by Dave Daren
“Either way, it’s bad,” Liz replied. “And not just for our client.”
“So you’re still in this, too,” I teased.
“I am,” Liz declared. “But what’s our next step?”
“We need to tie Francie’s murder to Marinello and then figure out who was pulling his strings,” I mused. “Then we need to make sure the police don’t focus on Anthony as a suspect in his father’s murder.”
“Which it sounds like they already are,” she pointed out.
“Maybe we should talk to Duvernay again,” I replied. “See if he’s hearing any rumors.”
Liz nodded as she sat back in her chair and stared at the empty dessert plate.
“I guess I need a cab,” she said.
“Come back to my place,” I suggested. “You can call for a car and then wait in my apartment.”
Liz bit the corner of her lip, a sure sign she was considering her options. After a moment, she made up her mind and nodded.
“I could use the walk,” she said.
We paid the bill and slipped outside, where the next crowd of people waited patiently in line. The stroll to my apartment was pleasant as a fresh breeze blew in from the river and cleared the day’s dust and smog away. There were plenty of other people out on the sidewalks and places like Jacques Torres Chocolates were still open. Liz stopped at the window of the chocolate shop, but moved away with a sad smile.
“As much as I want to, I don’t think I could manage another bite,” she said.
“I do have some wine,” I replied. “If you’re still interested.”
“Maybe,” she said with a smile.
Sulla greeted us as we walked into the lobby and asked if I’d heard anything else about the mugger. I told him I hadn’t heard anything from the police but I was sure they would call as soon as they had a suspect. Sulla seemed to find that acceptable and he gave us a mini salute as we started towards the stairs.
“Can we take the elevators?” Liz asked.
“Sure,” I agreed as I switched gears and led her to the elevator bank.
The building was quiet, though you could sense that there were people just out of sight. There was a murmur of voices from a neighboring apartment and the sounds of an action scene from a television. I picked out a few sporadic notes from another neighbor’s music selection, but otherwise, we arrived at my apartment without encountering another human.
Liz stepped inside first and walked quietly towards the table. She dropped her briefcase in a chair and hung her jacket over the top, then sat down in another chair to remove her shoes. When that was done, she moved to the couch and curled up along one arm.
“I believe you mentioned wine,” she remarked.
“I have some red,” I said as I moved into the kitchen area. “A California cab.”
“Sounds delicious,” she replied as she found the remote and turned the TV on.
I found two clean wine glasses in a cabinet and opened the bottle of Cabernet. I poured the wine and then carried it to the couch. Liz accepted one glass, then turned her attention to the TV as I sat down next to her. I wasn’t surprised to see that she had turned to the local twenty-four hour news channel which was breathlessly reporting on the day’s shootings. A picture of Vince went up on the screen, quickly followed by pictures of several other men.
“They’re calling it a massacre,” she noted as she muted the sound and turned towards me.
“They’re not far off,” I replied as I sipped the wine. “No matter who takes control of Salvatore’s business, they’re going to have to deal with this.”
“Mmm,” Liz murmured as she enjoyed her own glass of wine.
When the commercials came on, Liz started to channel surf and found a psych rerun. We both settled in and watched Shawn and Gus show off their observational skills once again in between references to bad 1980’s movies. We finished our wine and watched another episode, and still Liz made no move to leave and I didn’t offer to call a cab.
“You could stay,” I said as Shawn and Gus ran across a field filled with holes.
“I could,” she agreed. “Are you sure you don’t have some deep thinking to do tonight?”
“Well, I do,” I admitted. “But I’ve found it helps me sort things out when I can talk to someone.”
“Ahhh,” she laughed. “That is true. Are you sure you want to share your deepest, darkest thoughts with me?”
“I really don’t have anyone else,” I mused. “My mom would just tell me to do what I felt was right, and my dad would probably just grunt.”
“That’s not what a girl wants to hear, Hunter,” she said. “That she’s only here because there’s no one else.”
I felt a blush creep up my neck, and Liz gave me one of her wry smiles.
“Maybe I should rephrase that,” I suggested. “You’re the only one I would ever consider sharing my deepest, darkest thoughts with.”
“Why thank you,” Liz replied as she unfolded her legs and stood up. She took both empty wine glasses into the kitchen and placed them in the sink, then sauntered back towards me.
“I hate corporate law,” I blurted out.
“I know you do,” she replied. “Why don’t we move into the bedroom and discuss this hatred of yours in more comfortable surroundings?”
I know I was grinning but it was hard not to when Liz used her smokey voice and swayed her hips just so. I leapt from the couch and bounded after her. I caught her at the bedroom door and pulled her against me as we both leaned towards each other for a slow kiss that tasted of wine, chocolate and spicy tomato sauce. We stumbled towards the bed, where we fumbled out of our clothes before we dropped onto the mattress.
We lost ourselves in another round of lovemaking, and I briefly wondered why I had ever let the leggy blonde slip out of my life. But I was lost in her charms once again, and those thoughts were crushed by the sheer joy of being with her. As it was, it was my beauty queen who first mentioned it when we were recovering on the covers.
