Dead Even

by Brad Meltzer

  “Wouldn’t that be great?”

  “You bet it would,” Lubetsky said. “Anyway, I just wanted to say congrats. I’m sorry about yesterday, but it looks like you’re turning things around. Keep at it.”

  “I’ll try,” Jared said as Lubetsky left the office.

  Jared reached into his pocket and pulled out the matchbook from the club. Gold letters spelled out TWO ROOMS. He hit the intercom button on his phone.

  “What’s up?” Kathleen asked.

  “I need a quick favor. There’s a club called Two Rooms on East Fifty-eighth Street. Can you ask Barrow to run a quick search on it and tell me what comes up?”

  “No problem,” Kathleen said. “Who should I bill it to?”

  “No one. I’m paying for this myself.”

  “What’d you find?” Jared asked as he anxiously leaned toward his speakerphone twenty minutes later.

  “Did you get the fax?” Barrow said from the phone.

  Before Jared could answer, Kathleen entered his office holding a small pile of papers. “Here you go,” she said, dropping them on his desk.

  Jared flipped through the stack of press clippings and real-estate records.

  “You’re welcome,” Kathleen said. He still didn’t respond. She was tempted to say something, but she knew now wasn’t the time. Instead, she left the office, closing the door behind her.

  “As you can see, it’s just the usual high-society nonsense,” Barrow explained. “There’s no sign out front, but it’s somehow still known by all the right people. And it used to be called Le Club, until someone finally had the good sense to change the name. Otherwise, the only things I can find are society column mentions and a few restaurant reviews. It’s a serious place, J—superexclusive. Apparently, it’s impossible to get in, which means the Ladies Who Lunch casually stalk the place on a regular basis.”

  “Is it private membership only?”

  “Don’t know—they weren’t answering the phone. If you want, the number’s on the top sheet.”

  “Thanks,” Jared said, still distracted.

  “Also, I looked up your friend Kozlow. Have you seen his file yet?”

  “We’re still waiting for it to come over from his old attorneys. Anything interesting?”

  “I don’t know if I’d call it interesting, but I’ll tell you one thing: The guy is one sick bastard. Anyone who uses a screwdriver to—”

  “I’ll read it myself,” Jared interrupted.

  “You have to hear this, though. He took a screwdriver and—”

  “Lenny, please, I really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

  There was a short pause on the other line. Finally, Barrow asked, “Does this have anything to do with what got you so upset at lunch?”

  “How do you know I was upset at lunch?”

  “Kathleen. She said you came back a mess.”

  “That’s not even true. I just have a lot on my mind.”

  “J, we’ve been at this a long time. You don’t have to lie.”

  “I’m not,” Jared insisted. “And even if I was, I’d never do it to you. Now how much do I owe you for the research?”

  “You think I’d take money from you? If I did that, Sara would starve,” Barrow said with a deep laugh. “If it’s important and it’s personal, it’s free. Just make sure you get the next dinner check.”

  “Thanks, Lenny.”

  “No big deal. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Jared hung up the phone and dialed the number for Two Rooms.

  “Two Rooms. Can I help you?”

  Jared recognized the voice of the uniformed attendant. “Hi, I wanted to get some information on your club. Is it private, or is it open to the public?”

  “We’re open to the public, sir,”

  “So that room downstairs—anyone can rent that for lunch?”

  “Sorry, we’re not open for lunch. Just for dinner.”

  Confused, Jared said, “I was just there an hour ago. I had a meeting with Oscar Rafferty.”

  There was a short pause on the other line. Then the attendant said, “There haven’t been any meetings today.”

  “Sure there were,” Jared insisted. “I even recognize your voice—you’re the guy who walked me downstairs.”

  “Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Believe me, there was no meeting.” A moment later, Jared heard a click. The attendant had hung up.

  What the hell is going on? Jared wondered.

