by Dave Daren
The pair looked so comfortable together that I felt silly for being worried. I tried to slip away without being noticed but the cat woke up and spotted me. He meowed and sat up with his eyes focused on me. Both women looked towards the door, and for a moment, they shared the same expression of doubt and fear.
“Hunter!” Gulia called out as she smoothed her features and graced me with one of her enigmatic smiles. “Join us. Are you and Anthony finished?”
“I’ve told him what I know,” I hedged.
“Brenda was telling me about your exciting drive out here tonight,” she said. “Were you injured?”
I shook my head as I stepped into the room but Gulia was already moving towards me with a concerned look on her face. She studied me closely as she drew near, then grabbed my hands in her own.
“At least let me clean these up,” she said as she led me back to the sofa. “I have some disinfectant wipes.”
I sat down on the other side of Brenda who welcomed me with a nod. Unlike Gulia, the reporter still looked apprehensive and I wondered what the two had been discussing. Before I could ask, Gulia crouched in front of me with a first aid kit. The Febbo matriarch pulled some individual packages of alcohol swabs from the box along with a tube of antibacterial cream and a collection of bandaids. She set to work on my hands, and I was soon cleaned up and protected from whatever germs might be nearby.
“There,” Gulia declared with a satisfied tone as she stood up. “That should hold you until the morning. You can replace them then.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “And I’m really sorry about our dramatic arrival. In the heat of the moment, it seemed like the right thing to do.”
“I’m used to it,” Gulia replied as she returned to her end of the sofa. “Most nights, I sleep right through it but that car you arrived in was very noisy.”
“It is,” I agreed as Brenda snorted into her glass.
“So, did Anthony have anything interesting to say?” Brenda asked.
“Um,” I hesitated as I glanced back towards the grand entry. “Well, he went to get his phone but he hasn’t returned yet.”
Brenda raided an eyebrow at me, a sure sign she wanted to know what I was trying to avoid. Gulia, however, remained serene and just as determined as I was not to discuss her son’s nighttime activities.
“It’s very late,” the brown-haired Italian woman mused. “I’m sure Anthony could arrange for someone to drive you home. That way you won’t have to worry about falling asleep at the wheel.”
It seemed like such an odd comment, given how friendly Gulia normally was and how many empty rooms there were in the Febbo estate. But then I realized that Salvatore Febbo’s wife knew that late night visits like ours were harbingers of trouble for the family, the solutions to which nonfamily were to be excluded.
“I can’t leave my car here,” Brenda protested.
“We can drive it back,” I said. “I’ll be okay. Besides, we can always stop for coffee.”
Gulia looked undecided, as her natural concern for our safety warred with her need to protect her family. I hated to see it, so I stood up and looked at the reporter I had dragged along with me.
“What do you say?” I asked. “You up for the drive back?”
“We don’t need to go as fast,” she warned me. “You’re not as good as you think you are.”
“I drive a Volvo,” I replied. “Did you really expect me to be Mario Andretti?”
Brenda tried not to smile as she took another sip of her juice.
“I thought the car wasn’t damaged,” Gulia said with a note of concern.
“It wasn’t,” I assured her. “But Miss Borowski here thinks she’s a better driver.”
“I am a better driver,” the reporter asserted as she tucked a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear, a move I was starting to recognize as a habit of hers that signalled a range of emotions.
I was about to protest that declaration when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around and saw Anthony stride toward our little group.
“I was wondering where you were,” the capo’s son said as he smiled at his mother and then gave me a cold stare.
“He came to check on me,” the reporter replied. “He’s just nice that way.”
“And why didn’t you let me examine his hands before?” Gulia added. “But I have cleaned them now and made sure they won’t get infected.”
Anthony was unimpressed by the women’s defense, and I felt a sense of unease again as my client stopped a few inches from me and studied me for several heartbeats.
“We were just talking about driving back to the city,” Brenda added. “I figured it was too late to get that interview in.”
Gulia’s eyebrows went up a couple of inches, but she didn’t say anything. Brenda tried to laugh, to show that she was kidding, but Anthony didn’t turn to look at her.
“I could have a car take you back, Miss Borowski,” my client said in a polite voice. “But I was hoping Hunter would stay a bit longer. I have a business partner on the way over, and I think the three of us need to meet.”
Brenda’s enthusiasm for returning to the city suddenly seemed to wane. She turned a mournful look towards Anthony, then looked at Gulia for support.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to leave without Hunter,” the reporter insisted. “I’d feel bad knowing he was still out here. And then I’d just have to come back out here to get the car. It would be easier if I just waited for him.”
Gulia sighed, no doubt because she’d seen the same sudden switch in strategies in her own children so many times. Mother and son looked at each other for a long moment, and I was sure that Brenda was holding her breath.
“Brenda and I were having such a nice conversation,” Gulia replied. “Why don’t you two return to the office and we’ll just stay here and enjoy a little more time together.”
Brenda opened her mouth, but apparently she couldn’t decide how to counter that suggestion. Before the reporter could reach a decision, Anthony smiled at his mother, leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, and then started to walk back towards the door.