“Mmmmm,” she purred as she traced a finger along my jawline. “I am so glad you invited me back into your life.”
“I really did do it just for your criminal law expertise,” I chuckled as I stretched out next to her.
“Yes, but the side benefits are extraordinary,” she replied.
“I won’t disagree with that,” I said.
“So what do you think?” she murmured. “Are you ready to take the leap and go out on your own?”
“I am,” I replied as I played with her tangled hair.
“Good,” she said. “That’s the best idea you’ve had all night. And you’ve had some pretty good ideas tonight.”
“Don’t tell me the night is over,” I replied.
She laughed again, and I totally forgot her statement about my best idea, at least for the remainder of the night. I only had room in my brain for the sensations that Liz’s fingers and tongue created on just about every inch of my skin, and it wasn’t until the orange light of the street lamps had given way to the grey glow of dawn that I spared a second to consider what she had said.
“Were you serious last night?” I asked when we were both semi-alert once more.
“About what?” she asked in muffled confusion.
“When you said me leaving the firm was a good idea,” I explained.
“Oh,” she muttered as she sat up in the bed. “Well, yes. You were never all that happy at McHale, Parrish, and if you don’t want to be locked into corporate law for the rest of your career, then you need to get out and get some real experience in criminal law. Or whatever type of law you want to practice.”
“Still criminal law,” I replied as I thought about her remarks.
She studied me for a moment, slipped from the bed, and then tottered to the bathroom on those long, lovely legs. A moment later I heard the toilet flush and then the shower come on. I forced myself from the comfort of my bed and retreated to the kitchen. I started the coffee and then remembered that my breakfast opt
ions were down to zero, a fact confirmed by a quick check of the refrigerator and cabinets.
“You really should consider it,” Liz said as she stepped into the kitchen in my bathrobe again.
“I am,” I replied as I handed her a mug of coffee.
“No breakfast this morning?” she asked with a smile.
“I haven’t had a chance to go grocery shopping,” I protested.
“Neither have I,” she admitted. “The bagel shop on my corner knows me so well that they start putting my order together as soon as I step through the door. They’re probably all wondering why I haven’t been in yet this morning.”
Before I could make my smart-ass reply, we both heard the sound of a phone ringing. I poked at my jacket while Liz dug through her purse in search of the device. I found mine first and signalled to Liz that it was mine. She nodded as she retreated towards the couch while I checked the number, yet another one I didn’t recognize, and then answered the call.
“Morgan,” I said gruffly.
“Hunter, it’s Anthony,” my client replied.
“Anthony, good to hear from you,” I said. “How’s your mother this morning?”
“She’s doing great,” Anthony replied. “She’s already been to the hospital. That’s actually one of the reasons I called.”
“Oh?” I prompted.
“It’s official,” Anthony sighed. “Dad is in a coma. The doctor’s seem hopeful that he’ll wake up, but they won’t give us any estimates.”
“Doctors usually don’t,” I replied.
“Yeah,” Anthony agreed. “Listen, mom wants me to take her back out to the house this morning so she can take care of a few things, and then she’ll head back into town. She’s going to stay on at the hotel until dad wakes up or the doctors let us move him to someplace closer to the house. But I’d really like to meet with you today. I could send one of the cars to pick you up.”
I absolutely needed to meet with my client today, but the idea of riding in one of the family cars wasn’t very appealing, given what had happened to Salvatore and his business associates. I could always take the train though that meant I would be dependent on their schedule, and while the trains left frequently, I had no idea how long the meeting would take. I finally settled on my absolute last choice, my car. It wasn’t much, just an old Volvo my parents had given me when I started college. But it was reliable and virtually indestructible, and it still ran smoothly even after sitting in the tenant garage for weeks without use.
“Tell you what,” I replied. “I have to go into the office this morning, but I’ll drive out this afternoon.”
“Are you sure?” Anthony pressed.
“I think that will be easier,” I replied. “That way we can take as long as we need to and you don’t have to have your guys hanging around waiting for a phone call from me.”
“Do you remember how to get here?” Anthony asked.
“I do,” I assured him.
“I’ll text you the address anyway,” Anthony insisted. “Siri can at least get you on the right street if not the actual house.”
I thanked him and ended the call. I dropped the phone onto its charger, grabbed my coffee mug, and then joined Liz at the window.
“I’m meeting with Anthony this afternoon,” I said.
“So I gathered,” she murmured.
“You are co-counsel,” I remarked. “You should be there as well.”
Liz considered that for a moment but shook her head which sent droplets across the front of the robe. She brushed at them absent-mindedly with one hand while she tucked a lock of short wet hair behind her ear with the other hand.
“He wants you there,” she replied. “I think I’d be a third wheel in the conversation he wants to have.”
“I’ll call you after?” I suggested.
“You better,” she teased. “You can’t imagine that you’re going to make all these life-changing decisions and not give me some sort of an update.”
I laughed as Liz retreated to the bathroom once again. When she emerged the second time, she was dressed for work, though she’d replaced her shirt and jacket with one of my dress shirts and a blue scarf that matched her eyes that must have been in the depths of her purse somewhere.
