CHAPTER FIFTY THREE
He would have preferred the Hampton Luxury Liner or even the Hampton Ambassador, but Brent Krane didn’t have enough money and the crowd needed to get out of the damn rental. So, he packed his bag and paid $24 for a seat on the Hampton Jitney. It was still an upgrade over a city bus, but he had to settle for goldfish crackers and water rather than the wine and cheese offered on the Hampton Luxury Liner or the Ambassador.
It was hard having good taste and being poor at the same time, thought Brent, which the crowd found amusing.
Their laughter was a break from the screams and taunts he had endured over the past few weeks. As the trial approached, the crowd had become more abusive. They promised him that there would be no sleep until he returned to New York and confronted Michael Collins. They wanted their revenge for ruining his life. They didn’t like taking orders from his sister. They didn’t like being caged. The rental in Montauk reminded the crowd too much of the fancy treatment facilities Brent’s parents had been sending him to since he hit puberty.
The rage built. Brent Krane felt himself rising.
He glanced around, checking to make sure nobody was looking. Then he carefully lifted up his sleeve. His forearm was covered with cuts, each at different stages of healing.
There wasn’t any more room on his flesh to release the pressure that way. His actions would be his opportunity for release. His actions would be his salvation.
Brent Krane unzipped the top of his duffle bag. He stuck his hand inside, groping through the dirty clothes. Then he felt it. His fingers pulled at the T-shirt, and, without taking it out of the bag, Brent unwrapped the gun. He put his hand on the grip and his finger on the trigger. It felt good. It felt better than that stupid knife. He held it tightly, allowing the gun to help him focus on the end.
Brent Krane leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. His right hand still held the gun, concealed by the duffle bag. He thought about how he felt after starting the fire at the Sunset. He thought about how he felt when he saw the explosion, and then he tried to recapture the calm. Maybe he didn’t need to cut.
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR
Andie and Kermit walked into the rental feeling like kids who didn’t get asked to the big dance.
“Well that was quick.” Andie took off her jacket and put it on the couch. “I don’t like leaving Michael there alone.” She clapped her hands together and rubbed. “But we’ve got some work to do.”
Kermit had already fetched himself a bottle of beer, opened it, and had consumed about half on his way back to the living room.
“I know what you’re saying, yo. Michael don’t belong in a courtroom. Courtrooms are, like, too quiet.” Kermit plopped down on the couch. “The judge needs to put on some music during those down times. Let the people dance or something. Zumba would be good. People need to Zumba more in court.”
He took another sip of beer, and then glanced down the hall toward Quentin’s office. “So you want me to get the box?”
Andie nodded. “It’s either that or going back upstairs and getting out the razor.”
“Making me pick the poison.” Kermit shook his head in disgust. “Not nice.” He chugged the remainder of his beer, and then pulled himself up from the couch. “Guess it’s the box, yo.”
###
Kermit picked up the white cardboard document box in Quentin’s office. He hauled it down the hallway. Thousands of such ubiquitous boxes filled storage rooms in law firms and government agencies throughout the United States. They were the perfect size: large enough to hold a significant amount of paper, but small enough to never become too heavy for one person, even an overweight and out-of-shape attorney, to carry.
Kermit put the box down on the kitchen table.
Andie stood next to him as Kermit took off the lid, and then they stared at the stacks of paper inside.
“Ready?” Andie asked.
“Ready Freddy.” Kermit started to unload the paper. The box was filled with the various Securities and Exchange Commission filings and audits that Michael had printed every day for the past two months and given to Quentin during their daily attorney-client conferences.
Andie and Kermit weren’t exactly sure what they were looking for, but, after three hours, Andie was sure that she had found it.
“Check this out.” Andie handed the papers to Kermit. “This has got to be it.”
The document was a ten-page legal agreement signed by Michael.
Kermit read it a few times. “What the hell does this mean?”
Andie shook her head.
“Don’t really know.” She leaned over and pointed to the space next to Michael’s signature. “But we need to get this other signature.”
Kermit rubbed his chin, looking at the blank signature block. “Isn’t that dude dead?”
Andie nodded. “Yep.”
Kermit cocked his head to the side, thinking. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE
With all of the potential witnesses excluded, the courtroom was less crowded. Michael was disappointed to see Andie and Kermit leave and equally disappointed to see Brea Krane’s attorney, Tad Garvin remain. But he took particular delight when Agent Vatch was forced to roll away. He knew that Vatch wanted to savor every moment of the trial.
After the exodus, the courtroom settled back into the mechanics of a trial.
A message was sent down to the jury room by Judge Husk’s law clerk. Thirty potential jurors were commanded to put away their paperback novels, magazines, and iPads. They were required to throw away their unfinished sodas and coffee. Then they were ordered to meander toward a bank of elevators and come up to a courtroom somewhere in the building where their services may be needed.
Some were happy to be moving, excited about the possibility of seeing a real trial like on television. Others were thinking up subtly racist comments or biases that would result in them being struck from the jury and sent home.
In sum, the jurors were largely comprised of morally ambivalent schemers. A jury of his peers, Michael thought.