“Hunter,” my client called when I didn’t immediately follow.
And then I was the one caught in a moment of indecision. The safe choice was to announce that I wanted to get Brenda and her car back to Brooklyn and bid the Febbos goodnight. But that was also the coward’s way out, and left Anthony alone to confront Kroger with the accusation I had made against Salvatore’s consigliere. Anthony Febbo was still my client, and I had promised to do everything I could to protect him, even if that meant challenging my client, or facing down a possible rat in his operations.
“I’ll come find you again when we’re done,” I assured the petite reporter.
Brenda looked aggrieved as I started after my client, but when I glanced back from the doorway, I saw the cat had moved into her lap and Gulia had produced a family photo album from somewhere. Brenda gave me a threatening look, but it was hard to be intimidated when she looked so darn comfortable.
“I thought you’d skipped out,” Anthony said in an accusing voice as we climbed the stairs.
“You didn’t come back, and I was wondering about Brenda,” I said with a shrug. “I was looking for you and found them.”
I wasn’t sure if Anthony really believed me since the only reply I heard was a grunt, but he didn’t say anything else about my failure to follow instructions. We returned to the office and our seats, and Anthony poured us each another glass of bourbon. We sipped in silence for a moment, and then the tousle headed young man set his glass down and tugged at his earlobe.
“Hunter,” Anthony said. “I need to apologize.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For the way things played out earlier,” he replied. “That scene with Kroger, I never should have let it get that far. It’s just… you put me in a tight spot. I know you’re my man, and I really believe that Ben is, too. But I know you wouldn’t bring me this information if you
didn’t believe it. So I find myself doubting my own instincts and then I get angry at you for doing that.”
“I really hope I’m wrong,” I said. “But I was convinced that something had happened here at the house when neither you nor Gulia answered the phone.”
“Well, we’ll know soon enough who this Ratko Milosevic is,” Anthony sighed. “If Kroger knows him.”
“What did you tell him?” I asked.
“Just that we had an emergency and needed to talk,” my client said. “He didn’t ask for anything more, and I didn’t offer.”
“He must be used to that,” I mused as I thought about Gulia.
“I’m sure he is,” Anthony replied.
We didn’t have long to wait after that. Anthony’s phone buzzed once, and Anthony nodded. A few minutes later, I heard Kroger’s heavy tread along the hallway and then a knock on the door.
“Come on in, Ben,” Anthony called out.
Kroger stepped into the room and looked around. His face had taken on a darker shade of red, no doubt from the climb up the stairs, and the hairs on one side of his head were still pressed down from his pillow. He had managed to put on a pair of faded sweatpants and an old sweater that looked like part of the ‘dad wardrobe’ from some eighties sitcom. Combined with the velcro sneakers, Salvatore’s second looked less like a Mafia enforcer and more like a retiree who had lost his way.
“I should have figured you’d be here,” Kroger snapped when his gaze settled on me. “Did you trade in that Swedish shit for some real wheels finally?”
“I’m just borrowing it for tonight,” I said blithely.
“So what’s this shit saying now?” Kroger demanded as he finally turned towards his new boss.
“Just sit,” Anthony ordered. “There won’t be a repeat of our earlier meeting.”
Kroger mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like the f-word over and over again, but he sat down in the other guest chair, then scootched it several inches further away from me. Anthony watched him for a moment, then pulled a third glass from the drawer, poured some bourbon for the lieutenant, and passed the glass. Kroger accepted it with a huff and downed it in one long slurp.
“Good stuff,” Kroger declared when he set the empty glass back on the desk.
“Ratko Milosevic,” Anthony said as he watched Kroger.
Kroger wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and nodded.
“What about him?” the ruddy-faced man asked.
“He works for you?” Anthony asked in a casual voice.
“He does,” Kroger replied as he risked a look at me. “He makes a monthly run to some of our sites. Does this have something to do with Mr. Morgan’s anti-Serbian campaign?”
I opened my mouth, but Anthony shot me a warning glance. I sank back in my chair instead and took my own long sip of bourbon.
“Mr. Morgan brought him to my attention,” Anthony replied. “He found Mr. Milosevic while he was going through some of the material he received from another attorney.”
Kroger was sorting through what Anthony had said, and I knew he was trying to figure out what the trap was. It was pretty clear from his puzzled expression that he couldn’t figure out how Anthony’s case tied back to Milosevic though. Either that, or Kroger was a far better actor than I gave him credit for.
“What attorney?” Kroger finally asked. “Do you mean the DA?”
Anthony looked at me, and Kroger turned just enough to scowl at me.
“Giorgio Marinello’s attorney,” I replied. “He sent over the phone and text information we had subpoenaed. One of the numbers that Marinello called around the time that the plan to kill Francie was hatched belongs to Milosevic.”
Kroger looked stunned, and then he shook his head.
“Milosevic is a common name,” Kroger argued.
“I talked to him on the phone tonight,” I replied.
“And this person you talked to claimed he worked for me?” Kroger demanded.
“How many other Ratko Milosevics are working for one of the families?” Anthony asked.