  As he walked home from the subway, Jared felt exhausted. Throughout the entire commute home, he had looked over his shoulder at least thirty times, trying to see if someone was following him. On the subway, he had cut through three different cars, and just before the doors slammed shut, he had gotten off at the Seventy-second Street stop rather than his usual Seventy-ninth. As he headed up Broadway, he checked his reflection in every storefront window he passed to see if anyone was nearby. He then spontaneously started running. Not jogging. Full-speed running. Moving as fast as he could, he made an abrupt right on Seventy-eighth and ducked into the first doorway he came to—a narrow service entrance for the corner grocery store. But from what he could tell, no one was in pursuit. Maybe Rafferty was bluffing, Jared thought as he approached his home. Maybe it was just a threat to keep him in line.

  Jared walked into his building and pulled out his keys to check the mail. At his feet, he heard a quiet crunching. Looking down, he noticed shards of broken glass scattered around the small alcove. He used his foot as a makeshift broom and swept the glass into one corner. On his way upstairs, he stepped over more shards of glass. He saw the source of the broken glass at the top of the stairs: The large framed picture of sunflowers on the landing was smashed to pieces. Then he noticed that the front door to his apartment was ajar. A cold chill ran down his back as he stepped forward cautiously. Ignoring the crushed glass beneath his feet, he looked up and down the short hallway and checked the next flight of stairs to make sure he was alone. There was no one in sight. Slowly, Jared opened the door and peeked inside.

  The first thing he noticed was the overturned oak bookshelves that he and Sara had spent so much time putting together. Then the country pine chairs that had been thrown in the corner. Then the matching table that was flipped over. Then the ransacked kitchen.

  He headed for the living room, stepping over the hundreds of books that covered most of the floor. His Bogart poster was pulled from the wall, the cushions had been ripped from the armchair, the sofa was turned on its side, the halogen lamps were knocked over, the glass coffee table was shattered, the TV was facedown on the floor, the videotapes were scattered everywhere, and the plants were tipped over, their soil spilling onto the carpet. Although all six of Sara’s portraits of Jared were still hanging on the wall, their glass frames had been shattered. Oh, my God, Jared thought as he looked around the room. Not a single item had gone untouched.

  As he searched for the phone to call the police, Jared heard a blunt thud from the bedroom. Someone was still in the house. Jared scrambled to the corner of the living room and ducked behind the overturned sofa. From there, he heard the intruder leave the bedroom and walk toward the kitchen. Heavy footsteps pounded against the hardwood floor. He heard the stranger picking through the kitchen drawers. In the center of the room, Jared spotted a silver letter opener. It wasn’t far. He had to get it. Slowly, Jared crawled forward, carefully avoiding the compact discs that were scattered everywhere. Praying that he wouldn’t hit a creaking floorboard, he picked up the letter opener. As silently as he could, he climbed to his feet. He still had the element of surprise on his side. But as Jared readied his makeshift weapon, he heard the stranger return to the bedroom.

  Peeking out from the corner of the living room, Jared confirmed he was alone. He darted for the kitchen. Once there, he saw that every drawer had been shuffled through, and every cabinet had been searched and emptied. Holding tight to the letter opener, Jared leaned against the refrigerator and caught his brea
th. He was a sweaty mess. Hold it together, he told himself. Deep breaths.

  Ten seconds later, he left the kitchen. Quietly, he walked toward the closed door of his bedroom. As he got closer, he could hear the muffled sounds of frantic rummaging. From what he could tell, they were picking through the contents of the large dresser on the right side of the room. As anxiety gave way to anger, Jared arched the letter opener over his head and put a hand on the doorknob. He was shaking. On the count of three, he said to himself. One…two…Throwing the door open, Jared ran full speed into the bedroom. But as soon as he cleared the doorway, he felt something hit him in the shins. Someone had tripped him up. They were waiting for him. As he crashed to the floor, he let go of the letter opener. And before he could grab it, he heard a familiar voice say, “Are you nuts?”