###
“Please rise.” The people rose as the potential jurors filed into the courtroom. A clerk read a list of names, and these people were directed to the open seats in the jury box. The remainder of the jury pool were directed toward two open benches off to the side of the box.
“Jurors, please remain standing.” Judge Husk then turned away from the jurors to the attorneys and others in the courtroom. He raised his shaking hand. “You all may have a seat.” He gestured for them to sit, lowering his hand.
“I am Judge Harold G. Husk.” The judge paused and rubbed his chin. “I’m going to now swear you all in.”
As Judge Husk continued talking to the jurors about the rules and expectations, Michael watched as life came back into the old man. He was still frail and spoke softly, but the jurors were riveted. There was an immediate bond. They listened as if Judge Husk sat at the head of a Thanksgiving table, telling stories about the days before electronic screens, large and tiny, dominated every aspect of daily life.
When the judge had first emerged from the back and took the bench, Michael had wondered how Judge Husk could possibly manage a trial and keep attorneys in line. Now he knew: the jury.
None of the attorneys were going to want to upset the jurors by being rude to Judge Husk, and as Michael listened to Judge Husk, it was as if Moses was reading the Ten Commandments. Rather than weak, his voice took on a mystical tone.
“Now, we’re about to begin voir dire. The process of selecting a juror. If you are not selected, it does not mean that you are bad or unfair. It just means that you may not be right for this jury. Obviously all of you cannot sit on this panel.” Judge Husk picked up a tissue and rubbed his nose. “This is a criminal trial.” Judge Husk shifted. He looked at the prosecutor’s table. “The United States Government is represented by Ms. Brenda Gadd. Could you please stand?”
Brenda Gadd stood. She offered the jury
her best smile, but she was careful not to smile too much. She couldn’t be perceived as too soft.
“The defendant is represented by Mr. Quentin Robinson.” Judge Husk looked toward the defense table as Quentin stood. “And the Defendant is Mr. Michael John Collins.”
Michael stood, briefly, and then both he and Quentin sat back down.
“My clerk is going to distribute a written jury questionnaire. You all are instructed to fill out this questionnaire and you are under oath. You are to answer the questions truthfully and honestly.” Judge Husk took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and collected his final thoughts.
“When you are done,” Judge Husk opened his eyes. “Give the questionnaire back to my clerk, and then you are free to go for the day. You are to return tomorrow morning at 8:00 am so that I may ask you more questions. Do not discuss this matter amongst yourselves. Do not conduct any independent research about any of the attorneys or the defendant. Do not conduct any legal research, nor should you discuss this case with family members or friends. If they ask what you are doing, simply respond by saying that you are a potential juror in a criminal case and that is all.”
Judge Husk paused again. It was obvious that he was getting tired. “Now, finally, you are all likely wondering how long this will last.” Judge Husk shook his head. “The honest answer is that I do not know.” Judge Husk scanned the jurors, ensuring that they followed every word that he spoke. “But I assure you all that the trial will be completed as quickly as possible. I start on time, and often work late. I do not tolerate duplication and redundancy.” Judge Husk smiled. “And, at my age, frankly, I don’t have a lot of time left to waste.”
CHAPTER FIFTY SIX
The taxi dropped Kermit Guillardo off in front of a Chinese bake shop near the corner of Mott and Pell. Andie rolled down the back window and leaned her head out. “Meet you at Jay’s Diner in an hour.”
Kermit nodded. “Sure thing, senorita.” He winked, pointed at the large envelope in his hand, and gave a thumbs up. “This mission is in capable hands.” Then he turned, and walked down the crowded street.
Andie watched him. Easily a foot taller than most of the other people in Chinatown, Kermit wasn’t difficult to follow.
When Kermit disappeared around a corner, Andie instructed the cab driver to go.
“Where to?” The cabbie shifted the car into gear and he pulled away from the curb.
“Columbus Park.”
“Easy enough.” The street was too narrow to turn around. So the cab driver followed it down to Worth and then over to Mulberry.
Traffic was tight, because traffic was always tight. But, at least the line of cars and trucks moved forward. That was all anybody hoped for.
It took ten minutes to go less than a mile. Andie thought about just getting out of the cab and walking, but they arrived at the park just as her patience neared the end.
The cab driver pressed a button on the meter box, Andie paid, and then she got out. She wasn’t quite sure where she was going, and so Andie decided to just pick a path.
For years, Columbus Park had been a forgotten plot of land. The park system had allowed it to deteriorate. There weren’t many people engaging in legal activities at the park, and there had been nothing to do except run around on a large, cracked concrete slab.
Now, as Andie walked through the park over to some benches and a kids’ play area, Columbus Park was a true extension of Chinatown. There was still a healthy percentage of crazy, but the park had been restored. It was filled with families enjoying a little space and solitude. Musicians and singers entertained on the edges, and a contingent of older men, who all took checkers extremely seriously, dominated the center.
Andie sat down. As one of the few white faces in the park, Andie questioned whether this was really a good place to meet.
