“Sure Tony, see you then.”
Minutes before noon, Marc walked into Artie’s Café, a well known steakhouse in Northeast Minneapolis. He removed his sunglasses and waited while his eyes adjusted to the darker interior.
“Are you here to meet Tony?” he heard the young hostess ask.
Marc answered her affirmatively and she led him through the dining room, every table full of lunchtime diners. When he saw Carvelli seated in a booth not far from the rear exit, Marc released the young woman from guiding him and she went back to her duties.
“Hey, counselor,” Tony growled while Marc slid into the booth opposite him.
“What’s the occasion? What did I do to deserve a free lunch?”
“There’s no such thing as a free lunch.”
The waitress arrived and asked for drink orders. Carvelli ordered his lunch as well and Marc told her he would have the same thing. While she was walking away, Carvelli got right to the point.
“What can you tell me about Butch Koll’s deal?”
“Who are you working for and why do you want to know?” Marc responded.
“Can’t tell you who I am working for but it is something I’m looking into for a client,” Tony said.
Marc looked at his friend and sometime employee for a long moment then said, “Okay, I’ll trust you to keep it confidential and not tell the client that you won’t name but I’m pretty sure I know who she is, where you got this.”
“That’s insulting,” Tony said.
“Kiss my ass, Carvelli. You’ve never been insulted in your life.”
“Good point. How’d you get involved with this in the first place?”
While they waited for their meal, Marc, being careful not to reveal any client confidences, told his friend the story, only pausing when the waitress arrived with their meals.
Tony waited patiently for the waitress to finish then said, “You better be careful about getting involved with Dolan and Balkus.”
“Don’t worry,” Marc said. “I’ve learned my lesson. I’m pretty sure the whole thing was a set up to get me to make a deal for Butch. And my conscience is clear. I made a good deal for him. It’s Prentiss that bent my guy over.”
“With the sentence?”
“Yeah. Even if he had pled straight up to first-degree assault he shouldn’t get more than sixty to seventy-two months.”
“Yeah, but it’s Prentiss and he’s never been kind to defendants.”
“I know, believe me. Funny thing was, when I found out Prentiss was assigned the case, I told Dolan to file on him. Dolan blew me off. Wasn’t the least bit concerned. And that’s the other thing,” Marc continued, “Prentiss was ready to dismiss the case against Ike when the prosecution rested. That’s almost unheard of and never from a pro-prosecution asshole like Prentiss.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Exactly, why would he?”
“But he didn’t.”
”No, he didn’t, but everybody in the courtroom thought he was going to. Normally, a judge will rule against the defense on that immediately and I have no doubt Prentiss has never before hesitated to deny that defense motion. But Prentiss took it under advisement and didn’t rule until the next day. By doing that, he sent a loud and clear message to the jury that told them the case was weak. And I’ll tell you something else, when Ike showed up to hear the verdict he sure wasn’t acting like someone facing thirty years in prison.”
“How so?”
“He and Dolan were both laughing and joking around. Acting as if they knew this thing was in the bag.”
“And Ike got no jail time,” Tony said, a statement not a question.
“Jury found him guilty of fifth-degree assault, a misdemeanor. Prentiss sentenced him to the maximum ninety days and suspended all of it. Ninety days suspended for second-degree murder. Pretty good deal.”
“Fifth-degree assault,” Tony said, shaking his head. “Maybe I’ll take a look at this judge. Sounds like Leo Balkus may know him.”
“You sure you want to do that? Is Leo someone you want to fool around with?”
“Let me tell you something about Leo Balkus. Leo’s a businessman first and foremost. He’s rational and not a fool. I’m not saying he wouldn’t pop a cop or an ex-cop, but it would have to be for something serious. Ike Pitts however, would try it even without Leo’s permission. Ike, him I’m not afraid of. I tangled with him once before and he came out a distant second place.”
FIFTEEN
Carvelli had traveled a block down Franklin Avenue when he spotted the man he was looking for walking down the sidewalk toward him. He pulled the Camaro to the curb and pushed the button lowering the passenger window.
“Eddie,” he yelled at the scruffy looking man on the sidewalk who turned, stopped and looked through the window to see who it was.
“Hey, Tony! How you doin’ dude?” Eddie Davis, an undercover Minneapolis cop said as he leaned in Tony’s window.
“Got a minute? Get in. I need to talk to you.”
“Sure, dude, what’s up?” Eddie said as he got in the passenger seat.
“What do you hear on the streets about the Corwin killing? Anything of interest?” he asked while pulling into traffic.
“Just that Ike Pitts got away with another one. I did talk to a guy who says he knows a guy who works for Leo and Leo had Butch Koll hosed over to send a message not to rat on Leo or Ike.”
“How did Leo get Butch screwed over?”
“Not sure. Why do you want to know?”
“For a client. Listen,” he continued as he handed Eddie several folded up bills. “Here’s some dough to spread around. See if you can find out anything. Find out if Leo has a hook into a Hennepin County judge by the name of Prentiss. There’s five hundred there and I can get more if you need it. You keep what you don’t spend.”
