by Dave Daren
“So maybe starting his own business wasn’t such an unlikely prospect,” I said.
“Exactly,” Anthony agreed. “So I told him I would meet with him. He wanted to do it at my apartment, but I told him no way. It didn’t matter what we were meeting for, if he’d been spotted visiting my apartment, all sorts of questions would have been asked, and not just from my father. The feds and the NYPD would have been all over that, as you just saw.”
“Where did you meet?” I asked.
“At the brewery, when I got off work,” my client explained.
“Did he really have watches he wanted to sell?” I asked.
“He did,” Anthony replied. “Three, to be exact. They were nice watches, a Breitling, a Tag Heuer, and a Rolex. But he hadn’t looked after them. They were scuffed around the edges and there was a scratch on the Tag Heuer’s glass. I told him I couldn’t buy them, but I gave him the name of someone who might be interested.”
“That’s good,” I said. “We can find out if Marinello ever reached out to this person.”
“Sure,” Anthony agreed though he didn’t sound very enthusiastic.
“Would some of your coworkers remember the meeting?” I continued.
“Maybe,” Anthony replied. “I mean, he did flash the watches around.”
“Was there anyone else there who could vouch for the meeting?” I pressed. “Maybe a regular customer or something?”
Anthony squirmed in the pew and looked away from the cross. His eyes settled on a fake stained glass window behind the alter that depicted a dove of peace.
“Anthony,” I said in a warning tone.
“Two of my father’s… employees might have been there,” he admitted.
“At your request?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “Look, I didn’t have any reason to believe that Marinello wanted anything more than to sell his watches, but I also didn’t have any reason to trust him.”
“So you made sure you had back-up,” I mused. “What about Marinello?”
“No,” Anthony insisted. “That’s why I thought the offer to sell the watches was legit.”
“When did you know that Marinello was the one who gave Francie a ride home?” I pressed.
“When you told me,” my client replied. “I swear, before that, I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t talk to Gabby or Nera on your own?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I mean, I did ask, but they just said he was really plain looking and they didn’t remember what he looked like.”
“When did you ask them?”
“At the party,” he sighed. “When they said it was somebody I’d gone to high school with.”
“Okay, that makes sense,” I noted. “Did you know that Marinello is subletting an apartment next to Francie?”
Anthony finally turned to face me, and I saw both surprise and shock cloud his features, followed quickly by anger.
“What are you saying?” he demanded.
“One of Francie’s neighbors claims that the original tenant had to leave to take care of her mother, and a man matching Marinello’s description moved in,” I explained. “Except he’s been very careful not to be seen.”
“I never saw him,” Anthony murmured. “How long has he been there?”
“A month, maybe longer,” I replied.
“I must have visited Francie a dozen times during that stretch,” Anthony mused.
“He may have been keeping tabs on you two while he waited for the set up,” I replied.
“It all seems so… far-fetched,” Anthony replied. “And if the goal was to frame me, why are the police suddenly asking about Marinello and our meeting?”
It was a good question, and one we both pondered for several minutes.
“This is probably Plan B,” I finally said. “The first plan was to have you arrested and convicted for killing Francie yourself, but they didn’t expect you to have a legal team that would start poking around. So now they throw Marinello under the bus and say you hired him.”
“Then why was I at the apartment?” he asked.
“Remorse,” I suggested. “Maybe you changed your mind but you arrived too late.”
“No,” Anthony replied. “That makes me sympathetic to the jury. I’ll bet they argue that I wanted to make sure Marinello finished the job. That sounds very mob-like, right? The jury will buy into that.”
“I wonder if Marinello knows that the police are asking about him now,” I pondered.
“If he does, he’ll be leaving town soon,” my client replied. “If not, he’ll probably turn up dead somewhere. Just another victim of the new mob war.”
“The attack on your father has to fit into this somehow,” I said.
