“No, then you’d be alone in the parking lot, and they might want to send you a stronger message. What gate do you use to leave the stadium?”
“Gate C.”
“Okay. Look for Marcus; he’ll be waiting there for you.”
The rest of the game would have been enjoyable, if I wasn’t so scared. The Giants put together a great second half, Manning throws for three touchdowns, and the defense comes up big. They win thirty-four to twenty-four, and Ricky is positively euphoric.
As for me, my legs do a lot of shaking, and it’s not from the cold. I spend the time hoping teams will call time-outs in order to give Marcus more time to get to the stadium. I’ve been scanning the crowd for some sign of the two goons, but I don’t see them. My fear is that they see us.
A bigger concern is that they could be waiting for us near our car. We weren’t in our regular seats, so if they knew where we were sitting, they must have followed us to, and into, the stadium. That means they know where we are parked.
Usually we’ll leave with a couple of minutes to go in the game, if it’s out of reach one way or the other. This time, however, we stay until the final gun, and then file out along with the mass of people.
Marcus is there waiting for us at Gate C, a fact that delights both me and Ricky. “Uncle Marcus!” he yells. “Dad, Uncle Marcus is here!” Ricky shares Laurie’s lack of fear of Marcus, and is actually crazy about him.
Marcus comes over and picks Ricky up, holding him in the air as if he were a paper cutout. He then puts him down, and whispers to me, “Show me.”
“Okay,” I say. “Not sure if they’re still here.”
We’re parked all the way at the far end of the lot. I like to do that so that it will be easier to get out when we’re leaving. I’m sorry I did that today, especially since it’s now dark out, but I’d be a lot sorrier if Marcus wasn’t with us.
We walk the long way with Ricky between us, and each of us with a hand on one of his shoulders. The entire time I’m scanning the people around us, looking for the two goons, but I don’t see them. I’m not great at recognizing faces, but with their physical size, I have no doubt I’d know who they were.
As we reach our car, the crowd has thinned out almost totally, since everyone else has already gotten to their cars, which are closer to the stadium. All of a sudden there the two of them are, standing against a car about forty feet from mine, which I assume is their car. Watching us.
“Marcus,” I say, and make a motion with my head in their direction.
He looks over at them, says, “Yuh,” and makes a motion of his own toward Ricky, and then my car. I assume he wants me to get Ricky inside. Marcus is not the most talkative guy in the world.
I start to do that as Marcus walks over to the two guys. It’s a little hard to see in the dim light, but they seem to straighten up as he comes over. They don’t seem at all worried, since it’s two against one, but they recognize the need to be prepared.
I get Ricky in the car, but I stand outside. It seems somehow cowardly to hide in the car myself, though I can’t imagine I will have much value to Marcus wherever I am. At least this way, I can see what happens and call 911 if things go badly.
Marcus walks right up to them, ultimately standing maybe a foot or so away. They separate slightly, so that one is closer to Marcus’s left, and one to his right. I assume they think it gives them a tactical advantage, which means they are not familiar with Marcus. For them to have a tactical advantage, they’d have to have a nuclear weapon in the trunk.
I have no idea what they’re saying, though if I know Marcus, there are very few syllables involved.
I can’t see that well, but it seems as if the confrontation gets more intense, and the guy who did the talking to me makes some kind of sudden move.
Whatever he’s doing, or planning to do, provokes an interesting response from Marcus. Marcus kicks his leg up into the guy’s groin with a force that, if he were inside the stadium kicking a field goal, would probably be good from sixty yards. Then he raises his arm, with his fist on the end of it, in an uppercut into the guy’s chin. It sends the goon back against the car, and then onto the ground, though I doubt he’s awake enough to feel his fall.
It takes his partner a split second to swing into action, which is a split second too long. Marcus comes across with his right elbow, hitting the guy either in the throat or the side of the head. I’m guessing it’s the head, because I don’t hear any retching, and the guy just drops like a stone.
I look around to see if any people have seen this. I don’t think they have, or at least no one is reacting. The whole thing was like watching a silent movie, albeit a violent one.
Marcus casually walks over to us and says, “Home.”
“You need a ride?” I ask, not knowing how he got here.
“Nuh,” he says, and waits there until we pull away. He’s got his eyes on the fallen goons, lying in dark shadows next to their car, but they don’t seem to be able or willing to move.
I call Laurie to tell her that we connected with Marcus and that we’re okay and on the way home. Ricky hadn’t seen Marcus dispose of the two guys, so I don’t want to describe all that just happened.
She’s waiting for us at the door when we enter. She asks Ricky how the game was, while hugging him so close that his mouth is pressed against her so hard he can’t talk. When that’s finished, she hugs me in a similar fashion, and I am not inclined to object.
While she puts Ricky to bed, I take Tara and Sebastian on our evening walk. The day’s events have really shaken me. I have always been a coward, but my fear when Ricky was threatened dwarfed anything I’ve felt in the past. It also makes me angry, an anger that washes over me as we walk. I want revenge, though Marcus already took care of that pretty well.
