by Dave Daren
I pulled up my phone and found the closest Starbucks. I showed Anthony and he nodded, then started to walk down the street.
“Shouldn’t you call your mom?” I asked.
“She knows I’m with you,” he replied.
“Where’s your phone?” I pressed.
“It’s been damaged,” he said in a voice that sounded eerily like his father’s.
Neither of us said another word until we reached our destination. I asked Anthony what he wanted, then went to place our orders while my client found a quiet table for us. He was in a foul mood, and even the most insensitive person on the planet couldn’t have missed it. The other guests couldn’t move out of his way fast enough, and he soon had a spot in a back corner entirely to himself.
I joined him as soon as I had our coffees, though neither of us took a drink right away. Anthony stared at the leaf design in his foam while I watched the steam from my cup get pulled away by the draft from the door. We must have been a sorry sight, though I managed to shake off my glum thoughts and sip the coffee. That simple action seemed to stir Anthony, and a moment later, he drank some of his coffee as well.
“What’s going to happen next?” I asked.
“That depends,” my client remarked as he studied the other patrons.
“On who’s behind this,” I suggested.
“Exactly,” he agreed.
“Anthony,” I started and then hesitated. “How much do you know about your father’s current plans?”
Anthony looked at me and then burst out laughing. It was not the reaction I had been expecting, and I’m sure I looked as confused as the people around us.
“Shit,” Anthony muttered when he had himself back under control. “He told you, didn’t he? That night he dragged you out to the house for dinner. He fucking told you before he told me.”
I waited while my client wiped at his face and then drank down half of his coffee in one long gulp.
“When did you find out he was trying to go legitimate?” I asked.
“This morning,” Anthony chuckled. “Before he left for his meeting, he said we needed to talk. He told me he was getting out of the family business and starting his own, clean business. He said if it went well, he would have something his kids and grandkids could inherit without being embarrassed.”
“What do you know about these businesses he was starting?” I pressed.
“Not much,” Anthony replied. “The only thing I know for sure is that there’s a winery in there somewhere. Mom always wanted to make her own wine and dad said he was gonna do that for her.”
“And what will happen to them now?”
“He’s still alive, so nothing,” the younger man snapped.
“But if he doesn’t survive,” I pressed.
“He wanted to keep it in the family, so I would guess it passes to mom, and then to me and my sisters,” he said. “But I don’t know that for sure. That’s something for my attorney to figure out.”
I stared at him for a moment as I tried to decide how to read that comment.
“Are you still my attorney?” he finally asked.
“I am,” I agreed.
Anthony nodded and polished off what was left of his coffee.
“Good,” he declared as he slammed the cup back onto the table.
“I’ve been doing some poking around on the other matter,” I began. “And I think it may be tied into your father’s decision. Tell me, do you know how close he was to getting out?”
“No idea,” Anthony sighed. “But he and Kroger were locked in his office all last night so I would guess he’s pretty close.”
“You know he tapped Kroger, then,” I mused.
“Dad didn’t say as much, but it’s not hard to figure out,” Anthony replied. “Kroger’s been his go-to guy for ages, and he actually enjoys being in the Mafia.”
“So you’re okay with him taking over?”
Anthony shrugged which wasn’t the show of support for Kroger that I’d been hoping to hear.
“How much involvement have you had in your father’s business?” I asked.
“I told you, I stay away from that,” he replied in a voice that sounded more like the scared kid at Rikers.
“I know you did,” I assured him. “But there are people in the federal government who seem to think you’re more involved than you told me.”
“You’ve been talking to people in the federal government?” he asked suspiciously.
“Only as part of my investigation,” I said quickly. “But everyone keeps asking me how well I know my client. And I’ve always defended you and said you weren’t involved, but the consensus seems to be that I’m naive about my client and his dealings.”
Anthony huffed and crossed his arms across his chest. He glared at me, but I put on my best nonchalant look and waited him out.
“This the shit you bring me after my father’s just been shot?” he growled.
“I bring it because I need to know what to expect, from you and from the government,” I said calmly. “If they’ve got anything, I need to be prepared. I’m your attorney, Anthony, but I can only defend you when I have all of the information.”
My client mulled that over for several moments, then finally unfolded his arms, and leaned towards me.
“You’ve been a good attorney for me,” he conceded. “And you said you would stay on as my attorney.”
“I did,” I agreed though I was starting to wonder just how much that might involve.
Anthony nodded then swept the room with his eyes one more time.
“There might have been a time, when I was a teenager, when I helped my dad,” he said quietly. “Nothing big, nothing like hitting guys in the kneecaps or any of that stuff that they always show in the movies. I just went to a few meetings with him. That was it.”
“What kind of things did they discuss at those meetings?” I pressed.
“Nothing memorable,” he grumbled. “It was like a board meeting. Lots of numbers, what was selling, what wasn’t, what new products they had in the pipeline.”
“And what products are we talking about here?” I asked.
Anthony shook his head.
