Sideswiped: Book One in the Matt Blake legal thriller series

by Russell Moran

  “No, Rick. It’s the one part of your house that still looks like a house.”

  We all followed Rick into the large den. Diana was still quiet, limply holding my hand.

  “If you guys don’t mind, Jack, I need to have a private chat with the Blakes,” said Rick.

  He closed the twin doors to the den, and sat in a chair opposite us.

  “Rick, besides an attempt to kill Matt and I, do you have any idea what happened here?” Diana asked. She spoke in a monotone, her face still expressionless.

  “Yes, I do. I was tipped off by our inside mole (Imam Mike) when I was about five minutes away. I immediately tried to contact you on every number I had, but you folks were kind of busy. Yes, it was a hit attempt on you and Matt, Diana, the final hit attempt.”

  “Final attempt?” I said. “What are you talking about Rick? Do you think they’ll give up?”

  “Well, that brings me to a speech I hoped to give tonight, a happy speech. At 4 a.m. this morning an FBI SWAT team attacked a house in Connecticut where a top level al-Qaeda meeting was about to happen. Buster called me to fill me in on the details. He was part of the mission, on loan to the SWAT team. At the meeting were the four masterminds of their gigantic operation that they hoped to pull off in two months. It would have been nuclear suitcase bomb attacks on New York, Washington, D.C, and your home town, Chicago. That’s what all the secrecy was about, that’s what all the murders were about, including Jim Spellman’s. And that’s why they wanted to kill you two. But now, their mission no longer has operation and control, no more leadership. Actually it’s no longer a mission. In three other raids, also in the wee hours of the morning, SWAT teams attacked the locations in the three cities where the nukes were positioned. So the bottom line is that we killed their executive committee, along with a few dozen other personnel.

  And it went further, a lot further. I absolutely could not tell you two what I’m about to say because it was utmost Top Secret. We traced one of the conspirators to the White House. It was Mike Delancy, the guy you asked me about, Matt, the guy who plied your father with all sorts of questions about Diana before the engagement party. He was in on it. And get this, he was on the president’s security detail. That’s right, he worked for the Secret Service. He was collared this morning in the Oval Office. With the help of senior officials at the White House, including President Reynolds himself, we nailed him. We also picked up a vice president from Gulf Oil, the guy in charge of all the company vehicles. As you suspected, Matt, the enemy had an insider at Gulf Oil. They’re in custody, facing life or possibly the death penalty. Like I told you before, this is the widest and most serious conspiracy I’ve ever seen. It’s hard to imagine that it went all the way to the White House, the president’s security detail no less, but it did.

  And I guess you’re wondering how the enemy knew you two would be at this house today. Well, we found an al-Qaeda mole right in the IT department at 26 Federal Plaza. His name is Jason Mullin, that scrawny little guy who would go from computer to computer looking for problems.”

  “Holy shit,” I said. I had gotten to know Mullin the mole. Diana said nothing.

  “Actually, Mullin was looking for a lot more than computer problems,” Rick continued. “So they infiltrated the White House and the New York FBI headquarters. It doesn’t get any weirder than that, or any scarier. But the good news is that it’s over, it’s all over.”

  “Rick,” said Diana, “are you telling us that our lives are about to return to normal?”

  I would have expected her question to be accompanied by a smile, or at least a look of expectation. But she simply posed the question, as if she was asking for the time of day.

  “Yes, Diana. You and Matt are now graduates of the Witness Protection Program. First, there’s no longer anybody to put a hit on you. Second, their operation itself is over, so there’s no reason to want you dead anyway. I’m figuring that the attempt on you today was meant to coordinate with their top level meeting. They would have been thrilled to report the death of the Blakes as icing on the cake. Diana, Matt, as Buster said, you two are now free ‘to walk in the sunshine.’ Well, I’m going to put some ice on my friggin ribs. I’ll let you two be alone for a bit.”

  ***

  “Are you okay, Dee? You still look upset. Can I get you anything?”

  “Yeah, how about a gallon of gin and a ten pound bag of White Horse.”