Tara seems to sense that something is going on, because instead of spending her time sniffing the surroundings, she holds back and stays at my side. Sebastian is oblivious to me, but does seem surprised that Tara is not joining him. He keeps looking back at her, as if to say, “There’s great stuff to sniff over here … what’s going on?”
When I get home, Laurie is waiting for me with two glasses of wine. I describe in detail what happened when we left the stadium. “Let me see the photo,” she says.
I take out my phone and show it to her, but she doesn’t recognize the two guys. She suggests that I call Pete, which I do.
“I can get used to those seats,” he says, when he picks up the phone.
“Thrilled to hear that,” I say. “I’m going to e-mail you a photograph; tell me if you recognize the guys in it.”
“Who are they?”
“That’s what I want you to tell me. Call me back.”
I send him the e-mail, and while I wait for him to call, Laurie and I discuss the situation. “First things first,” she says. “We need to make sure you and Ricky are protected.”
“I can take care of myself,” I say, but since we both know better, she ignores the comment.
“Marcus will stay with you, and I’ll be with Ricky. Once we find out who they are and what kind of danger they present, we can reevaluate if necessary.”
“They have to be Petrone’s guys,” I say. “I’ve been asking around about him, and it’s obviously gotten his attention. This wasn’t a chance meeting; it took a lot of effort and planning. They followed us to the stadium, knew where we were inside, and got on the line behind us. They are serious.”
“I’ll talk to Marcus and see if he learned anything. But my guess is they just told him to get lost, and tried to enforce that when he didn’t listen. They clearly had no idea who they were dealing with.”
“They do now,” I say.
The doorbell rings, which in the current circumstances is a frightening sound. Laurie stops at the closet on the way to the door and takes her gun out from the top shelf, where she keeps it well out of Ricky’s reach. I see her loading it as she goes to the door.
“Who is it?” she asks.
“Pete.”
Laurie opens the door to let him in.
“Are you unfamiliar with the concept of the telephone?” I ask.
“Sorry, but I just came upon a coincidence so great that I wanted to share it in person.”
I know where this is going, but I play along. “What might that be?”
“The two guys in the picture you sent me were found unconscious in the Giants Stadium parking lot a couple of hours ago. And get this, it’s the same Giants Stadium that you were at today.”
“Talk about a small world,” I say. “Who are they?”
“Names are Joey Manto and Luther Montrose. They’re hired muscle.”
“For Dominic Petrone?” I ask.
“I’m assuming that wasn’t a lucky guess,” he asks. “Now tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Well, I saw these two guys at the game, and they looked familiar, but I couldn’t place the faces, so I took a picture of them. I thought maybe they were in my high school fraternity.”
“Wiseass,” Pete accurately points out.
“Then, as Ricky, Marcus, and I were leaving the stadium—”
“Marcus was with you? Bingo … mystery solved.”
“As we were leaving the stadium, we heard a commotion, but we didn’t know that anyone was hurt, or we would have gone over to help.”
Pete turns to Laurie. “Tell him to stop the bullshit.”
“I can’t tell him what to do,” she says, and then turns to me. “Stop the bullshit.”
I nod. “I’ve been asking around about Petrone because he’s involved in the Brian Atkins case. He sent these two guys to threaten me, so I took the picture to find out who they are. Then Laurie called Marcus, and I don’t remember the rest.”
I’m not about to throw Marcus under the bus, and Pete has no desire to have me do so. “I’ve got a hunch this is going to be an unsolved crime,” he says.
“Certainly appears that way.”
“Do I have to tell you to be careful? That if they went to the trouble of sending these guys that this is important to them?”
“I already told him,” Laurie says. “They threatened Ricky also.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever seen the look that comes on Pete’s face when he hears what Laurie said. “They’re going to be in the hospital for a few days at least,” he says. “While they’re there, I’m going to have a talk with them.”
“What are you going to say?”
“That if they mess with Ricky, they will look fondly on what Marcus did to them in the parking lot. Because I’ll put a bullet in each of their goddamn heads.”
I learned something very important at the game, besides the fact that I might die soon. I learned that Denise knew exactly what she was talking about when she said that Gerry Wright was involved on some level with Dominic Petrone. I also learned that Petrone is worried about what I am doing and about what I might find out.
Those are facts, and they lead to my beliefs. I believe that Dominic Petrone is behind the two murders, because killing is part of his job description. I believe that the only way I can win this case is to get the jury to buy into that premise. And I believe that Petrone is going to do whatever he can to stop me.
And he can do a lot.
My first concern is Ricky. If anything were to happen to him, and I can’t even bring myself to verbalize what “anything” might be, I have serious doubts I could survive it, or would want to.
“His safety has to be the first priority,” I say to Laurie, which no doubt is the perfect example of preaching to the choir.
“Nothing will happen to him,” she says. Her voice is so intense and determined that I’m glad I love her, because I’d hate to go against her in divorce court.
“What did you say in bed the other night?” I ask.
She thinks for a few moments. “You mean, ‘Not tonight, Andy, I’m not in the mood’?”
“Besides that.”
“I don’t know. What did I say?”
