The Defendants: Crime Fiction & Legal Thriller (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 1)

by John Ellsworth

  “Well, my attorney—who you just jackrabbited the hell out of here—he was advising me to drop by the bank this afternoon and see how much I can get my hands on.”

  Johnny smiled. He walked around and sat down in Bud’s chair. He scooted up to the table. “I like the sound of that. ‘See how much I can get my hands on’—yes, that has a nice sound.”

  “So I’ll be in touch. Right now I have to get out to several job sites, Mister Baldano.”

  “Bladanni—B-L-A-D-A-N-N-I. Why do I gotta spell everything out to you people down here?”

  “Well, sir, my name is Victor, V-I-C-T-O-R and you can tell the Governor I’m working on it. I’ll know something by the end of the week.”

  “No, no, no, no, no,” said Johnny. “You’ll know something by five today. I’ll be at the office waiting for you. I’ll be waiting for a nice fat bag of $100K.”

  “I won’t be back by five. I’ve got two hundred miles to drive.”

  “Then what time? I ain’t leaving ‘til we meet.”

  Victor sighed. “I could be back at ten-ten-thirty tonight.”

  “You going to bring me a present?”

  “If the bank will loan it, I’ll have it.”

  “And if the bank won’t? What then?”

  “See you then.”

  “Victor, let me be clear about this. You will see me again, tonight. But you won’t see me the next time. So don’t make there be a next time after tonight, understand?”

  “I understand. I’m doing everything I can.”

  “Mister, you don’t even begin to know what you can do,” Johnny laughed.

  * * *

  That night Victor returned from his stops.

  First he had gone to the bank and met with Brody Mathewson. He told Brody he needed $100,000 in his account by five o’clock.

  Brody had touched his fingertips together and then started scrolling documents on his screen.

  He looked up Victor’s general business account. He reviewed Victor’s balance sheet. He checked out his last twelve months of P&Ls. He studied his asset-liability ratio to see if such a loan was even feasible.

  Finally Brody had frowned and clasped his hands behind his head. He was thoughtful for a full minute, then abruptly sat up and asked Victor what the money was for, was it going into hard assets the bank could lien?

  Victor said No, the money was to be used for current expenses.

  He explained they were having a month where outgo had outpaced income and they were meeting payroll and materials on three lucrative jobs. Brody nodded. He knew that enough of Victor’s money flowed into the bank that Victor was a Top Ten customer. Brody and First National were, he told Victor, damn glad to have his business. But right now, with the recession and all, one hundred thousand unsecured was asking a lot. He wasn’t sure the bank was prepared to go that far. He would have to check with the branch manager, who was out the rest of the afternoon.

  Victor had become animated and said that wasn’t good enough, that he needed the money today, now.

  Several minutes passed while Brody again studied his computer screen and made repeated mouse clicks. He wasn’t through looking and that was a good sign.

  At long last he broke away from his study and spread his hands. He said we’re just going to have to wait and talk to Mr. Edwards in the morning and see if the bank will cover Victor’s paper, unsecured as it was.

  Finally Victor had given in and stood.

  He shook Brody’s hand energetically to let him know he wasn’t upset, and told him he’d be by in the morning for the money. For the money? Brody had asked. Yes, said Victor, I need the total amount in cash.

  Brody had done a funny thing then, he had laughed, 100% certain Victor had been kidding about the cash. Nobody wanted cash.

  After the bank, Victor had climbed in his truck and driven down Baker to the Dari-Rippl. A double scoop waffle cone was called for. Food always helped, especially when it was still too early for a highball.

  He left the drive-thru and that was when he first noticed the black SUV falling in behind him.

  Racing the cone against its melt, slurping and licking at the soft custard, Victor then drove southwest to Macomb, where a paving job was in trouble over a local union dispute. He agreed to the re-write on the local bargaining agreement and the reps declared they would have the workers back on the job tomorrow. Easy enough, but it took no less than Victor himself to do the deal.

