Grigory had been raised with all of the privileges that his family connections demanded. The best schools, the best homes, servants, everything a pampered life for the elite of the Soviet Union provided for themselves. Truly, everyone was equal, but some were more equal than others.
He followed in his father’s footsteps and became an officer in the old KGB. It seems the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. Grigory had the same psycho, anti-social, genetic make-up as his father and rose rapidly to the rank of major. Then the whole rotten system collapsed when the Soviet Union came crashing down.
“By this point, dear old dad was dead. Cancer of some kind. Grigory had attached himself to a mentor. One of the early stars of the new KGB now known as the FSB. Ever hear of that?”
“Sure,” Tony said. “They put lipstick on a pig. Pretty much the same as the KGB only with a smiley face.”
“In the mid to late nineties, Grigory, with the help of his mentor, was doing quite well. Then, it seems he got a little greedy and careless. Eventually, like almost all of the new government then and still today, he climbed into bed with the Russian Mafia. After a while, Grigory got greedy and started siphoning money for himself. A couple of million into Swiss accounts. The mob boys don’t like this.”
“No, they don’t.”
“And if that wasn‘t bad enough, his mentor’s favorite mistress confessed to cheating on him with Grigory. It was then that he fled and contacted the CIA.”
“Wait, a low-level thug in the FSB, a major, doesn’t merit the treatment Leo got.”
“Normally, no, you’re right, he wouldn’t. Except, shortly after he defected, his mentor became President Vladimir Markoff. The same Vladimir Markoff was a senior KGB officer, then head of the FSB and corrupt backer of the Russian mob. The same nasty bastard who has shown nothing but contempt for us and our president. Yes, that Vladimir Markoff,” she continued when she saw the surprised look on Tony’s face. “Leo knew everything about everybody in the Russian government inside and out. He was, and still is, a fountain of information about the personal lives of everyone who matters in Russia, including the Russian Mafia.”
“Okay,” Tony said truly impressed. “That explains why our government wanted to protect him and that also explains why the Russkis were so hot to get him back.”
“Exactly. After he defected, our government faked his death and got him the best plastic surgeon there was and set him up here. It was all because he could supply them with intimate details about the Russian government and everyone in it. Oh, I forgot to mention he is also the grandson of the sister of Leonid Brezhnev, the last great communist czar. Remember him? He knew everything about everyone.”
“And you nailed him. Do you know what they’re going to do to him? It won’t be pleasant.”
“Nothing he doesn’t deserve.”
“The FBI will figure out what happened to him. They’ll track down the flight of that plane,” Tony said.
“I’m sure they will. And do what about it? Complain? To whom? The Russian government? Vladimir Markoff isn’t exactly too concerned about what our president thinks.”
“Good point. Remind me never to get on your bad side. You can be vicious.”
“Speaking of bad sides and good sides,” Vivian said as she turned toward him, looked him in the eye and flirtatiously straightened a lock of his hair. “Where are we, you and me? Like Bogart said to Louie at the end of Casablanca: is this the start of a beautiful friendship?”
Tony looked at her and smiled, put his hands lightly on her shoulders and said, “I am very fond of you. You’re one hell of a woman, Vivian Donahue.”
“But,” she said.
“But,” he continued. “We aren’t just from different worlds, we’re from different galaxies. There is no way I would fit in yours.”
“Does it bother you what happened to Leo?”
“Are you kidding? No one deserves it more and I couldn’t be more impressed.”
“Okay,” she sighed as she lightly stroked his cheek with her right hand.
“On the other hand,” he softly said looking into her eyes, “Maybe we could be, well, real close friends.”
“What do the kids call it? Friends with benefits?” she smiled.
“They may have something there,” Tony said as he leaned down and kissed her.
Later that same day, it was announced in Washington D.C. that Henry Wilson, the Secretary of Homeland Security, was resigning. The reason given, of course, was after all of his years of service, he wanted to spend more time with his family. This was the same family whose names he could barely remember most of the time and had seen only when they could be used as campaign props.
And of lesser note, over the next several days, a bank in Roseville, Minnesota was seized by state banking regulators. With the full cooperation of the bank president, Nathan Tollman, the bank was closed and all of its assets were confiscated. Legitimate customers, of course, were all protected, but the bank was suspected of money laundering. Along with the bank, several bookmaking ventures were raided, a couple dozen drug dealers arrested and a large house in East Oaks was closed for being a house of prostitution. Vivian Donahue had struck again.
NINETY
Gordon Prentiss had slept better last night than he had the first night. Because of his status as a judge in Minnesota, for his safety, the Minnesota Department of Corrections had transferred him to the Indiana State Prison in Michigan City, Indiana. Every state has these arrangements with other states to trade inmates for any number of reasons.
Following his conviction and sentencing, he had been taken to the facility in Michigan City to begin serving his sentence. The first day had been the most humiliating day of his life. Prentiss had been treated with little more respect than a rabid animal would receive or so he believed. In reality, he had gone through a routine medical exam which included a thorough cavity search for any possible contraband. Most of the day had been taken up with standard new inmate indoctrination which had been conducted more respectfully than he treated any criminal defendant who ever appeared in his courtroom. Despite being jailed for many weeks following his arrest, during his trial and while he awaited sentencing, the ever arrogant patrician refused to let go of his privileged attitude.
