“No, no, no,” the man pleaded.
The pain was excruciating. It felt like his fingers were being torn apart and it ran all the way up his arm to his shoulder.
Tony dropped the man’s hand, looked at Jimmy and said, “Mr. Jones, a few minutes of your time, please.”
“Check him,” Jimmy said meaning pat him down for weapons. “Then come on up.”
Across the street in an apartment one building down, a man and a woman were watching and filming the action. While Tony and Wendy crossed the street, Tony, looking for traffic, turned his head toward them. The man was watching through binoculars when he did this.
“Are you serious?” he said while continuing to watch. “Carvelli, what the hell are you up to?”
The man’s name was Jeff Johnson and his partner was Tess Richards. They were the two FBI agents working with city councilman Jalen Bryant to bring down Damone Watson.
Twenty-Six
On the way back to the country club and Wendy’s car, the two rode in silence most of the way. About a mile from their destination Tony could see Wendy was not doing well.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Huh, me? Yeah sure. I’m good. Um, good, why what?” she said too fast.
“You’re jonesing,” Tony said; a statement, not a question.
“Me? No, why do you ask? No, I’m good, really. I’m just, you know…”
“An opioid addict and you need a hit,” Tony answered her. “Go ahead. I’m not a cop. Do what you gotta do.”
Wendy scrambled through her handbag and came out holding a small pill. She quickly popped it into her mouth, leaned her head against the car’s window and relaxed.
“Feel better?” Tony asked with an obvious tone of disapproval.
“Hey, you’re not my dad, you’re not my…”
“Husband, mom or guardian angel,” Tony said. “Seventy thousand people died in this country last year from what you’re doing,” he quietly continued. “How much longer before you’re sticking a needle in your arm?”
Wendy did not answer. By now, the dope was doing its work and she was mellowing out.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah,” she said and smiled. “Who are you?”
“I told you. I’m taking over for Chip, but I don’t use that shit. You want to get your life back, I can help you,” Tony said. They were in the parking lot, stopped behind Wendy’s Mercedes. “You’re going to help me. Give me your cell number and I’ll call. Be ready whenever I need you.”
Wendy wrote the number on a slip of paper, handed it to him, got out and hurried to her car.
“Look at me,” Tony said. “Are you okay to drive?”
“I don’t know. I’ll go inside and wait with some friends for a couple of hours. I’ll be okay by then. I promise,” she added when he continued to stare at her.
“No booze,” he said.
“No, I don’t do this and drive. I’ll be okay.”
By the time Tony drove out of the parking lot, he was on the phone to Maddy.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“Okay. He’s checking me out. He said he would call me with news in a couple of days.”
“You know he took your picture while you were in there, don’t you?”
“Yeah, and if the leak is a cop and he sees it…”
“You could be in a lot of trouble.”
“I know. I’m thinking the next time we meet…”
“If there is a next time.”
“I’m gonna play the badass wiseguy and not let them frisk me.”
“I was thinking,” Maddy said. “There is a cop we can trust. Owen Jefferson.”
“Yeah, we can trust Owen. You think I should go to him?”
Maddy paused for a moment before answering. “Yes. Maybe we should have Marc write up something. A written, ass-covering letter in case you get busted. Give a copy to Owen, Marc could keep one and send one to Paxton.”
Tony thought it over then said, “I’ve heard worse ideas.”
“Wow. High praise indeed.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Tony said, “Let’s talk to Owen first. I’ll call him now then call you back. See if he has time now.”
A half-hour later, Tony and Maddy walked into the homicide division at the downtown MPD offices. They could see Jefferson waving them to come into his office. As they walked through the room, the place went completely silent. Tony stopped and looked around at the detectives. Every one of them, including the women, were staring.
“You guys act like you’ve never seen me before,” he said as he swiveled his head around the room.
“Yeah, it’s you we’re looking at, Carvelli,” one of the older cops, a friend of Tony’s, scoffed. “Get the hell out of the way. Hey, Maddy,” the man said.
“Hi, Ron,” she said smiling back. “How’s your wife?”
This provoked laughter from the cynical crowd.
“She’s fine. I hear you’re dating a lawyer,” he said.
“Sorry, yeah, it’s true,” she replied.
“Maddy, Maddy, Maddy,” he said shaking his head in sorrow. “First you’re hanging out with this jamoke,” he said referring to Carvelli, “and now you’re dating a lawyer. We gotta have a chat about your taste in men.”
“It’s worse than you think, Flaherty,” Carvelli said. “He’s a criminal defense lawyer.”
“Great,” one of the other men spoke up. “Now we gotta have an intervention and a deprogramming like they do with cult members.”
By now, Tony and Maddy were at Jefferson’s door and Maddy was laughing. “You think it’s that bad?” she said.
“Probably worse.”
Jefferson came around his desk and ignored Carvelli’s handshake attempt. He took Maddy’s hand in both of his, flashed a big grin and welcomed her.
While he did this, Carvelli stood there with his hand still extended looking at the wall behind Jefferson’s desk.
“This dreary place always seems to light up a bit when you visit us,” Jefferson said.
“Thanks, Owen,” Carvelli replied.
