by Peter Ralph
For the first time, Frank Arturo displayed some emotion but it was not sadness. He told Todd he was disappointed that he would not have anyone of Todd’s caliber to play chess and cards with. He had challenged Todd to one final game of chess and Todd had briefly toyed with the notion of winning before sanity prevailed. It had been a hard-fought game of over fifty moves, and when it was over, Arturo said, “I’ll miss our games, Todd. You’ve made the time go faster.”
“I can’t thank you enough for looking after me, Frank, and I too have enjoyed playing against you.”
“I got paid,” Arturo said, “but if you find yourself back in here after your retrial, I’ll take care of you for nothing. That should make you feel a little better if you lose.”
“Did Jack Elliot pay you?”
“I’m not saying who paid me, but I will say that it was a sizeable amount. It’s nice to have friends like that, but it’s better to have friends like me,” Arturo said, handing Todd a small piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it. “Memorize this and if you get into trouble call it. You are one of the very few to have it.”
For the first time, Todd shook the wiry, little mobster’s hand and was surprised by the strength of his grasp. “Thank you, Frank.”
Chapter 35
Dermott Becker had taken numerous calls from Brock Borchard about Todd Hansen, and they’d become more frequent when he’d found that Todd was about to be released.
“How come he’s getting out? What’s the appeal about, Dermott? What new evidence does he have?”
Becker sighed. “There’s no new evidence. It’s an appeal to the Federal Court challenging the law.”
“I tell you, I don’t like it. He’s a loose end who could point the finger right at Jack Elliot and then where will we be? Why run the risk?”
“You’re overreacting, Brock. He hasn’t breathed a word, and he’s not going to.”
There was a long pause. “You haven’t been able to tell me why he was protected in Castlebrough. Who arranged it? The FBI or the SEC?”
Becker laughed. “I can’t imagine Frank Arturo getting into bed with government authorities. It wasn’t them. Why? Did you try and have him wacked?”
“No, I toed the party line, but that doesn’t mean I liked it. You tell me why the kid had such a powerful protector?”
“I’ve wondered about that myself. The kid’s former boss is a close friend of Max Lustig and Lustig’s connected. Perhaps he arranged the kid’s protection?”
“Fuck Lustig! I’m getting sick of hearing his name. Anyhow, we don’t have to worry about Arturo now that the kid’s out. I’ve got a bad feeling about him. I think we should arrange for him to meet with an accident.”
“No! There’s no point. If he was going to talk, he would’ve have done it by now. Don’t worry, we’re watching him. He’s not your concern, Brock. You make sure you don’t do anything that we’ll live to regret.”
The hostel was on Amsterdam Avenue, and Todd was shown to a dormitory with six double bunk beds. He put his bag in the locker allocated to him and went to the community bathroom and had a shower and shave. There were three guys lounging around the dormitory and Todd wanting privacy, took a ten-minute walk to Central Park.
He sat down on a vacant bench and as he’d been instructed, called Doug Lechte. He asked him if there was any chance of a job with the firm or any of its clients. He knew what the answer would be. Then he got on the internet and started looking for employment agencies and job websites. He was only interested in agencies or companies that he could call and make appointments to see. Two hours later, he’d managed to set up eight appointments in the next two days for accounting and administration positions. It was late afternoon, and he was feeling hungry when he started to make his way back to the hostel. Stopping at a hamburger shop he took a seat at the window facing the street and ordered two burgers with everything and a chocolate shake. He didn’t lift his eyes but noticed the unobtrusive dark haired man sit down in a cubicle, order coffee and bury his head in The New York Times.
It was 8:30 when Todd got back to the hostel, and there were nine men in the dormitory. Some were talking while others were reading. All the bottom bunks were taken which didn’t worry Todd. He nodded to a few of the men and climbed the ladder to the comparative safety that an upper bunk provided. It was noisy, and the lights were on but compared to Castlebrough it was a haven. Five minutes later, he was asleep.
The following morning Todd showered before seven o’clock and dressed in the only suit he had with him. It was only a short walk to the Manhattan business district, and he stopped for a light breakfast and coffee. His first appointment was with a firm of employment consultants where he was handed an application form to complete before the interview. In his employment history, he left the last four months blank. One of the first questions the consultant asked him was what he’d been doing during that period. When Todd replied that he had been wrongly imprisoned and that he was out on appeal, the consultant’s face collapsed. Ten minutes later, he was shown out of the consultant’s offices with the assurance that they would submit his application to the client and would let him know if he was successful. The three other appointments that day were nearly identical, and Todd knew they’d be no different the following day.
The call was brief. “You’re having trouble getting a job, kid. Do you need any money?” Elliot asked.
“I wouldn’t take money from you if you were the last person on earth,” Todd replied.
“You say that now. Wait until you find out that no one’s going to employ you. You’re a convict, and there’s a good chance you’re going back in.”
“Why do you want to help me?”
“You never said a word. You never gave me up. That’s why.”
“You would’ve killed my parents,” Todd said, and then paused. “I should thank you for having me looked after in Castlebrough, but I’m not going to. I never should’ve been in there, and if it weren't for you, I wouldn’t have been.”