When his cell door slammed shut at lights out, it finally started to fully sink into him. That night, alone in his tiny cell, the reality of his circumstances gripped him. He spent most of the first night sitting on his cot. He sat fully clothed in his prison-issued uniform dungarees on the hard metal bed with the thin mattress and blanket. His back was against the corner of the cell, his knees tucked up under his chin, his arms around his legs and he spent the entire night staring at the door.
Prentiss tried to cry, to shed some tears in an effort to humanize his situation. Try as he might, the tears refused to come. So he sat, his eyes rarely blinking, his mind numb, an almost empty void, refusing to accept his situation. Unwilling to grasp the simple reality that this was what he had to look forward to, to deal with, likely for the rest of his life.
The second day was a little better except for the guards that treated him no better than the scum he had put in these places himself. Prentiss was given a huge break, although he didn’t realize or appreciate it, by being assigned to the prison library. An embezzler had made parole and a spot in the library had opened up which basically dropped in his lap. Considering his disdain for physical labor and those who spent their lives performing it, he was handed a significant gift.
By the time his cell door clanged shut on the second night he was so exhausted from the previous night and the spent emotions, the former judge almost collapsed on the bed and was out within moments. Despite the fatigue, he still woke up several times during the night. By morning he was wide awake and sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for his day to begin.
Gordon spent the morning with the inmate who basically ran the library. His name was Al and he had been in this prison for over ten years. Convict
ed of murdering his former business partner to collect insurance proceeds, Al wasn’t going anywhere for a long time, if ever.
At lunch, Al sat with Gordon and explained the reality of prison life. Two basic rules: keep your mouth shut and your ears open.
Before finishing their lunch, Al noticed a large, very well built inmate that he knew seated two tables from them. What caught Al’s attention was this particular man, whom Al knew as someone no other inmates dared trifle with, glanced in their direction several times. When this man arose, picked up his tray and started walking toward them, Al quickly stood up, picked up his tray and hurriedly said to Gordon, “I have to go. I’ll see you back at the library.”
When the cause of Al’s nervous flight sat down opposite Prentiss, three other inmates who were seated at the table quickly departed also. The intruder smiled pleasantly at Prentiss and stared at him while Prentiss tried to choke down as much food as he could. Gordon looked at the man, a flicker of recognition tickling his brain, trying to figure out if he knew the man.
“Hello, Judge,” Butch Koll finally said. “I’m guessing you don’t remember me.”
With the reference of his former title, Prentiss stopped breathing and the blood drained from his face. He didn’t remember the man but the smile on his lips was not a friendly one and for the first time, Gordon Prentiss fully realized exactly where he was.
“I must admit, I’m quite happy to see you again. Although from the look on your face, I don’t believe the feeling is mutual. Do you even remember who I am?”
“I’m um, um, sorry. You have me at a, ah, disadvantage. I’m trying to place you but…”
“Let me help,” Butch said as he reached across the table and lightly patted the back of Prentiss’s hand. “I’m the guy you bent over and screwed for Leo Balkus a few months back. I heard Leo is missing. Any idea where he is?”
“Um, no, I, ah, heard that too,” Prentiss quietly answered.
“No matter. I’m the guy that threw the table at you after you reneged on our deal. Remember me now?”
From how much Prentiss’ eyes had widened and his jaw dropped open, obviously the light had come on and he now knew who was toying with him.
“What do you want?” Prentiss croaked.
“Nothing, Judge. I just thought I’d stop by and say hello. You see,” Butch continued, “I just heard from my lawyer, I should say, lawyers, plural; both the guy handling my appeal and Marc Kadella. I hear Marc handled your case, too. I actually thought he was a pretty good attorney, I guess things didn’t turn out too well for you. Anyway, they told me because of your corruption and the fact Leo had you in his pocket, the appeals court back in Minnesota sent my case back to the district court for resentencing. Obviously you’re no longer the judge,” he laughed. “The new judge has agreed to the original deal and has allowed me to be released with time served. I’m getting out tomorrow.”
At that moment three good-sized, young, white inmates sat down at the table with Butch and Gordon. Gordon nervously looked over the newcomers while Butch silently watched him sweat.
About a minute after the three men had joined them, Butch leaned across the table, smiled a big smile at Prentiss and said, “These are three friends of mine. They know all about what kind of asshole you are and what you did to me. I just wanted to introduce them to you, before I said good-bye. They’ll make your stay at this fine institution as pleasant as you deserve. Good luck to you Gordy.”
