by Dave Daren
“If he worked for one of the families, wouldn’t you know?” I asked.
“I should,” Anthony replied. “But there seems to be a lot of people involved with the families these days that I don’t know about. I’m not sure my father did either, which makes your theory of a silent takeover more likely.”
“And if the Serb wasn’t following Archer?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Anthony admitted. “I’d say someone was still working on framing me, but I don’t know how removing something from Francie’s apartment would do that.”
“Unless it clearly pointed to someone else as the killer,” I offered.
“Wouldn’t they have already found it then, and removed it?” Anthony asked. “Lost it in the evidence room somewhere like they usually do?”
“Maybe not,” I replied. “I think Gomez was on the up and up, so he wouldn’t destroy anything. But he may not have realized it’s importance. Apparently, no one did until recently.”
“Too bad we don’t have photos,” Anthony remarked.
“We have the crime scene photos,” I replied. “And I’ll go through those. But there aren’t any of the bedroom.”
“This is going to be bugging me all day and all night,” Anthony sighed.
“Well, I’ll let you know if I come up with anything,” I replied.
“Yeah, well, you might get a knock on your door,” Anthony chuckled. “Once they check the cameras in the subway station.”
“I was defending myself,” I replied. “There’s nothing that shows otherwise.”
“Just be careful with how you handle yourself,” Anthony said. “The last thing I need is for you to get disbarred.”
“Don’t remind me,” I sighed as I remembered the photos and affidavits that Asha was supposed to be putting together. “I still have to deal with Ordman tomorrow.”
“You’ll call after the hearing?” Anthony asked.
“Absolutely,” I agreed.
After I hung up, I found I had an empty water glass and an empty bag of chips which I had blindly consumed while I talked to my client. My mother wouldn’t have approved, since eating while talking on the phone qualified as rude behavior in her book, but I offered my mother a silent apology, and then turned my attention to the laptop.
Asha had sent over scanned versions of the affidavits as well as copies of the photos. She had arranged them to show the differences in the apartment’s contents between our visit and the search conducted by the police. And somehow, she had tracked down a witness who could describe the man who had run from the building just moments before the police arrived. All of this had been included with our reply, which Asha had already filed, along with a note to me that she would meet me in front of the courthouse fifteen minutes before the hearing to hand me hard copies of everything, including the photos.
I sent an email thanking her for her efforts and asking how the date with her husband had gone, and then I turned my attention to building my defense. I pulled up the relevant case law, and saved and highlighted the portions that both sides would probably rely on. I organized and reorganized the evidence we had so far, and practiced my arguments until I was tired of hearing myself talk.
The only good thing about all of this was that it forced me to forget what had happened in Queens. Every time I felt my mind start to wander back to the fight and that moment when the Serbian had slipped in front of the train, I would tell myself that I still had another fight in front of me and I needed to focus on that. It worked, at least in the beginning, but it was hard to keep it up as day turned to night and my brain demanded nourishment.
I was in the kitchen contemplating my dinner options when there was a knock on the door. I stopped and stared at the door in astonishment for a moment because I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had actually done that. I knew my neighbors well enough to nod to, but we didn’t routinely visit with each other and knock on each other’s doors. If anything, we tended to text if we needed a hand or had a question, no door knocking required.
And then I remembered what Anthony had said, and thought that the police must have finally identified me. But the doorman on duty would have called up to let me know the police were there and wanted to talk to me. Still confused, I padded over to the door and peered through the peephole.
Of all the possibilities, the only one I hadn’t considered was the one that actually greeted me. Ben Kroger, lieutenant to Salvatore and Anthony Febbo and my nemesis in the Febbo organization, stood on the other side of my door in a shiny suit and his hat literally in his hand.
Chapter 29
“How the hell did you get in?” I asked as I threw the door open.
Kroger took in my appearance and the mustard jar I still held in one hand. He looked as if he wanted to comment, but his own rumpled suit and missing tie didn’t lend itself to fashion tips. For once, his face wasn’t red, merely pale with dark smudges under his eyes and a sadness I hadn’t seen before. I almost asked if I should call for an ambulance, but he pointed towards the inside of my apartment with the crushed brown felt hat he held in one hand, and after a moment, I stepped aside.
He walked slowly, even for him. He glanced around at my living space and finally settled on the couch. I checked to make sure there wasn’t anyone else lurking in the hallway, then closed the door and turned towards Kroger. The ginger-haired man stared out the window, and though he’d clearly come here to talk, he had yet to utter a single word.
I sighed and retreated to the kitchen, where I put the top back on the mustard and promised myself I would get rid of Kroger soon so I could enjoy the sandwich I had been about to make in peace. I joined Kroger in my so-called living room, though I carried one of the chairs from the table over and sat down across from him rather than sit next to him on the couch.
“How did you get in?” I asked again though in a calmer voice.
“Came in through the garage,” he murmured. “Told the woman I couldn’t find the key card you’d given me. You should think about moving to a place with real security.”