“Have it your way, kid,” Elliot said, and Todd heard dial tone.
Todd smiled. Grinich had told him that if Elliot was still interested he’d make contact within seventy-two hours of being released.
The apartment above the delicatessen was a grimy studio with a tiny kitchen and sink. There was a rusted fridge, a kettle and a few knives and forks. The bathroom defied physics but somehow comprised a shower, toilet, mirror and basin in a space that you couldn’t swing a cat. There was mold on the walls and tiles and the shower curtain was falling apart. The single bed was hard but when Todd pulled the covers back the sheets were clean, and he breathed a sigh of relief. There was a small three drawer wooden cabinet next to the bed. The once green carpet was threadbare, and the old television didn’t look to be any larger than twelve inches. The smell of chicken, ham and other meats permeated the sparsely furnished room. Todd tore a piece of A4 from the pad in his suitcase and using the cabinet as a desk, started to jot down his expenses and work out how much he needed to earn. He grimaced and wondered if he could sink any lower.
The food in Sammy’s Fine Cuisine was anything but fine. Sammy was an overweight, boisterous Italian, who loved shouting at his beleaguered employees. Todd filled in a simple one-page application form, and Sammy spent less than five minutes interviewing him at the back of the kitchen.
“Here’s the thing,” Sammy shouted. “You wanna work or not? Yo, ya wastin’ my time here.”
“I’ve never waited tables before, but yes, I’ll work hard,” Todd said. “I need this job.”
“Okay, you can unofficially start tonight. Learn the ropes,” Sammy said. “Then you can officially start tomorrow night. Hours are from five until two, Monday to Saturday. You’ll be on four bucks an hour and ya get to keep your tips. There’s none of this splitting and sharing bullshit. In a good week, ya can make six hundred bucks.”
Sammy looked around the kitchen before spotting a tall, gray-haired man. “Jimmy,” he shouted, “
get over here. Meet Chad; he’s our new waiter. Show him the ropes.”
“Todd, my name’s Todd,” Todd said. He had the answer to his rhetorical question about whether he could sink any lower.
The meeting to consider partnership admission nominations in Montgomery Hastings & Pierce was normally a sedate, formal affair. It was unusual for any partner to nominate more than one manager or senior associate. It was only after the nominations were in that the lobbying began.
Doug Lechte nominated Vanessa as he’d done in meetings in the two previous years. Two other partners nominated managers responsible to them and then Phillip Cromwell rose and said, “I have three outstanding nominees. They are hardworking, diligent, and their families are highly respected. I can confidently say, they will never bring the firm into disrepute.”
“Three?” Lechte said. “You can’t nominate three and what does their families being respected have to do with making partner? She’s not seeking membership at your yacht club.” Lechte knew what Cromwell was doing. He was attempting to change the balance of partners ensuring that he’d control a two-thirds majority.
“There’s nothing in the deed of partnership that precludes me from nominating multiple partners. My nominees are outstanding and will enhance the reputation of the firm.”
“Hear, hear,” one of Cromwell’s acolyte’s said.
“My fellow partners,” Cromwell said, “I would also like to advise that we have been successful in winning the auditing and consulting work for Strauss Robinson. As you know, they are one of the largest and most rapidly expanding legal firms in the country.”
“Well done, Phillip,” one of the partners said.
Another asked, “How did you manage to win their business?”
“I had a little help,” Cromwell said. “As you know, the mayor and I are good friends, and he’s been actively singing the firm’s praises. He knows the principals of Strauss Robinson and put in a good word for us. I told you that the gratis audit of The Disabled Children’s Fund for the mayor’s wife would be beneficial.”
“Wasn’t Strauss Robinson recently sued for sex discrimination? Weren’t some of the female partners harassed and derided?” Lechte asked. “I’m not sure this is the type of client we should associate with.”
“That’s just sour grapes, Doug. They settled the matter out of court to the satisfaction of all parties. The mayor has personally used Strauss Robinson and here you are seeking to belittle them. You're very churlish,” Cromwell said.
Numerous hear-hears echoed around the table.
Phillip Cromwell smiled. With the admission of his new partners, he would have the numbers to rid himself of the irksome Lechte and his favorite employee, Vanessa Hodge.
Chapter 36
Nearly a year had elapsed since the death of Devlin Cooper, and Karen Deacon hadn’t heard another word from the blackmailers. The funeral had been huge, the church overflowing. Thousands of mourners listened in silence as the service was piped out into the street. Karen had wept uncontrollably as had many others. The speeches were long, heartfelt and passionate. Tom Deacon spoke about his love for the young man with the bionic arm and how he felt that he’d lost a son. Devlin’s father broke down at the microphone having said that his son had barely tasted life.
Half a dozen of Chicago’s finest attended the funeral hoping to find out what Devlin Cooper had been doing on a desolate road in the middle of the night. Rumors abounded that he had wanted to test the speed of the Lamborghini, and things had gone horribly wrong. The police had dismissed this theory and leaned to suicide, largely because of the absence of skid marks. Some in the media discussed the Pirates game but were respectful and discreet. No one wanted to speak ill of the recently deceased.
