by Dave Daren
“If I stay on, they will expect that Ben will be unhappy and that the family business will dissolve into a civil war,” Febbo continued. “They will then attempt to seize control of our businesses.”
“Any outsiders in particular?” I asked.
“There is a man named Jimmy Salerno,” Febbo replied. “He’s been working his way up the ranks of the Bonannos, and he’s been looking for ways to improve his stature even more.”
“I’ll certainly take a look at him,” I replied. “But you seemed certain it was someone inside your organization. Someone who didn’t want a civil war but wanted to take advantage of your departure.”
“Yes,” Febbo said. “Look, it sounds contradictory, but both are possible. Someone like Salerno won’t stop with framing Tony. He’ll peck away at the business until those that are left turn on each other. This mess will only be the beginning. But if it is someone inside my organization, then they don’t want the business to fall apart. They just need me to focus my attention on saving Tony while they take care of Ben.”
“And you have someone in mind for this?” I asked.
“Maybe,” he hedged in the first real reluctance he’d displayed. “I need to check a few things first.”
“Mr. Febbo,” I warned. “It would be best if you let us handle the investigation.”
“You sound like the fucking cops,” Febbo replied. “Look, I will bring you everything you need to know. In the meantime, you need to focus on protecting my son.”
“That will be easier if I have all of the information,” I pointed out.
“And you will,” Febbo insisted. “As I said, Ben will help arrange interviews and such.”
“But how will I know who to talk to?” I pressed.
“I’ll let you know,” Febbo replied.
“Mr. Febbo,” I protested. “That’s not the best way to do this.”
“It’s the only way this will be done,” Febbo insisted.
I started to protest some more, but there was a polite tap on the door and Febbo barked something in Italian before I could utter anything else. A young woman with blonde hair, brown eyes, and an impressive array of ear piercings opened the door and nodded to Febbo.
“Mrs. Febbo is serving drinks,” the woman announced in a heavy accent.
Both Febbo and I glanced at our watches, and I was surprised to see how late in the day it was. I’d definitely missed the meeting, and there was no chance I was going to be back in the city before the office started to empty out for the rush hour dash home. There was a moment of panic when I thought about Ovitz’s reaction to my missing day, but I reminded myself that at the moment, Liz and I were Anthony’s only attorneys. My other clients all had hundreds of attorneys available to work on their cases, and while the associates would no doubt grumble about having to cover for me, my most important obligation was to Anthony Lamon.
“Fine, we’ll rejoin the ladies,” Febbo declared as he clicked off the TV and then stood up.
The woman nodded, then silently glided away. She left the door open, which I took as a sign that Mrs. Febbo expected our presence sooner rather than later.
“Who was that?” I asked as Febbo and I stepped into the hallway.
“Katarina,” Febbo replied. “Polish girl. She’s my wife’s… assistant, I suppose.”
“And do you trust her?” I asked curiously.
“I don’t need to trust her,” he replied in a tone that sent a shiver down my spine. I sincerely hoped that Katarina never stepped out of line in Febbo’s household, or I had no doubt she would disappear into some swamp in New Jersey and never be seen again. If things went poorly with this case, maybe I would, too.
Febbo led me back to the same enormous room where we had first been introduced to the family. It was the same collection of people, with the addition of another pretty young woman who had to be the missing daughter Annie. They were gathered around a drink cart, where Gulia and Uncle Michael were mixing drinks and passing them around. Liz already had a glass in one hand as she chatted with Ella, my co-counsel’s long legs giving her a distinct height advantage over the Febbo woman. Katarina was there as well, perched on the edge of the sofa with a coke can in one hand while she stroked an orange tabby with the other.
“Ah, your business discussion went well?’ Gulia asked as she handed a martini glass to her husband.
“All is well,” her husband replied as he kissed her on the cheek and accepted the drink.
“Liz said you would enjoy some of our homemade limoncello,” Gulia said with a smile as she handed me a glass that looked just like Liz’s.
“I’m sure it’s delicious,” I replied as I took a sip.