“Turn right up ahead at Chicago and run me up to Lake. There’s a few places along there I can check for you. You know,” he continued as he snapped his fingers, “now that I think about it, I remember hearing about some high buck house Leo is running over in St. Paul or Washington County some place.”
“What kind of house? Prostitution?”
“Yeah, but not just whores. It’s kind of a specialty place. Kinky shit. Supposedly pricey and maybe even young girls and boys. Whatever you want. But it’s supposed to be real hush-hush…”
“Kids?”
“That’s the rumor. Anything you want, gambling, drugs, hookers. You know who you should talk to? Guy over in St. Paul. A detective named John Lucas. You know him?”
“Yeah I know John. I’ll call him. Here,” he said handing Eddie his card. “Call me as soon as you know something.”
“Sure thing. What do you hear from Jake, anything?”
“Yeah, I’ve written him a few times. He’ll be out in maybe a year or so. He’s not sure what he’ll do once he gets out.”
“Damn shame. Drop me here. Listen, I’ll be in touch.”
Tony dropped Eddie Davis off then pulled into a Burger King and used his cell to call information for the non-emergency number to the St. Paul Police. He made the call, asked for detective John Lucas and was put into Lucas’s voicemail. Carvelli left a message and by the time he pulled out of the parking lot, his cell went off.
“Carvelli,” he gruffly answered.
“Hey, Tony, it’s John Lucas calling back. What can I do for you?”
“Thanks for calling, John. I’m looking for some information and a Minneapolis cop gave me your name and told me you might be the guy to talk to.”
“Okay, about what?”
“Are you at the downtown office and will you be there for a while?”
“Yeah, I am. You want to meet here?”
“I’m on my way now. I’ll be there in fifteen, twenty minutes. I’ll give you a call when I get there. Can we talk outside?”
“Sure, Tony. Call me when you get here and I’ll come out.”
Twenty minutes later, Carvelli pul
led into the department’s parking area. Having called Lucas before he got there, he saw the detective leaving the back of the building as he parked the Camaro. Tony got out of the car and waved at Lucas who headed toward him when he noticed Tony beckoning him.
They greeted each other and then the two men slowly strolled through the lot and down the sidewalk away from the building. Tony explained what he was looking for and Lucas quietly listened for several minutes.
“We’ve all heard rumors about such a place,” Lucas finally said. “It’s supposed to be for high-end types. Politicians and rich business guys to go do what kinky bullshit they want. Maybe some gambling, high stakes poker, drugs even. No one’s been able to nail it down. It’s supposed to be out by Stillwater someplace, which is why we don’t push it. Not our jurisdiction. I even heard it might be across the border in Wisconsin.”
“You think it might be bullshit?” Tony asked.
“Actually I do think it’s true. Just the kind of thing Leo would set up. But,” he continued with a shrug, “then again, no one’s been able to nail it down.”
The two men turned back toward the lot and continued to chat about Leo and his high-end whorehouse. When they reached Tony’s car they shook hands promising to keep each other updated if they came across any more information.
As he was about to leave to go into the building, Lucas turned back to Tony and asked, “Hey, have you heard anything from Jake lately?”
They spent another couple of minutes chatting about their mutual cop friend who had gotten himself in serious trouble and a prison sentence the year before. The men finally ran out of awkward small talk about him and said their goodbyes again.
SIXTEEN
Catherine Prentiss pulled into the parking lot behind the Rothwell Medical Building in the Minneapolis suburb of St. Louis Park. She checked her watch and as usual, noticed she was at least fifteen minutes early for her appointment. She parked her late model Lexus at the back of the lot in the shade of a large maple tree, exited the car but decided to wait outside until her appointment time.
It was a beautiful Minnesota summer day, large, fluffy cumulus clouds floating by in the mostly still air. Warm but not uncomfortably hot with low humidity and plentiful sunshine. She lit a cigarette while she leaned against the back of her car and as she almost always did before her appointment with Dr. Chase, thought about her life and how she had arrived at where she was today.
She had grown up in a small but prosperous farming town in Southwestern Minnesota, the third child of a fairly well off local businessman. Her father, Albert Hutchins, owned a car dealership, a farm implement dealership and had inherited twelve hundred acres of prime farmland that he rented out each year to local farmers. Her parents were a very typical, successful, upper-middle class, middle-America couple.
Dad was a long-time member of the local Chamber of Commerce, heavily involved in the local and state Republican Party. Mom did volunteer work at the local hospital three days a week, had been twice elected to the local school board and much to Catherine’s amusement, was a closet Democrat, something one did not openly admit in polite company, especially to her husband.
Reflecting back on it, Catherine now realized she had been very fortunate to be born into an almost ideal childhood. She had been blessed with two loving parents who had provided a very nice life for Catherine and her two older brothers. She had not been pampered or spoiled but had not wanted for anything either. Elementary school and junior high had been as socially awkward for her as anyone else, though, at the time, she did not know that. As most girls do, she developed and matured a little earlier than the boys her age which caused considerable insecurity for the boys and amusement for the girls.
