“I—I—”
“Of course, he does, Your Honor!” said Magence in his courtroom voice. “Plus his insurance carrier signed off on me.”
“Judge,” said Thaddeus, “there’s a reservation of rights defense.”
“I see. So the insurance company doesn’t even know yet if it’s going to extend coverage. Doctor, do you understand what this means?”
“Uh—I think so.”
“It means you might wind up owing a barrel of money to the claimant Mrs. Turkenov and owe a barrel of money to your lawyers—two of them, or three if the lawyer who evidently is accompanying Mr. Magence this morning is also assigned to the case.”
“M.J. Jones, Your Honor,” the caddy said from the side of the room. “I’m not actually submitting bills on the case, Sir.”
“Very well. That’s good to hear. So here’s what I think we’re going to do here. I think we’re going to allow Mr. Magence to appear in my court in this case but only as a non-participant. He will not be allowed to speak or file pleadings in the case. He will sit at counsel table during trial, but only as an observer. Does this work for you, Mr. Murfee?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” said Thaddeus, relieved that Magence would be muzzled. At least, there was that.
“And what about you, Dr. Sewell. Does this work for you, keeping in mind that I don’t even have to allow him in my courtroom at all?”
“It works for me. Judge, I’m sorry this has even happened and is taking up your time. I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong.”
“Well, this isn’t the time or place, Dr. Sewell, though I appreciate your need to tell me. That’s just fine.”
Just then, the outer door opened and Milbanks Wang with Uncle Roy and Jack Millerton and Ellen Roddgers re-entered the small office.
“Yes, Mr. Wang? Is there a decision?”
“Roy Underwood and Jack Millerton have agreed to share the conservator’s duties, Your Honor. They propose a joint conservatorship. Ms. Roddgers will stay on the case and assist me.”
Ellen Roddgers scoffed. “More accurately, Mr. Wang and I will share the legal representation of the co-conservators. Not the same as assisting him.”
“How very Solomonic,” said the judge. “Can’t cut the baby in half so we’ll take the whole baby. I’ll allow that.”
“Thank you, Judge,” said Uncle Roy.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” said Jack Millerton, not to be outdone.
“Yes, Judge,” said Attorney Wang.
“All right then, we have the parties sorted. Except the gentleman sitting in the rear on my couch. Are you here in some capacity, Sir?”
Albert Turkenov blanched. He had hoped he wouldn’t have to speak. But at this point, he had begun to think that maybe he, too, needed an attorney. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his sister Anastasia, but he was beginning to think he didn’t trust her husband, Jack, who had just weaseled his way into co-representing Albert’s mother, Nadia. Albert thought of his mother, unconscious and hooked up to a dozen tubes up at the Medical Center, and his face felt hot. He was worried about her and now was very worried about her assets, as he sat and watched the maneuvering here this morning.
“I am here because Nadia Turkenov is my mother,” said Albert. “And I’m wondering if I should be one of her conservators, too.”
“All right,” said the judge. “Has Mr. Wang contacted you at all about the conservatorship?”
“He served the papers on me.”
“Did you get a chance to discuss those with a lawyer?”
“He told me I didn’t need to.”
“When did he tell you that?”
“When I called him. I called him and asked why he was using Uncle Roy instead of me, Nadia’s son. I’m in business and I know about my mother’s assets and stuff. It seemed to me I should have at least been contacted first.”
“Indeed,” said Judge Mendoza. “So what did you do when he said you didn’t need to talk to a lawyer?”
“I didn’t talk to a lawyer. I trusted him. Except I think that’s wrong. I need a lawyer too. I mean Uncle Roy has one—rather, two; my sister and brother-in-law have one, but I don’t have one. Why don’t I have one? Who’s looking out for me?”
“That’s the question, Sir,” Judge Mendoza said to Albert.” He sighed and lit another Camel from the embers of the last one. He inhaled mightily and exploded in a coughing fit that all but rattled the window in his small office. “I think we’re going to continue this matter for one week so Albert Turkenov can consult counsel. Any objections to that?”
