Back to Brooklyn

by Lawrence Kelter

  He smiled at Lisa. “You think you’re pretty sly, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I do,” she said.

  “Joe knew all about it, didn’t he?”

  “Of course he knew all about it. We rehearsed that bit about me having my friend for over an hour.”

  “He actually understood what we meant by Little Red Riding Hood?”

  “Yeah. And Scarlett Johansson too. Although he was telling the truth when he said that he’d like to bone her…I mean what guy wouldn’t.”

  “I hope he lets the poor girl get on top.”

  “Be nice, Vinny. It’s not cool to make fun of other people’s weight problems, especially Joe’s. He’s got enough shit going on in his life already.”

  “I guess you’re right. Sorry.” He spotted a tall gray-haired man standing alone, sipping a glass of red wine. “Um…why don’t you say hello to our guests, Lisa. I want to thank Judge Molloy for all his help.”

  “Good idea, Vinny. That man saved your ass in Alabama attesting to your credentials the way he did.”

  Vinny grabbed a seven and seven at the bar and approached his dear friend and mentor. “Judge Molloy,” he began, “I’m so happy you could make it.”

  “Ah. The conquering hero returns.”

  “Thank you, Judge, but I think you know that I would’ve been dead meat down there in Alabama if you hadn’t verified my—”

  He put his pointer finger to his lips, “Shhh.” He gestured as a magician might to indicate he would make something disappear. “We need never speak of this again. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Vinny nodded. “I do, Judge, but thanks, thanks all the same.”

  “I would love to get a copy of that courtroom transcript. From what Lisa told me the chips were stacked against you, and that Judge Haller sounded like a god-awful pain in the ass.”

  “Yeah. He was, but he just wanted things done right. When push came to shove, he wasn’t such a bad guy after all.”

  Molloy grinned. “I’m happy to see you’ve acquired an appreciation for those of us seated on the bench.” He patted him on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Vinny. When I met you, you were going nowhere, but when I saw the way you put that pompous highway patrolman in his place…well, I just knew you had what it takes to become an officer of the court. You’ve got a promising career ahead of you. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He shrugged. “Um…can you lend me a twenty?”

  Molloy’s eyes grew large. “Don’t tell me you’re broke?”

  “As you know I did my cousin’s case pro bono. I lived out of pocket almost two months while I defended him in Alabama.”

  Molloy rubbed his chin for a moment while he thought about Vinny’s predicament. “Hmmm. I’m guessing that you haven’t done any assigned counsel work before?”

  “Assigned counsel work? No, Judge Molloy. What’s that?”

  “Well it’s hardly what I call quality justice, and you’ll have to hustle your ass off, but it’ll put some quick money in your pocket, and you should still have time to pursue your career in personal injury law.”

  “Hustling is fine, Judge. I’ll do anything that’ll put food on the table.”

  “You’ll have to qualify as a panel attorney first, but I’m pretty close with Mike Saperstein who oversees the 18B Central Screening Panel. You successfully defended two young men against homicide charges in a kangaroo court. I don’t think he’ll find any issues with you.”

  “Thank you, Judge Molloy. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “So, what are the nuts and bolts of this here assigned counsel thing?”

  “As I mentioned, it’s hardly what I think of as quality justice, but it’s a necessary part of the legal process. The court system provides private attorneys to the indigent in cases where a conflict or multiple defendants prevent a legal aid attorney from accepting the case. The pay isn’t much. Sixty dollars per hour for a misdemeanor case and a paltry seventy-five for felony work, but I know a couple of hardworking attorneys who pull down four to five thousand a month doing it. It helps them to make their ends meet.”

  “Four to five thousand? That would be great.”

  Molloy flashed his hand like a stop sign. “Now hold on. The attorneys I mentioned are highly experienced at the assigned counsel game. Even if you work like a dog, you’ll be lucky to make half that at the beginning.”

  “Half’s better than nothing, Judge, which is exactly what I’m making now.”

  “That’s fine—as long as you’re going into this with a reasonable level of expectation. In the meantime, I’ll keep my ears open for any casework that might reward you more handsomely. Do you have any business cards with you?”