Also available on Amazon.com by Dennis Carstens is The Key To Justice another Marc Kadella legal mystery located at:
http://www.amazon.com/Justice-Marc-Kadella-Legal-Mystery-ebook/dp/B00AC54HI4
PLEASE READ
Author’s Note
I personally like novels that make me think; novels that are not just entertainment for the mind. It is my preference to get entertainment from movies. It is my hope that while you read Desperate Justice, you had to think about it in terms of what is going on here? How is this all going to turn out in the end? And of course, I truly hope you enjoyed it and found it both a little thought provoking and entertaining.
There is a bit of a morality quiz contained in this story. I intentionally made Judge Gordon Prentiss as despicable, loathsome and disgusting as any human could be with the possible exception of a pedophile. I did this and then intentionally convicted him of a crime he did not commit. It would be a crime you, the reader, knew all along he did not commit. The morality quiz is this: How did you feel about that? How did you feel about seeing this loathsome creature convicted of a crime of which he was innocent? The quiz and its questions are, of course, strictly rhetorical. Morally, you should not be happy about an innocent man being convicted and sent to prison, even someone as vile as Gordon Prentiss. But if you do take a little guilty pleasure in seeing him get some sort of just desserts, don’t feel too bad. That probably means you’re human.
Regardless, again I hope you liked it and if you haven’t done so already, please check out my other Marc Kadella legal mysteries. The Key to Justice, Media Justice and Certain Justice. Also, due in the spring of 2016, Personal Justice. Leave a good review on Amazon and be sure to tell your friends.
Thank you.
Dennis Carstens
Also available on Amazon.com from Dennis Carstens
Author of The Key To Justice and Desperate Justice
Media Justice
A Marc Kadella Legal Mystery
An Excerpt
ONE
October
Eric Carson’s eyes snapped open, his internal clock awakening him before the alarm went off. He lay quietly in the dark staring up at the interior ceiling of the topper over the bed of his Toyota Tundra. Eric looked to his left and read the time on the dimly illuminated, portable alarm clock barely ten inches from his face. The alarm was set to go off in ten minutes, at four A.M. He reached over switched off the alarm rolled over to his right, leaned on his right elbow to look at his ten-year old son. Jackson was still asleep, breathing peacefully, his back to his dad, one bare leg outside of his sleeping bag. Eric leaned over, lightly kissed the boy on the back of his head, then quietly gathered his clothes and still in his underwear, slipped out of the back of the truck bed.
Eric quickly dressed, retrieved the thermos of coffee from the front seat of the truck, poured a cup, and then opened the door of the kennel for his black lab, Blue. Excited to see his master, the dog jumped up and down several times while Eric scratched him behind his ears. Then Blue ran off toward some weeds to do his business.
Eric noticed some of the other members of his hunting party stirring in their trucks and tents. He leaned against the side of his pick-up and looked up at the cloudless sky. Away from the lights of the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul, the sight of billions of stars never failed to awe him, to make him realize how small and insignificant he was. Once again, he realized that was why God gave us children; to give us a purpose in life.
The dog came back at the same time he felt his son stirring in the back of the truck. He scooped food into Blue’s dish and as he was pouring water into the dog’s bowl, he heard Jackson jump down off of the vehicle’s open tailgate.
“Hey, Dad,” he heard Jackson say.
“Morning, bud. Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah,” the boy said while yawning and stretching.
“Get your coat on,” Eric told him. “It’s chilly out here.”
“I’m okay,” Jackson insisted, noting his dad wasn’t wearing one.
“I didn’t ask. Now, get a coat on.”
Jackson grumbled as he climbed back into the truck to get his coat. Eric just shook his head and smiled at the knowledge he had been the same way at his son’s age.
“It is getting chilly out here,” a voice came from behind Eric. He turned to face Chris Givens, his main hunting partner.
Chris blew out a long stream of air that was clearly visible and said, “When you can see your breath that much, you know winter isn’t too far off. A few mo
re weeks and we’ll be starting it. Coffee?” He asked Eric as he held out his own thermos toward him.
“Sure,” Eric replied as Chris filled his cup. “Gonna be a nice day today though. Too nice. We could use some clouds and rain to keep the ducks flying lower.”
“It’s been what, a couple months since it rained?”
“Yeah,” Eric answered. “The river is pretty much back down to normal.”
Jackson re-emerged and the three stood by the truck chatting about the upcoming day while waiting for the other four members of their party to join them. They were more or less camped in a parking area on a public hunting zone. The parking/camping lot was about two hundred yards from the Mississippi River, south of Hastings in Dakota County, Minnesota. It was their favorite spot and normally not crowded.
There was a nice sized backwater of the river here, roughly ten to twelve acres, a little bit of current but shallow enough for decoys. They hunted on a small peninsula that jutted out about a hundred feet into the water which allowed the six men to cover the entire area. There was also excellent natural cover which they could use for blinds. A thick growth of five to six foot tall cattails had expanded out approximately ten feet into the river covering the entire shoreline of the backwater.
The men carried the three small boats down to the shore where they had cleared a small launch area through the cattails. They quietly loaded the boats with decoys and while Jackson waited on the shore with Blue and another dog, the men quietly paddled out into the calm water. As they did so, they could hear the unmistakable sound of ducks flapping their wings as they took off to flee from the intruders.
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