  Sara stood over him with a kitchen knife in her hands. “I thought you were the burglar,” she said as she dropped the knife. “I could’ve killed you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jared said, climbing to his feet. He anxiously embraced his wife. “As long as you’re safe. Thank God you’re safe.”

  “It’s okay. I’m fine,” Sara said.

  “When did you get home?”

  “About ten minutes ago,” Sara explained. “When I walked in, I almost fell over. I called the police, then came in here to see if they got my mom’s jewelry.”

  “And?”

  “Luckily, they missed it. From what I can tell, they took the cash from the top drawer of my dresser, the gold pocket watch Pop gave you, and some of our silver frames, but they never found the jewelry.” Walking into the living room, Sara took her second look at the devastated mess that was their apartment. While she turned the potted plants upright, Jared noticed that his Chinatown knife was pristinely placed on top of one of the sofa cushions.

  He picked up the protective case that held his most prized collectible and noticed a small note taped to the bottom. His stomach dropped as he read the note’s three words: Shut your mouth.

  “They must’ve thought it was a regular knife,” Sara said.

  “Huh?”

  “Your knife. If they’d known what it was, I’m sure they would’ve taken it.”

  “Yeah, definitely,” Jared said as he pulled off the note and crumpled it in his hand.

  Picking up the phone, Sara said, “I still can’t believe this. I start working for the good guys, and some lowlife decides to rip us off. I’m going to call Conrad to make sure—”

  “No!” Jared said, cutting Sara off. Seeing the surprised look on his wife’s face, he added, “The police’ll be here soon enough. Then we can see what else is missing and figure it all out.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Sara agreed as she picked up a pile of books from the living-room floor. “But let me tell you something: If we catch the bastards who did this, you better believe I’m going to prosecute them personally. You touch my junk and cause me heartache—you’re asking to be kicked in the head.”

  “Yeah,” Jared said without emotion.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? You look terrible.”

  “What can I say? Our apartment just got broken into and our stuff’s all over the floor. Should I be thrilled with that?”

  “Of course not. But look at the bright side—they were gone by the time we got here, no one was hurt, and in all likelihood, we’ll never hear from them again.”

  “Yeah,” Jared said, all too aware that Rafferty wasn’t going away. “We sure are lucky.”

  “Meanwhile, tell me why you called this afternoon. What was so important?”

  Jared’s fist tightened around the note in his hand. “It was nothing.”

  “Guff said it sounded urgent.”

  “It was nothing,” Jared insisted. “Just an imagined crisis.”

  By midnight, the police had come and gone, the apartment was dusted for fingerprints, and Jared and Sara had cleaned up most of their belongings.

  “The cops seemed really thorough,” Sara said, lying down on the sofa.

  “They’d better be.” Jared sat in his favorite chair. “You’re one of them now.” He was trying his best to act unaffected, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his wife. If he did, something could happen. Something would happen. And it’d be his fault. It was in his hands. Searching for a smooth segue, he added, “By the way, now that we’re done with this whole mess, let me bring up another. I can’t step down from the Kozlow case.”

  Sara shot up in her seat. “What do you mean ‘can’t’? You’re a grown man—you can do anything you want.”

  “I’m serious. I can’t.”

  “Why not? Does someone have a gun to your head?”

  “No,” he said bluntly. “I just need to be on the case.”

  “Don’t tell me that, Jared. You promised you’d—”

  “I know what I said, but it’s not happening.”

  “Listen, the only reason Kozlow picked you is because you’re my husband. He’s obviously toying with us.”

  “Thanks for the compliment.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Well, regardless of why I was picked, Lubetsky found out that the guy who’s paying the bill has deep pockets. He figures if I take the case, we can get his other business as well.”

  “So let Lubetsky take the case. I’d love to smack his seven double chins across the courtroom.”

  “Kozlow wants me. And Lubetsky said he’s not letting me off the case. I tried, honey. I really did try.”

  “You didn’t try hard enough,” Sara said, raising her voice. “If you stay on this case, you’re messing with my career. And if I take a loss to my husband, I’m going to ruin my one pathetic chance to actually keep this job.”

