Sal Gabrini: Burning Love

by Mallory Monroe

  Sal frowned and looked at him. “With the kind of security I have,” he shot back, “it better be easy.”

  Robby smiled. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  Sal looked at Lester again. Why did these fools keep fucking with him? What made them think they could get away with it? And then he left.

  Gemma parked her Aston-Martin, grabbed her briefcase and phone, and got out of her car. Court had gone as she expected it to go: the judge instructed the jurors to disregard basically everything the prosecution had presented at this point, but Gemma could see the little good it did. Those men and women had already convicted her client even before her closing arguments.

  And during her closing arguments, where she was allowed to show the tape and point out the fact that the prosecution had withheld that tape, a tape that should exonerate her client, it did no good at all. She had barely left the courthouse after an hour-long meeting with her client, before her cell phone beeped that a verdict was in. She hurried back to her client and told him to expect the worse. And she was right. He was found guilty of armed robbery and led away in handcuffs. Jasper Lowe, the District Attorney, was gloating.

  She entered her office only to be met with anxious looks from Barbara Jiles, her paralegal, and Curtis Kane, her secretary.

  “Good afternoon,” Gemma said and began making her way toward the stairs that led to her upstairs office.

  “Tell us,” Barbara said. Gemma had the best poker face they’d ever seen. When she won, when she lost, she looked the same.

  “What’s the verdict?” Curtis asked.

  “Guilty,” Gemma said and both of them deflated.

  “Judge Maren need to quit,” Curtis said. “He should have done more than just instruct the jury, and he knows it.”

  “They’re all in bed together,” Barbara said. “I saw judge out to lunch with Jasper Lowe not that long ago. They’re like snakes in a pit. A poor defendant doesn’t stand a chance.”

  That reminded Gemma. She turned back around and went over to Curtis’s desk where Barbara was also standing. “Speaking of chances,” she said, “I need to let you guys know, and I’ll tell the attorneys also, that I filed papers to run against Jasper for District Attorney.”

  Barbara and Curtis both smiled. “You did it?” Curtis asked happily.

  “That’s great, Gem,” Barbara agreed. “Finally, the poor will get some justice if you get in that position.”

  “But what about your practice?” Curtis asked. And our jobs, he wanted to ask. “Will it continue?”

  “It’ll continue absolutely. But I will divest myself of all interest, and recuse myself of any cases that comes before me involving any of our attorneys. I may have to do more, like take my name off of the actual business until after my days in public service are over, but we’ll see. I haven’t met with the corporate attorneys yet. That will remain to be seen. And besides, that’s a long way down the road. I only just filed yesterday. It’ll be months before the campaign even kicks off.”

  “You’ll win,” Curtis said. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure all of my friends, and I have tons, vote for you.”

  Gemma smiled. “Thanks, Curt. Oh, and I’m scheduled to meet with Ben Walker later this afternoon. When he arrives, send him up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” But then Curtis looked at Barb. There was that other matter too.

  “Speaking of yesterday,” Barbara said. “We’re sorry to hear about that shooting. Is Mr. Gabrini okay?”

  That shooting was still the elephant in the room of Gemma’s life. “Yes,” she said. “He’s fine.”

  Gemma turned to head on upstairs. Curtis clenched his teeth and nodded his head toward their retreating boss.

  “We want you to know, Gem,” Barbara said, and Gemma turned back around, “that we stand with you one hundred percent, no matter what. We feel all of that talk of why you would marry a racist like Mr. Gabrini is hogwash.”

  “Not that she’s suggesting he is a racist,” Curtis corrected her. “She’s just saying that we know you wouldn’t marry one, no matter what the press says.”

  Gemma smiled. “Thanks,” she said, and this time made a faster getaway. She truly did not want to go into it with them or anybody else. It seemed so personal to her.

  Barbara looked at Curtis. “I said it was hogwash,” she said. “What more did you want?”

  “A job. And the only way I’m going to keep one is to make sure that my boss knows I’m on her side, no matter what.”

  Barbara smiled. “No matter what? What’s that supposed to mean? You sound like you believe that nonsense about Sal Gabrini being a racist.”

  “All I know is I have relatives who lived in Seattle when Mr. Gabrini was a cop there, and they said he was as racist as racist could get. Now maybe people change, I don’t know.”