In high school she was one of the “popular” girls. Catherine was physically attractive and quite willing to go on dates, party with friends and she was even a Homecoming Princess her senior year having lost the title of Queen to her best friend, Julie Bongaard. Julie was dating the hottest boy in school, Billy Warner who, not coincidentally, was the homecoming king and one of the football team captains. It was to Billy Warner, who was still dating Julie at the time, that Catherine would lose her virginity in the backseat of his dad’s Coupe de Ville two weeks after graduation. It had been such a hideous, frightening and disgusting event that Catherine swore off boys for the rest of her life or at least for another year until she started attending the University of Minnesota and a sorority sister with a lot more experience than Catherine, convinced her to give it another try.
Twenty years later, while attending the only class reunion she would go to, she ran into Billy Warner. He had married Julie Bongaard which, of course, Catherine had known, two years after high school. Four years later, Julie ran off with a drummer in a rock band that had passed through town. She returned six months later after the rocker/ junkie had left her for a teenager, a move that would get him five years in prison.
Billy and Julie had managed to reconcile, have four kids and at age thirty-eight, Billy, the hottest boy in school, was almost bald and sixty pounds overweight, but they were still together and happy.
By the time Catherine would graduate from high school, she had made up her mind and knew exactly what she wanted. Number one on the list was to go away to college and get as far away from her small town existence as she possibly could. Although it would be many years, and a lot of growing up and seeing how the rest of the world lived before she realized how good she had it, she had convinced herself that she loathed every minute of it. The people, so she believed, especially her parents and their friends and even Catherine’s friends, were all small-town petty, narrow-minded and stuck in small-town America. She was sure she would drown in it, or worse, end up just like everyone else if she didn’t escape
Catherine started at the ‘U’ the autumn after high school, her father picking up the tab, and immediately pledged to the same sorority her mother had warned her about, the one allegedly filled with girls of low caliber. Much to Catherine’s chagrin, this turned out to be totally false. Most of the girls were even more straight-laced than the small town girls she had tried to leave behind.
Attending a major university in the middle of a large metropolitan area had been a major awakening for her. The things to do, the theatres, museums, and even the major league sports which the Twin Cities provided, along with the more sophisticated, mature and educated friends she made had turned her from a small-town girl into a mature young woman. By the time she began her junior year, she had her future planned and completely mapped out. She had known exactly what she wanted and how she was going to get there.
She would get an undergraduate degree in political science, then graduate school for a master’s degree, hopefully at a school in Washington, D.C. She had already begun to use her father’s connections in the state Republican Party, even though she was not really sure if she was a Republican or a Democrat at that point, to land a position with a congressman or maybe even one of Minnesota’s senators. Catherine had interviewed with two congressmen, both Republicans from districts outside the cities, who would be eager to help her, especially after they met the girl who had become a beautiful young woman. Both of these married men had made her quite uncomfortable but she would not be deterred.
When the springtime came that third year of college, an event happened that would change everything. She had dated a bit, even taken on two lovers who were both older and certainly more experienced than poor Billy Warner had been. She found that sex could be a definitely pleasant experience if not done by two scared kids in the backseat of a car. Unlike several of her sorority sisters who seemed to be almost obsessed with it, Catherine was not going to let it derail her career plans. The thought of ending up like her mother, who may have seemed happy enough, but Catherine suspected she was crushed by small town life.
That May, on a Saturday night, following a gorgeous Minnesota spring day, a casual date took her to a house party on Lake Minnetonka, a suburb west of Minneapolis. The lake w
as surrounded by old and new money mansions, the Corwin estate could be seen across the lake, and the home she entered, while not in that class, was the nicest building she had ever entered. As her date and a housemaid led her through the foyer and a living room out onto the patio, she was silently relieved that she had taken the time and effort to do a good job with some makeup, fixed her hair more than she normally bothered and had selected a very stylish dress that accentuated her figure and showed off her long, shapely legs.
Among the more than one hundred guests in attendance were half of her sorority sisters and their dates, including the one Catherine secretly thought of as the Queen of the Sluts, Linda Swanson, who, she would learn was dating the host. Catherine and her date, a third-year student at the law school named Boyd Braxton, made their way through the crowd and Catherine spotted some of the girls she was good friends with from her sorority sitting together in a cluster by the pool. She excused herself to Boyd and quickly joined her sisters.
She greeted the girls and pulled up a chair. The girls gabbed and giggled for fifteen minutes until Catherine asked of no one in particular, “So, whose place is this anyway?”
“My father’s,” she heard a man’s voice reply from behind her.
The other girls were all staring a bit awkwardly at the man while Catherine turned in her chair and looked up at him. At first, she didn’t think much more of him than she had any of a number of the male students she had met. Unfortunately, she didn’t own a crystal ball and could not see into the future or she would have fled screaming as rapidly as possible.
“And you are?” she asked as she stood to face him. He was a little over six feet tall, not handsome but not bad looking either. But she noticed something in his eyes that strangely both drew her to him and set off a caution alarm.
“Gordon Prentiss,” he answered, smiling as he held out his hand to her. As they shook, he asked. “And who might you be?”
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