“Admit it,” she said when she caught me studying her, “I look better in this shirt than you do.”
“I’m happy to admit that,” I replied.
Liz graced me with a kiss on the cheek and then gathered her belongings. She waved as she stepped into the hallway, and then I was alone with a sea of conflicting thoughts. With a sigh, I realized I was probably already going to be late since I needed to drive in, but I lingered a few minutes more by the window with my coffee. When I’d downed the last drop, I rinsed both mugs and left them in the sink, and then took my turn in the bathroom.
I spent way too long in the shower and lingered over my clothing options, but when I couldn’t put it off any more, I gathered up the essentials for the day and headed for the parking garage. Like most tenants, my car probably spent more time in the building than I did though I did try to take it on weekends occasionally just to keep it running. It was also handy for trips out of the city, usually for a venture into New Jersey to pick up supplies like paper towels and cereal for cheap.
My Volvo was an S60 in a royal blue color. It was a year old when my parents bought it used from a grandson who didn’t want his grandmother’s old car, even though it was essentially brand new. I sometimes wondered if the grandson had found a car half as good as the Volvo had turned out to be, then remembered how unimpressed I had been when I’d learned I was getting a safe car rather than a fun car.
I patted the hood as I piled everything on the roof, then dug the key fob from my pocket. The lights blinked, and the lock on the driver’s door popped open, and I heaved a sigh of relief that the battery hadn’t gone dead from neglect. I unlocked the rest of the doors and hung my jacket on the hook in back and tossed my briefcase on the seat.
The car engine came to life without any hesitation and I backed out from the spot. Once I was out of the garage, I pointed the car towards the Brooklyn Bridge and the morning traffic jam. It was the usual snarl of cars at the entrance to the span, but once I was actually on the bridge, things moved smoothly if not exactly quickly. I took the first exit, and turned south on the last leg of the FDR. A few minutes later, I pulled into the parking garage at the McHale, Parrish building and found a spot between a cement post and a wall.
There was a stack of boxes outside my office, and I started to ask about them as I stepped through the door. But Mark was on the phone and the most he could do was give me a quick wave. He muttered several ‘uh-huhs’ periodically, but otherwise listened to whoever was on the other end. I sat down at my own desk, which had been buried under a pile of paper sometime after I had left the day before, and waited for the computer to boot up.
“How’d it go yesterday?” my officemate asked when he finally hung up the phone.
“Good,” I replied. “Turns out the apartment has been sublet and the tenant wasn’t there, but I managed to talk to the neighbor across the hall.”
“Oooh, the nosey neighbor,” Mark chuckled. “The lifesavers of investigations everywhere.”
“They are, aren’t they,” I laughed. “She did have some good information and I think we’ve got a good direction to go in. So what is all this paper?”
“Noble got about twenty boxes of confidential documents from the client the other day,” Mark replied. “They’ve been divided up between the associates. We’re supposed to be looking for anything that might raise a red flag with regulators.”
“Like what?” I asked as I flipped through the first few pages.
“Apparently, our client has been known to send tankers full of crude on port hopping tours of Asia to drive the price of oil up back here,” Mark replied. “And then there are some maintenance issues with some of their pipelines.”
“Lovely,” I sighed as my stomach grumbled
. “I need breakfast before I start on this. Do you want anything from the deli?”
“No, I’m good,” my officemate replied as he pointed towards a half-eaten breakfast burrito.
I nodded as I stood up and abandoned the review work for at least another ten minutes. I rode the elevator back to the lobby, then stepped outside and debated my breakfast options. I finally settled on the smoothie place and picked up a berry smoothie and a vegan ‘sausage’ roll. By the time I was back at my desk, I had managed to waste a full twenty minutes, and I added another five by checking my email. When I couldn’t put it off any longer, I started to review my share of the documents.
Like most multinational companies, our client knew how to skate right up to the line of legal behavior without actually crossing over. There were plenty of discussions with in-house counsel about what type of behavior would be okay under the various rules and regulations, and how best to avoid the attention of regulators who may find certain activities to be questionable. No one seemed overly concerned about the morality of their behavior, and the more I read, the more depressed I became. Anyone who ever believed that a large corporation would undertake anything for any reason other than profit was clearly delusional, and I had the proof in front of me.
“Doesn’t anyone ever do anything just because it’s the right thing to do?” I asked after more than an hour of reading corporate documents.
“I’m sure there’s a troop of Boy Scout somewhere who would still help a little old lady across the street,” my officemate sighed as he dropped his glasses onto the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d been plowing through his own share of documents and was clearly feeling as pessimistic as I was.
“What’s the difference between these guys and the Mafia?” I asked.
“These guys know how to stay on the right side of the law,” Mark mused. “And they don’t have hired guns who kill off the competition.”
“Not here,” I said as I picked up one of the pages I’d read. “But they hire thugs for security reasons in other countries.”
“Yeah, I found a few of those as well,” Mark admitted. “It’s all technically legal, though.”