  “You’re saying you believe he murdered that black man?” Barbara asked him.

  “What I’m saying is that I don’t care either way. I just want my job. I’m the best paid secretary in Vegas,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I aim to keep it that way, honey. I don’t care who my boss marries or what illegal schemes he’s running. Just as long as he doesn’t interfere with my coins.”

  Barbara shook her head and headed for her desk. “You are some kind of slimy secretary,” she said, as she walked away.

  “The highest paid slimy secretary in Vegas,” Curtis responded with a smile and two more finger snaps. “Hey hey,” he added, and shook his shoulders.

  Instead of going into his office to await word on Tito and Mouse’s whereabouts, Sal went home, to be with his son. It was there, in the Nursery, with little Lucky laying on top of him, did his intercom buzzed. Nanny, who was in the Nursery too, answered the buzz.

  “Yes?”

  “Tommy Gabrini has arrived,” the front gate Security chief said.

  Sal smiled.

  “Okay, thank you,” the Nanny said. “Do you want me to take the baby, sir?” she asked.

  “No, he’s fine. Bring my brother back, will you?”

  “Yes, sir,” the Nanny said and went up front to await Tommy’s entrance.

  Sal didn’t expect to see his brother this soon, although a part of him was reasonably certain tommy would show up at some point. He was that kind of brother. No matter where he was in this world, and if Sal was in trouble, he made it his business to come and see about him. Sal did the same for Tommy, but it still felt good. He was a man with many issues, but having a family that loved him wasn’t one of them.

  He could hear Tommy’s voice as he entered the home and made his way to the Nursery. And when Tommy entered, wearing his yellow cardigan sweater and dress pants, looking every bit the beautiful man everybody took him for, Sal smiled. He was always glad to see his brother. “Look what the cat drug in,” he said jovially.

  “Look what the cat already had in,” Tommy replied in an equally jocular mood. “And look at the baby,” he added and took the baby out of Sal’s arms. Lucky, on seeing his tall uncle, grinned. Tommy’s heart warmed, and he kissed him.

  “Have a seat,” Sal said, patting the chair that the Nanny had vacated. “Where’s Nanny?”

  “Up front. They know how to stay out of the way.”

  “She sure does,” Sal said. “She’s good. I’m glad we found her.”

  But after Sal took the baby from Tommy, and sat back down, Tommy leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, and got down to the nitty gritty. “So how are you really?” he asked.

  Sal thought about it. “I’m not going to be okay until I find the motherfuckers who tried to set me up, but I’m okay.”

  “I understand Gemma sees an arrest eminent.”

  Sal was surprised that Tommy knew so much. “Yeah, she mentioned something like that. The prosecution may indict. But tell me something, Tommy. How do you know? Reno’s been gossiping like some real housewife lately?”

  “Reno? No. My wife? Yes.”

  Sal was again surprised. “Grace?”

  “She and Gemma sp
eaks often. Yes.”

  Sal chuckled. “I see. Then Gemma should have told her that there was no need for you to come all this way.”

  “She did tell her that,” Tommy admitted. “And I can’t stay but a minute, I’m headed to Japan. But I wanted to see for myself.”

  Sal felt warmed by that response. From their family of origin, there was only the two of them left. “Now that you’ve seen for yourself,” Sal said, “what’s the verdict?”

  Tommy stared into his brother’s eyes. He saw defiance there. Sal was always defiant. But pain too. And because this was effecting Gemma with all of the negative publicity, Tommy saw searing pain in Sal’s eyes. “The jury’s still out,” he said.

  Sal tried to smile. “What’s that supposed to mean? You think I’m afraid of some cock sucking bastards trying to toy with me?”

  “No,” Tommy said bluntly. “You can handle that. But Gemma’s good name is being dragged through the mud right along with you on this one, and you hate that.”

  Sal couldn’t agree more with that statement. “Damn right I hate it,” he said. “You’d hate it too.”

  Then Tommy added: “I think you’re still afraid of losing Gemma.”

  Sal looked at his brother. He didn’t expect him to go there. It was a place, a deep, emotional place they rarely went together. “Why would I be afraid of losing my own wife, Tommy? That makes no sense.”

