Gibson & Clarke (Failed Justice Series Book 2)

by Rick Santini

  “And why wouldn’t I? You are my partner, and it looks like business is very good—so far.”

  “Tell me more about our new client, what he said or implied at lunch, and how this is connected with Scott, our new employee.”

  Marta decided not to lie. First of all, it was not in her makeup, at least not in a matter like this; second, if things moved forward like she hoped they would, it would all come out in the end; and lastly, you do not lie to your partner whether it is personal or business.

  “Let’s start with Rik Scott. He’s smart, he knows when to keep his mouth shut, he has an inside track to finding out what the district attorney’s office is doing—usually before half the ADA’s—and I like him. I mean I really like him. In fact, he stayed over at my place last night.”

  Billy feigned surprise and kept a straight face.

  “Really. I can’t wait to meet this guy. He must be something special.”

  “He is, and you will. As a matter of fact, he should be here in less than fifteen minutes.”

  Billy had wondered why Marta had asked for a table for four when there were clearly only the two of them. Marta then went on to relay the balance of the luncheon conversation she’d had with Mr. Yeung.

  “It doesn’t add up. He has to be testing you. My suggestion, we do absolutely nothing. We know no facts; we know no law is being broken; we have no legal or moral obligation to report this to anyone. Now, are you ready to order?”

  Marta was purposely stalling, trying to decide what she wanted.

  “Oh, here comes Rik now.” Marta waved.

  A tall, good looking black gentleman, wearing a tan sports jacket, dark brown slacks, and no tie briskly walked over.

  “Good morning, Ms. Clarke. I assume you must be Mr. Gibson. My pleasure.” Rik extended his beefy right arm.

  “No reason to be formal, Rik. I told Billy about us and that you stayed over at my place last night.”

  Rik shot her a look as if to say, Why didn’t you warn me in advance?

  Billy decided to break the tension.

  “I assume you’re both over the age of consent? I’m told it’s done all the time. By lots of people. Enjoy it for as long as it lasts. Now, please, have a seat and join us for lunch. Marta says the burgers are to die for.”

  “Thank you. For everything.”

  “Let’s order. Then we can talk.”

  Rik pretty much agreed with Billy Jo. There was nothing they could say or do. As to someone finding out about the two of them, parking his car in front of her apartment all night was a dead giveaway. Besides, it was no big secret anymore.

  “Maybe I should take an ad out in the Journal.”

  “Do you think it’s strange Tao Fung, the actual client, doesn’t appear to be worried, like maybe he knows something we don’t?”

  Billy Jo was anxious to hear how the former prosecutor would handle the case now that she was on the other side.

  “Far too early. I have Ronnie Rosenthal, the ADA, chasing his own tail. I told him the case was a loser, he was a loser, and the DA assigned the case to him because no one else would take it. He’ll spend the next few weeks reading reports and wondering what he missed. The answer is probably nothing.”

  “I’d love to hear how you legal eagles find ways to screw the poor prosecution, but I’m still on the public payroll for another week and a half and have to look like I’m earning my keep. Again, thanks for lunch and your understanding.”

  Rik was already out of his seat when Marta blew him a kiss and yelled, “Call me tonight. Italian, my treat.”

  “Not sure I can get away. I’ll call you after work.”

  Marta made a sour face.

  Billy was about to ask Marta something about Rik when her cell phone rang.

  “Ms. Clarke. I’m listening.” Marta cocked her head, grabbing a pen and a small notepad from her purse. “New client,” she mouthed to Billy and began writing.

  Billy glanced down at the pad.

  F U H U A “F R A N K I E” T A N G.

  Looks like business is picking up, Billy thought.

  “Call my office and ask Miranda to set up an appointment for tomorrow morning. No, this is my cell phone. And please thank Mr. Yeung for the kind words.”

  “Speeding, DWI, possession of a firearm without a permit. And oh yeah, more than three ounces of grass. A second-year law student could handle all that. But it’s a few more bucks in our pocket.”

  “Not to mention, the word is now officially out. We represent the Yeung Syndicate,” Billy reminded his new partner.

  “Right.”

  Billy dropped a double sawbuck on the table for three burgers and soft drinks and guided Marta back to the office. He spotted a black Mercedes sedan he was sure he had seen before. At least twice he was sure. He then made a mental note to tell his newest employee to check it out. After all, how many black 600s are there with a Chinese giant behind the wheel, just cruising around the neighborhood?

  ***

  It took less than twenty-four hours. Now the question was, what to do about it.

  “His name is Tommy Lee. He lives on Orchard Street and is an employee of New Age Limo Services, Ltd. The corporate address is the same as your friend Xiang Yeung. Probably his personal chauffeur.”

  “How’d you find out so quickly?”

  “Professional secret.” Then Rik laughed and stated he asked a patrol car to stop the black 600 if they spotted it in her neighborhood and mention the parking light was cracked. Of course it could have been when the officer walked behind the sedan with his night stick.

  “Thanks, I owe you one.”

  “Seems to me I have already collected on more than one, but who’s counting.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Mei Ling had no idea what the actual circumstances of her parents were or where she came from. She had been in a charity ward in a small hospital for as long as she could remember. She was told both her parents had died in the plague and her older brother was now living somewhere in America.