“We were watching the documentary on the Cuban missile crisis, remember? Then we got to talking about Kennedy and presidential assassinations—”
She interrupts. “Now I remember why I wasn’t in the mood.”
“—and you said that if killers want to get to someone badly enough, even the president, they can do so.”
“Andy…”
“You know what I’m getting at?” I ask. “Do you see my point?”
“It’s not exactly subtle.”
“Look, I know you would do anything to protect him, and I understand you can handle yourself in any situation. But, and you can call me selfish for saying this, I don’t want you to take a bullet either.”
“So what are you proposing?” she asks.
I think she’s weakening under the onslaught of the Andy Carpenter logical mind.
“That you and Ricky go visit your Aunt Celia in Findlay.” Laurie went back to her hometown in Wisconsin a while back and reconnected with family, especially her Aunt Celia. She and Ricky spent two weeks there this summer. “You know how Ricky loves her,” I say.
“He’s in school, Andy.”
“She’s a fourth-grade teacher! She can homeschool him for a month or so, just until we get a handle on what’s going on. And you’ll see all your old friends.”
“What about you?” she asks.
“What about me?”
“You’re in more danger than Ricky.”
“I have Marcus. If Marcus was in Dallas back then, Kennedy would be doing Viagra commercials today.”
“I need to think about this.”
“Take your time,” I say, then, “What did you decide?”
Laurie’s not a big fan of talking and thinking at the same time. I know she’s really upset about what happened at the game, but she needs some time to process it. Since my talking is rarely conducive to processing, I take Sebastian and Tara for another quick walk. I’m sure I shouldn’t do it without Marcus guarding me yet, but I doubt that Petrone has had time to react to the Giants Stadium fiasco.
I stay alert and shorten the walk some, but as always I find it relaxing. Life is simple for Tara and Sebastian, and it’s a little simpler for me when I’m walking and watching them.
I get back home, but Laurie doesn’t seem to have come to any decision. I head into the den with the discovery documents; I will read them at least twenty times before and during the trial. I have to be able to draw on every piece of available information instantly, in the moment, when I’m in court.
The evidence doesn’t get any less daunting with each reading, and I’m not getting any closer to countering it. When I’m done, I read the information that Sam brought me, in terms of Wright’s finances and telephone calls he made or received the week of his death.
One of the names is familiar to me: it’s Joseph Westman, the hedge fund guy who killed himself and was called the “hedge perv” on the front page of the newspaper. It would make sense that Wright would be talking to financial people, but Westman’s violent death gets me to make a note to check and see if I can find any connection to my case.
It’s almost eleven o’clock when I hear Laurie call me from the bedroom. I put the documents down and head upstairs.
Laurie is sitting in bed and reading when I get there. She looks fantastic; she always looks fantastic, but somehow bed is her best venue.
She puts the book down and pats the bed right next to her. “Come here,” she says.
Oh, boy.
I almost fall on my face in my haste to obey, but I manage to make it to the bed intact.
“We have to talk,” she says.
“Talk?” This is not a good sign.
“Yes. What did you think?”
“Well, since I was faced with deadly danger today, I was hoping that you’d have a reaction.”
“What kind of reaction?” she asks.
“Well, I thought perhaps you’d want to ravage me. I can be very ravageable.”
“
I hadn’t noticed,” she says. Then, “I’ve decided to take Ricky to Findlay.”
“Good; glad to hear it.”
“I’ll stay with him for a few days, and then come back here and work the case with you.”
“Good. Tell me when you want to go, and I’ll book the flights.”
“This way I know he’ll be safe.”
“Yes, he will.”
“And I’ll be here to help you. And Marcus.”
“It’s a win-win,” I say. “Now, we were talking about ravaging.”
She doesn’t say anything; just stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Actually, you do look pretty ravageable,” she says. “How come I never noticed that before?”
“Better late than never.”
In one way nothing has changed, yet I know that everything has changed. The fact that Dominic Petrone has threatened me does not impact the job I have to do; I have to defend Brian Atkins to the best of my ability. That is a given; I can wish I had never gotten involved in the first place, and I do, but that boat has sailed.
I will go about my business, and Marcus will protect me, and the legal chips will fall where they may. Representing clients is what I do, even if I keep trying unsuccessfully to stop doing it.
But the long-term picture is just as clear, and it doesn’t bode well. Dominic Petrone is my enemy; we are on opposite sides. Making matters worse is the embarrassment he suffered at Giants Stadium. That is something he will not forget. Forgetting isn’t his specialty.
Marcus cannot protect me for the rest of my life, and Ricky belongs at home. Yet there is far from a guarantee that a resolution of the case, even if it ends in Brian’s acquittal, will eliminate Petrone’s desire for revenge. So my fundamental goal has changed. It will no longer be sufficient to simply use Petrone as a way to convince the jury that they should have reasonable doubt.
I have to put him away.
Fortunately, my first stop this morning is to see someone who has already tried to put Petrone away, permanently. The fact that he failed to do so is a concern, probably more for him than for me, but I’m hoping we can use our common cause to get the job done.
Outfoxed Page 10