  But Tommy didn’t respond. Because they both knew it made perfect sense. The truth always did.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cory Gallagher closed his briefing books and leaned back in his chair. Ben Walker, the civil rights attorney who recruited Gemma in the first place and had already agreed to be her campaign’s CEO, sat beside him in front of Gemma’s desk. They were both in her law office. They were both making a pitch to have Cory manage her campaign.

  “Fifteen years of proven experience,” Ben said. “A winning track record, including as recent as Senator Bligh’s campaign. Smart. Brash. He’ll take the fight to Jasper, Gem. And because of his reputation for brashness, the press will take him very seriously. I couldn’t think of a better man to spearhead our effort.”

  Gemma sipped Coke from her Duncan Donuts sealed-cap cup. She respected Ben completely, and trusted his judgment, and she inwardly agreed that Cory was probably a good choice. But she had questions of her own for this man who would steer her entire effort to become Clark County’s District Attorney. “Have you thought about a campaign theme?” she asked him.

  Cory smiled and moved around in his seat. He was a tall, rail thin white man with big teeth. Whereas Ben was a white liberal with an affinity for Blacks, Cory seemed less ideological. He was in it for the money and fame. And was hyperactive too, in Gemma’s view. “Yes, I have, Mrs. Gabrini. We’ll have posters, bumper stickers, even yard signs all around with our theme. For a theme to be successful, it doesn’t have to be informative, or shrewd. All it has to be is memorable in a way that people can relate to in the voting booth, and catchy. Catchy because, once they get ready to vote, they will see our opponent’s name and recoil. They will remember the theme.”

  “And the theme is?” Gemma asked.

  Cory smiled again that big, toothy smile. “Hey Hey. Ho Ho. Jasper Lowe has got to go. Hey Hey, Ho Ho. Jasper Lowe has got to go.”

  Although Ben laughed and said its simplicity was genius, Gemma had a different reaction. “Why?” she asked.

  Both men stopped their gaiety and looked at her. “Excuse me?” Cory asked.

  “Why does Jasper Lowe has got to go?” Gemma asked.

  Cory seemed surprised by her question. “That’s obvious, wouldn’t you think? Jasper Lowe needs to go because he’s no good. That’s what the voters will assume when they see his name in that voting booth.”

  “They’ll assume?”

  Cory glanced at Ben, and then looked at Gemma. “Yes,” he said. “They will assume the worse about our opponent. And you know why, Mrs. Gabrini? Because voting is an emotional exercise. It’s not a cerebral one. People vote with their guts, not their heads. They will have already decided, based on our catchy theme, that Lowe is bad, therefore Gemma Jones-Gabrini must be good.”

  But Gemma was shaking her head. “No,” she said.

  Cory had never had that reaction to any theme he’d come up with ever in his political career. “Excuse me?” he asked again.

  “That theme is not good enough,” Gemma said bluntly. “I want it to be known why I’m running. I want the public to understand what’s at stake here. The D.A.’s office needs to be reformed urgently, or more and more poor men and women won’t stand a chance. That has to be our theme. It won’t be easy to transfer that into a simple, catchy phrase, but since I’ll be paying you for your services, and paying you quite well based on this offer sheet you presented to me, it shouldn’t be easy, should it? And Hey Hey, Ho Ho won’t cut it.”

  At first, both men seemed thrown. Especially the sartorial Ben Walker. And before they could respond, Gemma’s desk intercom buzzed.

  Gemma pressed the button. “Yes, Curt?”

  “You have a guest, ma’am, who requests an emergency meeting. She’s not a current client, but she says it’s urgent.”

  “Who is it?” Gemma asked.

  “Her name is, and I’m quoting her, ma’am, is Teresa “Sweets” Kerner.”

  Gemma glanced at her visitors. Did they know that name? Neither reacted, as they both still seemed too caught up in their own concerns to concern themselves with some potential client at Gemma’s law firm. “Place her in the conference room, Curt,” Gemma said to her secretary. “I’ll be with her momentarily.”

  Gemma released the intercom button and stood to her feet, forcing both men to stand too. Sweets was a part of Sal’s case. Gemma needed to know what she had to say. “Ben is my campaign’s CEO. He has the authority to hire you.”