“Well, I object,” said Boomer. “I’ve made a trip all the way from Los Angeles today. I don’t think we should stop at this point. He’s had plenty of time to consult.”
“You have no standing to speak on the record, Mr. Magence, so we’re just going to ignore you.”
Which was the wrong thing to say to Boomer Magence, a man who wasn’t accustomed to being ignored, not ever.
“Ignore me? How can you say that! I’m sitting right here and I’m a lawyer and I have associated local counsel!”
“Did you not hear my earlier order, Sir? Your pro hac vice petition was denied. You are not admitted before this court. All right, everyone, anything else?”
“Then I’ll report you to the Judicial Ethics Committee!” cried Boomer. “I’ll have your black robe before I’m done!”
Judge Mendoza reached beneath his desk and hit the panic button. Then he said nothing but he returned Boomer’s glare. Minutes later, four burly deputy sheriffs burst into the office. Their guns weren’t drawn, but they were definitely ready to rumble.
“Officers, please remove this gentleman right here. He refuses to obey a court order and I feel threatened by him.”
The deputies went immediately to Boomer and each grabbed a limb. Bodily they carried Boomer out of the room. In the outer office, he was placed on his feet and cuffed. The largest deputy returned.
“What do you want done with him, Your Honor?”
“Just take him out to the sidewalk and turn him loose. But explain to him that he is never to return inside this courthouse. If he does, I’ll hold him in contempt and throw his butt in jail.”
“Gotcha,” said the deputy, and spun on his heel.
The remaining attorneys and litigants waited for the judge to catch his breath. Inside, Thaddeus was smiling. The last thing he wanted was that blowhard negatively impacting Dr. Sewell’s Flagstaff jury. Good riddance, he thought.
Dr. Sewell sat with his head bowed, chin on chest, studying his long surgeon’s fingers. He shook his head and broke the silence.
“That was unnerving,” said the doctor. “I’m sorry that happened, Judge. I won’t bring him into your courthouse again.”
“Not your fault, Dr. Sewell. The law business is often tense and people lose it. Water under the bridge. All right now, we need to take up the matter of the joint conservatorship, so I’ll move from the negligence case to the conservatorship case. Has everyone received notice of the petition for joint conservators? No? Then that’s the first thing needs to be done. Give all family members and other interested parties notice of the proposed change. Once this is done, let me know. I may set it for hearing at that time and I may grant or deny the petition sua sponte. Is that all for now?”
“What about discovery deadlines on the negligence case?” asked Thaddeus. “Shouldn’t we set that up?”
“Good question. Yes. Let’s complete all discovery four months from today. Which puts us at October nine. Is that enough time everyone?”
Everyone acknowledged that would be enough time.
“Then we’re in recess. Thank you, everyone.”
One by one the litigants and lawyers filed out of the judge’s office. The talk was subdued, following what all had just occurred with Boomer Magence. Thaddeus imagined he would never see the man again, and that was just fine.
17
BAT visited Interpol in Sicily. He spoke with Leonardo Nobilio, who told him
how, recently, Interpol had arrested one of Sicily’s most wanted criminals. Vito Asuncion Reynaldo was arrested and sentenced in Palermo to nine years in prison for external collusion with the Mafia. Reynaldo, who was the subject of an Interpol internationally-wanted persons Red Notice, was arrested in Bangkok 30 March by Thai authorities with the support of Interpol’s Fugitive Investigation Support unit and Sicily’s State Police. He had been returned to Palermo for trial and sentencing. There had been plea negotiations and the nine-year sentence resulted.
BAT listened to Mr. Nobilio explain all this at his office in Palermo overlooking the city square. BAT made his notes and then followed up with questions.
“Tell me, Mr. Nobilio, the name of the attorney who represented Mr. Reynaldo in the proceedings here in Palermo.”