  Vinny jammed his hand into his suit pocket. “All you want, Judge Molloy.” He handed him a stack an inch thick.

  Molloy’s eyes opened wide. “That’s a bit more than I was thinking, but I’ll hold onto them and try to put them to good use.” He split the pile in two and slipped the two stacks into his pockets. His eyes lit up when he saw Lisa approach. He took her hand and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re a feast for the eyes, Ms. Vito.” He turned to Vinny. “You know I was happily married for over thirty years and I loved my wife dearly, but God rest her soul Mrs. Molloy was a plain-looking gal.” He grinned as he patted Vinny on the shoulder. “I don’t know how you do it, my friend. You’ve got one hell of a gift.”

  Chapter Eleven: Scream a Little Scream for Me

  Sammy was there beside Theresa when she woke up. She turned on her side so that she could study him as he slept. He looked different without hair but his sleep face hadn’t changed. He was still her Sammy, rugged and handsome, the cleft in his chin darkened with stubble.

  A couple of moments passed as she tried to be patient but couldn’t wait any longer. She kissed his lips, bringing him to life. His eyes were still closed as he kissed her back, his arms encircling her, pulling her closer. She’d missed him so much and had ached for this kind of closeness, to be in his arms, warm and secure. She was about to say, “I love you,” when somewhere off in the distance a shrill noise pierced her consciousness and interrupted the moment. It grew louder and louder and so insistent that it couldn’t be ignored. She finally recognized the sound as the wail of a siren.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  The loud noise snatched her from the rapture of sleep. She shrieked as she shot up in bed, clutching her chest, her eyes snapping open. The space beside her in bed was empty. “Sam?” A moment passed before she realized that she had been dreaming.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  “Sam is that you?” She threw back the covers and scrambled out of bed, wrapping a robe around her as she hurried to the door. “Sam?” She rose on her toes to see through the peephole—on the other side was a face she didn’t recognize. Her heart pounded. Where are you, Sammy? “Yes?” she asked as she grew nervous.

  “NYPD,” the stranger announced as he held up his gold detective’s shield so that it could be viewed through the peephole. “Ms. Cototi? Ms. Theresa Cototi?”

  She glanced around the apartment, hoping Sam might be in the bathroom and would come running to her side. Her voice trembled, “Yes?”

  “May I come in, ma’am?”

  “Why?”

  “I’d rather not yell through the door.”

  She’d only had Sam back for a few short days. His return still felt so tenuous, as if he could be ripped away from her at any moment. “Is it about—” The words died in her mouth and were swallowed by dread.

  “Can I come in, ma’am? It’s very important that I speak with you.”

  She was more afraid of the news she suspected the police officer carried than of letting a stranger into her home. She began to shiver and felt lightheaded, then faint. She slid down to the floor with her back pressed against the door, lost in fear.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  The door continued to shake beneath the force of the
policeman’s blows. “Ma’am,” he persisted. “Please…open the door.”

  Chapter Twelve: He Said, She Said…No

  The Caddy sat on the street all the next day because Vinny and Lisa were both terribly hungover, too impaired to drive after Vinny’s surprise party. God only knows how they made it home afterward.

  Lisa’s father Augie grimaced when he heard the noise coming from under the hood of the big red Caddy as it rolled into the repair bay the following day. “Lisa, you threw a rod?” he asked with disappointment in his voice.

  Lisa and Vinny hopped out of the car. “Me? I didn’t throw nothin’. It was Captain Lead Foot over here.” She smirked. “He thought he could go up against a Mercedes AMG.”

  Augie frowned. “Vinny, for real? Before or after you got loaded at the party?”

  “Before,” she snitched.

  “Benedict Arnold. When did you become such a tattletale?”

  “Face the music, Mario Andretti.”

  “Ah, I didn’t push her so hard. Maybe the oil pressure was low or something.”

  “Oil pressure, my ass,” she said. “Listen, Vinny, I change the oil every two thousand miles and check the oil pressure while I’m at it. It’s always around thirty-two PSI, which is well within tolerance for this motor.”