  Then he was off to Springfield, where he had to meet with a marketing group he was toying with the idea of hiring. General contractors in Illinois had such a bad name, and Victor was no different, that he was looking into hiring Media Specials SW to improve the image of Harrow & Sons Contracting. His rationale was simple: he didn’t really give a damn about the construction company. But secretly—something he’d never discussed with anyone—Victor was considering a run for the Illinois House of Representatives. How great it would be, he thought, to represent the people of his district and at the same time be contracting with their government! The possibilities were staggering: the State could throw jobs his way, his company could bid, and his Illinois House seat would be instrumental in voting to approve all such bids. It was 100% win-win and a no-brainer. His only regret was that he hadn’t thought of it before.

  So at 4:30 p.m. he was pulling into the Windsor Office Park in North Springfield, parking to go inside and hear MSSW’s pitch, when he noticed the black Escalade in the rearview. It had turned into the lot right behind him. It had followed him from the freeway, he was sure of it, and now it was making no secret of the fact it was following him.

  Victor climbed down out of his purple-over-cream truck and walked back to the Escalade. The windows were blacked out and he couldn’t see the driver.

  He took a deep breath, hitched himself to his full 5-11, and knocked on the glass. Rather, he rapped on the glass, with his own ignition key. The window immediately lowered. There sat the man who had visited him at lunch at the Red Bird, Johnny Something. Victor put his hands on the window frame.

  “You lose something, friend?” Victor asked.

  “You mean me? Did I lose something? No, I ain’t lost nothin’.”

  “Well…it looks like you’re following me.”

  “You’re the guy with $100,000 belongs to me. I gotta protect you.”

  “I won’t have the money until in the morning.”

  “Oh, I saw you go inside the bank and everything, don’t worry.”

  Victor frowned. “You followed me to the bank?”

  “Mister Harrow, you ain’t been outta my sight since you left that dump you was eatin’ at. You’re far too valuable to lose sight of.”

  “Come by in the morning. I’ll have it then.”

  Johnny Bladanni raised an index finger. He waggled it under Victor’s pitted nose. “No, no, no, no, no. That ain’t the deal. The deal is I get my money tonight. Ten o’clock, your place. The full $100,000.”

  “That might have been your deal,” said Victor. He stood upright. “But that wasn’t my deal. My deal was, I said I’d go by the bank and make whatever arrangements I could.”

  “Say what you will, Mister Harrow. The deal is tonight, one hundred and not a dime less. Your place. I’ll be waiting there for you.”

  “And if I don’t show?”

  “Then I’ll come by your home and kick the frigging door down. Then I’ll cut your throat, rape your wife, and stab your dog. We ain’t messin’ here, Mr. Harrow. Do we understand each other?”

  Johnny’s outburst had backed Victor off a full step. He’d never been talked to like that, at least not since the Alaska pipeline and some of the outlaws working those crews, guys who carried guns and weren’t afraid of anybody.

  Right now he wished he had a gun—something—or someone to protect him. This was getting out of hand. What if he called Sheriff Altiman? Would that help? Johnny Bladanni was glaring at him. He curled his finger at Victor. Victor again closed the distance between them. Johnny held u
p a finger and reached inside his jacket pocket.

  As if it had a life of its own the ten inch switchblade sprung open not an inch from Victor’s nose. “See this? This is why they call me The Blade. Not for nothin’, but I’m gonna slice your fat throat open tonight, you don’t got my money. Now see where you’ve got us to?”

  Victor knew then and there that the cops weren’t the answer. Chicago hoodlums far outnumbered all the law enforcement in southern Illinois. That was a fact. He could run to the cops all he wanted and have Johnny arrested for threatening him. The mob would just send another and then another and then they’d get tired of the routine and simply blow his house up with him and Betty Anne Harrow inside. He was trapped and he knew it. “I don’t want us there…honestly,” Victor managed to say. “No need for that. I’ve got a meeting.”

  “I’ll be right here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  * * *

  On the drive back to Orbit, Victor’s first call was to Brody Mathewson at First National. He asked Brody could he call Mister Edwards at home about the loan. He was desperate and stood to look a great deal of money if the loan funds weren’t available today. Brody said he would try, call him back in ten.

