Mob Lawyer

by Dave Daren

  “Sure I can,” she started to argue, then gave up when she had to slump against the wall. “Okay, maybe I can’t.”

  “Give me the fob,” I ordered.

  Brenda looked like I’d just asked her to sell me her first child. The girlish reporter shook her head and struggled to right herself, and for a moment, I thought she meant to flee back down the ramp to the exit. But the second man started to stir, and she looked back and forth between us, as if she couldn’t decide which fate was worse.

  “Give me the fob,” I repeated as I stepped towards her.

  “In the car,” she mumbled as I wrapped an arm around her and helped her limp to the passenger side of the car. I pulled the door open and she flopped into the seat. I ran around the car and dropped into the driver’s seat just as the light-haired man started to pull himself to his feet.

  I didn’t see the fob anywhere, but the engine roared to life with a deafening blast when I pressed the button. I could have sworn the car jolted forward even though we were still in park, and I felt the vibrations of the engine through the steering wheel. The lighter-haired man was watching us with a scowl, and I didn’t want to hang around to see if a gun was about to appear. I dropped the car into gear, and we shot forward so fast that I almost crashed into the wall.

  “This is such a bad idea,” Brenda moaned as I slammed on the brakes and skidded towards the exit ramp.

  “I can do this,” I assured her as I eased the beast forward more gently.

  We still left a fair amount of smoke and rubber behind as we tore out of the garage and jumped through the intersection just before the light turned red. The monster engine thundered as we raced through Brooklyn towards the LIE, and everyone we passed turned to watch. We were definitely not slinking away into the night, but at the point, I didn’t care. I still had to reach my client and warn him yet again about a man he had grown up with.

  Chapter 24

  “It’s not exactly designed for undercover work,” I yelled above the noise of the engine.

  “I don’t use it for that,” Brenda replied as I swerved between a pair of slow moving Honda’s and raced up the ramp.

  “Get my phone out,” I said as I shot into the far left lane and then had to duck into the middle lane to avoid smashing into a delivery truck.

  “Which pocket?” Brenda asked through gritted teeth.

  I wasn’t sure if it was my driving or the pain in her ankle that was causing her reaction, and I didn’t have time to care. An SUV lumbered into our lane as it tried to go around a Fiat so I had to do a quick dodge back into the left lane, and then a quick jerk of the wheel brought us back into the middle lane just in time to avoid the rear end of a minivan.

  “Jacket pocket next to you,” I replied as the minivan tried to move out of the way and ended up blocking us again.

  Brenda slid her hand into my pocket while I dodged around the minivan, then floored the accelerator as an open stretch miraculously opened in front of us.

  “Which one?” she asked.

  “What?” I asked in a puzzlement, then risked a quick glance at the passenger seat.

  Brenda had a phone in each hand, which she held up for my inspection. I quickly turned back to the road as I realized that Milosevic had probably used the burner phone to track me. He hadn’t been sold on my wrong number routine and had probably sent some of his fellow Serbs to figure out who had called him. The question then was whether the Serbs had recognized me, or Brenda, or both of us, or if they would have attacked whoever had the phone, no matter who it was.

  “The prepaid phone,” I said. “That’s probably how Milosovic tracked me. We should destroy it.”

  Brenda looked at the two phones, and then I could feel her eyes study me.

  “The Hello, Kitty phone,” I said in exasperation. “I picked it so I wouldn’t get it confused with my phone.”

  “Oh, sure,” she said snickered as I used the shoulder of the road to squeeze past a trio of slow moving sedans..

  I concentrated on the road for several minutes as I slid in between cars. The Viper moved well at high speeds and slid between lanes without hesitation. The engine was still deafening, but I had quickly become used to it, though I did wonder why they had bothered with putting a radio in the car.

  “Done,” Brenda announced as I slowed down long enough for an old Ford truck to amble out of the way.

  “Done?” I asked in confusion as I shot past the Ford and the line of cars in front of it.