  “She’s right,” Augie said. “Thirty-two is right on the money.” He felt under the hood for the release latch and popped the massive hood. “We may be lucky,” he said and pointed to the left valve cover, which had a prominent bump on the top surface. “The rod broke while the piston was on the way up. We’ll pull the valve cover and see what’s going on.”

  “You’re a lucky fuck, Vinny,” she said. “If the rod broke while the piston was on the way down, it probably would’ve cracked the block and then we could’ve thrown the whole engine in the garbage.”

  Vinny was gazing at the concrete floor as he pulled off his leather jacket. “Augie, you got a set of coveralls I could use?”

  “No way!” Lisa said. “We’re just a few blocks from the house. You put on a suit and go to work. I’ll fix the valve train.”

  As usual, she was elegantly attired in pumps and a skirt.

  Vinny’s eyebrows peeked. “Dressed like that?”

  “No, ya dope. I’ll walk back with you and change into my coveralls.”

  “You two go ahead,” Augie insisted. “I’ll remove the bolts and we’ll talk about the repair when you get back.” He kissed Lisa on the forehead. “Besides, you know how much I like having my little girl around the shop.”

  “Thanks, Pops.” Lisa blushed and pushed Vinny toward the door.

  ***

  Vinny unlocked the front door and pushed it open.

  “So, what’s your plan for today?” Lisa asked.

  “I’m gonna go see Judge Molloy’s friend to file my application for that assigned attorney thing. Then I’m gonna call Angie and start working on her case.”

  “What about taking some office space like we talked about? You know, so you got a place to talk to your clients.”

  “Yeah. I’ll look into that too…if I got the time.”

  He was starting for the staircase when the phone rang. The voice on the end of the line sounded foreign. “Hello. This is Detective Parikh.”

  “What? Did you say, ‘Detective Prick?’”

  “Yes.”

  “Fuck you!” He slammed the phone onto the cradle. “The nerve of that guy.”

  “Who the hell was that?” Lisa asked.

  “Some asshole wasting my time with a prank call. I can’t believe the son of a bitch called just to break my balls.” The phone rang again. “Ah shit. Do you believe this guy?” He answered the call in a hostile voice. “Listen up, wiseass. This ain’t funny.”

  The caller interrupted. “Is this Vincent Gambini?”

  “Yeah. Who wants to know?”

  “Detective Parikh.”

  “Detective Prick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Get a life and stop wasting my time, you sick bastard.”

  “Mr. Gambini, this is Detective Nirmal Parikh of the New York City Police Department.”

  “Normal prick? Yeah, well, Normal Prick, I’m a big prick and I’m gonna kick the ever-loving shit out of you if you don’t hang up and stop calling this number.”

  “Hey!” Lisa said. “What’s with all the foul language? You don’t know who that is.”

  He covered the receiver. “Friggin’ asshole. I’ll teach him not to screw around with a Gambini. Watch this.”

  “Vinny, are you sure about this?” she asked. “Maybe you just oughta hang up.”

  “A guy like this? Forget about it. He’ll never stop calling. Give a guy like this an inch and he’ll take a whole mile.” He uncovered the receiver. “Hey, Normal Prick, why don’t you hang up and call back when you grow up and become a full-size prick.”

  “Mr. Gambini,” the caller asserted. “This is Detective Nirmal Parikh with the New York City Police Department. I’m calling on official police business.”

  “Yeah, right. Who is this? Hey, is that you, Giacomo, you sick bastard? I know it’s you, you crazy son of a bitch. You still hung over from my party the other night?”

  “No,” the caller insisted, “I already explained, sir, this is Detective Parikh.”

  “Now listen, Prick, I’ve got lots of friends in high places and if I ever find out who this is, I’ll kick your teeth in.” He disconnected again. “There. I showed him.”