  Victor drove on, exceeding the speed limit now, while the black Caddy hung on his tail. After several minutes but probably less than ten, he redialed Brody. Brody was sorry but Mister Edwards was out of town until tomorrow morning. Victor would just have to wait until then. Victor managed a weak “thanks” to Brody and ended the call. Now what?

  Just after dark Victor wheeled the purple-over-cream truck into the lot beside the Silver Dome, on Monroe Street. He turned off the ignition and waited while the black SUV pulled in beside him. Several minutes ticked by. It became clear to Victor that Johnny Bladanni wasn’t going to be the first to get out of his vehicle.

  Victor opened his door and went around the tailgate of his truck and went into the front door of the Silver Dome. The front entrance was actually a short hall parallel to the street, and if you went through the door to the left you would enter the restaurant, and if you went to the right you would enter the lounge. Victor went into the lounge.

  He was immediately assailed by loud “Hellos!” and “There he is!” calls from the West Town crew. He called back to his workers and indicated he had to hit the restroom, which he did.

  When he came back out he slid into the booth as his men made room.

  Ermeline Ransom came right over and asked what he was having. They bantered back and forth while Victor scanned the room for Johnny Bladanni. He was nowhere to be seen, so Victor ordered a round for his men, a Bud for himself, and a burger and fries—make that a cheeseburger and fries. Without making a note, Ermeline nodded, touched the side of her head, smiled at the gathering, and headed for the kitchen to place the order.

  Victor stayed late—for him, anyway—at the Silver Dome that night and when he left at ten it was with Ermeline Ransom following in her aging Impala. Victor noted, with huge relief, that the black SUV was nowhere to be seen. Looked like they had decided to give him until morning, after all, he thought and smiled. Damn but he was charming and after all, he did intend to pay them. He really wasn’t stalling; it was all just a matter of making the paperwork fit together at the bank. Ermeline had agreed to a single glass of champagne to celebrate Victor’s new contract with the State. Or so she had been told. Truth of the matter was, Victor needed her at the office with him in case Johnny Bladanni showed up while Victor was passing out tomorrow’s crew assignments to his crew chief’s cells. Ermeline suspected nothing, wanted only to have a drink and go home to her son, and promised herself she’d be long gone by ten-thirty. Victor was, after all, a helluva good customer and someone she would go out of her way to make happy. At least within reason.

  4

  Johnny Bladanni left the Silver Dome after Victor went inside. Next door, he went into Bruce’s Juices and picked up a pint of Chivas and two packs of smokes. He also bought two jerky whips and had one halfway down before the door dinged on his Caddy.

  He tossed the items on the passenger seat and climbed inside. He opened the Chivas and took a huge swallow. And another. Holding the pint, he rested his hand over the steering wheel. The Caddy SUV only had 14,500 on the odometer and it still smelled like leather and new car. He loved that smell. Maybe after this pickup from Victor he would please Bang Bang and get a nice enough bonus to put down fifteen or twenty on a new Caddy or Lincoln of his own. He preferred Caddy’s but some of the older guys were being toured around town in Lincolns, so that was always a possibility.

  He started the engine and listened while it made no sound whatsoever. “Cadillac,” he said with a smile, “there is no other.” Cadillac or Lincoln—it really made no difference; either was better than the Chevrolet Caprice he was driving now. His car had over a hundred grand and the tires were on their third version and pretty much to the point where they were unreliable. He needed the Victor money because Bang Bang would love him and bonus him and that would take care of the car problem like that—he snapped his fingers. Just as he did, the cellphone played “Volare” by Dean Martin and Johnny Bladanni answered.

  “Blade Runner. Hello, Bangs.”

  “Got it? Got my money with you?”

  “Not yet. He won’t know if the bank will loan until in the morning.”

  “Then we got a problem. I told His Honor we’d have the money to him by ten tonight, latest.”

  “We’re not done yet. I’m seein’ him at ten. We’ll know more then.”

  “And if he ain’t got it at ten?”

