Mob Lawyer

by Dave Daren

  “Cool,” Liz laughed as she did a twirl in the glow from the lamp. “And you don’t even have to clap.”

  “It’s been nice,” I replied. “I don’t have to search for the light switch when I step inside.”

  With that, I moved around my tiny living room and switched on lights. I dropped my briefcase on the table and invited Liz to do the same with a wave of my hand. She sat her case next to mine, then stripped off her jacket and shoes. She carefully draped the jacket over a chair before she took a seat on the sofa.

  “Do you want anything to drink?” I asked as I opened the refrigerator and peered inside. The espresso shot in the affogato had woken me up but I felt like I needed something else. I spotted a bottle of Metro Mint water near the back and grabbed it.

  “Water would be good,” Liz replied.

  “I have mint water and a bottle of Perrier, though it may be flat by now,” I warned.

  “Perrier,” she said as I heard the TV come on.

  I grabbed my two clean glasses from the cabinet and filled each with some of the water before adding a few ice cubes.

  “Anything interesting on?” I asked as I handed the Perrier to Liz before I plopped onto the sofa.

  “Law and Order reruns,” she said. “On just about every channel.”

  We sipped and watched a few moments of Lennie Briscoe questioning a suspect. Briscoe was always one of my favorite characters, mostly because of the quips he always seemed to have handy. Like, ‘there’s no such thing as hooker-client confidentiality.’

  “What did you think of the Febbos?” I asked during the next commercial break.

  “Well, they’re a family,” Liz teased. Then after a moment’s thought, she added. “They fuss and fume at each other a lot, but I suspect they’d fight for each other, to the death if they have to. And I’m not sure Anthony is as estranged from his father as he wants to be. He tried to downplay any connection between them, but Gulia told me they’re still close, and I believe her.”

  “I think so, too,” I agreed. “And Salvatore seems determined to prove it.”

  Liz raised an eyebrow when I didn’t add anything else right away.

  “Oh, come on,” she urged. “You can’t say something like that and not fill me in. What were you two talking about all that time?”

  “Salvatore wants to go legit,” I said. “He’s already picked out his successor, a man named Ben Kroger, and is making the moves to put Kroger in charge.”

  Liz giggled, then stared at me for a moment.

  “Are you serious?” she asked in disbelief.

  “I am,” I replied. “And so is Salvatore. Part of what he wanted to talk about was who he thinks might be behind the frame job.”

  “Wow,” Liz muttered. “You certainly had a more interesting conversation than I did. All right, who does Pappa Febbo think is behind all this?”

  “His first choice would be someone from within his organization who’s hoping to create just enough chaos to take control before Kroger can but without starting an all-out war,” I replied.

  “I can see that,” Liz said, and I could tell by her expression that she was evaluating the elder Febbo’s claim with respect and interest.

  “He also agreed that it might be someone from another family, though that option he doesn’t like,” I added.

  “No, that could lead to either an internal war, or an external war between the families,” she noted. “It would also suggest that someone on the outside knows about his plans to go straight.”

  “Which would mean a spy,” I said. “He made it clear that only a few people know about his plans. Gulia does, but none of the kids. That’s how tightly he’s been holding this secret.”

  “Damn, Hunter,” Liz chuckled with a gleam in her blue eyes. “What have you dragged me into?”

  “Apparently, a Francis Ford Coppola movie,” I replied.

  “I don’t suppose Salvatore told you where to look,” she asked.

  “That information will be forthcoming,” I said in a fair imitation of the elder Febbo’s voice.

  We both laughed for a moment, but quickly sobered as the reality of the situation started to sink in. There was a great deal of money and power in play, the kind that got people killed, and the world of McHale, Parrish had never seemed so far away.

  “I hope you cleared your calendar,” Liz finally said. “I have a feeling this is going to take up all of your time.”

  “My time?” I teased. “What about your time?”

  “Well, you are lead counsel,” she snorted. “I’m just the consultant. I still get to have a life.”

  “Oh, you’re just the consultant now?” I snickered. “I thought you were co-counsel.”

  “Only when I need to be,” she replied with a sly grin.

  We’d slept together a few times during law school though we’d never officially been an item. Liz was too focused on finishing at the top of the class so she could pick the perfect job and I had been too busy trying to survive classes and a low-paying job to give much thought to the rest of my life. But there had always been a connection between us, and as we gazed at each other, I felt that electricity again.

  “We shouldn’t,” Liz said in response to a question I hadn’t asked. “It could make things messy.”

  “Absolutely,” I agreed.

  Yet, the energy between us was hard to ignore. I could feel my erection stiffen, and Liz smiled when she spotted the sudden bulge in my pants.

  “Why do I think everything about this case is going to be messy?” she asked.

  “This might be our last night of peace and quiet for some time,” I noted as I leaned in close and drank in her familiar scent. It reminded me of strawberries with a hint of rose, and it always made me desperate for more.

  “I guess we should take advantage then,” she murmured as she leaned into me.