  “I destroyed the phone,” she said. “They can’t track us now.”

  I spotted an ambulance racing up the entry ramp and I slowed down just enough to let it get in front of us. As the ambulance cleared the line of cars in its way and started to barrel down the middle lane, I slid in behind it as close as I could get.

  “That’s good,” I finally said as I moved in sync with the ambulance.

  “Are we really going to the Febbo house?” she asked.

  “Yes, which reminds me, we need to try to call again,” I said.

  Brenda placed my regular phone in the holder, then tapped the screen.

  “Call Anthony,” I said.

  The phone dinged, though it took a moment to respond. I wondered if it could hear me over the car, but a moment later, it informed me that it was calling Anthony. Unfortunately, there was still no answer, so I told it to hang up and call Gulia. There was no answer on her phone either, and I muttered a few words my mother would not have approved.

  “We’re making good time,” Brenda noted as we switched lanes with the ambulance.

  “We can pull off soon,” I said. “Use some of the backroads since I’m pretty sure some of those other drivers probably called the police about our driving.”

  “The hospital is at the next exit,” Brenda replied. “I would guess that’s where the ambulance is heading.”

  The ambulance driver was already pushing towards the exit lane and I stayed with him. I followed the sirens along the ramp and through the red light at the intersection, then shot past the hospital entrance as the ambulance swerved into the ramp for the ER. I slowed down as we neared a line of fast food places, then turned onto a county road. I knew it paralleled the LIE for most of its length, though it didn’t quite run all the way to Riverhead.

  As I had hoped, the county road wasn’t all that busy, so I picked up the pace again, although we weren’t racing along as we had been on the LIE. I tried calling Anthony and Gulia as we drove through each town but there was still no response. When the road finally ended, I gave up on the phone calls and turned my attention to navigating the backroads in between towns.

  It felt like forever even though I knew it was the fastest trip I had ever made out to the Febbo estate. I could feel the tension in my spine and I wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that I had left permanent indentations in the steering wheel cover. Brenda remained quiet, though she did occasionally make a small noise of protest as I put the car through its paces.

  At last, I was at the familiar drive though beneath the cloud-covered sky and the dark shapes of the trees, there was very little light to guide the way. Brenda groaned as I sped along the driveway, and I couldn’t blame her. The headlights didn’t reveal much either, and it would have been very easy to steer the car into the surrounding woods without even realizing what had happened. But I knew the drive well enough by then to keep the car on the road, and we arrived at the house and the fountain without any damage.

  “Well, I’m not sure if I would let you drive my car again,” Brenda said as she stared at the fountain that stood just a foot in front of us.

  “There’s not a scratch on it,” I replied.

  “I only have your word on that,” she pointed out as she snatched the fob from the floor and opened her door.

  I was surprised that no one had approached the strange vehicle or that someone hadn’t at least opened the front door to see what all the noise was about. In truth, I had at least expected Uncle Michael to appear, possibly wig
less, though I knew he had his own small house where he spent his evenings once he left here.

  “Mr. Morgan?” I finally heard someone call out as I stepped out of the car.

  “It’s me,” I confirmed as I looked around for the owner of the voice.

  There was a rustling sound from some shrubbery and then the giant who had offered me gun tips stepped forward. He studied me for a moment, then looked at Brenda as she pulled herself from the car and stood on one foot while she held onto the door.

  “New ride?” he asked nonchalantly as he studied Brenda and the Viper.

  “It’s my car,” Brenda snapped. “And he won’t be driving it again.”

  The giant nodded, though I could have sworn there was a grin on his face when he did so. I saw the flash of a cell phone screen and then the giant spoke quietly for a moment. While the giant made sure we weren’t about to become targets for the rest of the guards, I walked around the car and offered my arm to Brenda. She accepted, and once the Viper was secured, she let me lead her towards the steps to the house.

  We were halfway up the staircase, with Brenda hopping slowly along, when the front door swung open and light spilled out into the night. I had to cover my eyes for a moment, but I heard Gulia’s soft voice then.

