He watched as his client was escorted before the judge. He glanced over at Lisa, who raised her eyebrows and shooed him in the same direction.
Vinny hustled toward the bench and stood alongside his client. He studied the judge for a moment, then turned to face the ADA. He hadn’t recognized him from the back of the courtroom but now realized that he was the gentleman Lisa had rudely rebuffed when they were looking for the attorneys’ room earlier that morning. He nervously straightened his necktie and cleared his nostrils.
The ADA gave Vinny a thumbs up that meant fuck you!
Judge Temperance Finch was an attractive lady of color with a no-nonsense expression chiseled so deeply that Botox wouldn’t have been able to remove the deep creases in her face. She glanced over the top of her glasses at Vinny. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” she said in a welcoming tone.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” he said with a happy lilt in his voice. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
Her expression changed. It now seemed more amused than businesslike. “That’s very gallant, Counselor, but I was hoping you’d introduce yourself to the court.”
“Oh. Yeah. Yeah. Right. My name is Vincent Gambini, Your Honor.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And you’re listed with the bar?”
“Yes, Your Honor, and I was just approved by the Central Screening Committee for 18B work.”
She glanced up looking through the courtroom. “Is that correct, Mr. Saperstein?”
He nodded.
“Well then, welcome to my courtroom, Mr. Gambini,” she said. “Now without wasting any more time…” She adjusted her glasses and turned to the court clerk. “Please read the charges.”
The court clerk read the complaint. “The defendant is charged with issuing a bad check at Speedy Check Cashers at ten-twenty-five Eighteenth Avenue, Brooklyn.” He handed the complaint to the judge. “Breach affidavit is signed.” He glanced at Vinny. “Waiver of rights not be read, counsel?”
It took Vinny a moment to respond. The ADA turned to him asking, “Yes or no, rookie?”
The judge scowled at him.
“Sorry, Your Honor,” the ADA said.
The wheels in Vinny’s head began to turn. “Yes.”
The judge turned to Vinny. “Counselor, this is a Class-B misdemeanor. How does your client plead?”
Vinny opened his mouth to answer but Boydetto beat him to the punch, “I didn’t do it?”
Vinny turned to Boydetto, partially covered his mouth, and whispered in a harsh tone, “What did I tell you?”
The judge removed her glasses, her expression turning angry. “Mr. Gambini, have you instructed your client as to plea options at this time and that you will be answering in his behalf?”
“Yes, Your Honor…absolutely. I did.”
“Then is it fair to assume that he won’t be wasting any more of my time?”
“That’s correct, Your Honor.”
“Good.” She shook her head. “Once again, Mr. Gambini, how does your client plead?”
Boydetto once again blurted, “But I didn’t do it.” His lips turned down at the corners and his head dropped.
Vinny elbowed Boydetto and grumbled, “Dummy, you want to get held in contempt?”
She huffed and turned toward Vinny, with shooting daggers.
Vinny panicked, remembering the three trips he’d made to an Alabama jail. He made the quick assumption that in New York, bail would be a far more expensive proposition than the paltry two hundred dollars Haller had assessed him for each count of contempt. He quickly cried, “My client pleads ‘not guilty,’ Your Honor.”
“Well hallelujah.” She turned to the ADA. “Mr. Doucette, you have any thoughts on bail?”
Doucette quickly studied his notes and then looked up. “Yes, Your Honor. We request the defendant be remanded.” He turned to Vinny and winked.
Vinny whispered aside to Boydetto, “You got any money for bail?”
He shook his head, his eyes large, pleading, No! Please don’t let this happen.
The judge took a moment while she studied the recommendation of the Criminal Justice Agency, facts about the defendant’s life, a curriculum vitae of sorts. She spoke without looking up, “Mr. Gambini, do you have anything to add before I set bail?”