  Our lips met and I could taste the minty coolness of her lip balm, and then my tongue was inside her mouth where beneath the flavors of our dinner lingered a taste that I knew was distinctly her. My hands found their way beneath her shirt and she moaned as I explored the curves of her body.

  “Bedroom,” she rasped when we finally broke apart. “I don’t think there’s enough room here.”

  I growled in protest as she slid away from me, but I followed the trail of clothes she left as she sauntered towards my bed. My suit and tie, as well as the rest of my clothing, soon joined hers on the floor, and she barely had time to slide beneath the sheets before I was on top of her again.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” I declared as I took a moment to drink in the sight of her naked body.

  “So are you,” she replied as she ran a finger down my chest.

  We didn’t do much talking after that, and our plans to discuss the Lamon case came to an abrupt halt. The late-night talk shows were long over and the infomercials for products you didn’t even know existed had kicked in by the time we both collapsed into the bed for the last time that night. I fell asleep wrapped around her body, and my dreams were filled with strawberries and roses.

  Part of my brain had been expecting a phone call in the morning, either Noble or Ovitz who would demand to know where I was and why I had missed the meeting. No doubt that’s why the tail end of my very pleasant dream turned slightly nightmarish when I kept hearing Ovitz’s voice asking questions about my sex life on my cell phone. It was almost a relief when the phone rang in the real world and my brain told me to answer.

  I stumbled from the bed while my partner and co-counsel slept on and followed the sound to the hook where I had managed to hang my jacket the night before. I fumbled through the pockets, and managed to find the phone before it went to voicemail. The dream was still in my head which is why I didn’t bother to look at the number.

  “Hunter Morgan,” a gruff voice declared before I could say anything.

  “Who is this?” I asked as I struggled to place the voice.

  “A friendly warning,” the voice continued. “Don’t
interfere in the Lamon case. Just let it play out and everyone will be happier.”

  The voice was gone then, and it took me a moment to realize that the caller had hung up. I checked the number and saw that it was a 917 area code, so not surprisingly, a cell phone. I called back, but the phone rang without ever going to voicemail. I had no doubt that even if I had the full power of the NYPD to track the phone, the only thing I’d learn was that it was a prepaid burner phone.

  But if the call had been meant to scare me, it did the opposite. I was more determined than ever to protect my client, and I would start with the friends who had let Francine Mott leave the party with someone other than Anthony.

  Chapter 8

  “Who was that?” Liz asked from the doorway.

  Her blonde bob was mussed, but somehow that only made her look cuter. Sadly, her lovely curves and most of her long legs were hidden beneath my robe, a Christmas gift from my mother, though it looked a good deal better on her than it did on me.

  “No one,” I replied as I looked around at the mess we had left behind. “But I should probably start getting ready for work.”

  “Agreed,” she sighed as she stretched her arms above her hand. “I call the shower first.”

  She disappeared before I could protest, though in fact I had planned to offer her the bathroom first. I heard the shower come on as I moved around and collected clothing and glasses, and glanced through my paltry food supplies to see if I had any appropriate breakfast items to offer a visitor. Sadly, aside from the coffee that I started, all I had left was a half bowl of cereal and some orange juice.

  I puttered around my tiny space as I waited for the coffee to brew, then finally turned on the TV. The local news shows were largely focused on the morning commute, but I found a channel playing old hits from the early 2000’s, mostly songs that would get you pumped up and ready to go. I needed that a lot more than I needed to hear about traffic conditions on the FDR, so I let the videos play while I returned to my kitchenette and found two clean mugs.

  “Smells good,” Liz stated when she reappeared. She was still in my robe, but her short hair was plastered to her skull and her skin had that shiny glow it gets when you first step out of the shower. “You always did have good coffee.”

  “I’m afraid that’s about all I have,” I said as I passed her a mug. “I’m low on breakfast items.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “I need to leave soon anyway. I’ll just grab a bagel on my way to the subway. I have some motions to file this morning but then I’ll call you to work out where we go next.”

  I nodded, and we stood by the window together as we sipped our coffee and watched the first wave of workers leave the building and head for the subway. When I’d slurped down the last of my brew, I took my turn in the shower while Liz picked through the clothes I’d gathered to find what she needed. I sped through my shower, but Liz had already left by the time I emerged.

  I found a message had been left in my voicemail, and a quick check of the calls received showed it was from my officemate. I also had a text from Lamon with the names of two of Francie’s friends who had been with her at the party and the places where they worked. One worked downtown, not too far from my office, but the other worked in Grand Central. I considered my options and the need to at least show my face at the office, but the phone call had riled me and I needed to work the Lamon case. I would do the interviews, then, and to hell with Ovitz for the moment.

  “Man, you are in some deep shit,” Mark announced when I called him back. “Noble was pissed that you weren’t at the meeting yesterday.”

  “I was out on Long Island,” I replied. “Meeting with my client.”

  “You didn’t tell anyone,” Mark pointed out.

  “It was unexpected,” I explained. “And I have a couple of interviews to do this morning. But I should be in this afternoon.”