“It makes sense if I’m supposed to take over for him,” Anthony said. “Get rid of dad, make sure I’m locked away, and then move in.”
“But there aren’t any guarantees that you would lose your case, assuming it even came to trial,” I pointed out. “You’re talking a year or more at least.”
“Okay,” Anthony agreed as he furrowed his brow.
“It makes more sense if there are two different plans in motion here, both of them designed to take advantage of your father’s attempt to go legitimate,” I explained. “The original plan, the one to get you arrested, was probably meant to distract your father even more and make it easier for someone to take control of the operations. It would keep the family business going with only a minimum of interruptions and had the added bonus of keeping you out of the picture as well.”
“But I don’t have any interest in the business,” he insisted.
“Yes, you say that, but this person needed to be sure,” I said. “Keeping you tied up in the courts is a great way to do that.”
“That makes sense,” he admitted.
“The second plan, the direct attack on your father, feels more spontaneous,” I mused. “There have been rumors circulating that your father was getting out, but an earlier move against him was quickly put down. But something happened that made him look more vulnerable.”
“They took advantage of the first plan,” Anthony suggested.
“Probably,” I replied. “Or at least, they hoped they could. Who all knew where your father was going this morning?”
“Not sure,” Anthony replied. “Most days, if dad left the house, he didn’t say where he was going.”
“I can’t believe they would have just followed him,” I remarked.
“A single tail my father’s guys would have noticed,” Anthony agreed. “But if they used several cars, it’s a lot harder to spot. And everyone has a cell phone and everyone talks while they’re driving, so even that doesn’t look suspicious.”
“So maybe they followed your father and waited for their moment,” I said.
“How long do you think they were following him?” Anthony asked.
I thought about the timing of the attack, then considered the plot against Anthony.
“If I’m right, and it is two different groups, then the tail on your father probably started sometime after you were arrested,” I mused. “In fact, probably after you were back home. They would have wanted to see how things were playing out.”
“They’re supposed to watch for spies,” Anthony murmured. “Nunzio swore that no one could get that close.”
“What about Kroger?” I asked. “Have you heard anything from him?”
“Not yet,” Anthony replied. “Unless he talked to mom while I wasn’t around. He’ll be busy now, anyway, trying to keep the business going.”
“Still,” I replied. “Shouldn’t he at least come by for a visit?”
“He will,” Anthony assured me. “But he’s a target right now as well. Once he has things in hand, I’m sure he’ll come.”
I wasn’t quite so sure that Kroger would be by, but then I’d never actually met the man. All I knew about him was what both Febbo men had to say, and while both seemed confident that he could take over, I wondered how far
he would be willing to go to consolidate his power. It was one thing if Salvatore retired to a winery somewhere, still alive and therefore, still available to listen whenever a member of the family was discontented with Kroger. It was much easier to establish complete control when the old man and his heir were safely out of the way. If that was true, then which plan was Kroger’s?
“I’ve got a lot to figure out,” Anthony announced. “And I should find my mom. I just hope Paul was able to find us rooms nearby.”
“Let’s head back to the ICU,” I suggested. “We’ll make sure everything’s okay, then put you two in a car to the hotel.”
“What about you?” my client asked as he stood up. “You ready to call it quits?”
“You mean as your attorney?” I asked in surprise.
Anthony laughed when he saw my face and then shook his head.
“Any sane person would be backing away from this mess as fast as they could,” Anthony chuckled. “Mob wars, a client who’s dumb enough to be set up and turn himself into a walking target, the feds and the police sticking their noses in and threatening to break yours.”
“You are my client,” I declared. “Nothing’s changed.”
“You say that now,” he snickered.
“And I’ll say it tomorrow,” I assured him.
Anthony regarded me for a moment, and I saw surprise and then respect in his eyes.
“You’re serious,” he said.
“I am,” I replied.