  “Which I intend to exercise, if you don’t object,” Ben responded.

  “I won’t object,” Gemma said, and Cory smiled. “But please understand this, Mr. Gallagher: I have the power to fire you, and I will if my requests are not being met. I will respect your experience and expertise, but you have to respect my passion. I’m running to win, but I’m also running to sound the alarm about the D.A.’s office.”

  Cory extended his hand. Gemma shook it. “I will respect your passion with my unwavering respect,” he said. “And I’ll work on that theme.”

  They all laughed. Ben shook Gemma’s hand and leaned over and gave her a brush-kiss on her cheek. Her gorgeously smooth, elegant high-boned cheek, he thought, as he brushed her. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and both men left her office.

  Gemma sat back down. She didn’t know what to make of this visit by Sweets Kerner, but one thing was for sure: she knew she had to meet with her. She grabbed a legal pad and a pen, and her cell phone, and headed downstairs, to the conference room.

  Sweets Kerner had her compact out and was applying more rouge across her cheekbones when Gemma entered the conference room. When she saw Gemma, she quickly tossed her compact back into her purse and rose to her feet. She’d seen Gemma Gabrini in online photos before, but she’d never seen her in person. In person, she was a striking sight to behold. A tall, sleek body, smooth, dark-skin, and with the most beautiful face. And an attorney to boot. Sweets wondered if she was out of her league. Sweets wondered if being a mob piece would make a classy woman like this view her as no threat at all. If so, her scheme was dead on arrival.

  Gemma’s reaction to Sweets was more in line with what she expected. She wasn’t surprised at all to find that Sweets was busty and blonde. Sal had a preference for that type of woman before he met and married Gemma. But Gemma was surprised to see how young Sweets was. She couldn’t be any more than twenty-eight or twenty-nine. If Sal had known her for over a decade, as he said he had, she had to have been a very young girl, a teenager, when they first hooked up. That fact alone, that this girl had been used that way by a powerful man like Sal when she was prob
ably too young to object, caused Gemma’s aggressive stance to ease.

  She extended her hand. “Hello, Miss Kerner,” she said as they shook.

  Sweets was taken aback by the handshake, but was pleased too. At least she wasn’t being roundly dismissed as some floozie before she had a chance to make her case.

  “Please, sit down,” Gemma offered, and Sweets sat back down. Gemma sat across from her at the conference table and leaned back in her chair. She crossed her long legs. “How may I help you?” she asked Sweets.

  “You may not know this,” Sweets said, “but I was in the lodge with your husband when that Nigerian was killed.”

  Gemma didn’t respond. She waited in the silence. She knew, as an attorney, that silence always made people talk. Sweets talked.

  “I’ve been knowing Sal for a long time,” she said. “He’s the one who had so much pull that he paid for my membership in the Granville Country Club. Thanks to Sal, I own a lodge out there too. It’s where I lived for years. Although they changed policies now, but back in the day when Sal first became a member their unofficial policy was to never accept Blacks or Jews or any of the other minorities as members. But they accepted me. Sal, being Sal, was able to pawn me off as a wealthy socialite.” She smiled a very charming smile. “Go figure, hun?”

  Gemma didn’t respond in kind. The idea that Sal would join an exclusive club like that was hard to hear. But it wasn’t a surprise. He was a narrow-minded bigot before they hooked up.

  “But as I said,” Sweets continued, “I dated Sal for a long, long time.” Then she felt a need, given Gemma’s lack of reaction so far, to drop the bombshell. “Even after he was married to you,” she added.

  Gemma didn’t believe the bitch. She knew what Sal was capable of, good and bad. But instead of showing her disgust with the woman, she channeled it. If this woman wasn’t a total liar, she’d tell the truth about the weightier matters. “Why did Sal shoot the Nigerian?” she asked.

  Sweets hadn’t expected that question. She expected Gemma to ask about the affair she had with her husband. That was what any rational woman would have asked. But this woman was different all around. “We were just getting started,” Sweets said, “when we heard a sound up front. Sal pulled out his gun and went up front. He shot that Nigerian because he thought he was an intruder. He didn’t know there was any mistake with the paperwork like those reporters are saying. He just thought he was somebody trying to take him out.”