by Dave Daren
I smiled as Geraldine cackled at her smart-ass remark, while Wally opened one eye and slowly studied the room. The cat eventually turned his gaze on me for a moment, then went back to his nap when Geraldine started to stroke his fur.
“You have me there,” I admitted when Geraldine was reduced to mere huffing sounds.
“But yes,” she managed to get out. “I was going to call you. I was going to give it another day to see if anyone else turned up. I haven’t seen the new tenant since… well, maybe since your last visit.”
“He’s dead,” I replied, then could have kicked myself for simply blurting that out.
Geraldine’s eyes went wide as she absorbed the news of this latest death, and then she focused her attention on Wally for several heartbeats.
“Another youngster,” she sighed. “He might have been rude, but it’s still such a loss to lose one so young.”
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I shouldn’t have just said that.”
“Well, how else are you supposed to say that someone’s dead?” Geraldine asked when she turned her gaze back on me.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never had to tell anyone before.”
“You did just fine,” she assured me.
I stayed with Geraldine for a few more minutes, though she didn’t remember any more details. I made her promise to call me immediately if something else happened rather than waiting for more trouble to show up. She agreed while Wally gave a yawn of approval, and then I was walking down the stairs to the lobby with a peach flavored water.
I waved goodbye to Julio as I stepped outside, then went in search of a spot where I could sit down and make a few phone calls. The park was tempting, but the basketball game had drawn its fair share of gawkers, all of whom were loud and trash talking every play and player. I settled for the steps of a church a couple of blocks away and sat down to double check my memory.
After getting the runaround from the desk clerk, I finally managed to connect with the precinct records department. The woman on the other end of the phone was reluctant to say anything until I pointed out that I was the attorney of record and had already issued a subpoena for the file. What I needed to know was whether we had received the entire file since it appeared that a warrant had been issued for the neighboring apartment.
After several more questions and an eternity spent listening to someone’s smooth jazz album, a different woman in the records department told me that we had a copy of the entire folder and that no warrant had been issued for Wendy Romer’s apartment. When I insisted that a police officer had visited the apartment and removed a box of items, the woman replied that I was mistaken and then hung up.
But I knew Geraldine wasn’t lying nor was she exaggerating. I had no doubt someone in a uniform had removed something from the apartment, and I was also sure that it was probably something that could tie Giorgio Marinello to the scene. And then I wondered if Geraldine’s Middle Eastern man might really be a Serbian.
Chapter 19
By the time I was standing outside the building that housed Salvatore’s law firm, I was convinced that the mystery man had been a Serbian. That seemed to point the finger back towards Kroger, who would certainly have good reason to want Anthony out of the way with only a minimal amount of disruption to the family businesses. The problem was that Kroger wasn’t the only one who had hired Serbians. It turned out that several of the families now employed the Serbians as the muscle in their operations, and I had enjoyed a moment of dark humor when I wondered what skills all these Serbians listed when they filled out their H1B1 visa applications. Was there really a dearth of trained killers in the United States?
I had a flashback to McHale, Parrish and my days as a junior associate as I joined a mass of people waiting for the elevator. Though I didn’t miss the commute or the job, I had to admit that I did miss the sense of connection to something bigger. But I shook off my momentary bit of the blues when the arrow above one of the doors lit up and the herd moved to stand in front of the door. We packed into the car as quickly as we could and rode in silence to the upper floors while we all watched the numbers pass by as the car moved higher though the building. The only sound was when someone coughed and everyone in the elevator cringed, but then we were at the twentieth floor, and I was able to make my escape.
There was only a single set of glass doors off the lobby, though there was no sign to indicate what business operated on this floor. I stepped up to the doors and tugged on one, only to discover that it was locked. I spotted a button near one of the doors and pressed that, but the door didn’t open. I did hear, however, what sounded like a doorbell somewhere deep inside the floor. As I tried to decide how long I should wait before I rang the bell again, a middle-aged man appeared on the other side of the glass and looked at me. He was in his forties and still had a nice, thick head of hair that had gone gray at the temples. He also had a heavy roll of fat around his midsection that the vest he wore instead of a jacket didn’t quite hide.
“Mr. Morgan?” the man said as he pulled the door open.
“That’s me,” I replied. “I have a meeting with Mr. Landis.”
“He’s expecting you,” the man replied in a jovial voice. “I’ll just take you on back to the conference room and then let him know you’re here. Would you like something to drink? There’s water bottles in the room, but I can bring you a coffee or tea if you prefer.”
“Coffee would be great,” I said as I started after my guide. “Black.”
It was hard to tell that this was a law firm. I didn’t see the usual stack of boxes outside doors or bookshelves packed with old editions of the Federal Reporter that were the hallmark of law firms everywhere. In fact, other than the man now leading me along a plush carpet, there was no sign that anyone else was even on the floor. The cubicles for secretaries were empty, though I did spot a pair of computer screens that were on, and the offices we passed were devoid of humans, except perhaps, those with closed doors.