Anthony nodded, and I stood up as well. I still had a dozen questions circling in my head, but right now I wanted to get Anthony and Gulia to the hotel, and then call Liz. We had a lot to unravel, and to do so, we would have to take on the Mafia, the NYPD, and the federal government. I hadn’t felt so energized by a case since I’d graduated from law school.
We found our way back to the ICU waiting room. With visiting hours at an end, the seats were mostly empty. Gulia and Paul sat by themselves near the windows again. Gulia stared out the window while Paul talked on his phone. Anthony muttered something I didn’t quite catch, then strode across the waiting area. Gulia sensed his presence before Paul, and she looked over her shoulder towards us with a blank expression on her face. As soon as she saw Anthony, her face lit up and she stood up with a grace and ease that would make most women jealous.
“How’s dad?” Anthony asked as he pulled his mother into a hug.
“They haven’t told us anything new,” she replied. “The doctor’s say they won’t know anything more until tomorrow morning.”
“We can come back later,” Anthony said.
“No,” she replied. “No more visiting hours today. They have my number. They’ll call if anything changes.”
Anthony glanced towards the doors and I could tell he was thinking about barging through them.
“Any luck with a hotel?” I asked just to distract my client.
“Oh, um, yes,” Paul replied as he switched the phone to his other ear. “I’ve got two rooms at Artezen, but they’re checking to see if they can upgrade one to a suite.”
“I don’t need a suite,” Gulia said. “I should just go home. I don’t have any clothes with me. What am I supposed to wear tomorrow?”
“Annie’s picking up everything you need,” Paul replied. “She should be here soon.”
“And Anthony, you don’t need to stay with me,” Gulia continued. “You can go back to your apartment.”
“I want to stay with you,” my client declared.
“Ai,” Gulia moaned.
“Okay, okay,” Paul said. I thought he was concerned about Gulia for a moment, and then I realized he was talking to the person on the other end of the phone. His head bobbed a few times as he listened, and then he gave a thumbs up.
“We’ll be there soon,” Paul declared heartily.
“We have rooms?” Anthony asked when Paul tucked his phone away.
“We have rooms,” Paul agreed. “Two rooms next to each other, and the one on the corner is a suite.”
“Perfect,” Anthony replied as he squeezed his mother’s hand. “Now all we need is Annie.”
“I’ll call her,” Paul volunteered as he pulled his phone back out. He dialed a number, then hummed a few bars of a popular children’s song.
“This will be great,” Anthony said quietly as he tried to ignore his brother-in-law. “We can be back here first thing in the morning.”
“Hey, Annie,” Paul said loudly. “Yep, we have rooms. Anthony just wanted to know.... Oh, sure, okay. Artezena. Do you know where that is?”
“She’s gonna meet us there,” Anthony guessed.
“Sure, we’ll call you with the room number,” Paul replied. After a few more sures and okays, Paul tucked his phone back into his pocket.
“Where’s Annie?” Gulia asked.
“She was at the drug store picking up stuff like a toothbrush and toothpaste,” Paul replied. “She’ll meet us at the hotel.”
“You don’t need to come,” Gulia said as she placed a hand on her son-in-law’s arm. “You need to take care of Cathy tonight.”
“I don’t mind,” Paul whined.
“Anthony is here,” Gulia replied with a sad smile. “I’ll be fine.”
Paul shot Anthony a venomous look, but he finally nodded.
“The rooms are in your name,” he told Gulia.
“Thank you,” Gulia said. “Now go. Go home and be with your family.”
I could have sworn Paul shivered at the thought, but he gathered himself, and after a few more minutes of drawn out goodbyes, he finally left the waiting area. I watched him until he was out of sight, then turned back to my client.
“I’ll see you to the hotel,” I announced. “And then co-counsel and I have some work to do tonight.”
“You haven’t been scared off?” Gulia asked in an eerie echo of her son.
“Not yet,” I replied with more calm than I felt.