Vinny had been formulating his argument from the second the ADA had winked at him and rattled it out in one continuous stream of conscious thought. “Your Honor, as you will note from the documents prepared by the Criminal Justice Agency, my client has virtually no savings and doesn’t even have a driver’s license. In fact, he’s lived in the same apartment for the last eleven years and has worked in the same slumarea since—”
“Excuse me,” she interjected, “did you say, ‘slum area?’”
Vinny grinned. “That’s correct, Your Honor…” He glanced at his documents. “Since 2006.”
“In a slum area?”
“That’s correct.”
“A slum area?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m confused, Counselor. Are you saying that the defendant works in a heavily populated urban area characterized by substandard housing and squalor?”
Vinny finally realized that he was being misunderstood. “Oh. I’m sorry, Your Honor. What I meant to say was sal-u-mer-i-a…a pork store,” he explained most matter-of-factly.
“Oh my dear Lord.” She turned her head and mumbled, “And they say black people can’t be understood.” She gestured to him. “Are you finished, Mr. Gambini?”
“No, Your Honor. The defendant lacks the resources to be a flee risk. The stable nature of his living arrangement and his long tenure working in a sal-u-mer-i-a show his strong ties to the community.” He raised a finger as he closed. “This coupled with the fact that this is my client’s first offense and that this is an extremely minor infraction should be more than sufficient proof that Mr. Boydetto can be released on his own recognizance.”
Lisa was so impressed with Vinny’s argument that she jumped out of her seat and yelped. The judge cast a wary eye in her direction. Lisa sat down but was unable to suppress her immense smile. She pointed to Vinny for the benefit of the woman sitting next to her and boasted, “That’s my fiancé.”
The judge turned to Vinny. “Mr. Gambini, you may be a little rough around the edges but I like your gumption. And regardless of your recent arrival in my court you’re certainly no rookie.” She turned toward Doucette, the ADA, with a disparaging expression. “The defendant is hereby released on his own recognizance. Preliminary hearing is scheduled for Monday morning at nine a.m.” She winked at Vinny and instructed the clerk to call the next case.
Vinny grinned ear-to-ear as the clerk called out, “Docket number KN089986…Joseph Gambini.”
Chapter Nineteen: Quid Pro Schmo
Vinny’s jaw dropped as the next defendant was led before the bench. “Joe?”
“You know him?” Doucette asked.
He was still bewildered as he answered the ADA. “Um…yeah. He’s my brother.”
“Two Gambinis in court on the same day? How lucky can a guy get?” Doucette grabbed his case file, flipped it open, and noted the offense. He snickered. “Public lewdness? I can’t believe he was actually booked on a two forty-five. This is too funny to be true. It states that your brother mooned a customer at Tiffany’s Luncheonette.”
Vinny covered his mouth and mumbled, “Fuckin’ idiot,” before saying to Doucette, “Yeah. He works there. He’s a part-time short-order cook.”
Doucette thought for a moment, then presented his hand. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Peter Doucette. Assistant District Attorney for Kings County.”
Vinny slowly reached out and took his hand. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that too. We were having a rough morning.”
“No hard feelings?” Doucette asked.
“No. None. And thanks for being such a standup guy.”
“Sorry I called you a rookie. I guess I was just sore from our encounter downstai
rs.” He whispered in Vinny’s ear. “I think the Borough of Brooklyn can survive one quick peek at your brother’s rear end, don’t you?” He placed his hand on Vinny’s shoulder. “This one’s on me.” He moved toward his table. “See you around, Counselor.”
Vinny grimaced, confused about what he’d just been told.
Lisa looked worried. “What the hell is going on?”
Vinny shrugged. He looked Joe in the eye as he walked past him to Lisa, shaking his head in disbelief.
“What was that all about?” Lisa asked the moment he sat down.
“I’m not sure.”
“That bald ADA bustin’ your balls?”
He shushed her. “I don’t know, Lisa. He said, ‘This one’s on me.’”
“‘This one’s on me?’ What the hell does that mean?”
“I think he’s gonna kick the case.”
“But why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he ain’t the bald-headed prick you thought he was.”