“Are you sure you aren’t recording this?” he demanded.
“I am not,” I replied. “As far as I know, no one is.”
“Dad had his fingers in a lot of pies,” Anthony said. “A little of this, a little of that.”
“You’re not going to tell me anything else,” I observed.
“You don’t need to know that right now,” he replied.
“I think it would be better--” I started to say.
“You don’t get to decide that,” Anthony said as he leaned in even closer. “If my father thought you needed to know, he would have told you. It’s not my place to tell you. Not now, not yet.”
I really wanted to push him on that, but his father’s steely look was back. He stood up from the table and swept past a group of high school students. He nearly knocked one of the girls over and when one of the boys started to protest, he shot them a death glare that locked the boy in place.
“His father’s having a surgery,” I said to the teenagers as I grabbed my client’s arm and started to tug him towards the door. “We’re sorry.”
“That’s no excuse for being rude,” the boy challenged.
“It’s okay,” the girl Lamon had nearly knocked over said as she pulled her friend away.
I managed to get Lamon outside before any more confrontations erupted, and we moved away from the crowd around the Starbucks to an empty storefront. We stood in front of the realtor’s sign for several moments while Lamon caught his breath and I debated how far to push him.
“Was that the only thing you needed to ask me?” he finally said.
“We’ve been working on Francie’s murder,” I replied as I watched the people on the sidewalks pass us by. “We’ve got a lot of questions we still need answered, but we’ve also picked some information that’s been helpful.
”
“So you think you can get the charges dropped?” he asked hopefully.
“We certainly have a strong case,” I said. “But the prosecutor may decide to push this to a trial. Especially given who you are and what’s just happened.”
“Ah,” Lamon said with a nod. “That’s why you were wondering how much I knew about the business. You’re thinking someone expects me to be the new head of the family.”
“If the government believes it, then some of the families must,” I pointed out.
“Are you suggesting that whoever killed Francie also shot my father?” he asked.
“It’s a possibility,” I replied. “Though I’ve heard that there might still be people in the police who might help out one or more of the families. And if that’s true, it’s not such a stretch to wonder about the prosecutor’s office as well.”
“This seems like a very complicated plan for the Mafia,” Anthony mused.
“Maybe,” I said with a shrug. “But we know who picked up Francie that night and took her home.”
I finally saw surprise on Anthony’s face. He looked like he wasn’t even sure he believed me, but he hoped that I was telling the truth.
“Both Gabby and Nera remembered a necklace he wore,” I explained. “Apparently, it’s distinctive.”
Anthony considered that for several minutes and then recognition dawned in his eyes.
“Holy shit, it really was someone from high school,” he chortled. “Giorgio Marinello. Though he’s calling himself George these days. His grandmother left him that cross when she died. He started wearing it a couple of years ago when he became a regular guy. Supposed to help protect him.”
“You were friends in high school,” I pointed out.
“Yeah, we were,” he said in a more somber voice. “Not like best buds, but we used to hang out.”
“He’s with one of the other families,” I added.
“Yeah,” Anthony agreed with a sigh. “He always wanted to be one of the goombahs. His old man runs a front, but George wanted to be more than that.”
While Anthony reflected on his high school days, I debated how much more to tell him. Did he need to know that the plan had been in motion for some time? Someone had selected Francie for her ties to Anthony and gone to a lot of trouble to make sure Anthony was arrested for her murder. And then there was the complete lack of police action on some fronts. It could be a simple case of the police believing they had the right man and not bothering to look anywhere else, but that didn’t quite fit either. There was still the mystery man who had been poking around in Anthony’s flat before the police had searched it.
“There’s a lot of strange things going on,” I finally said. “And it’s not always easy figuring out who’s doing what. Or not doing, in the case of the police.”
“That’s no surprise,” Anthony chuckled. “What about the feds? What’s your feeling about them?”
“I don’t think they have any specific investigation right now,” I mused. “No more than the usual tracking of the family business, but that could change with Salvatore’s shooting. Especially since they’ve heard the same rumors that your father was getting out.”
“How the hell did everyone know this except us?” Anthony demanded with a shake of his head.
“I think there’s a plant inside your father’s operations,” I replied. “Someone Salvatore trusted enough to tell his plans to. Or possibly someone he never paid any attention to and didn’t even realize that person knew his plans. All it takes is for that one person to tell one of the other families and I imagine it would spread pretty quickly after that, even to the government.”
“That makes sense,” Anthony said as his brow furrowed in concentration. “Dad was careful who he shared information with. I can’t imagine either of those scenarios taking place.”
“What about Kroger?” I pressed. “Is it possible that one of his men let it slip?”
“He’s a careful guy, too,” Anthony mused. “But yeah, it might have come from there. He’s got some Serbs working for him that dad never trusted.”
“Seems the Mafia is going international,” I chuckled.
“Only for the muscle,” Anthony conceded.
“So you do know something about the operations,” I noted.