“Oh, yeah, sure, you too, Carvelli,” Jefferson said.
They took their seats, then Maddy pointed a finger at Jefferson and said to Carvelli, “This is the guy I should be dating.”
“Absolutely,” Jefferson beamed.
“Yeah, and he could bring his wife and kids along,” Carvelli said.
“With him, I could wear heels and he’d still be taller than me,” Maddy continued referring to Jefferson’s six-foot five-inch height.
“Of course, there is the wife and kids thing,” Carvelli said.
Before Jefferson could respond, Carvelli said, “Forget it, Owen. By the time she got done with you, you wouldn’t have enough money to go out by yourself.”
“And I’d probably be singing soprano,” Jefferson wistfully said. “Okay, getting serious, what did you need to see me about?”
“Where to begin?” Carvelli rhetorically asked.
“Nicolette,” Maddy said.
Carvelli nodded in agreement and started in with the murders of Chip Osborne, his girlfriend and Nicolette’s suicide. For the next twenty minutes, with Maddy filling in some minor details, Carvelli laid it all out for him.
When he finished, the first question Jefferson had was: “So, you think there’s a leak in either the department or city hall?”
“And so do some cops I’ve talked to. Guys in narcotics,” Carvelli said.
“Hmmm,” Jefferson hummed. “I won’t say it isn’t possible to be coming from the department, but I’d bet on city hall. The department leaks like a sieve sometimes, but mostly feeding reporters little tidbits for the prosecutors. Hell, I’ve done that. So, what do you want from me?”
“Someone in law enforcement to have my back. Someone who knows what I’m up to who can provide cover,” Carvelli answered.
Jefferson leaned back in his chair, covered his mouth with his left hand and stared at Carvelli, obviously think
ing it over. After a minute or so he leaned forward and placed both arms on his desk.
“How many toes are you going to step on if you do this?” Jefferson asked.
“I don’t know,” Carvelli said. “Not the MPD. The guys I talked to in narcotics, straight guys that we both know, tell me they’re all pretty frustrated because the intel they get is bad as soon as they get it. They go for a bust and poof, everybody’s gone. They try to flip street dealers and can’t get them to budge. There’s a leak, Owen.”
“What about the Feds. The FBI or DEA?” Jefferson asked.
“I don’t know and I don’t care.”
“We have the Feds covered,” Maddy interjected. She turned to Carvelli and said, “Our friend.”
“Yeah, I know,” Carvelli replied.
“Who’s your friend that has you covered with the Feds?”
Maddy looked at Carvelli and raised her eyebrows as if silently asking, Should we tell him?
“An AUSA,” Carvelli said. “Who shall remain anonymous, for now.”
“Oh, I see. You want me to cover your ass, but you won’t trust me with your Fed’s name,” Jefferson replied.
“Owen, give me a break. Right now, it’s best not to-”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jefferson said with an indifferent wave of his right hand.
“This person is not local,” Maddy said. “We’ll see about getting permission to tell you.”
“Okay,” Jefferson replied. “From you, I trust. You,” he continued looking at Carvelli, “are lucky you brought her along.”
“Why do you think I did? I think there’s a lot going on here, Owen. More than just drug dealing. There could be some serious takedowns coming,” Carvelli replied.
“Or, we may be putting you in the ground,” Jefferson said.
“Always possible. I won’t tell you who, but I have some guys watching my back.”
“How is Jake?” Jefferson asked.
“Great,” Carvelli grumbled at the realization Jefferson could guess who he was referring to. “He’s good and doing well. You should stop and see him.”
“I don’t know,” Jefferson said. “He’s persona non grata in the department.”
“Half the brass, including the chief, have been by to see him. And they use his limos when they have a need,” Carvelli said.
“Seriously? Well, in that case, I will,” Jefferson replied. “Okay, I’ll do it. Write up what you’re up to and I’ll put it in my personal safe deposit box at my bank.”
“Good. Thanks, Owen,” Carvelli replied.
“Keep me in the loop as much as you can. I can’t get you any money…”
“We have a couple of sources for that,” Maddy said.
“I’ll have Kadella write it up and Maddy will get it to you,” Carvelli said.
“Speaking of which,” Jefferson said looking at Maddy. “Are you and Kadella still an item?”
Maddy smiled and said, “Yeah, yeah we are.” She had a noticeable sparkle in her eyes when she said it.
“Girl,” Jefferson smiled back at her and said, “you’re in love, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, I am,” she admitted.
“Well, I guess you could do worse,” Jefferson told her. “And that’s high praise from a cop for a defense lawyer.”
Twenty-Seven
While Maddy and Carvelli were meeting with Owen Jefferson, Marc was at his desk dealing with the business side of practicing law. He was working through his monthly bills. There was a knock on his office door and Connie Mickelson, the landlord, walked in before Marc could respond. Instead of sitting in one of the client chairs, she moved one next to a window and opened it.
“Do you have to do that in here?” Marc asked.
Connie had a cigarette in her mouth and a plastic lighter in her hand.
“Yeah,” she replied. She took a long drag then blew the smoke out the window.
“My office is too smoky and I need some fresh air,” she said.