  “Bangs, that’s your call. Just say the word, man.”

  “If he ain’t got it at ten I want you to scare the hell out of him. No broken bones no cuts that’s gonna show. But scare him bad.”

  “Done.”

  “Johnny, we’re counting on you. It means a lot to the Big Guy.”

  “I’ll have your money in your hands by noon tomorrow. This guy will never short us again. That is my solemn promise to you, Bangs.”

  “Attaboy, Johnny. Well, look. I’ll call His Honor, tell him there’s an unavoidable delay. I’ll tell him we’ll have his funds by noon. That should loosen him up.”

  Johnny laughed over the cell connection. He needed to be in good with his superior. “Bangs, I gotta get outta here. There’s no women in this town, no clubs, no decent food, no strippers, no game—nothin’ for a guy to do. I mean I take care of this guy, then what? Where do I go?”

  “Same place you stayed last night.”

  “That’s some dive in Springfield. That’s an hour away.”

  “The drive will do you good after you’re done with him tonight. Give you a chance to think about the bonus I’m layin’ on you for all your troubles.”

  “Jeez, you wouldn’t mind tellin’ me how much—“

  “But you gotta produce! None of this comin’ back empty-handed. No comin’ back short. This guy has it. You make damn sure you get it. That’s our money he’s glommed onto!”

  “You got it, Bangs. I’m your main play here.”

  “Remember, no breaks, no visible cuts. That’s my boy.”

  “I’m your boy, Bangs.”

  They hung up and Johnny slipped the cell in his pocket.

  He pulled out of the Silver Dome lot and headed back east. He would find a quiet street and music down while he waited. It was already nine, give or take. Wouldn’t be long now.

  Johnny drove farther out east until he was almost to Victor’s bus, then he found the closest cross-street, Mason Street, and hung a left onto it, drove to the end, spun a U, then came back and parked so he could see the bus. He now had a clear view of the front door with its little metal step. It wouldn’t be long until Victor showed, he’d get the haps, then head back to his hotel. Tomorrow would be a new day.

  * * *

  Exactly at 10:05 Victor flew past Johnny’s spot, and moments later came a woman following in an old Impala.

  “Gotta love them old cars,” J
ohnny muttered.

  The woman was going half the speed of Victor, and he was waiting for her at the bus when she nosed in and put it in park. Johnny saw her brake lights flare red when she shoved the tranny into park and he saw her door swing open. “Now who’s this?” he said to himself. “Some road dog or something nice?” He watched Victor insert his key in the lock, whereupon the overhead exterior light blinked on, and Victor ushered the woman up the two low steps and on inside the bus. The door closed and within minutes the exterior light blinked out, only to be followed by the sudden glare of a night security light hanging from a pole at the end of the bus. Victor must have activated that light from the Bus, he thought, but why isn’t it always on? He had no explanation so he just waited, giving them time to settle in and drop their guard, with Victor thinking he was safe. Johnny wanted his guard down on purpose; that’s why he had disappeared after Victor went inside the Silver Dome. He had driven around, scouting the bullcrap town with its rolled up sidewalks, killing time, killing more time, until he went back to Bruce Juices and loaded up on refreshments. He closed his eyes and waited. After five minutes he punched his cell phone. 10:17. Perfect.

  Without headlights Johnny started up and swung a left. He crept down Washington until he came to Victor’s, where he nosed in. He reached and switched off the Caddy’s interior auto light.

  He opened the door as quietly as he could.

  He crept to the back door of the bus. He wanted Victor alone, away from the girl—or woman, whatever—so he could get right down to it about the money. No sense in her seeing his face, not if it could be helped.

  In gliding past the bus’s center window he saw Victor look down at him and move toward the rear of the bus all in one motion. All right, he knew he was there.

  Johnny knocked and the door immediately swung open. There was no backlight; Victor hadn’t switched on the overhead, so Johnny didn’t know if Victor was armed or not. “Can I come inside?” he asked. “Just to talk. Then I’m gone.” He made a slick motion with his hand, a Chicago indication of “gone.” Victor took a step back and opened the door.