  “Hunter,” the Febbo matriarch said in her slightly accented voice. “What are you doing here at this hour? What’s happened?”

  Her voice had drawn closer as she spoke and by the time my eyes had adjusted to the sudden brightness, Gulia was directly in front of us. Her soft brown hair hung in a loose tangle past her shoulders and the gray-green eyes she shared with her son looked concerned. She had a fluffy terry cloth robe on, though I saw a flash of something silky in a soft peach color beneath when she reached towards Brenda.

  “You need help,” Gulia said more firmly as she squeezed me out of the way and started helping Brenda up the stairs.

  I started to protest but another shadow fell across the scene and I looked up to see my client standing in the open door. He was still dressed, though in gym clothes, and his own short brown locks were mussed as if he had been asleep. He watched the two women for a moment, then turned a piercing gaze on me.

  “This is Brenda Borowski,” I said as I followed Gulia and Brenda up the stairs. “The Viper is hers as well.”

  “Nice car,” Anthony said as the woman reached the top step. “I assume there’s a reason you drove it out here tonight other than to show it to me.”

  “It’s a bit of a story,” I replied. “Involving Serbians and a Hello, Kitty phone.”

  Anthony mulled this over as Gulia nudged him aside and led Brenda inside.

  “We should talk,” Anthony finally said.

  “And I’ll see to Miss Borowski,” Gulia added.

  “No, no,” Brenda protested. “I should be a part of this. I was there, after all.”

  Anthony looked at me, and I nodded.

  “I did call her so I could ask her a question,” I admitted.

  “I’m sure Hunter will be able to explain everything,” Gulia insisted.

  “Go with mom,” Anthony added.

  Brenda started to complain in earnest then, but Gulia had an arm locked around the shorter woman’s waist, and she pulled Brenda towards the piano room as easily as if she were a ragdoll. Anthony waited until both women had disappeared from sight and the door had closed before he shut the front door and gestured for me to follow him up the stairs.

  Neither of us spoke until we were in the office once again. Anthony waved me into the guest chairs as he took his usual place behind the peanut shaped desk. I sat down and tried to gather my thoughts while my client pulled open a drawer from which he produced two glasses and a bottle of Kentucky bourbon rather than the gun he’d used earlier. He tipped the bottle in my direction, and I nodded as it started to hit me exactly what I had been doing for most of the night.

  “Serbians and a Hello, Kitty phone,” he murmured after we had both taken a sip.

  “Uh huh,” I mumbled as I let the smokey flavor coat my mouth and then slowly trickle down my throat.

  “So why the hell did you drive all the way out here in the middle of the night with a reporter?” Anthony demanded. He still sounded slightly amused, but there was a note of irritation there as well.

  “I tried calling but no one ever picked up,” I said. “Neither you nor Gulia, and after what I’d learned, I needed to be sure you were okay.”

  Anthony thought about that for a moment and then shook his head.

  “Shit,” he replied. “I think I left my phone in the kitchen. Mom asked me to help her make dinner tonight.”

  “So you probably set your phone down and forgot it,” I filled in.

  “Yeah, I think so,” he said. “We were having such a nice time, and the phone was quiet for a change. We even made it all the way through some bad rom-com she wanted to watch without it ringing.”

  “That’s okay then,” I said after I’d taken another sip. I could feel my nerves start to settle as the bourbon worked its magic.

  “But you still haven’t told me what the hell started all this,” Anthony remarked.

  “We received the phone records and text messages for Marinello today,” I replied. “I was going through them, trying to piece together who Marinello had been talking to around the time he moved into Francie’s building. There were four numbers that he called regularly that were listed as unknown.”

  “Burner phones,” Anthony suggested.

  “That’s what I figured,” I said. “I decided I would call, just to see if I got lucky, but I didn’t want to use my own phone.”

  “Smart,” Anthony agreed.

  “So I picked up my own burner phone,” I added.

  “That would be the Hello, Kitty phone you mentioned,” he surmised.