Gulia said something in Italian too quickly for me to catch, but Anthony smiled and chuckled.
“I can call for a car,” I volunteered. “Have it meet us around the side. They won’t be looking for that.”
“Not a bad idea,” Anthony agreed.
“I saw hats in the gift shop,” Gulia added.
“I think you’ll need more than a hat to disguise yourself,” Anthony noted.
“They had other items,” the Febbo matriarch declared. “Enough for all three of us to make it to the car quickly.”
“All three…” I stuttered.
“You can be sure they know who you are,” Gulia replied sternly.
The grieving wife was gone and the troop leader I had glimpsed during dinner was firmly in control. She marched towards the elevator while Anthony and I trailed behind her. She fended off offers of assistance, and barged onto the elevator while a woman in a wheelchair was trying to get off.
Back in the lobby, the gift shop was about to close for the night, but Gulia bulled her way inside with Anthony at her back. I found a semi-quiet place to place a call where I could keep an eye on Gulia, Anthony, and anyone else who might be loitering in the lobby.
“Where are you?” Liz said when she answered.
“Still at the hospital,” I replied. “But we’re heading out soon. I have to call car service as soon as I hang up with you. We need to meet up tonight, though, to discuss what’s happened today.”
“Oh, definitely,” Liz agreed. “How about pizza at Julianna’s?”
“I’ll call you when I’m on my way,” I replied with a smile. “Middle of the week, the wait shouldn’t be too long.”
“I’m heading to the subway now,” she laughed. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
My next call was to the service desk, and the guy on duty put me on hold for nearly five minutes, then told me to look for Fast Car Eighteen in ten minutes. I thanked him just as Gulia stepped up to the cash register. She dropped several t-shirts, hats, sunglasses, and even a pink wig, onto the counter, then added a couple of get well balloo
ns and a stuffed unicorn. The cashier rang it up and Gulia handed over several bills, then waved away the change. She and Anthony stepped outside the store and the cashier quickly closed the door and locked it before anyone else could barge in. Gulia spotted me and moved towards me while Anthony followed with the bags.
“I wasn’t sure if you prefer a tighter fit on your t-shirts,” the Febbo matriarch said as she stopped next to me. “I have different sizes. I also found a nice hat, just for you. It has the Lamborghini bull on it.”
“They had that in a hospital gift shop?” I asked in surprise.
“They had a lot of strange things in there,” Anthony replied.
“Go, put the t-shirts on,” she said as she took the bags from Anthony and sorted through them. “We’ll meet back here.”
“The car will be here in about five minutes to take us to the hotel,” I said as Gulia took one of the bags and headed towards the ladies’ restroom.
“I’ll be done in two minutes,” she called back.
Anthony and I darted into the men’s restroom and slipped on t-shirts with the hospital logo and added a pair of Yankees hoodies on top of that. I pulled the Lambo hat onto my head, added a pair of cheap sunglasses, and finished it off by tucking my briefcase into one of the paper bags. There wasn’t much I could do about the pants and shoes, but hopefully we would be in the car before anyone got a good look.
Anthony had worn jeans that day, so his outfit was a little more convincing. Rather than a Lambo hat, he had a Ferrari hat that didn’t do much to hide his ears and he’d selected a pair of wraparound glasses that hid the upper part of his face. He tucked the unicorn under his arm and then posed for my inspection.
“Well, someone would really have to look to recognize you,” I said.
“Good,” he declared.
We stepped back into the lobby, and a moment later, Gulia joined us. Her brown locks were hidden beneath the pink wig, which drew every eye immediately to her scalp and away from her dimples and gray-green eyes. Somehow, she’d managed to turn a men’s oversized novelty tee with a picture of a beer can and a palm tree into a minidress, and she’d replaced her leather heels with flip flops. She had the balloons in one hand, and a shopping bag and bouquet in the other. Somewhere, she had found a discarded plastic ID bracelet, which she had on her wrist.
