. We’re doing a practice run with a mock jury.”
“A mock jury for a landlord-tenant dispute?”
“You read the file. You tell me what this case is about.”
I took a seat and pulled out my notes. “So your landlord, this McSwain guy, says Pilka’s running a sex shop on his premises and terminates the lease.”
Mattie nodded, matter-of-factly. “That’s it in a nutshell.”
“And your client counterclaims that the lease was terminated wrongfully, and wants the jury to award him damages for loss of profits.”
“So you did learn something in law school.”
“You think you can prove that?”
“Lost profits? Absolutely.�
� Mattie propped his feet up, apparently with newfound confidence.
“What about your client?”
“What about him?”
“Is Pilka running some kind of sex shop?”
Mattie shook his head. “It’s not a sex shop. It’s lingerie modeling. A guy pays for the room, takes a seat. The model, she may give him a lap dance. He tips her right, maybe he gets a little something more. More than that may go on, I don’t know. More importantly, I can prove that McSwain knew this all along. He was taking a cut of the action.”
“So there must be something more going on there.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, my client won’t let me go too hard on McSwain.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No shit.”
“So how’s Pilka want this to play out?”
“He tells me to play it cool. And wait.”
I nodded. “Like I said, for what—Scalzo to get whacked?”
Mattie chewed on that for a moment. “I don’t know. Nothing would surprise me.” He stared into space, and I could tell he was giving it more thought, admitting to himself that his client could have pulled it off. Then he remembered I was still there and returned his glare to me. “I need to get ready for trial. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to get to work. And I know just where to start.”
Mattie nodded to ask where.
“Your guy Pilka sounds like a good place to start. Would I be better received announced?” I checked the clock on his wall. It was almost four-thirty. Pilka seemed like the kind of guy who might stay in the office until five, or six if I was lucky. I stood to leave.
“I’ll try him in the morning,” I lied.
Mattie turned back around in his chair. “I’ll call you if he doesn’t want visitors.”
I left without reminding him that I didn’t have a phone anymore.
CHAPTER TEN
A Weak Alibi
Pilka’s office was easy enough to find. His business was named VLP Industries, Inc. I knew the V was for Vincent and the P for Pilka, but I had no idea what the middle initial stood for. The Secretary of State database showed that his office was in the Westshore district in a plaza of mid-level office space. I rushed to get there before 6:00, when I figured the doors might lock and elevators close to people like me who didn’t have a key. I made it with five minutes to spare and took the elevator to the third floor. The directory had shown that VLP Industries was one of half a dozen tenants on that floor.