After the service was over the funeral procession had slowly wended its way through the city. Flags flew at half-mast, and the sidewalks were crammed with grim-faced mourners trying to catch a glimpse of the flower encompassed coffin. Others hung their heads or signed the cross.
Karen had felt terrible about leaving Tom, and the kids missed him terribly. He didn’t understand why she’d left and promised that if she returned, he would be more attentive and would cut down his work hours. He called regularly, and while Karen listened and felt sorry for him, she knew she could not go back. She didn’t know when the CD was going to raise its ugly head again but did know that it was only a matter of time. When it was finally made public it would be unbelievably painful for Tom and the kids, but far more so if they were living together.
Todd had never worked so hard in all his life and felt sorry for every waiter or waitress he’d abused or told to hurry up. In the first two days, he’d messed up orders, tried to carry three plates and dropped one, and had burned his forearm when he’d rested it on a hot plate. Sammy seemed to be everywhere and loved shouting at his hapless employees. Every mistake Todd made, Sammy shouted, “That’s a deduction,” meaning it was coming out of Todd’s paycheck. Amazingly, by the end of the second week, Todd could carry five plates and work a dozen tables without missing a beat. He had even resorted to shouting at the kitchen staff when they were slow in preparing meals. Sammy’s prices were cheap, and the restaurant was busy, but in quiet times, Todd found himself washing dishes or sweeping floors. Sammy was a hard taskmaster who wanted his pound of flesh. Including tips, Todd made the princely sum of two hundred and sixty dollars in his first week but doubled it in the second. Finally, he had enough to pay the freight and storage costs on three suitcases that had been in storage since his imprisonment.
It had been over a year since Todd had last entered the betting parlor, but nothing had changed. It was the third Saturday he’d been out of prison, and punters were lined up six deep at every window. He didn’t have an iPad or a system, but he did have a form guide and an undertaking that the SEC and FBI would pick up his losses. He took a position at the back of the shortest line and when he got to the window said, “Belmont Park, race three, a hundred the win, number seven.”
Ronny Conroy glanced at the battery of cameras adjacent to his desk and grinned. The kid was back. He was sitting at a table by himself passing a betting ticket from hand to hand. A few minutes later Ronny took a seat at Todd’s table.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Ronny. I wanted a bet,” Todd said. “Don’t you want my business?”
“Yeah, of course, I do. I meant how come you’re out?”
“My lawyers were granted leave to appeal on a technicality. I’ve been released pending the outcome. I don’t fully understand it. It’s complex, but the lawyers are challenging the law.”
“So you could go back in again?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“When’s the appeal going to be heard?” Conroy asked.
“Hold on just a second, Ronny,” Todd said looking at one of the monitors.
The commentator shouted, “Miami Princess takes the lead with a furlong to go and is careering away for the easiest of wins.”
“You got a win?” Conroy asked.
“Four hundred bucks.” Todd grinned. “I don’t know when the appeal’s being heard. It could be next month; it could be a year.”
“Who’s paying your legal fees?”
“That’s none of your business,” Todd said a little too sharply as the stressed face of his mother flashed before him. “Sorry, Ronny, that’s personal.”
“That’s okay. Are you working?”
“Yes, I have a job.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m in restaurant administration. I wouldn’t mind working here as a teller if a vacancy arises.”
“I don’t have anything right now. I’ll keep you in mind, though. You still have the same cell phone number?”
“Yes. Ronny, sorry I have to be rude, but I need to get another bet on.”
“I’ll get out of your way. I don’t want to cost myself business.” Conroy laughed.
Three hours later Todd left the betting parlor. H
e’d won just over a thousand dollars.
On the way to his apartment, he called Vanessa and arranged to meet her on Sunday evening for coffee. It was the first time they had spoken since before his trial. She had been surprisingly friendly, and Todd wondered how he would feel about someone who had wrongfully put him in jail for four nights.
After talking to Todd, Conroy had gone straight back to his office and called Jack Elliot relating the conversation.
“Say that again,” Elliot said.
“He’s got a job in restaurant administration,” Conroy replied, “but he still asked me for a job as a teller.”
“Restaurant administration? He’s a proud little shit. I’ll say that for him.” Elliot laughed. “He’s waiting tables and washing dishes in a cheap food dive. And the place he’s living in is not fit for dogs. When he comes in again see what else you can find out.”
“Don’t you mean if?”
“Ronny, he’ll be back. He’s hooked on the horses. Did he have his iPad? Was he inputting details of the race results?”
“Nah, all he had was a form guide.”
“No matter. He’s a gambler. He wouldn’t have come back if he wasn’t.”
When Todd got back to his room, the smell of freshly cooked chicken mingled with other meats and cheeses was nauseating. He forced a window open, knowing that the street noise was the lesser of two annoyances. He sat on the edge of his bed thinking about his thousand dollar win. It had lifted his spirits, and he picked up the A4 pad from the cabinet to make some changes to his budget. As he removed the single sheet, he grimaced. He always kept work papers behind the third blank page of foolscap and A4 pads. He was anal about it. His budget was immediately behind the first page. Someone had been in his room. Aaron Lord had said that this would occur, but Todd hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly. They were watching him.