It was, in fact, very yummy. It had the taste and tang of the lemon, but with enough sweetness to conceal the bitter. It reminded me of summer and lazy days spent poolside, and I actually felt more refreshed with each sip I took.
“I knew you’d like it,” Liz whispered in my ear as she sidled up next to me.
“It is good,” I agreed.
“Well, there’s wine with dinner, so you may want to skip the refill,” she advised.
“Is there grappa after that?” I chuckled.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if there was,” my co-counsel replied with a smirk. “Why do you think I’m nursing my own glass?”
“That is unlike you,” I agreed. “Don’t tell me you’re cutting back?”
“Have to count the calories these days,” she sighed. “The price of not making it to the gym as often as I would like.”
“And did you enjoy your tour of the gardens?” I asked.
“Mm-hmmm,” she murmured as Anthony strolled up with the woman I assumed was his third sister.
“This is Annie,” Anthony announced as he placed a hand on his sister’s back.
She was the shortest of the siblings, and she took after her father rather than her mother. She had thick black hair, dark eyes and the same square face as Salvatore, but unlike her father, she had enough curves to soften the look. She smiled and held up her own glass of limoncello in a mini salute.
“You’re lucky,” she declared. “You just have to deal with us tonight. If the whole gang was here, you’d have to sit through the fireworks as well.”
“The whole gang?” Liz asked.
“Cathy and Ella’s husbands and assorted children,” Anthony explained. “Dad doesn’t always get along with them.”
“Try never gets along with them,” Annie added with a wink.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Oooh, where to start?” Annie asked. “Well, Cathy’s husband Paul is forever offering business advice that dad doesn’t want. Cathy’s kids are little hellions that always break at least two things before they leave. Ella’s husband Kenyon is a DJ, so according to dad, he doesn’t have a real job even though he makes more money than Paul. And Ella’s son always hides under the table until it’s time to leave. Can’t say I blame him. If I could still get away with it, I’d hide under the table, too.”
“I’m sure they don’t care about that,” Lamon said as he glanced at me and Liz.
“Don’t worry,” Liz assured Annie and Anthony. “My family is just as hideous. My father once set all of my brother’s game cartridges in the driveway and ran over them with the car, repeatedly, after my brother got sent to detention for too many unexcused absences. Turns out, he was going over to his friend Bill’s house so they could keep playing video games.”
“Wow,” Annie laughed. “What’s your brother do now?”
“Plays e-sports and gets paid for it,” Liz laughed as well.
“What about you?” Annie asked as she turned her gleaming eyes on me.
“No siblings,” I replied. “And my parents aren’t big on emotional outbursts. They’re definitely firm believers in keeping a stiff upper lip even though the family hasn’t been English for at least a century.”
“Ouch,” Annie said. “That sounds dull, but after living here, dull sounds good.”
> “Annie,” her brother chided.
“It’s fine,” I assured the Febbo children. “It was dull, but it was good. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
“See?” Annie said. “Lord knows, we can’t say that.”
Anthony rolled his eyes, but we were joined by Uncle Michael at that moment. Michael’s toupee was starting to slide towards the left side of his head, exposing a strip of bald skin. Without hesitation, Annie reached up and patted the hair back into place, which drew an embarrassed chuckle from Michael.
“So, did you come up with some big strategy to save my nephew?” Michael asked.
“Mostly just talked,” I said as I sipped at my limoncello.
“Oh, sure,” Michael replied. “I guess Salvatore probably had some tips to offer.”
I couldn’t decide if Michael was on a fishing expedition, or if he really couldn’t come up with anything else to talk about. Or maybe he just figured being a part of the family meant that he was entitled to hear whatever anyone said to the attorney. I glanced at Liz, who hid her face in her own glass.
“I’m sure he does,” I finally said.
“Not awkward at all,” Annie mumbled.
Anthony jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow, so he definitely heard the comment, but Michael appeared oblivious to the observation. He gave me what was probably supposed to be a stern look, but mostly it just made him look myopic.