  “It is,” I said. “I didn’t get an answer at any of the numbers except one. And I managed to keep the guy on the phone long enough to get his name. He was a Serbian.”

  “Let me guess, you decided to call the intrepid reporter to see if she recognized the name,” he said.

  “She is the one who seems to know the most about the Serbians,” I replied. “So yes, I called her. I met her at a Chipotle in Brooklyn and I gave her the name of the man I’d talked to. She recognized him. She said that Ratko Milosevic works for Kroger. He does the long distance runs once a month.”

  Anthony hadn’t reacted to the name Milosevic, but a deadly stillness had come over him when I’d mentioned Kroger. His gaze had turned glacial as well, and for a heartbeat, I wondered if he would even listen to anything else I had to say.

  “But I did something stupid,” I continued quickly. “I kept the burner phone on me when I went to meet Brenda, and I think Milosevic figured something was up. He sent some of his thugs to figure out what was going on, and Brenda and I were attacked. Luckily, we were near her car and we were able to escape. But I couldn’t shake what she had said about Milosevic being one of Kroger’s guys, and when no one answered the phone, I started to worry that something had happened.”

  If there had been a grandfather clock in the room, the scene would have been complete. As it was, the silence was so absolute that all I could hear was my own breathing. It was unnerving, and yet I didn’t want to stir and somehow interrupt whatever thoughts were in Anthony’s head. Or draw even more attention to myself. There was still a fragment of fear in my head after witnessing the earlier confrontation, and I wasn’t entirely convinced that Anthony didn’t blame me for at least some of his woes.

  “You seem very determined to pin this on Kroger,” my client finally said as he set his glass on the desk. His eyes were a steel gray color without any warmth and I hoped Brenda was having better luck with Gulia.

  “I didn’t know that Milosevic was tied to Kroger,” I said quickly. “It was Brenda who told me that after I called her.”

  “And why should I believe her?” he asked.

  “Why would she lie?” I asked. “And if she did, why
pick Kroger?”

  “She can be bought just as easily as anyone else,” Anthony replied. “She could be working for the Serbs.”

  “It’s easy enough to check,” I pointed out. “Just ask Kroger to send over a list of all of the Serbians who work for him. Of course, he may leave Milosevic off the list once word about tonight’s events get back to him.”

  “You’re saying I need to do this now,” Anthony noted.

  I shrugged and suddenly found my bourbon glass to be intensely interesting.

  Anthony huffed, then stood up.

  “I gotta get my phone,” he announced. “Just stay here until I get back.”

  I nodded, content to sip what was left of my bourbon. Anthony stalked from the room and slammed the door shut behind himself. I stared into the tumbler for several moments and watched the amber liquid slosh from side to side. I still wasn’t sure what Anthony would do, or whether I could even count on Kroger to tell him the truth. I also couldn’t explain why I trusted Brenda on this, other than her reaction had seemed genuine. Kroger, on the other, only had one reaction when I was around, and that was anger. That made it hard for me to know when he was truthful and when he was lying.

  My contentment soon shifted to boredom, coupled with a bit of doubt when Anthony didn’t immediately return. I started to wonder how long it took to retrieve a cell phone, and then if I should check on Brenda. After all, I was the one who had insisted on driving out here. We’d even driven past a hospital where I could have stopped and had her ankle checked. And Anthony and Gulia would have been home and safely asleep in their beds, and I wouldn’t have told Anthony that Kroger’s henchman had been in contact with Marinello.

  Despite Anthony’s command to stay in the office, I ventured into the hallway and looked around. No one appeared to ask what I thought I was doing and no alarms went off, so I walked quickly and quietly back to the stairs. The entryway was empty but the door to the piano room was open and I could hear women’s voices inside. I trotted down the stairs and stuck my head around the door. I spotted Gulia and Brenda on the distant sofa, the red tabby snuggled between them. Brenda’s bandaged ankle was resting on an ottoman while she Gulia sipped orange juice and talked quietly.