  His first name was Xiang, about as common as Tom, Dick, or Jose in America, and he was small of stature. The last time she had seen him he was only five feet two and weighed less than one hundred twenty pounds. He looked, well, he looked Chinese. That was all she could remember. One other thing, before their death, her parents would send him small packets of poppy seeds they had collected but never told their employers.

  Now she too was living in America. In the SoHo District of Manhattan, in New York City. Neither had seen nor heard from each other for close to forty years. Neither knew if the other were still alive.

  When she was sixteen, she had left the charity ward and did light housekeeping to survive. She was an attractive girl but very shy, and she refused to party. When she was eighteen, she met a soldier on R and R in a night club in Shanghai. Six months later, she was married and off to America, the land of the free and home of the brave. Her new husband found life as a veteran had changed. His old job was gone. His old friends became distant. Their wives did not trust their husbands in the company of an all too attractive Asian woman. Clive, that was his name, began to drink and do drugs when he had the cash. When he didn’t, he sent Mei Ling out on the streets to make money to pay for his habit. When she refused, he beat her. The second night she went out, she earned three hundred fifty dollars. Clive was waiting in the lobby of the roach motel to relieve her of her night’s earning. He did not know there was a back staircase.

  He never saw Mei Ling again.

  She never married again.

  Mei Ling was smart and never afraid of hard work. Eventually, with help from the Chinatown community, she received her GED, was accepted to CCNY, City College of New York, and earned a full scholarship to NYU Law School. Today, she was the director of a program for Asian women who have been physically and mentally abused. She also worked closely with drug rehab patients. She felt those in the drug trade—and she was aware her own parents grew poppy seeds back home—were the absolute scum of t
he earth.

  How can anyone put profit above human suffering?

  She often wondered if her only living relative was somehow involved in the filthy drug business. Maybe someday she would find out.

  ***

  “He wasn’t lying—that’s for damn sure.”

  Marta had no idea what Rik was talking about.

  “There’s a new strain of heroin on the street. Word is it’s more powerful than anything we’ve seen in a hell of a long time. Appears to be from the Golden Triangle. No question your client Mr. Yeung is involved. No one knows to what extent, but I have to believe he’s the east coast distributor.

  Marta was trying to decide if Rik was attempting to make her feel guilty—like somehow it was her fault—or if he was having second thoughts about working for a law firm whose client was behind the impending carnage.

  “And your point is?”

  “No point, just commenting.”

  “Rik, if you’re uncomfortable working for a law firm that represents the bad guys, now would be a good time to let me know. While you still have a job at the sheriff’s office.”

  “I just don’t understand how you can represent pricks like Xiang? They’re criminals and everyone knows it.”

  “Alleged criminals. Do you recall that old hackneyed phrase, ‘Innocent until proven guilty?’”

  “You know damn well they’re all guilty.”

  “Do I? So now you’re an investigator and a psychic?”

  “You know, Marta. I respect your moral values, but at times, your head is up your ass. Now, before you fire me for insubordination, I have real work to do. Not discuss legal bullshit.”

  Marta was about to tell him exactly where to go but decided it wasn’t worth it. At least not at the moment.

  Am I being naïve, or don’t I just want to face the facts.

  Fortunately, she didn’t have the time to play devil’s advocate. She was due in court in less than a half hour to be a real advocate. She had real clients with real problems—who needed a real lawyer to protect their real rights.

  That is not theory; that’s the way it is in real life.

  ***

  “Good morning, Your Honor.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Clarke. It’s a pleasure to see you again. How does it feel to be sitting at the defense counsel table?”

  “Comfortable, Your Honor. Very comfortable. Someone has to represent the accused against those overzealous ADAs who sit back and think nothing of trampling the Constitution like it was yesterday’s newspaper.”

  The courtroom became suddenly very quiet. This was the same person who for the past twenty years took great delight in attempting to see the Bill of Rights through the very narrow eyes of a prosecuting attorney.

  “Are you telling me you have been wrong all these years, Ms. Clarke?”

  Obviously, he was baiting her and having great fun doing it. The judge was an old timer who had seen Marta at her best and worst over the years. He knew the games she had played better than anyone.

  She could have just as easily said nothing, changed the subject and put the rhetorical question to rest. That was what the judge had expected. That would have been the smart move. The safe move.

  Marta was in no mood to back off.

  “What I am saying, with all due respect to all parties, is I have been viewing the rights of the accused through the very jaded eyes of District Attorney Russell Baylor, a relentless political animal if there ever was one. I was taught not to see the Bill of Rights; I was taught not to see justice for all. Black or white, rich or poor. What I was taught was win at all costs. Screw the Bill of Rights. Screw the Constitution of the United States. Just get the damn conviction. I want to thank Mr. Baylor for all he has taught me. Now it’s time to level the playing field. Now it’s time to forget what’s in it for me but think about what’s best for the accused. What is best for the people. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Now I believe we’re here to discuss the rights of one Fuhua ‘Frankie’ Tang, Your Honor.”