“Is this why you’re here?” I demanded. “To tell me that I need to find an apartment with better security?”
Kroger shook his head and looked out the window again. I felt frustrated though I wasn’t sure how to get the man to say whatever it was he wanted to say. I’d never heard him so quiet or looking so morose, and all I could hear in my head was the sad voice of Eeyore.
“Ben,” I finally said. “What’s going on? You look like someone killed your dog.”
Kroger turned to look at me, and I could see a spark of his usual anger in his eyes. That at least I could handle.
“You don’t have an ounce of sympathy, do you?” he barked.
“I do,” I argued. “Just not for traitors.”
Kroger surged to his feet, and for a moment, I thought he would take a swing at me. Anger, hatred, and finally embarrassment, swept across his flat features, and when he looked at the door, I thought he might actually leave under his own power. But he gathered himself, and after a quick consultation with the light by the door, he pulled his shoulders back, smoothed down the bristles on top of his head, and slowly sat down once again.
“I am not a traitor,” Kroger said carefully.
I could still hear the anger in his voice, and some of the usual red color started to return to his face as he spoke.
“Fine, you’re not a traitor,” I agreed in some vague hope that he might accept that and leave.
“Don’t be a smartass,” he snapped. “Not with me.”
I huffed and sat back in my chair. Clearly, we were going to be here for a while longer.
“You,” he added. “You come in here, think you’re all that, think you’ve got some sort of lock on loyalty to your client. But you’re just some punk who stumbled onto a client with some money and some legal issues, and now you think you’ve got it made.”
I felt anger start to build behind my eyes, and I wanted to punch the man for questionin
g my loyalty and my reasoning, but I kept my mouth shut and my fists by my side with an effort.
“Yeah,” he said as he studied me, “doesn’t feel so good to be on the receiving end, does it? So how the hell do you think I feel when you drag your sorry ass into Salvatore’s office and question my loyalty, after all the years I’ve put in to defending the Febbos?”
I shook my head, but I knew he had a point.
“Why are you here?” I asked again.
“I need you to understand,” he sighed. “Things are happening, and I don’t know that I have control over anything anymore. So I need to tell you some things.”
“What’s happening?” I asked. “And what could you possibly have to tell me?”
“Plans are in motion,” he said vaguely and the tired look was back in his eyes. It was scary, honestly, how quickly the fire seemed to drain from him.
“Plans,” I murmured.
“You don’t need to know the details,” he snickered. “You’re still an officer of the court, after all.”
“Does Anthony know about these plans?” I asked suspiciously.
Kroger looked out the window again and refused to say anything else about his plans or Anthony.
“The first thing you have to understand is what Salvatore means to me,” Kroger said after what felt like an eternity. “I used to be one of those all-American boys, who plays football and baseball, spends his summers swimming in the lake, and considered it a patriotic duty to enlist. I joined the Marines right out of high school, and I saw some bad shit before I was even old enough to drink.”
He paused and a far away look came into his eyes. I guessed he was revisiting some of the horrors he had seen during his service, and I had my own flashback to a blood-splattered rail and the stunned face of a subway engineer.
“But I eventually got assigned to a base in Sicily,” he continued. “And I met this amazing woman. She was beautiful, smart, could eat me under the table, and she loved the smell of lavender in the field. That was our first ever trip together, a visit to the south of France to just walk in the lavender fields. It took me two years, but I finally convinced her to marry me.”
“And you’re still married?” I asked quietly when he stopped again.
“We are,” he replied with a happiness that I had never seen in him before. “And when we finally returned to the states, I took her to my hometown, and we tried to settle into a normal life. But there weren’t any jobs, and the people suddenly seemed so dull, and I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life selling insurance to my neighbors, or hanging out on the bowling alley on Saturday and going to hear the same boring sermons on Sunday. Antonia wasn’t happy, either, and she convinced me that her family could find a better place for us.”
“And that was with Salvatore Febbo,” I surmised.
“Yeah,” Kroger agreed. “He didn’t suck me in gradually, like they always show on TV. He put it all on the table when I showed up to talk to him about the job, and when he asked me if I would have a problem with anything he had said, I told him no. That was it, just no. He took me on right then, and we’ve been working together ever since.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.
“Because you need to see that Salvatore’s family is my family,” he replied. “And I don’t mean just the Mafia. Gulia, the kids, they’re all a part of my family in a way that my own parents and brothers never were. I’m closer to them than I ever was to my own blood. And I would never, never betray them, to anyone. I would lay down my life for any of them and be happy that I had done so.”
“Ben,” I sighed and then stopped as I tried to consider what to say next.
“Look, I know you think it’s suspicious that I’ve been fighting Anthony so hard,” he said. “But I’ve only tried to keep him out of things because that was what Salvatore wanted. Sal, he’s ready to start a new phase in his life. He has dreams of sitting in his new house, looking out over his own vineyard, and sipping the wine that he and Gulia made together. Did you know that when he first decided he was ready to leave the business, that he asked if I wanted to leave as well? He left it up to me to decide if I wanted to take over or quit while I could. That was the hardest fucking decision I ever had to make in my life.”