  I held her face in my hands and looked into her eyes.

  “Dee, remember what Jake Monahan said, and what Bennie said, and what you and I always say to each other?”

  “I know, I know. Shit happens. But shit usually doesn’t happen all at once like this. I just want to rinse what happened out of my brain. I want it to go away.”

  She still had a vacant stare on her face. I hugged her but I could feel her stiffen at my touch.

  “Hey, Dee, talk to me. Stop trying to bottle up the shit that just happened.”

  “Matt,” she sobbed, “I just killed three people—three fucking people.” I was about to remind her that the three men she killed were intent on killing her, but I said nothing.

  Then the damn burst, thank God. Diana got hysterical crying. She wrapped her arms around me and sobbed. She squeezed me tightly, her face buried in my chest. I could picture Bennie next to me, saying “Just keep your mouth shut. Let her get it all out.”

  After a good five minutes, her sobbing stopped. I felt her shudder, the way a little kid does when she’s done crying. I wiped the tears from her face and she smiled at me—she smiled!

  “Sorry, captain. When it comes to combat, I guess I’m an amateur.”

  “Wanna know what I did after my first firefight, Dee?”

  “I’m not sure I do, but tell me.”

  “I cried, just like you did. After the shooting and killing stopped, I dove into the back of a Humvee for a little privacy and bawled my eyes out. All you just showed me is that you’re a normal human being, honey, a very brave but normal human being.”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  We both sat, calming ourselves down. Diana had finally snapped out of her trauma and was coming back to her normal self.

  ***

  “I can’t wait to get out of here, Matt. How about you?”

  As she said that we heard a knock on the door. It was Jack Fleming.

  “Good news, folks. Rick asked me to tell you that his neighbor offered his house to our group. He and his wife are out of town. The place is actually twice the size of Rick and Ellen’s place, so there’s plenty of room. Maybe you two can actually get a couple of weekend days off after all. I’ll help you with your stuff.”

  The place was great. As Jack said, it was twice the size of the Bellamy’s. And it didn’t smell of death and gunpowder. Jack asked us to pick a room. We chose one with a beautiful view of Georgica Pond. It also had a large walk-in shower.

  “I have two thoughts, Matt. Shower and sleep. Tomorrow we make love.”

  “Dee,” I said yawning, “I have to agree with your priorities.”

  “I’m feeling better, Matt, but the shit that just happened is still with me. I just want it to leave my mind.”

  “I get it, Dee, but that’s probably a bad idea. You know how Bennie always says that you shouldn’t repress bad memories. If you do, they’ll just keep having a grip on you. Just let the memories in, and they’ll go out by themselves.”

  “I hear you, Matt, but if it’s all the same to you I’d like to avoid gun battles in the future.”

  “It’s a deal, honey.”

  Chapter 56

  It’s been two years since Matt and I got married and were almost killed in that pretty vacation house on Long Island. I love not being a murder target anymore, and I think Matt enjoys that status as well.

  After our FBI adventure in the Witness Protection Program in New York, we moved back to our home town, Chicago. We put up with the shit winter weather, the crime, and the endless political corruption, becau
se we really love the place. It’s home. With part of my huge settlement from the Spellman case we bought a beautiful 3,000 square foot apartment overlooking Lake Michigan. We have a summer house in Kenilworth, also on the lake, about 20 miles north of the city. I bought my parents a great place in South Bend. They didn’t want to move away from their hometown.

  I successfully defended my dissertation at the University of Chicago, so I’m now an official PhD. Matt likes to call me doctor, especially when I do something stupid. My dissertation was entitled, The Endless March of Terror. I’m now a full professor at Northwestern. With my large settlement, I could leave the university and concentrate on writing, but I love to teach.

  With part of the settlement money I got from the Spellman case, Matt and I decided to set up a charitable foundation. I assumed we’d name it the Blake Foundation, but Matt, God bless him, insisted that it be called the Spellman Foundation. I’ll never forget what Matt said.