Vinny could do nothing more than sit and watch as his brother’s charges were summarily read. Joe’s attorney, a young woman plead, “Not guilty,” on Joe’s behalf.
Judge Finch turned to the ADA. “Mr. Doucette, are you asking for remand?”
Doucette studied his notes before speaking, “Although not entirely a victimless crime, the incident was not recorded on video. It’s a he-said-she-said matter and I see absolutely no need to waste the taxpayer’s money on this charge, Your Honor. If the plaintiff wishes to pursue a civil remedy, that’s entirely up to her. We move to dismiss.”
Lisa’s jaw dropped. “Holy crap, Vinny. You were right.”
“Don’t get too excited. Nothing comes for free. This is a quid pro quo situation.”
“Meaning?”
“He did me a favor. Now he expects one in return.”
“Oh. Is that so bad?”
“It depends on the favor he’s looking for.”
The judge dismissed the case.
Joe turned, found them in the courtroom, and projected a euphoric smile.
Vinny shook his head in disbelief. “Even though he got off, Joe’s still a fuckin’ idiot.”
Lisa nodded. “You got that right.”
Chapter Twenty: The Quintessential Joe
Vinny tried to get in behind the wheel but Lisa yanked him out of the way. “I’ll drive,” she said. “Before you put another rod through the hood.”
He scowled at her good-humoredly before walking around to the passenger door and getting into the Caddy. He turned to his brother in the backseat. “What the hell, Joe? You dropped your drawers at the luncheonette?”
“Some uppity broad was busting my balls.”
Lisa looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Why didn’t you just spit in her food like you usually do?”
Joe shrugged. “It was like eleven o’clock. Everyone was on their lunch break and I was there alone. I had to cook and serve this pain-in-the-ass woman all at the same time.”
“So?” Lisa asked.
“So, she complained about everything: her fork was dirty, the chicken was dry, her coffee was cold…yada, yada, yada. She had me bouncing back and forth between her table and the griddle like a goddamn pinball. The nasty old broad was driving me nuts.”
“So maybe she was right,” Lisa said. “That don’t mean you yank down your pants and stick your fat ass in her face.”
“She started yelling at me. Then she walked up to the counter and wouldn’t stop. She told me that she used to be a tribal princess before she moved here from her native country. She said I should be honored to wait on her.”
“Well maybe she was a princess,” Lisa said. “That ain’t cause to moon her. Is it, Vinny?”
Vinny seemed a little flustered. “I don’t know, Lisa. The woman does sound like a real pain in the ass.”
“She was so difficult to handle that Joe was within his rights to moon her?”
“I don’t know. How do you honor a tribal princess anyway?” Vinny asked. “Was Joe supposed to slaughter an ox and present it to her as a sacrificial offering?”
“Stop taking his side.”
“Was he supposed to wrestle a camel into submission? Flog a llama? Oh. Oh. I got it. Maybe he was supposed to subdue a wildebeest.” He folded his arms and turned his head away.
“Fuck you,” she snapped and turned her attention to the road. She drove in silence until they were back in the neighborhood, just down the block from where Augie had his garage. “My dad said he was going to be shorthanded this afternoon on account my brother Dino is off with one of his girlfriends again. I’m gonna see if he needs my help.” She put the gear selector in park and opened the door. “See ya later. You can drive Jiggle Butt Joe back to work, Vinny—that is, if he still has a job.”
He turned back to see Joe shaking his head.
***
Lisa paused at the office door and peered into the shop. Augie was alone, standing in front of a 1972 Buick Riviera with a new four-barrel carburetor in his hands. She could see that the old one had already been removed and that the manifold had been prepared for the installation of the new carburetor. She watched in silence while her father stood transfixed, not so much lost in thought, but just lost. He stared at the prepped manifold with a blank expression. Carbureted engines had become rare. Still, Augie had been swapping carburetors since he was eleven years old and could install one in his sleep if he had to.