My guide brought me to a corner room with a spectacular view of Rockefeller Plaza. The ice rink was gone, and the restaurants had opened up their outdoor seating, but the crowds were still thick as people moved up and down the steps and posed for selfies in front of Prometheus. I watched the mass as it swirled and shifted for a few moments, and then took a seat with my back to the scene at the modular contraption that passed for a table. The seats at least were comfortable though not at the best height for the table. I felt like I was five years old again and struggling to sit at the table like a big person.
I was trying to figure out how to raise the chair when my guide returned with the coffee and a basket filled with bags of chips and other snacks. He must have seen me struggling with the chair, but he slipped away without offering any advice. I finally gave up and tested the other chairs until I found one that at least let me stretch my legs a bit, and then swapped it with the chair I had originally sat in.
I was enjoying the decent cup of coffee and a bag of M&M’s when the door opened again and a very sophisticated looking man stepped into the room, followed by two more people. The man I had mentally tagged as sophisticated had on a tailored suit that had to have come from London or Hong Kong, a pair of brown leather shoes that shined in the sunlight, and a perfectly trimmed crown of hair that could have been molded onto his head. He was my height with honey-colored skin and eyes that were nearly black, and he flashed a set of perfect teeth at me as he stepped into the conference room.
“Mr. Morgan,” the man announced in a soothing bass. “I’m glad we finally have the opportunity to meet. And I regret that it’s taken so long to do so.”
“Mr. Landis,” I guessed as I stood up.
“Indeed,” Landis replied as he held out his hand.
We shook, and then Landis turned to the two people who had followed him into the room.
“My associates, Don Green and Tabitha Monel,” Landis said as the man and woman stepped forward.
Don Green took a
fter Landis, with the pricey suit, the perfectly coiffed hair, and the gleaming smile. He was about two inches shorter, though, and his pale skin was blotchy. Tabitha Monel, on the other hand, was the tallest person in the room in her black pumps and black sheath dress. Her skin was the color of dark chocolate and when she moved forward at her introduction, I could have sworn I smelled the scent of chocolate with a hint of cherry.
“So what can I help you with today?” I asked as we all took seats.
Green ended up in the too short chair, which made him appear even smaller. He scowled and fiddled with something under the seat. Landis waited until Green had found a position he liked before he flashed me another look at his teeth, and then clasped his hands in front of him.
“Well, I think we can make this a mutually beneficial meeting,” Landis purred.
“You said you might have information that would be useful in Anthony’s matter,” I pointed out.
Green suddenly and noisily started to scribble on a legal pad, and Landis once again opted to wait him out. He glanced towards the pad once Green was done, and then turned back to me. Of course, I’d used similar tactics plenty of times while I was at McHale, Parrish, and I could wait out the designated rude attorney as well as anyone. I shared a quick smile with Monel, who nearly smiled back before she remembered her role.
“I merely suggested that we might be able to point you in the right direction,” Landis said after the delay. “We are, of course, more than familiar with the names of those who might be considered business rivals to the Febbo family’s interests.”
“And you believe one of these business rivals would be willing to go so far as to set Anthony up for the murder of his friend?” I asked.
Landis spread his hands wide, and Green started to scribble something else.
“Well, business can bring out the competitive spirit,” Landis replied.
I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows at that one. I wasn’t sure framing the son of your rival was merely competitive spirit, and I glanced towards Monel. She managed to keep a straight face, though I saw something flicker in her eyes for a moment.
“Competitive spirit,” I reiterated. “Sure, we can call it that. But I think Anthony has already done a pretty good job of filling me in on the business rival angle.”
“I’m sure Anthony has told you what he knows,” Landis replied.
“Are you suggesting he doesn’t know everything?” I asked.
The shark smiled again and shook his head.
“Well, young Anthony hasn’t been around the family business for quite some time,” the shark replied. “I’m sure he’s probably not as familiar with the complex web that defines the realms of each family.”
“But you do,” I replied with a trace of sarcasm.
Landis didn’t smile, but he did take on a more serious air.
“We feel that our knowledge of the Febbo businesses and those of their competitors gives us an advantage in handling the legal matters that Anthony is currently facing,” Landis said. “And we feel it is our duty to the Febbo family to suggest that we take control of the matters. However, it would be easier for everyone involved if you were to simply recuse yourself from the case.”
“Why would I recuse myself?” I demanded. “I don’t have any conflicts in this matter and Anthony has asked me to stay on.”
“There’s always a conflict of some sort if you look hard enough,” the honey-skinned man replied.
The blotchy-skinned minion finally looked up from his legal pad and tried to give me a menacing look while the chocolate goddess at least looked pained by the suggestion.
“There’s no conflict,” I repeated. “And I won’t recuse myself. You’ll have to take this up with Anthony if you want me off the case.”
Landis frowned and examined the cuff of his jacket for a moment.
“Anthony is not in charge of the Febbo businesses,” Landis remarked.
“And his murder charge has nothing to do with the family business,” I replied. Okay, that wasn’t exactly true, but since no one in the room wanted to yell Mafia out loud, we could still cling to the fiction that there was a difference between the personal and business lives of the Febbo clan.