  “That huge amount of money came about because of Jim Spellman’s talent, high earnings, and the horrible pain and suffering he went through before he died. This foundation should bear his name.”

  Matt also came up with the perfect mission. We donate money to accident victims who have no insurance, and no possibility of collecting from a lawsuit. Matt would often say, after he won a gazillion dollar verdict for somebody, that he felt terrible for people who just got hit by some bad luck and were injured or killed with no place to go for compensation. Great idea, and one of the many reasons I love him. With Matt’s clout in the Chicago legal community, donations to the foundation keep pouring in. The net worth is now up to $35 million. I tried to raise money from my colleagues at Northwestern, but I noticed that academic types are all in favor of charity as long as the money comes out of someone else’s pocket.

  Matt and I are still clean and sober after our time in the wilderness. We almost fucked up our lives once, and we’re committed to not going back there. Sometimes it’s not easy. Life has a way of serving up surprises, and sometimes those surprises suck. After that unbelievable gun battle in East Hampton, I desperately wanted the consolation of mind-altering substances. I wanted gin, I wanted vodka, I wanted heroin. I wanted to get drunk, I wanted to get high. But Matt was there for me. He reminded me of something we always say to each other when life takes a bad turn—shit happens. It sounds vulgar, maybe profane, but it’s really not when you think about it. So you get a flat tire, a seagull craps on your dress as you’re going to a formal, the washing machine breaks down, the dishwasher conks out, you take a week’s vacation and it rains every day. So what? Shit happens. Matt and I call it the junkie’s prayer. Life will move on, and things will get better. But if you shove some dope up your nose, guzzle a bottle of booze, or inject some drugs into your veins, you’re not helping the bad event go away, you’re just fucking up your life. Matt and I don’t want to do that anymore. We still think of Jim and Maggie as our guardian angels.

  Matt and I love each other more than ever. I know it sounds like something from a romance novel, but I sometimes feel like our lives have actually blended. And yet there’s something more, something else that keeps growing. We also like each other. Yes, we like each other. I’m not sure what the difference is, but we just plain like each other’s company. Just as I did after we first met, I’ll often show up at Matt’s office unannounced, simply because I want to see him. And Matt often attends my lectures— without a disguise. Sometimes we go down to the lake and just sit on a bench and hold hands. And of course we have our daily game of catch.

  We love to help each other with our work. If Matt weren’t a lawyer, he’d make a great editor. He edits every article I write, and I write a lot of them. Suzie Cohen, my agent, told me that one of the reasons my articles keep getting accepted by major magazines and newspapers, is because they know that the piece is already expertly edited and fact checked.

  Matt was glad he had his brief flirtation with being an FBI Agent when we were in New York. He got it out of his system, as he likes to say. He’s now back at Blake & Randolph, a full partner, and one of the best trial lawyers in a firm that already boasts some of the best. He loves what he does, and that’s why he does it so well. He’s highly respected in the Chicago litigation scene, even feared. I can’t figure out why anybody except a terrorist would fear my Matt. But Matt’s feared because he’s at the top of his game, he tries a great case, and he gets gigantic verdicts. A magazine article described him as “Chicago’s new lion of the courtroom.” Lion? He’s a pussy cat, but that’s my little secret.

  When Matt works on a case, he prepares meticulously. I love helping him prepare for a trial, just like he loves editing my work. Friends tell me that they admire how I support Matt in his career. But when I sit through one of his trials, I don’t think of it as showing support. I’m enjoying myself, as much as I enjoy opera, the theater, a ball game, or a great movie. Matt is just plain exciting to watch. He’s the best show in town. If they allowed it I’d bring a big bag of popcorn to watch his trials.

