Mob Lawyer 6: A Legal Thriller

by Dave Daren

  “Took you long enough,” Anthony huffed when I finally answered.

  “I was in a meeting with Alessia,” I responded. “She gave me some of the information that she has on the car theft rings in Brooklyn.”

  “I’m not sure you’ll need it,” the mafioso said. “Jovanni has a name for us.”

  Chapter 5

  “Already?” I asked as I glanced at my watch.

  It was a little before noon, less than twelve hours since we noticed the car missing, and the capo already had the name of the guy who’d stolen it.

  “Jovanni doesn’t waste time,” Anthony chuckled. “He’s at his office. I’ll text you the address.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll head over right after I eat my lunch.”

  “Good,” my client said. “How did Michael’s case go?”

  I leaned back in my chair and tapped on the table as my hunger started to get the better of me. It was important that I update him, but the yogurt I’d had was officially out of my system, and I just wanted to sink my teeth into the meat and cheese that tempted me.

  “It went well,” I said. “The acting DA, Stephens, watched the video that I’d submitted and decided to drop the case.”

  “Perfect,” the mafioso said, and I could hear the laughter in his voice, which made me wonder what had given away the rage that was building in my chest as I watched my lunch get cold. “I’ll let you eat before you start snarling.”

  “I’ll tell you how it goes with Jovanni later,” I said.

  “You can do it at dinner,” Anthony said.

  My eyebrows furrowed together as I tilted my head to the side. I usually didn’t eat so often at the Febbo house, though I suspected it had something to do with Gulia’s frustration at being stuck in the smaller home and not being able to host all of her children and grandchildren.

  “How’s your mom holding up?” I asked.

  “Pops said he’s hiring an extra crew so that the construction will be done by the end of the week,” the younger Febbo chuckled. “I think he wants to keep her from adding any more changes, but he’s blaming it on the snowstorm that’s on its way.”

  “Convenient,” I said. “Alright, I’ll head over to your apartment once I’m done with Jovanni.”

  Anthony grunted his approval and then hung up.

  I pulled the massive Philly cheesesteak sandwich to me and then went to work. I had to lean over the styrofoam box that it had been packed in so that the grease that dripped down didn’t ruin my shirt, and I ate as fast as I could so that I could get out of the shop before it became standing room only.

  The afternoon was a little warmer than it had been in the morning, and I basked in the sunlight as I strolled back to my car with my hands in my pocket. I had the address for Jovanni’s office by the time my Mercedes AMG came into view, and I nodded to the uniformed officer that watched me as I unlocked my car.

  I typed in the address and then headed over to Manhattan. It took all of my self-control not to laugh when I pulled up to see that Jovanni’s office was located in a specialty butcher shop. I couldn’t believe that the capo filled the stereotype of the Italian mobster so well, and I wondered if he showed people the meat hooks as a scare tactic.

  There was a spot open around the side of the building where a little parking spot had been squeezed into the alleyway. My car barely fit into the spot, and I had to shimmy out so that I didn’t scrape the door against the black Impala next to me. I sighed, reached in for my briefcase, and then made my way back out to the street and the front door.

  “Welcome to The Butcher Shop,” a large man in a blood-stained white apron said when I walked in.

  The little bell above the door jingled as I shut it behind me, and I looked at the wall to see that the place was actually called The Butcher Shop. I wondered how anyone could find it, or if it was the most popular search, and decided that it was actually genius to claim the name.

  The shop itself was a little hole in the wall with white tiled floors and walls. To the left was a long glass display case that showed the beef cuts of the day. Straight ahead was a door into the back with a display of cheeses and wines, some of which I noted were from the Febbo winery, and to the right was a wall of chicken, pork, and freshly made sausages.

  The man behind the counter was exactly what I would expect of an Italian butcher. A large black mustache hung over his large lips, thick black curls were swept over his forehead, and he had plenty of weight around his middle. He gave me a bright smile as he wiped his hands on his already soiled apron.