“You chose to stay,” I noted.
“Yeah, I did,” he admitted. “It’s been a good life for me, and I’m not quite ready to take up shuffleboard. Once I told Salvatore, he insisted that I take over. He made it clear that he didn’t want Anthony involved. And that’s been the reason for everything I’ve done.”
“But don’t you think Salvatore’s shooting changes things?” I asked.
Kroger slumped back on the couch and he seemed to deflate.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think so. I figured it would just go on as he planned, and when he was back on his feet, he and Gulia would go off together and I would keep on doing what I’ve been doing. But it’s been a month, and Salvatore is still in a coma, Gulia won’t budge from that house until he wakes up, and Anthony is determined to run things. He wants revenge, and I get that, but now I don’t think he’ll ever leave, even if Salvatore returns. And what a mess that will be.”
“Because you won’t be Salvatore’s lieutenant anymore?” I asked.
“Because Anthony won’t give up his new position,” Kroger replied. “He’s discovered that he’s good at this.”
“He wouldn’t actually hurt Salvatore,” I insisted.
“Wish I was as sure as you,” Kroger sighed.
I must have looked surprised at that comment, because Kroger chuckled and waggled a finger at me.
“You think you know the Febbos,” he said. “But you don’t. Not really.”
I digested that for a moment, but I had to admit to myself that the spikey-haired lieutenant was probably right. The only Febbo I could even claim to know reasonably well was my client, and even Anthony still managed to surprise me. That didn’t mean I felt that Anthony would strike out against his father, but there didn’t seem to be much point to arguing about that with Kroger.
“Tell me about the Serbians,” I suggested. “How did they end up working for the Mafia?”
“The Serbians,” Kroger replied. “What is with you and the Serbians?”
“I think they’re trying to take over for the families,” I replied. “I think they plan on eliminating the Italians, and I think they plan on doing it soon.”
I could tell that Kroger’s first reaction was an angry defense of the new muscle, but the defiant look soon gave way to something more speculative.
“They started turning up a few years ago,” Kroger replied. “Most of them used to be part of various gangs in Eastern Europe, running everything from girls to drugs between Asia and Western Europe. But then the authorities started to crack down, especially on the human trafficking, and Putin agreed to help the gangs, mostly just so he could one-up the rest of Europe. Of course, that really just meant that the Russians would take over, but it’s hard for a bunch of small operations to take on something like the KGB.”
“So they fled Eastern Europe,” I mused. “And went where?”
“A lot of them ended up in places like Amsterdam and Berlin,” Kroger said. “Some of them who had done business in Italy started working there. That’s how they got their passes to the U.S..”
“The Mafia families in Italy and Sicily sent them to work here,” I replied.
“Someone would mention they were looking for muscle, and they’d send over a Serb,” Kroger explained. “Somewhere along the line that was all we were getting. And they would stay on instead of heading back after the job was done. So then we just ended up with all these Serbs.”
“But Salvatore doesn’t trust them,” I added.
“Never did,” Kroger admitted. “He never really told me why. He just said all those Eastern Europeans were backstabbers that you couldn’t trust. He wouldn’t allow any of them to get near him, and if he found out that someone
in Sicily had sent one to us, he’d send the guy right back.”
“So how did you end up with so many?” I asked.
“We needed muscle for some of the runs,” Kroger replied. “And they were available, and they were cheap. Kept their noses clean and didn’t ask any awkward questions. I couldn’t understand Salvatore’s position. I finally had to tell him that I was hiring them just to do a few runs because I couldn’t find anyone else. He was really pissed but he finally realized I was right. I had to promise that they would never be anything but protection for shipments. Anything else and Salvatore would have my balls.”
“So there aren’t any Serbs in any management positions,” I said.
“None,” Kroger insisted. “Not for us, anyway. But some of the other families, now, they’ve got Serbs in a lot of different positions.”
“And do you trust them?” I asked.
“It’s the other families,” the lieutenant said with a shrug. “Of course I don’t.”
“I mean, do you trust them to look after the other families?” I explained. “The way you look after the Febbos.”
Kroger grunted as he pondered my question. He squinted as he tried to come up with an answer, and I saw a flash of surprise as he reached a decision.
“No,” he admitted. “I’ve only got my own gut feeling and Salvatore’s beliefs to go on, but I don’t think they really care about the families they serve.”
“Then why have the other families let them get so close?” I asked.
“Like I said,” he lieutenant replied. “They’re cheap and they don’t ask questions. And truth be told, they’ve never done anything that would be seen as threatening to their own family.”
“But I would bet their real loyalty lies with their fellow Serbians,” I said.
“Maybe,” Kroger said in a grudging tone.
“I know I asked you this before, but I want you to really think about it this time,” I warned.
Kroger frowned but finally nodded.