  “Just calm down a second.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. You try spending six months sending out résumés to every firm in this city. You try getting two hundred and twenty-five rejection letters. In the legal market, I’m used goods. And since my self-esteem has already taken enough of a beating, I don’t need another one.”

  “Hold on a second,” Jared said as he sat down next to his wife. “Do you really think I’m doing this to jeopardize your career? Sara, you’re the most important thing in the world to me. I’d never do anything to hurt you. I just…” Jared’s voice trailed off.

  “You just what?”

  “Nothing, I…”

  “What?” Sara demanded. “Say it already.”

  Jared paused a moment. Finally, he said, “Lubetsky told me that if I don’t take the case and bring this guy in as a client, I won’t make partner. I’ll be fired on the spot.”

  Sara was stunned. “Are you kidding? He said that to you?”

  “After what happened yesterday, this is his line in the sand. They’re voting on me in the next six months. In my six and a half years at the firm, I haven’t brought in a single client.”

  “But you’ve handled some of their biggest—”

  “Those were other people’s cases. Now I have to have my own cases. And the bottom line in a law firm is the bottom line. It may be a group of lawyers, but it’s still a business. If I can’t make that business grow, I’ll be in the same position you were six months ago.”

  Sara was silent.

  Hoping to exploit his opening, Jared continued to hammer away. “I don’t know what else to do. With all your loans, we can’t afford to—”

  “They’re really going to fire you?”

  “That’s what he said,” Jared replied. “I know it might hurt you if you lose, but by then, your office will realize what a thorough prosecutor you are. They’re not going to get rid of you just because you lost your first case.”

  “Who said I’m going to lose?” Sara asked with a strained smile.

  Jared breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, honey. I really appreciate what you’re doing.”

  “I’m not doing anything. If you’re on the opposite side, I’m still goin
g to come at you with guns blazing.”

  “I wouldn’t expect any less.”

  Sara got up from the sofa and followed her husband out of the room. As they walked toward the bedroom, Sara asked, “So if Kozlow’s not paying his own bill, who’s signing the check?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” Jared said defensively as he entered the bedroom. “You’re the enemy.”

  “Uh-oh, here we go,” Sara said. “Now the real battle begins.”

  Leaning back in his seat and staring at the small black receiver on his desk, Rafferty smiled. “Well?”

  “Sounds like round one goes to our boy,” the other man said as he took off his headphones. “He really knows how to pull her strings.”

  “That’s why we picked him,” Rafferty said. “Now we just have to hope he can do the same thing in court.”

  “And if he can’t?”

  “I’m not entertaining that thought.”

  “But Kozlow said—”

  “Don’t even bring him up. I should put him through a wall for what he did.”

  “And I’m sure you would—except for the small fact that he’d rip your head off first.”

  Rafferty ignored the comment. “Don’t let him intimidate you. He was smart to go with the burglary idea, but that doesn’t solve our problems. Until Kozlow wins, we’re all in trouble. So regardless of what I have to do, he’s going to win.”

  At a quarter to two in the morning, Jared was lying awake in bed. In the past hour, he had dozed off four times. But each time, just as he was about to lose consciousness, just as he was about to forget it all, he was jolted awake. And in that single moment, it all came back again. Each time, he instinctively turned to his wife. He watched the rise and fall of her chest to make sure she was breathing. That was all he cared about. As long as she was safe, he could handle the rest.

  By seven o’clock Wednesday morning, Jared was standing on the subway platform, waiting for the train. Avoiding the edge of the platform, he spent most of his time checking over his shoulder and scanning the crowd. The man wearing the blue shirt and red tie looked unusually suspicious. So did the man wearing the olive suit. So did the woman reading the newspaper and the younger man with the headphones. Backing away from the crowd of strangers, Jared tried not to let his fears get the best of him. But as new commuters filled the platform, he found himself jumping at every random glance. Finally, he turned around, left the station, and hailed a cab.