  The phone rang again. Lisa stepped in front of him and answered the call. “Can I help you?” She listened for a few moments and then turned to Vinny with a look of abject horror on her face. “Oh my God. Yeah? I see.” She remained quiet while she listened to what the caller had to say. “Sure. Yeah. I understand. I’ll put him right on. Hold on.” She covered the receiver and turned to Vinny with a look of utter disbelief. “Yeah. You showed him all right. The man’s name isn’t Prick. It’s pronounced Par-eek. It’s an Indian name, ya dope.”

  “How was I supposed to know with that thick accent of his? I couldn’t understand a fuckin’ word he said.”

  She shook her head. “Forget all that. It’s important. He wants to talk to you about some woman named Theresa, Theresa Cototi.”

  “Theresa Cototi? Who the hell is that?”

  “Like I know.” She shoved the phone into his hand. “Would ya just talk to the man already.”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure.” He put the phone to his ear and began to pace the room. “Uh…Detective…sorry about that.”

  Chapter Thirteen: Son of Zeus

  It took Vinny about an hour to shower, dress, and get down to the police precinct. He shoved the doors open and charged into the vestibule. He hurried to the counter and presented his business card. “Vincent Gambini. I’m here to see Detective Parikh.”

  The desk officer scrutinized his business card, then examined Vinny’s face. “Wait right here,” he said as he turned and walked through the door to the inner office.

  Vinny drummed his fingers on the counter while he waited for the officer to return.

  He didn’t have to wait very long. “Detective Parikh is on the phone,” the desk officer said and pointed to a row of chairs lining the wall. “Have a seat.”

  “Have a seat?” he asked.

  “That’s what I said. Have a seat.”

  Vinny reluctantly found a chair and sat down in the only available spot, between an oversized woman and a man in a tracksuit wearing a cervical collar.

  Scarcely a minute had passed before the man with the neck brace made his acquaintance. “Hey, man, you look like a lawyer. You a lawyer?”

  “Yeah,” Vinny replied without looking. “I’m a lawyer. I’m here to meet with a client.” He turned his head, noticed the neck brace, and offered his hand. “Vincent Gambini, Attorney at Law. I specialize in personal injury cases. And who might you be, my seriously maimed friend?”

  “Hercules Lopez. I’m here because a detective is questioning one of my e
mployees. I hope she don’t get booked.”

  “Hercules, huh? That’s an interesting name.”

  “I got a brother named Apollo and a sister named Aphrodite, too. My father’s from Puerto Rico but my mother’s from Athens.”

  “Oh. I see. Your neck looks pretty bad, Hercules. What the hell happened?”

  “Some woman was chasing me down Eighty-sixth Street under the elevated train tracks when I slipped and did a number on my neck.”

  “I see. And now I suppose you’d like to sue this broad who was chasing you?”

  “Not exactly. You see, man, I want to sue JPMorgan Chase.”

  “The bank?”

  Lopez nodded, his movement greatly restricted by the brace. “Right. The bank.”

  “And how is it you feel the bank is responsible for your injury?”

  “Well you know, I blacked out from the fall, but when I came to, the first thing I saw was the great big electric Chase sign in front of me and I swore, ‘JPMorgan Chase, those no good sons of bitches.’”

  “You’ll have to excuse me, Hercules, but I fail to see what the bank had to do with your slip and fall.”

  “Mr. Gambini, is it?” “

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I fell in front of the bank and there was some slippery shit on the sidewalk, some grease or something. You’re a lawyer. Can’t you prove that the bank was negligent? I mean it’s their responsibility to keep the street in front of the bank clean, isn’t it?”

  “Negligent of what?”

  “Like I said—the slippery goddamn grease that made me fall.”

  “Do you know for a fact that JPMorgan Chase was responsible for the slippery grease being there? Did you take a sample of this slippery grease or do you possess some other evidence that I could use to prove your claim in a court of law?”

  “Shit, man, it’s a big goddamn bank. Even a settlement has got to be good for six figures. Shouldn’t it? I hate those bastards anyway. They turned me down for a mortgage.”

  “Oh, I see. You’re unhappy with the bank because of a credit decision you disagreed with and now you figure you’ll screw them on some trumped up personal injury case? Is that about the size of it?”