Kroger clamped his mouth shut and stared at the wall behind Anthony. My client watched the lieutenant for a moment, then sighed.
“Did you know Marinello?” Anthony asked.
“Of course I did,” Kroger replied. “I know everybody who works for any of the families. It’s part of what I do for your father.”
“And did you ever give Milosevic a reason to contact Marinello?” Anthony continued.
“No,” Kroger replied adamantly. Even the tips of his ears were red though he seemed to be keeping a better handle on his anger.
“So you can’t think of a single reason why Ratko Milosevic would be talking to Giorgio Marinello?” I pressed.
“There’s no reason,” Kroger admitted. “No business reason. Maybe they met somewhere and started hanging out together.”
“The calls started around the time Francie was targeted,” I replied. “They stopped not long after she was killed. That’s a pretty short friendship.”
Kroger opened his mouth several times, but he never quite decided how to respond. Instead, he shook his head and shifted his gaze downwards towards his hands.
“I don’t why those two would be talking,” Kroger said quietly.
“How much does Milosevic know about the Febbo organization?” I asked.
“Not much,” Kroger replied. “I hired him mostly as muscle, and then when he proved trustworthy, I started using him on some of the long hauls. He’s never late and he’s never short.”
“Has he ever sat in on any meetings you had?” I continued. “Maybe with some of the other bosses?”
I could see Kroger was about to say no, but he stopped himself and considered for a moment.
“He might have been around when we discussed certain transactions,” Kroger mused. “Just as protection.”
“And when Salvatore told you he was retiring,” I asked, “was he around then?”
“No one else was in the room when Salvatore first told me,” Kroger replied.
“But later,” I suggested. “When you two were making plans?”
“Salvatore was quite clear that we would be the only two in the room,” Kroger said.
“You must have mentioned it outside those meetings with Salvatore,” I replied. “Somewhere Milosevic would have overheard about it.”
Kroger’s eyes flared in anger again, but he was thinking clearly now, and though he wanted to deny that he had gossiped about Salvatore, he recognized that he probably had.
“There might have been phone calls with the attorney,” Kroger admitted. “About how to reorganize some of the companies so I could take over. Milosevic might have overheard those.”
“So now we know how word got out,” I said as I turned towards my client.
“But who did Milosevic tell?” Anthony asked.
“And was it just an opportunity that was too good to pass up?” I asked. “Or is he really a spy in the organization?”
“A spy,” Kroger muttered as he wiped a hand across the orange stubble that passed for hair.
“I’d say he was a spy,” I continued. “If he was just out to make a fast buck, I don’t think he’d be involved in the effort to frame you.”
Anthony nodded though his own gaze had turned more thoughtful. While Kroger and I sat quietly in our chairs, Anthony’s focus turned inwards. I waited patiently for my client to reach a decision, but I could hear Kroger as he kept shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
“Tony,” Kroger said quietly.
A flash of impatience crossed my client’s face as he turned to look at his father’s right hand. Kroger at least managed to look chastised, though the older man still managed to shoot me a look full of venom before he turned an apologetic look towards Anthony.
“Say it,” Anthony ordered when Kroger didn’t continue.
“I feel like I’ve been saying this a lot lately,” Kroger replied. “But I think I need to say it again. I would never b
etray Salvatore or you. I’m loyal to the family and I will do anything to protect it.”
Kroger was right. He had been making that claim a lot lately, though this time, without the anger and bile, was the first time it sounded real. I felt a twinge of sympathy for the older man, though it didn’t erase some of the doubts I had about him. Even if he was oblivious to Milosevic’s actions, it didn’t exonerate him. As Salvatore’s trusted lieutenant, he should have known what Milosevic was up to long before Francine Mott was dead. And now Salvatore was in a coma in a hospital while Anthony found himself caught in the Serbian’s trap.
“We need to talk to Milosevic,” Anthony decided.
I nodded, as did Kroger.
“Not you, Hunter,” Anthony added.
I looked at him in surprise, and a glimmer of triumph lit Kroger’s eyes for a moment.
“As you said, you’re an officer of the court,” Anthony explained. “So it might be better if you were to thank Ms. Borowski for the information she provided and offer to take her home.”
Both men looked at me with inscrutable expressions. I had a feeling that I was being tested, but I wasn’t sure what the correct answer was. Did they want me to set my duty to the law aside for them? Or perhaps a demonstration of integrity was what they really valued. After all, in their business, a predictable man of principle was probably an asset. I finally nodded and stood up as I carefully set the glass on the desk. Anthony looked pleased with my choice, but Kroger scowled. That didn’t worry me much, though, since his fall back position for everything I did was to scowl.
Alone, I found my way back to the piano room. Gulia had moved on from the photo album to a slideshow of what looked like rural Italian life. The Febbo matriarch barely reacted when I entered the room as she described the grapes her grandfather grew, which was accompanied by a stunning image of rows of grape vines on a hillside. The sun was so bright in the picture that it was almost painful to look at, and the vineyard grounds looked dry and dusty. But the grapes that were just visible on the vines looked plump and juicy, and I wondered how someone could be in that setting and not want to grab a handful of grapes and eat them on the spot.