“It’s hard not to pick up bits and pieces,” Anthony snorted. “Do you know how many ‘co-workers’ come out to the house on any given day?”
“A lot?” I guessed.
“And that was before dad went to ‘the office’ in the morning,” Anthony replied as he did air quotes around the office. “Cripes, we even did carpools with the other kids for a while in middle school, and mom was usually the driver, but I can remember a few times when dad took us. One time, we had to take a detour so dad could tend to some business. He left us in the SUV while he went into this strip club, then he came back out with a stack of cash. Got in and drove off like everybody’s dad did this. I thought I would die of embarrassment, especially when it was the only thing anyone talked about the rest of the day.”
“It… must have been interesting,” I offered.
“Don’t even get me started about the year he agreed to do the haunted house for the school’s Halloween party,” he laughed. “He swears it was all wax dummies, but a lot of my old classmates are still convinced that there was an actual body in the mix.”
It was good to see my client laughing again, and I was happy to keep him there and telling stories about his father if it kept him away from Marinello and the mystery of Francie’s death. Anthony, despite his earlier anger, seemed to need it as well. We started back towards the hospital, though we moved more slowly than we had before, while Anthony described a family outing to a dude ranch in Idaho where his father had shot himself in the foot after losing an argument with a groundhog. We were just across the street from the hospital as we waited for the light to change when my phone rang. I ignored it, but it rang again almost immediately.
“It’s your mom,” I said as I checked the number. “Hello, Mrs. Febbo.”
“Is Anthony with you?” Gulia asked in a panicked voice.
“He is,” I said calmly. “We’re just about to head back into the hospital.”
“Please, get him here quickly,” she said. “Things are out of control.”
“Has something happened to Salvatore?” I asked.
“No, not Salvatore,” she replied.
Anthony was making frantic hand motions in my direction and it was clear that Gulia wasn’t comfortable telling me anything more.
“I’ll put Anthony on,” I offered.
Anthony yanked the phone from hand and spoke to his mother in Italian. The light changed, and I pulled Anthony across the street with a pack of fellow pedestrians while he listened to his mom’s response. His light-hearted look vanished and anger flashed in his eyes. I managed to get him inside the hospital doors before he finally interrupted his mother to say we were on our way up. He handed the phone back to me, and then scowled at the doors we had just stepped through.
“What’s happened?” I asked.
“It’s started,” he replied. “They’re killing off the people who work for my dad.”
Chapter 12
“How many?” I asked as I tried to wrap my head around the idea that I was about to be swept up into a mob war.
“Four more have been killed,” Anthony said angrily. “And two more are in the hospital. Everyone’s been warned to take precautions, but…”
“But maybe we shouldn’t be standing in plain view,” I suggested as I pulled him away from the glass doors. “Where’s your family?”
Anthony looked like he was about to charge back outside, made men with guns be damned. He probably knew at least some of those who had been shot, men who had been around the family since he was a kid.
“Anthony,” I warned.
The younger Febbo finally turned to look at me.
“Your mother needs you right now,” I added in a quiet voi
ce.
He shrugged off the hand I had laid on his arm, but he turned away from the doors and walked into the depths of the hospital. We found his mother and his sister Annie in a family waiting room alongside a glum looking man about a decade older than me with a buzzcut and a poorly fitted suit.
“This is Paul, Cathy’s husband,” Anthony said by way of introduction.
Paul’s handshake was damp and little more than the barest touching of flesh. He had sallow skin, dull brown eyes, and a head that looked like a basketball. He barely even looked at me as we shook hands, and he quickly retreated into his chair to stare at the opposite wall.
“Where’s the rest of the gang?” Anthony asked as he took the chair next to his mother.
I sat down next to Anthony and dropped my briefcase between us. There was only one other person in the room, an older woman who clutched a tissue in one hand and a rosary in the other. I wondered if she had anyone else to sit with her, then saw her perk up when a younger woman approached and dropped into the chair next to her.
“I told them to take the children home,” Gulia replied. “And Annie went to get me something to nibble on. Paulie offered to stay and keep me company.”
Paulie stirred briefly at the mention of his name and then returned to his contemplation of the wall.
“We could have gotten you something,” I said.
Gulia gave me a weak smile and then reached across Anthony to pat my hand.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “You’ve been very good for my son.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I mumbled a thank you and something like ‘glad to help’. Gulia patted my hand again and then sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh.
“At least it’s quiet, finally,” Anthony murmured.
I still had questions for my client, especially about his ties to the family business, but those would have to wait until I could find someplace more private. So we sat in the waiting room and barely exchanged conversation, at least until Annie appeared with a pack of Solo cups, a box of wine, and a package of biscotti. We shared our haul with the ladies across from us, and even managed to chat with them about the latest gossip from Hollywood. And then I saw Gulia stiffen and her lower lip quiver for a moment. I followed her gaze and saw a man in blood-splattered scrubs stop at a nearby nurse’s station before he continued towards our huddled group.