  “That was quite a little speech, Ms. Clarke. I’m sure DA Baylor will be interested in hearing about it.”

  “It was no speech, Your Honor. It’s how I feel and how I intend to act in this court and every court I appear in. As to Mr. Baylor, I really don’t care what he thinks. I would be pleased to pay for the transcript of my comments and send it to Mr. Baylor so there is no misinterpretation. Maybe he should remember he’s an elected public servant, and the public is very fickle. Anyone who is voted into office can be voted out of office. Let that be a fair warning, I have no intention of keeping my mouth quiet. Now may we discuss the case before the court?”

  “Of course, Ms. Clarke. Of course.”

  CHAPTER 10

  “Bravo. That was one hell of a speech. I don’t expect we’ll get many breaks from the district attorney’s office until the next election.”

  “I see word travels fast. Good. I’m not looking for any breaks. I don’t have to cut a deal. Let that pompous prick know I’ll be watching him twenty-four seven. And how are you doing, Billy Jo?”

  “Curious to see how you play this out,” he replied.

  “The dirty little secret that no one talks about is, without deals, without plea bargaining, the system will collapse under its own weight. Without sweetheart deals, the criminal court calendar would be backed up for years and years. There would be no such thing as a speedy trial. More than half those accused would walk. If every defense counsel would demand a jury trial, you would need three times as many courtrooms, three times as many judges, three times as many clerks, and three times as many assistant district attorneys. That day will never come. At least not in my lifetime. The DA has no choice. He must cut deals, he must accept plea bargains or we may as well go home and watch daytime TV. Everyone knows it, and no one talks about it. I for one do not intend to plea bargain anything. I will force them to go to trial on every case I have. Or dismiss. No more Ms. Nice Girl.”

  “Spoken like a true defense attorney. Now let’s talk reality. Have you heard from any of our new clients recently?”

  “No.”

  Was I supposed to hear from either one of them? It’s my job to keep on top of their cases, not the other way around.

  “How is Rik working out? I understand tomorrow is his last day with the sheriff’s office. Do you have a desk for him? Is he going to work out of his home or the office? Most important, do you have enough work for him?”

  Billy did not add “professionally.”

  “To be honest with you, I have not seen or talked to Rik in the past twenty-four hours. Been too busy and I let Rik know if he’s unhappy working for a firm that represents alleged criminals, this was definitely not the place for him.”

  “Lover’s spat?”

  Marta held her tongue, but only for a second.

  “Screw you. That was uncalled for, and you know it. The fact I may have slept with him in the past, and am not sure if I will in the future, in no way has any bearing on our professional relationship. Do you think you can keep that in mind?”

  “Mea culpa, mea culpa. You’re right. It was unprofessional. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  Billy Jo decided to change the subject. Anything was less controversial than the last one.

  “Any contact or comments by the chief judge, Steven Saltmeyer?”

  “No, why would you ask about him?”

  “Well, he is still the chief judge; he was really behind the problem with Judge Kolkolski and having Judge Sugarman appointed to hear the judge’s case, and he knows you personally. I will be surprised if you do not hear from him regarding your comments on justice or lack thereof by the DA’s office. Nothing escapes that prejudiced bastard.”

  “I was invited to join the Essex County Defense Bar. Sort of a ‘welcome to the club’ gathering. I think I should join and maintain a better relationship with my fellow defense counselors.”

  “I agree. Keep me posted. I’ll be back up in Newark
sometime next week. If any emergencies pop up, pick up the phone. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  The line was dead.

  I wonder what prompted that call. He was fishing for something, but not sure what.

  ***

  “Afternoon, Boss. Feel like celebrating. I am now officially off the payroll of the Essex County Sheriff’s Office.”

  The fact was, Marta did not feel like celebrating with Rik or with anyone. Yet she didn’t want to hurt his feelings and was not sure where their personal relationship, if there was one, was going.

  “Let me make a few phone calls, and I’ll get back to you in less than an hour. Okay?”

  Rik had no choice. No, it was not okay, but he wasn’t about to say so.

  “Fine.”

  Marta was stalling, and she knew it. She was about to call him back and suggest they get together for a drink or two, but that was it. No sleepover tonight.

  “Ms. Clarke, Mr. Yeung on line one.”

  She was actually relieved to get the call.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Clarke. My sincere apologies for the last-minute call, but one of my esteemed associates from across the river is in town and wondered if you were available to join us for a light dinner. Most casual.”

  “I do have plans for this evening, but I suppose I could cancel them. What time did you have in mind?”

  “I can have my chauffeur pick you up in a half hour, drive you home so you may freshen up, and take you to the restaurant to meet us. Again, I am so sorry for the short notice, but when I told my friend how valuable you are, he insisted on meeting you. I cannot say no to such a valuable associate. My car will be in front of your office in twenty minutes. Take as long as you need once he drives you home. This is most informal, and you will not be disappointed. Goodbye.”

  Click.

  Damn, twenty minutes. What the hell does he mean by “most informal” and I “will not be disappointed”? I’ve got to call Rik and cancel. I hope he understands. If not, too damn bad. Business before pleasure. Not that having a drink with Rik tonight would be considered pleasure.