A slight, balding man with a thick mustache covering all of his upper lip, Leonardo Nobilio scratched his jaw, “Why not?” he said to no one. Then added, to BAT, “The lawyer is Edoardo De Filippo. He is known as Lu Tacchinu, which loosely translates to The Peacock, for his taste in clothing. Very show-offy. His office is here in Palermo. While the file is sealed for the sake of our security personnel, please remember that you did not get this man’s name from me. He is widely known as the Mafia’s key legal representative here in Palermo, so if you were a regular in our city you would have known this and if anyone asks, you can ascribe your having Edoardo De Filippo’s name to common knowledge. Do we agree?”
“We do,” said BAT. “And let me thank you for that. Is there anything else you can share with me? Has this Lincoln Mascari crossed your radar yet?”
“No—no one by that name. Is there a picture we can run through our database?”
“No. But if I provide pictures, will you help me?”
“Definitely. Better yet, if you can provide fingerprints. Many of these hoodlums will pay hundreds of thousands for plastic surgery and change their looks totally. But their fingerprints—most never agree to that most excruciating pain. So I would begin there, with fingerprints rather than photos.
“I’ll do that very thing. Thank you, Mr. Nobilio.”
The man waved him off. “It’s nothing. We are always ready to accommodate the good guys.”
BAT grinned. “Thanks for seeing me.”
“We knew about it when Mr. Murfee’s three hundred million dollars entered Zurich. But after it went to the Caymans it was reshuffled and moved from there to Hong Kong in a thousand smaller pieces. We lost track or we would be able to do more for you.”
“Zurich to the Caymans to Hong Kong? That probably wasn’t the end of it, either.”
“Definitely, would not have ended there, you’re right.”
“Well, thank you again.”
BAT extended his hand and the two men shook. He then left the office.
He found a telephone book in his hotel room and quickly located the offices of Edoardo De Filippo. A twenty-minute cab ride from his hotel took him to the address. It was a street level office with a carved black door and windows with drawn curtains. He turned and looked back across the street and found what he was looking for: a downtown flophouse with very cheap rooms for rent by the week, day, or even hour. He headed over.
He waited for sunrise in Arizona and then called Thaddeus from his new room in the flophouse.
“I need another body over here,” he told Thaddeus. “Someone we can trust with our lives. Literally, because these people are the real thing.”
“Let me make a call or two. I’ll get back.”
* * *
Thaddeus dialed her number and waited. It was an hour later in Chicago and she would probably already be in her office.
“Chris? Thad.”
“Thaddeus! I was just thinking about you and Katy. Are you all right?”
“I’m all right. Katy is slipping every day.”
“I’m so sorry. You must be at wit’s end.”
“I am. Can’t sleep. Don’t want to eat anything. I’ve lost ten pounds, but I’d never tell Katy. It’s killing me.”
“I know it must be. I’m so sorry, Thaddeus.”
“Thank you. Look, the reason I’m calling. There is a very bad man living overseas. BAT is over there having a look around for him. And we need help. Not just any help, either. We need someone we can trust with our lives and the lives of our families.”
“Will we take your plane or mine?”
Thaddeus felt the tears come into his eyes. This one was a keeper.
“Let’s talk about that.”
Their conversation continued for another ten minutes on the scrambled phones. When they were done, it was all a neat, wrapped package and Christine herself would be in the air that afternoon.
* * *
The front desk paged and told him a Ms. Gulfman was there for him. Christine was quickly let inside the unremarkable hotel room by BAT. They hugged.
“Deserter,” she said, for BAT had recently worked for her in Chicago.
“Still pissed at me?”
She smiled and laughed. “You are impossible to replace. Did anyone ever tell you that before?”
“No, no one ever told me that. But it’s damn nice to hear.”
“Well, you are. So what do we have going on here in Palermo?”
“There’s a man.”