  “That’s what you said yesterday,” Mark said.

  “Yeah, I know,” I admitted. “I really mean it today.”

  “I can cover for you this morning, but if you aren’t in the office by lunch, I don’t think I can do anything more for you,” Mark warned.

  “I’ll be there,” I promised.

  I sent a quick text to Lamon asking if he knew if the two friends would be at work today. He responded almost instantly and said that he thought they would be, then offered to call and make sure. I thought about accepting the offer, then decided against it. I wanted a chance to talk to them before they had time to rehearse their answers, so I told him to hold off for the time being.

  I left the apartment soon after that, and grabbed a bagel to eat on the way to Grand Central. The subway was packed, even on the platform, though in true New Yorker fashion, everyone studiously ignored everyone else. I ate my bagel and drank my coffee in peace, then crammed onto the Five for the trip to midtown.

  Grand Central is an amazing bit of architecture, even on the inside, though few people take the time to really study it. It doesn’t help that the place is usually filled with people at all hours and many of its features remain hidden behind a sea of humanity, but the station is also home to secret stairways, secret railroads, secret power generators, and a million dollar gemstone hidden in plain sight. It also has tennis courts, which is where Nera Abbad worked.

  Nera Abbad was not one of the pros, though she looked tall enough and lean enough to be on the circuit. Instead, she occupied a tiny office with a view of one of the courts. Most of the space was taken up with various bits of electronics and Nera’s blue eyes roamed between various screens with a pause just long enough to allow her to fire off a response to an email or text, in between the occasional actual phone call.

  “Who are you again?” Nera asked when she paused for a moment.

  I’d stopped at the check-in desk and explained that I was there to talk to Nera Abbad. The teenager trying to find someone’s court reservation had sent me to Nera’s office without asking for information though he did call Nera on his headset to say I was on my way up.

  “I’m representing Anthony Lamon,” I said as I looked for a place to sit down. “I wanted to ask you some questions about the party.”

  Nera studied me for a moment, then pressed a button on her keyboard.

  “Hey, Henry, I’ve got to step away for a few minutes,” she announced. “I need to talk to a distributor.”

  She tapped her fingers impatiently as the other person responded, then pulled the headset off and dropped it on the desk with the rest of the electronics.

  “I need comfort food,” she said as she stood up. “Let’s go to Financier.”

  She was as tall as I was, with dusky hair pulled into a long ponytail and fingernails painted to match her outfit. I couldn’t decide if her clothes were actual tennis clothes or if she had found something that mimicked the look, but in either case, it only added to the impression of a pro tennis player.

  “Do you play?” I asked as we returned to the narrow staircase that had brought me to her office.

  “I was tops on my team in high school,” she said with a note of pride. “I played college tennis for a couple of seasons, but then I tore up my wrist and ankle in a car accident. I still help with lessons sometimes, but mostly I work to keep the place going.”

  “Did you go to the same high school as Francie?” I asked as I tried to picture this lithesome athlete hanging out with someone like Francine Mott.

  “No,” Nera replied. “I met her about a year or two ago through a mutual friend. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have talked to her in high school. I was a bit of a snob and only hung out with the other jocks.”

  Nera led us down a back stairway that brought us out near the main hall. Voices echoed around the massive space, joined by the sound of thousands of feet as people walked across the marble floor and the clack of luggage as people searched for their train. Nera cut through the crowd like a shark and we were soon among the shops that are as much a part of Grand Central as the main hall.

/>   Financier started in the financial district, but now operates several locations. It’s French, which means the morning air in the place smells of butter and almonds, with a side of powdered sugar. We placed our orders, me for yet another cup of coffee, and then found a place to sit. Nera picked up the croissant she had ordered to go with her hot chocolate and ripped it in half before biting a large chunk out of one piece. I drank my coffee, admittedly the best one I’d had so far, and watched her slowly chew the buttery, flaky roll.

  “I liked Francie,” Nera finally said after she’d eaten half of the croissant and taken a long drink on her hot chocolate. “She was fun but she was smart about it. She probably saved us all from doing something really stupid more than once.”

  “So it wasn’t unusual for her to call someone for a ride?” I asked as I switched on the recorder on my phone.

  “No,” she replied as she started on the other half. “In fact, she almost always called Anthony. I can think of, like, two times she called someone else, and that was only because Anthony was out of town.”

  “I was told she wasn’t partying as much,” I said. “But you make it sound like she was still going out pretty regularly.”

  Nera squinted at me as if she were trying to decide if I was somehow demeaning Francie.

  “I guess she was cutting back,” Nera replied. “She used to go out all the time, but she really liked her job and so she started staying home more. I guess we all did.”

  “Did she ever hang out with anybody from her job?” I asked.

  “No, not that I know of,” she said. “When she first started working there, she said it was mostly boomers with kids and mortgages. But she loved books, and it’s hard to find a job in a publishing house, so she stayed on even though it wasn’t a full-time job and then found that she liked a lot of them.”