  “Thank you,” I said. “My name is Hunter Morgan. I’m here to see Jovanni.”

  “Can I see some ID?” the man asked, and he still had the same smile on his face, but I’d noticed that his hand had moved over to the giant meat cleaver in front of him.

  “Sure,” I said as I pulled out my wallet, handed him the laminated card, smiled, and then waited for him to hand it back to me.

  “He’s in the back, Mr. Morgan,” the man said. “And might I suggest a nice New York Strip on your way out?”

  “That sounds good,” I said. “Can you wrap up a few of them for me?”

  “Of course,” the butcher said. “Anything else?”

  “I’ll have to ask my paralegal,” I confessed. “He does most of the cooking at my house. And Gulia has been feeding me the last few nights.”

  He perked up at the sound of the matriarch’s name. “Are you going to see her tonight?” he asked.

  “I am,” I said. “Do you have an order you want me to bring her?”

  “If you don’t mind,” the large man said.

  “Sure,” I said with a shrug and then waved at the beefy man and then walked through the swinging door into a small hallway.

  My head was on a swivel as I looked for Jovanni’s office. I made my way to the door at the end of the hallway since it was the most likely, but I came to a halt when another man in a bloodied apron came out of a door to the left.

  Cold air streamed out of what looked like a walk-in refrigerator, and I peered through the thick plastic strips to see the meat hooks and carcasses that hung from them. I wiped my suddenly sweaty palms on my pants legs as I shook my head. I could definitely see the made man using the huge room and not just as a scare tactic, and I made a mental note to never give him a reason to bring me in here.

  I forced my feet to keep moving as my mind went wild with scenes of screaming men and broken bones. Before I knocked on the door I took a deep breath in, and didn’t let it out until I heard Jovanni’s voice telling me to come in. I tested the handle and then pushed my way in.

  Jovanni’s office was a complete contrast to the sterile white walls and silver of the refrigerator. Red and gold jacquard wallpaper gave the impression that I’d just walked into a hunter’s den. The desk and chairs were a dark walnut that had been polished to a shine, and matching filing cabinets stood behind his desk.

  The made man sat behind his heavy desk with his focus on the computer screen that was angled in the corner. His attention shifted to me and time stood still until the intimidating man smiled and waved me forward.

  “Go ahead and take a seat,” the Italian capo said.

  I nodded, closed the door, and took one of the guest chairs. It was hard to look relaxed as I sat back, especially since my mind was racing with any reasons why this might be a trap. I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I shoved the paranoia back down and made myself breathe normally.

  “I hear you have a name for me?” I asked when the silence grew.

  “Yeah,” Jovanni said with a nod of his head, and then he reached over to grab a bright pink Post-It from his desktop.

  It stuck to his hand, and he held it instead of giving it to me, and I had to work to keep from clenching my teeth at the obvious power move.

  “You know,” the made man said and tapped the neon paper against his scruffy chin a few times while he narrowed his eyes. “I’m usually the one that handles things like this.”

&n
bsp; I wasn’t sure what to say to that so I decided to remain silent. I opened my hands palms up as if to say that I was only following orders, and then clasped them over my flat stomach.

  “Anthony wants you to take care of it,” Jovanni said as he handed the Post-It to me. “He’s been having you handle a lot of things lately.”

  “He has,” I hedged, and I could tell that he was irritated, and I knew that he’d been pissed when Anthony had told him that he was going legit, but his calm facade was more terrifying than when he had broken the window in the Febbo home office.

  “You’ve done well so far,” the capo conceded. “I’ll admit I was a little dubious when Anthony first told me about his plans, and your involvement, but you’re not bad for a lawyer.”

  I hid my shock as the made man gave me a compliment. He’d kept me under the impression that he didn’t like me that much, though he had seemed to come around a little after I’d knocked out the security guard at Vlado’s house during his and Anthony’s break-in.