“Did it ever occur to you to go outside? It’s nice out,” Marc said. “Here,” he continued as he handed her his rent check.
“Go all the way outside just to smoke a cigarette? It sounds like a lot of work. How’s business? You okay for money?” Connie asked.
Connie Mickelson was everyone’s dream landlord. Having practiced law herself for forty years, she was well aware of the ups and downs. The building they were in, the Reardon Building on Lake Street and Charles Avenue was an inheritance from her father, along with a good deal of money she never talked about. If any of her tenants were having financial problems, Connie was always understanding.
“I’m good,” Marc replied. “Things have become much more consistent, allowing me to do fewer divorces. Give me a murderer ahead of a pissed off wife, any day.”
“Speaking of divorce, you up for handling my next one?” Connie asked.
“What? When did you get married?”
“The judge is making subtle hints,” she said.
“Does he know your track record when it comes to successful marriages? As far as that goes, when are you gonna learn?”
“I figure sooner or later I’ll hit the right one,” Connie said laughing.
“Your problem is, you like getting married, you just don’t like being married,” Marc told her.
There was another knock on Marc’s door and Barry Cline came in.
“She’s thinking about getting married again,” Marc told him.
“Wow. Hey, that’s great Connie. About time you settled down. We’re all very happy for you,” Barry said.
Marc laughed while Connie gave Barry a dirty look. “Very funny, Mr. Sarcasm.”
“Who’s the lucky sailor this time?” Barry said.
“You know, smartass, I haven’t raised your rent…” Connie said then paused. “Come to think of it,” she continued, “I haven’t raised your rent ever. It sounds like it’s about time.”
Barry, who was still standing, rushed over to her, bent down, put his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “I meant every word of it. Don’t do anything hasty.”
Turning serious, Barry took a seat and asked, “Is this the judge? Spears?”
“Yeah,” Connie replied.
“How many times has he been married?” Marc asked.
“None,” Connie said.
“Really? None?”
“He was waiting for someone with a lot of experience,” Barry said.
Even Connie had to laugh at this.
“How old is he?” Marc asked.
“He’ll turn seventy next year, then retire,” Connie answered.
“Connie, you’ve been married to a retired guy. Remember how well that worked out?” Marc asked.
“The more I think about it, Vern might’ve been the best one. He was always fishing and I was always working.”
“Wasn’t he the one who asked for the divorce when he met a younger woman while fishing?” Barry asked.
“Yeah, now that you mention it, there was that little problem,” Connie wistfully said.
Barry had not closed Marc’s door and Carolyn yelled into the room that Marc had a phone call.
“Who?” Marc yelled back.
“An Arturo Mendoza,” she replied.
“Oh, oh,” Connie quietly said.
“What’s this about?” Barry asked. “He wants you on the team?”
“Oh boy,” Marc said wondering what he might want. Of course, they all knew who Arturo was representing. The call was a bit disquieting.
“I’ll take it, Carolyn, thanks,” Marc yelled out. “Close the door,” Marc said to Barry.
“You want us to leave?” Barry asked.
“No, that’s okay,” Marc said.
He picked up the phone, punched the blinking light and said, “Arturo, been a while, what’s up?”
“I got a problem, Marc. A big problem,” Arturo replied. He then explained everything about his difficulties with Sheldon Burke and his entourage. When he finished, there was silence on the lin
e for several seconds.
“And?” Marc finally asked.
“When Rob found out Burke tried to get a continuance, he blew a gasket. Fortunately, Burke wasn’t there. I was the one who told him.
“He wanted to fire Burke on the spot. I calmed him down, for now, and told him I would talk to you. Would you be willing to meet with him? I’m pretty sure I can get you paid and…”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Arturo,” Marc said.
“He swears Ferguson pointed a gun at him…”
“That no one else saw or found,” Marc said. “I’ll tell you what, Arturo. I’ll meet with him. No promises.”
“Thanks, Marc. I appreciate it.”
“When and where?” Marc asked.
“You name it.”
“Your guy’s on home monitoring?”
“Yeah, he is,” Arturo replied.
“Okay, his place at five o’clock this afternoon? What’s his address?”
While Marc was discussing the call with Connie and Barry, Carolyn knocked and opened the door.
“Maddy’s on line two,” she said.
Connie and Barry stood up to leave and before Marc took the call, Barry said, “If you take the case, every cop in America will think you’re a hero.”
Marc looked at him and asked, “Is that good or bad?”
“I’m not sure either,” Barry said.
“Hey,” Marc answered his phone. “Where are you?”
“We’re just leaving Owen Jefferson’s office. We’re outside the building. He needs something from you, Tony does.”
“What?”
“He needs you to write up a history of all this, so Owen has a clear record of it to cover Tony’s ass if he gets in a jam,” Maddy said.
“Not if he gets in a jam, but when. Okay, but I need him here to help with the details. What are you doing later this afternoon?”
“Um, I can make myself available. What’s up?”
“We have a meeting at five. I’ll tell you when you get here,” Marc told her.
“We’ll be there in a little bit,” Maddy said. “Can you do the letter Tony needs for Owen Jefferson?”
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