  ***

  Coyle v. Ravitch was a big case that Matt had been working on for months. A 38-year-old man was hit by a truck as he crossed State Street in the middle of the day. He suffered severe compound fractures of both legs and one arm. He also has neurological damage. Roger Coyle held a good job as a lathe operator in a manufacturing company on the South Side of Chicago. He earned just over $95,000 per year for the past five years. He was unable to return to his old job because of his injuries. He and his wife Dolores have five children, and struggled to pay bills on Dolores’ salary of $40,000 as an administrative assistant. As he always does, Matt took on his clients as if they were family. Just like his father, he wrapped himself in their lives, spending days with them at their house. He also got to know their kids. When he entered the courtroom, his arena, Matt was ready to do battle for his people. As usual, I helped him prepare his opening statement, a chore that I love. The opening statement is the only part of a trial that can be rehearsed as if it were a speech, because that’s exactly what it is. Matt’s great at giving opening statements, and I love my role as his writer and coach.

  ***

  “Oyez, Oyez, Oyez,” said the bailiff in the quaint Anglo-Norman bit of legal antiquity. “All persons having business before this Honorable Circuit Court of Cook County are admonished to draw near and give their attention, for the Court is now sitting. God save the United States and this Honorable Court.”

  Matt stood and walked slowly to the jury box, his eyes glued on the jury foreman, who was a woman, his adorable hair flop hanging over his forehead. His 6’4” height, along with his broad shoulders and dreamy brown eyes made it difficult not to look at him. Matt always has a perfect feel for drama and he knows its importance. He starts to communicate to the jury before he opens his mouth. I knew what he’d say first because we rehearsed it and he always said it. As his father had taught him, “Don’t be cute with the jury. Hit them with what they expect. Let them know the solemnity of the law is around them.”

  ***

  Matt, in his deep, sonorous voice, stood with his shoulders squared off and said:

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury… achoo.”

  Oh, please God no, I prayed. Please don’t give Matt a sneezing fit now. This case means so much to him. Please don’t let this happen.

  “Achoo,” again. The jurors politely said, “God bless you.” But soon they stopped as Matt continued to sneeze. These weren’t little achoos, they were big window-rattling sneezes, the kind that first fill up your chest to capacity, and then erupt through your nostrils and mouth. They came in rapid succession. I felt so bad for my Matt. He kept sneezing, and I stopped counting at 14. Eventually, the sneezing fit ended. It wasn’t the way he and I rehearsed his opening statement. I could see that he was upset.

  But then, after dabbing the sneeze tears from his eyes and blowing his nose, he turned from the jury box, and slowly walked over to the spectator gallery, where I sat. He put his hands on
the rail and smiled, his eyes glued to mine. He actually smiled.

  Then he winked at me. I winked back.

  Shit happens.

  Cast of Characters — Sideswiped

  Andres, Miguel - Accident victim and client of Blake & Randolph

  Bauman, Bill - Automotive engineer

  Bellamy, Rick - Head of FBI Counterterrorism Task Force

  Blake, James - Founding partner, Blake & Randolph, Matt’s father

  Blake, Matt - Attorney, Blake & Randolph

  Bonner, Neil - FBI SWAT Team commander

  Bushariff, Muhammed - Imam Mile. An Imam from Brooklyn

  Buster - CIA Agent

  Carlini, Bill – Director of the CIA

  Clemmons, Bart - Former spokesman for the Energy Department

  Conklin, Dwight - Facilities Manager for Gulf Oil

  Delancy, Mike - Secret Service Agent and college friend of James Blake

  Donovan, Woody - Investigator, Blake & Randolph

  Escobedo, Jimmy - Music impresario and college friend of Matt Blake

  Fleming, Jack - FBI Agent and body guard

  Jackson, Angelo - Former Deputy White House Press Secretary

  Jenkins, Scotty - Associate at Blake & Randolph

  Jennings, Grace - Head of FBI New York IT Department

  Johnston, Josie - Law clerk to Judge Rubino

  Jonas, Mike - Physical therapist and heroin dealer

  Lonergan, Earl - Federal judge

  Marsden, Barbara - Matt Blake’s secretary

  Monahan, Jake - Director of the Monahan Institute

  Morgan, Harold - Defendant, Spellman v. Morgan

  Pierce, Maggie - Law student and friend of Matt Blake

  Randolph, William - Partner, Blake & Randolph