  “Thanks,” I said with a smile as I took the offered piece of paper.

  “Chris Johnson,” the intimidating man said as he pointed to the Post-It. “He’s a low-level grunt. Usually makes runs for different organizations throughout the city. He specializes in vehicular acquisitions, and you can usually find him at that garage.”

  “Perfect,” I said as I stood. “I appreciate this.”

  “Sure,” Jovanni said. “And Hunter… be careful. I know you can hold your own. But those garages are filled with easy to use weapons.”

  “I will,” I said with a nod before I tugged open the door.

  I needed to make a plan before I went to find this Chris kid, especially if I found him at the garage. My time around cars had been limited growing up, but I knew enough to know that Jovanni was right, and that I would need to be careful of the tools that would be in easy reach. I had my Glock, and I was a skilled enough fighter, but there were air pressure hoses, drills, and wrenches that could easily become weapons of convenience.

  The fridge door was shut as I passed, but I still glanced at it as if it would open and reveal someone hanging from a hook with broken legs. I shook my head to force the image away and strolled out into the main shop. I nodded my hello to a middle-aged woman with her ten-year-old son by her side, and then looked over at the butcher who was chatting with another woman.

  He held up his finger to tell me to wait while he finished and then went back to the young woman. The sausage on the wall across from him was mentioned, and then he started talking about some choice cuts of lamb that he had behind the display that would work for the special dinner that she had planned for her husband and his boss.

  I let the man do his work while I wandered over to the wall of cheese and wine. A few of the ones that I recognized were from the Febbo family vineyard, and I picked out a bottle of red that I’d liked before I stared at the cheeses and tried to figure out which ones would work with the wine I’d grabbed.

  “I would go with the sharp cheddar cheese,” the woman with her child said. “And maybe a hard salami. Brie is also a good choice, but bold cheeses are the best with a red wine.”

  “Oh,” I said with a smile as I turned to look at her. “Thank you.”

  She had her highlighted blonde hair piled into a messy bun and a smattering of makeup on her naturally beautiful face. Her tight blue jeans showed off her shapely legs, and she wore a large shirt that fell off of one shoulder and hugged her thighs right underneath her bubble butt.

  “Not a problem,” she said with a bright grin. “Are you planning a date night?”

  “I am,” I said as I picked up the brie and the sharp cheddar.

  “Then you should grab some strawberries,” the mother said. “And this Sauvignon Blanc. It’s the same brand as the one you already have. They’re the best, in my opinion. Add the brie and a goat cheese, and you’ll sweep her right off of her feet. It always works on me.”

  She smirked and winked at me before she strolled over to the register with her basket full of lean chicken and turkey sausage.

  I walked over to grab one of the baskets, went back to the wall, and added the blonde woman’s suggestions. Next, I strolled over to the wall of prepackaged meats, picked up some of the hard salami and pepperoni, and then stood in line behind the mother as the butcher finished bagging up her items.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?” the large man asked when I stepped up to the counter.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Do you have Mrs. Febbo’s order ready?”

  “Of course,” the butcher said. “And I picked out four of the finest New York strips that I have.”

  “Great,” I said. “Any suggestions for how to cook it? I’m still learning.”

  The man lifted an eyebrow as he started to ring me out and bag all of my food.

  “Tommaso works for you, right?” the man asked.

  “Yes,” I said as I wondered how he knew about that.

  “He’s my son,” the man chuckled as if he could read my thoughts. “He told me about how he’s been using your kitchen. Says it’s a shame that you don’t use such a beautiful stove.”

  “He told me about that, too,” I said with a grin. “He’s taught me how to make some simple things already. He’s a really great cook. And an even better paralegal.”

  “He’s a good kid,” the proud father said. “He’ll teach you how to do these steaks justice. I heard you’re planning a date night?”