“You know as well as we do that isn’t true,” the shark replied. Monel even nodded with that assessment, which caused the complicated gold earrings she wore to jingle.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Anthony hired me and Anthony has asked me to stay on.”
“And what will you do after the matter is concluded?” Landis asked.
I knew then we had reached the heart of the matter. Landis and the rest of the firm were concerned about their future earnings, and I would guess that the Febbo money for a whole slew of legal matters probably kept this firm afloat. Heck, the Febbos could very well be their only client. That was the offer Anthony had made to me, and the one I had gladly accepted as I tried to escape the dreary life of a corporate attorney.
“If Anthony asks me to handle other matters for him, I’ll do that as well,” I replied. “If not, I’ll go my own way.”
Landis glanced towards Monel, who gave him a brief nod.
“We’re always looking for good, young attorneys to join our firm,” Landis mused. “And your corporate experience at McHale, Parrish would help fill a vacancy we have.”
“I’m not interested in joining another law firm right now,” I said evenly. “I’m going to set up my own practice.”
The shark scowled again, and his blotchy minion scowled as well. Monel gave me a speculative look, and as we stared at each other for a heartbeat, I could smell her chocolate and cherry scent again.
“There is something else I would like to discuss with you,” I announced as I brushed aside the job offer. “And it does concern the Febbo business interests.”
Surprise flickered across Landis’ face for a moment, but he quickly hid it. He gave me a small nod to let me know that I could state my business and the shark would consider whether he would help me or my client with my request.
“It’s about the Campania Olio Import Company,” I said. “With Salvatore unable to serve, Anthony feels he should run the company until Salvatore has recovered.”
“Not possible,” Landis declared. “We drew up the paperwork for that company, and I can tell you that Mr. Kroger will assume control of the company while Mr. Febbo is incapicitated. Should Mr. Febbo fail to recover, Mr. Kroger will assume the position as President and CEO permanently.”
“Even if Anthony has a power of attorney that grants him control over Salvatore’s interests?” I asked though I already knew the answer since I’d read through the company’s key documents.
“Afraid so,” Landis replied.
“Anthony doesn’t need to be President and CEO,” I mused. “Perhaps if he were, say, an analyst for the company, since he would know better than just about anyone what his father’s wishes would be.”
Landis heaved a sigh and looked at me like I had somehow disappointed him. The blotchy minion scowled as he scribbled some more notes while the chocolate goddess gave me a tip of her head.
“I can not believe that Anthony, who has been estranged from his father for some time, would have any idea of his father’s desires or that he would have a better understanding of his father’s business decisions than the man who has been by his side for several years,” Landis finally said.
“And yet, he and Salvatore had a long conversation just before Salvatore was shot,” I said. “And they discussed exactly what Salvatore wanted to do. Anthony wants to make sure that doesn’t change.”
“One conversation does not make up for years of experience,” Landis insisted.
“Look, all my client wants is to be able to keep an eye on things,” I said. “And not like some shareholder in a giant corporation who spends five minutes reading the annual report before tossing it in the trash. He wants to know the details of the day to day operations, and he wants to have a say in how things are done.”
“That’s not possible,” Landis repeated.
“So you’re telling me that Campania Olio isn’t hiring?” I asked.
“It is not,” Landis said firmly.
“And, what, this law firm is the company’s HR department?” I prodded.
The shark gave me another smile as he studied me. He could me remarkably still when he wanted to be, and I suddenly had a surge of sympathy for all this fish in the ocean who found themselves in the presence of a great white.
“Campania Olio is a company that only hires the best,” Landis said. “Now, I’ll admit, that wasn’t always the case. When Salvatore took over the company, there were quite a few people on the payroll whose jobs were unclear and who were paid for no apparent reason. But Salvatore eliminated those positions, and he has made it clear to us and to Mr. Kroger that the company will not return to that.”
“And as I explained, Anthony will work,” I replied.
“But he doesn’t have the qualifications,” Landis insisted.
“You won’t even check with Kroger?” I pressed. “I’m sure they could find room for him somewhere.”
“We will not,” Landis said.
We were at an impasse and we both knew it. But at least I had a bead on the competition now. It was clear that Landis and his cronies were determined to either kick me off the Mott matter, or failing that, to at least absorb me into their own firm so they could keep control of their share of the Febbo money. It was also clear that they viewed Anthony as a threat to that plan as much as me, and they were just as determined as the other families to sideline my client for as long as they could.
“I’ll share your concerns with my client,” I said as I stood up.
“Please do,” the shark replied in a silky smooth voice. “You know how to reach me if you change your mind.”
No one else had stood up, and the triad of attorneys watched me leave without even bothering to wave good-bye. It was rather creepy, the way their heads all swiveled to keep track of me as I crossed towards the door and stepped back into the hallway. I thought I would have to find my own way back to the elevator lobby, which was a huge violation of client confidentiality, but my middle-aged guide in the vest appeared from behind a stack of boxes and led me to the glass door.