“I wouldn’t ignore Salvatore’s advice,” Michael warned.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I assured him.
Michael nodded sagely while Annie bit her lip and tried not to giggle. Anthony looked around the room like he’d never seen it before, but at least Liz managed to keep a straight face. Michael wandered away a few moments later, and then Cathy swept in and claimed Annie. Liz and I moved over to the sofa while Anthony was cornered by Ella.
“May we join you?” I asked Katarina who still sat on the edge of the sofa with the red tabby.
“Yes, of course,” she replied.
“How long have you worked for Gulia?” I asked.
“Nearly three years now,” she replied.
“And do you like it?” the blonde attorney asked as she took another sip of her limoncello.
“Oh, yes,” the Polish woman replied after a hesitation. “Gulia is lovely. I could not ask for a better… boss.”
“And Salvatore?” I asked.
“Mr. Febbo is… a busy man,” she finally replied.
“Do you spend much time around Anthony and his siblings?” I asked. “I mean, they were probably all gone by the time you started here.”
“That’s true,” Katarina agreed. “But they spend a great deal of time here.”
“So you do know them,” Liz remarked.
“Somewhat,” Katarina said with a shrug. “I know enough to tell you what foods they like and what type of clothes they like to wear.”
“And what’s your impression of Anthony?” I asked.
Katarina cast a sidelong glance towards the son, who slouched against the piano while Ella continued her one-sided conversation.
“He’s a good man,” she finally said. “He would never hurt that girl. He would never hurt any girl. He is not his father’s son.”
Liz and I looked at each other, but then an honest to goodness gong rang somewhere and the various members of the Febbo clan started to move towards one of the doors. I honestly expected us to end up in an ornate dining room, complete with candelabras and fine china, but Salvatore led us to the kitchen, a room big enough to hold my apartment and then some, and we sat down at an ordinary table surrounded by comfortable chairs. Salvatore, of course, took the seat at one end and Gulia sat across from him. The rest of us spread out along the expanse of wood, and I ended up between Anthony and Ella. Poor Liz was further down, caught between Salvatore and Uncle Michael, though she managed to keep her professional face on throughout the meal.
The meal was as amazing as Tony’s friends had all promised, and I had a hard time imagining that any family still ate this way at night. But, as I soon learned, Gulia insisted and Salvatore backed her up. We started with the antipasto which was a tasty platter of olives, fig salami, and paper thin ham. That was followed by homemade mushroom ravioli that were incredibly light yet packed with flavor. I would have been happy just eating ravioli for the rest of the meal, but then the cod with olives and tomatoes arrived along with a side of garlicky spinach. The fish was fresh enough to have been caught that day and the sauce actually enhanced the flavor rather than burying it. When I was convinced I couldn’t eat anything else, more wine was poured while Gulia prepared her amaretto affogato.
It was the most wonderful family meal I’d ever eaten, and a little bit of me was jealous of Anthony, though I also had to admit that I’d probably have a lot more than just a single spare tire around my middle if I did eat like this on a regular basis. Apparently, everyone was on their best behavior as well. There was some teasing among the siblings, but whenever anyone said something that was too mean, Salvatore quickly quelled it with a look. Anthony, despite his desire to be free of the family business, looked truly happy for the first time, as did the rest of the family.
It was late by the time we finished off the affogato, and I understood why dinner started on the early side. Between the chatter and the different courses, the meal had taken a lot longer than I was used to. Liz looked surprised as well when she checked her watch, though she didn’t appear to be in a hurry to move. I hadn’t heard much of the conversation between Salvatore and Uncle Michael, but she must have found something interesting in their discussions.
“Oooh,” Ella suddenly exclaimed. “I need to get home. I told Kenyon I’d review some mixes with him.”
Salvatore actually rolled his eyes but I saw the fiery look Gulia shot at him, and the elder Febbo held his tongue. Ella ignored it, though I’m sure she saw the eye roll as well. She stood up without comment and went around the table to kiss her family goodbye. The rest of the Febbo clan slowly followed suit, and I was starting to wonder if we would have to make our way to the nearest Long Island Railroad station, when Nunzio returned.