She sighed. “There’s always a man. What’s he done?”
“Kidnapped Sarai.”
She inhaled sharply and her back stiffened. “That’s who this is? Wonderful! Do we know where he is?”
“No. We don’t know what he looks like or what name he’s using, either.”
“Which makes it a bit more of a challenge but hey, I love challenges. Where do we start?”
“I’ve got a room across the street from the Mafia’s Palermo lawyer.”
“So our guy needs a lawyer?”
“We don’t know that. We can only hope he does. But I think he’s already used the lawyer.”
“Well, sorting through people who come and go in the guy’s office—that could take years before our guy shows up. There’s got to be a better way.”
BAT spread his hands. There were sitting at the small dining table at the curtained window in BAT’s room. They had called out for coffee and pastries, which soon arrived, and they made their selections. Soon, they were chewing Sicilian pastries, and sipping cappuccinos. The friends were thoughtful and unspeaking.
Christine wiped her mouth with the linen napkin.
“Okay, so. How do we find a man with no known name, living who knows where, wearing a surgically altered face? How do we even know that he’s in Sicily?”
“Because all Chicago mobsters flee to Sicily. They just do.”
“Okay, so we go online and get access to the records of all Sicilian courts. Then we search for Lincoln Mascari.”
“Why would we do that?”
It was her turn. “Because all Chicago mobsters, when they flee to Sicily, change their names. You with me?”
BAT’s eyes brightened. “Exactly! But how do we get access to Sicilian court records?”
Christine nodded. “I have some friends in Slovakia who can gain access to any computer system in the world. For a price.”
Without waiting, she dialed a number in Bratislava from memory.
“Jozef? Ama Gloq calling. I need your help with a name.”
Two hours later, Christine’s cell phone vibrated. She answered.
“Okay, yes. Let me write that down.”
She wrote three words on a sheet of hotel stationery. She held it up for BAT:
Salvatore Paulo Gaetani
“Can you help with an address for this man?”
More writing.
“All right. My office will transfer fifteen thousand USD to you tonight. Thank you, Jozef.”
She clicked off and turned to BAT.
“The court record was sealed, but that proved no problem for our intrepid helpmate.”
“So Lincoln Mascari is now Salvatore Paulo Gaetani?”
&nbs
p; “Exactly.”
“Do we have a location?”
Christine smiled. “My, you want the moon itself, don’t you, BAT?”
“I do,” he said and returned her smile.
“Termini. One hundred miles east.”
“What else?”
“I have the street and house number. If they’re still good. They were when the name was changed. They may or may not still be.”
“Well, shall we find out?”
“Can I take a shower first?”
“Go for it. I’ll see if there’s a Starbucks down on the street. I know how much you need that stuff.”
“BAT,” she cooed, “how sweet that you haven’t forgotten!”
“How could I? I kept you cranked on French Roast for two years by myself. I’ll be back.”
“I’ll be ready by then. I won’t be long.”
“Later.”
18
He would later say that, on his third visit to Nadia’s room, he felt her soul rub against his like a friendly cat. At that moment, he opened himself to her. She spoke as one speaking across the universe yet close by, it felt.
She told him her body was always cold in the bed. She told him the nurses were rough with her when they turned her. And that her children would argue about money back and forth across her blanketed form. But most of all she missed the light. She didn’t have to tell him which light it was, he would later say. He already knew.
He asked her how he could help.
Just set me free, she asked him. She wasn’t pleading with him, patient to doctor. She was speaking as his equal, soul to soul.
When he recounted these things later, at the jail, Dr. Stoudemire—the jail psychiatrist—rolled her eyes and the corners of her mouth curled into a small smile. Or grimace. Outside the open door where he was being held while he met with Dr. Stoudemire, he heard his words whispered back and forth and stifled laughter.
So Nadia told him what she needed. He replied that he would talk to her family and see. He thought surely they would let her go.
The Near Death Experience (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 10) Page 9