She checked her watch, and decided that there wasn’t enough time to find another location. So, Andie removed the cell phone from her purse. She scrolled down the numbers that Michael had pre-programmed into the contact directory, and then Andie found the one she wanted.
She pressed a button. The connection was made, and, after two rings, there was an answer.
“Hey.” Andie looked around, checking to make sure there wasn’t anybody listening. “I’m past the pavilion near the children’s playground.”
Then Andie hung up.
Brea Krane was coming. She’d be there in thirty minutes.
###
Hoa Bahns was no longer located in a back alley. It’s discovery years ago by Agent Vatch never resulted in criminal charges, but it did force the owner to rethink his business model. Many of the services provided by the original Hoa Bahns were still provided, but the delivery was more discreet.
Kermit found it squeezed between the Ginseng Company and a shoe store that prominently displayed counterfeit Nikes at a very affordable price.
Hoa Bahns’ storefront was a polished maroon stone. In the window, there were various bottles of lotions, shampoos, and gels. One of the oldest unregulated banks in Chinatown was now a nondescript pharmacy.
Kermit Guillardo walked inside. There was nobody in the store, which seemed to be the goal. Every item in the store was priced five times higher than what the product should cost, and Kermit wondered whether the bored cashier would even know how to operate the cash register if Kermit decided to buy some deodorant, not that he believed in deodorant or wasted money on such substances.
Kermit walked to the very back of the store. There was a sign, “Prescriptions Filled Here.” A man in a white doctor’s jacket stood behind the window. He looked like a regular pharmacist, except for a long scar that ran from the corner of his eye, down his cheek, and over to his chin.
“I need this filled.” Kermit put his large manila envelope down on the counter.
“You have an account here?” The pharmacist’s eyes narrowed as he evaluated Kermit. “Only people with account can have prescriptions filled.”
Kermit nodded. “It’s not for me,” he said. “My friend has an account.”
“Friend?”
“Michael Collins.”
The pharmacist didn’t say a word. He just shook his head and made a clucking sound. “Don’t think so.”
“It’s important,” Kermit said. “All the paperwork is here.” Kermit slid the envelope through the small opening at the bottom of the glass window. “And of course I’m willing to pay.”
The pharmacist’s eyebrows rose. “I take it and see.”
“That’s all I ask,” Kermit said, then he turned and walked away.
###
Brea Krane sat down next to Andie. “Glad you finally came to your senses.”
“It just makes me nervous.” Andie’s eyes scanned the people in the park as well as the vehicles parked along the street, wondering whether Agent Vatch or some other investigator was watching.
“But it’s necessary,” Brea said. “Do you have it?”
“I do.” Andie took a folded sheet of paper out of her pocket. “These are the accounts and one of the passwords. They’re in the Cook Islands. Seems like that’s the only place left that doesn’t really care what a court order in the United States says.”
Brea took the paper and put it into her purse. “Is any of the money accessible?”
Andie nodded. “The first account is available to you now. Michael calls it a down payment.” Andie took a breath. “We’ll give you the other two passwords and you can transfer it when you’ve fulfilled your end of the deal.”
“How much?”
Andie shook her head. “About fifteen million. These are the only accounts the government hasn’t frozen, and there’s still a risk. I mean, just because the government can’t get at it, doesn’t mean they aren’t watching it. There’s a risk to you.”
Brea laughed. “There’s no risk. As soon as I’ve got it all transferred, I’m gone. I’ll be perfectly content to never step foot on American soil again. Your boyfriend should’ve had the same attitude.”
“So what’s next?” Andie tried to hurry the meeting along.
“My brother is still holed up in Montauk. I’ve been feeding him a steady stream of pot and free food, so that should keep him under control until the trial is done.”
“Good.” Andie nodded.
The meeting was ending, and Brea stood.
“But I want it all upfront.” She looked at Andie. “Before I testify. I want it all.”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
Brea shook her head. “You either give me the money upfront or the deal is off.”
CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN
It took another two days before the jury was selected. Michael’s heart pounded through his chest as he watched the jurors stand, raise their right hands, and take another oath to follow the court’s instructions and deliberate fairly.
These were the people who would decide his fate.
Judge Husk coughed into a handkerchief and concluded. “Do you promise to faithfully execute the duties and responsibilities of a juror for the Federal District Court of the State of New York and administer those duties to the best of your abilities?”
In unison, the jurors agreed, lowered their hands, and sat down.
“Very well.” Judge Husk nodded his head. “Then I see no reason to delay.” He looked at the prosecutor’s table. “Ready?”
United States Attorney Brenda Gadd stood. “I am, Your Honor.”
“Then proceed.”
Gadd walked up to a podium in the center of the courtroom, but it wasn’t an ordinary podium. This was federal court. A mere wooden stand for an attorney to put his or her notes was inadequate. This podium was outfitted with its own computer, projector, and touch screen. The thousands of documents that had been dumped on Quentin when the case had first begun were now pre-loaded into the podium’s computer. Each document image was one-click away, if Gadd needed any of the documents at any point during the trial.
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