Her lip twisted as she watched him. She’d seen him like this more and more lately, confused and disoriented. She’d suggested that he go to the doctor a few times but he’d always refused. This time she’d insist, make the appointment, and take him there herself if need be.
“So what’s your problem?” she asked as she took the carburetor out of his hands. The fenders and front end were covered with mechanic’s blankets. She leaned into the engine bay and positioned the carburetor atop the gasket, aligning the bolt holes in the gasket with those in the body of the carburetor. “What’s going on, Pops? You look like you just lost your best friend.”
“I skipped lunch.” He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “My blood sugar must be low.” He saw the new carburetor sitting in place just waiting for the installation to be completed. “Put on some coveralls before you get your good clothes dirty.” He turned and walked into the office.
Lisa followed him and saw him sitting behind the counter with his arms hanging at his sides. “You’re going to the doctor. I’m making you an appointment this week.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he said looking at her as if she were crazy. “All I need is a cup of coffee.”
“Bullshit, Dad. You look me in the eye and tell me there’s nothing wrong.”
“Lisa, you’ve become a bigger ballbreaker than your mother. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to see a doctor. Let them run a few tests. You’ve got insurance.”
“Bah! Doctors are bullshit—unless you break a bone or something. They don’t know what’s wrong. They just guess, like anyone else.”
“Oh yeah?” She stood in front of him tapping her foot. “Let me ask you something. Say someone drives in with an old Pontiac Firebird and the car makes a sound like a chicken is getting strangled every time the steering wheel is turned. You ain’t checked it out yet but you got a pretty good hunch that the steering box was manufactured on a Detroit assembly line at four-thirty on a Friday afternoon and ain’t worth a shit, now don’t ya?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So what’s your guess?”
“About what, Lisa?”
“About what’s going on with you?”
“For Christ’s sake, Lisa…I told you. I’m fine.” He attempted to stand but she put her hand on his shoulder and forced him back into the chair.
“Well I got a guess. I’m guessing that smoking since the age of ten has hardened the arteries in your head. That’s my guess. You’ve seen people with severe Alzheimer’s. Is tha
t what you want? You want to look at your own daughter one day and not know who she is? You want to lose your dignity?” Her throat tightened and a tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it away. “No. Screw that. I’m taking you for a checkup.”
He got out of his chair and put his arms around her. He looked into her eyes and for the first time truly understood what she feared. “Okay, baby girl. You don’t have to cry…I won’t fight you no more…I’ll go.”
Chapter Twenty-One: A Job with Great Benefits
Vinny changed out of his suit and hung it on a proper wooden suit hanger. He pushed aside his leather jacket and made room for it next to the ridiculous burgundy tailcoat he’d been forced to wear before Judge Haller when his only business suit had fallen into the mud and his only option was to shop in a secondhand store. Lisa had since taken it to the drycleaner—it was now fresh and wrapped in plastic. He held it up, gazing at the loud half-inch satin trim on the wide peaked lapels and vest. It would be a keepsake, a reminder of the murder case that had changed his life, the case he desperately worried he might lose.
Hercules Lopez’s business card sat atop his dresser. He was feeling invigorated from the arraignment and hurried downstairs to call the prospective client.
The phone rang several times. When the call was finally answered, no one spoke. He heard soft moaning and the sound of a man building to a crescendo. The wailing sounds grew louder and louder and more frequent. “Holy shit,” Vinny mumbled. “Do you believe this crap?”
He heard a woman’s voice a few moments later. “Hello?”
“Sorry that I disturbed you. This is Vincent Gambini calling.”
“What you want, papi?”
“I want to speak to Mr. Lopez. Is he there?”
He heard her say, “Hey, Hercules, it’s for you.”
Lopez complained in the background. “Shit! Right now?” He came to the phone nonetheless. “Who this?”
“Mr. Lopez, this is Vincent Gambini. We met at the police station the other day.” He snickered. “I hope this ain’t a bad time.”
“Oh, Mr. Gambini,” he said, his attitude changing immediately. “Sorry, huh? You want to take my case and sue those bastard bankers?”
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