“Vincent,” Salvatore called out. “You’ll see our friends safely to their homes.”
Nunzio merely nodded, and after a round of goodbyes with our hosts, Liz and I retrieved our possessions and followed Febbo’s man back to the driveway. We had a different driver this time, an older man with salt and pepper hair who looked like he’d just lost his dog. Nunzio held the door for us as we slid into the back seat, and then he joined our sad driver in the front. The car started forward, the high beams the only light along the dark drive.
“You live in Brooklyn, Mr. Morgan?” Nunzio asked politely.
I felt another frisson of fear along my spine, and then tried to convince myself that there were plenty of ways he would know that. The most obvious was that Anthony had mentioned it, though I couldn’t remember telling Lamon that I lived in Brooklyn.
“I do,” I replied and then rattled off the address.
“And Miss Bennet?” Nunzio asked.
Liz froze for a moment, and I knew she didn’t want to give this man her home address. I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t very happy to have provided that information about myself, though I suspected they already knew.
“Why don’t you come to my place?” I suggested. “We can compare notes and decide what our next step will be.”
Liz nodded gratefully, and I caught Nunzio’s eye in the mirror.
“Just the one stop,” I said.
Nunzio smirked but didn’t say anything else. The rest of the drive back to Brooklyn passed in silence, at least to start, as neither Liz nor I wanted to discuss the case in front of Nunzio and the driver, and Nunzio was apparently content to listen to NPR. A rerun of Wait! Wait!..Don’t Tell Me came on and Nunzio laughed and offered his own guesses with gusto. Liz and I joined in on the laughter, but our driver ignored it all.
We hit a patch of stop-and-go traffic, bu
t eventually we made it through, and then we were closing in on the heart of Brooklyn. I thought the driver left the LIE too early and was about to protest, but Liz placed a hand on my arm. I sat back and watched in amazement as the driver navigated through the crosshatch streets, and then pulled up in front of my building in less time than if we’d taken the next exit.
“Petey here, he’s a pro,” Nunzio said as the car came to a halt. “He knows all the old neighborhoods better than anyone. Don’t you Petey?”
Petey grunted, which could have been an agreement or could have been gas. Since I was on the side by the curb, I opened my door and stepped onto the sidewalk first, then offered Liz a hand. She gave me a smile as she found her footing, and then sauntered towards the lobby door. I closed the door and expected Petey to peel away, but Nunzio rolled the window down.
“You two behave yourselves tonight,” Nunzio mocked as he watched Liz primp her golden bob in the reflection on the glass.
The car pulled away then as it cut off a Prius. The Prius honked but the Chrysler occupants ignored the whole scene. The Prius driver looked at me, but all I could offer was a shrug.
I joined Liz, and we sauntered inside the building together. Sulla had just come on duty and he smiled when he saw me, then somehow managed to smile an even bigger smile when he saw Liz grab my hand.
“Nice evening so far, Mr. Morgan?” the doorman asked.
“So far,” I agreed.
Liz pulled me towards the elevator, and I offered no protests. After Gulia’s idea of dinner, I didn’t think I could make it up all the stairs to my apartment. The elevator dinged and we stepped in together, the only occupants for the entire ride.
“Is it always this easy to get an elevator around here?” she teased.
“I wouldn’t know,” I replied. “I usually take the stairs.”
“Of course you do,” she sighed. “You always were a fitness fanatic.”
“I’m not the one who signed up for a marathon,” I pointed out.
“But you agreed to help him train,” she said. “Which is far worse.”
We arrived at my floor, and I led the way to my apartment. I managed to unlock the door without too much fumbling, then held it open for Liz. She stepped past me and the light near the door automatically clicked on. I hadn’t loved that feature when I’d moved in, and had even thought about removing it, but after too many long nights at McHale, Parrish, I’d decided to keep it.