  “I am,” I said and was a little surprised that he’d overheard the conversation I’d had with the blonde mother while he was still helping the other young woman. Though he’d probably learned how to hear more than one person at a time so that he could anticipate the next orders.

  “Then you’ll definitely want to start with this charcuterie board,” the butcher said. “And then move onto steak. I suggest pairing it with some asparagus and baby potatoes. Tommaso will be able to tell you more about it as you get closer.”

  “I might pay him to make me some of those cannolis,” I said. “The last time he made them, they were a hit with everyone.”

  “That’s his mother’s recipe,” the large man said with a bright smile. “Alright, your food is in this bag, and Mrs. Febbo’s order is in this one. Make sure you tell her that I said hello.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “Thank you again.”

  He nodded and then turned to a frail older man with gray hair and a heavily wrinkled face.

  After getting my ID back, I strolled out into the late afternoon sun with both bags in hand and realized I didn’t have enough time before dinner to pay Chris a visit. Besides, I wanted to get the food into a fridge, so I climbed into my car and headed toward Anthony’s apartment.

  The rush hour traffic had already run its course, and I managed to just barely miss a wreck that looked like it involved at least three cars. I pulled up to the renovated warehouse five minutes before my GPS had expected me to, and I took the parking spot that had been vacated right as I turned onto the street.

  I grabbed the bags of meat, cheese, and wine, and trotted inside. The lift took forever, but I waited patiently, and even smiled and nodded to the couple getting off before I took it to the top floor. I knocked on the door and then strolled in after Big Tony opened it for me.

  Anthony sat at his dining room table with the phone to his ear and a frown on his face. It looked like he was in the middle of the argument, and he rolled his eyes at the person on the other line before he motioned to the refrigerator for the bags I was holding.

  “Sorry about that,” the mafioso said after his phone call had ended.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I talked to Jovanni. And picked up your mother’s order.”

  “Did she get all of that?” the younger Febbo asked as he walked over to peek into the fridge.

  “No,” I shook my head and grabbed a glass of water. “Some of it’s mine. Alessia’s going to come over for dinner soon and I wanted to have more than just takeout f
or her.”

  “Nice,” Anthony said. “We should head over to the townhouse. Mom will need the meat to get started on dinner. And Pops wants to go over some of the numbers for the grapes we’ve been using in the balsamic vinegar.”

  “Okay.” I nodded since I knew that the balsamic vinegar operation was Sal’s baby. In fact, that’s why I’d gone to West Virginia at Anthony’s orders. Turns out, it was cheaper to bring the grape juice as I still thought of it over to the States and age it in the old coal mines in West Virginia. It also helped the company avoid the usual import taxes in a completely legitimate way.

  “Big Tony,” the mafioso said as he turned to his bodyguard. “You should stay here. There are some people coming over. I need you to take care of the business we discussed earlier.”

  “Yes, sir,” the large Italian man said with a solemn nod.

  I’d learned not to ask what business Anthony was conducting when it involved enforcers, so I grabbed the bags back out of the fridge, and then led the way down to my car. My trip to the townhouse was my fastest time yet, and I parked the car right in front of the window to the dining room. I didn’t want to take the chance that whoever had followed me home would steal my car like they had Anthony’s.

  “Hunter,” Annie greeted as we walked through the door. “Lorenzo called and said that you had mom’s meat order.”

  “I do,” I said as I held up the bags. “Could you put mine in your fridge as well?”

  “Sure.” My client’s younger sister took all of the bags and then poked through mine while she made comments about it being an impressive selection.

  “Are you planning on wooing some unsuspecting woman?” she teased when she’d finished her inspection.

  “No,” I said with a wink. “She’s very aware of my intentions.”

  The youngest Febbo burst out in uncontrollable laughter as she shook her head and wandered off toward the kitchen.

  “She’s going to use that at some point,” Anthony said, and he smirked as he walked toward his father’s temporary office.

  “Of course,” I said while I followed after him. “I just hope that I don’t get blamed for it.”