Back to Brooklyn

by Lawrence Kelter

  “Absolutely not. Thanks again.”

  Gold checked his watch. “I’m running late, but call my office. I think the discovery documents you requested are ready—waiting for an address to deliver them to.”

  “Great, I’ll send somebody to pick them up right away.”

  “In a hurry, are you?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “See you in court, Gambini. Tell your brother to keep his nose clean…and his pants up around his waist where they belong.” He rushed off.

  Vinny turned around and was about to walk back up the stairs when he saw that Lisa and Joe were already on their way down. “Why do you think he did that?” Vinny asked. “I mean doing it the first time was one thing but…that was a really nice thing for him to do a second time.”

  “Ain’t it obvious,” Lisa responded. “He wants you to think twice before challenging him in court. Don’t you know nothing? I told you not to let that man into your head. You think he took you to lunch and kicked Joe’s case because he’s in the running for the Nobel Peace Prize?”

  “Trotter didn’t do nothing like that. He was an honorable guy.”

  “Gold ain’t Trotter. Trotter was the DA of a miniscule Alabama parish. All he had to do to get reelected was invite everyone over to his place for a hoedown, grill some corndogs, and pour moonshine. This is New York, Vinny. You’re up against a DA who wants to get reelected at the end of the year. He’ll do anything to make that happen, and convicting the woman who killed the deputy mayor’s brother is just the ticket he’s looking for. It don’t matter that she’s not guilty. He’s got to put someone away.”

  “Jesus,” Joe said. “Lisa is friggin’ smart, Vin.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Vinny said. “Sometimes I think I really don’t deserve her.”

  “What now?” Lisa asked, ignoring his self-deprecating comment.

  “I’m thinking we split a couple of those ginormous pastrami sandwiches. Then I’m gonna get my ass back to work.”

  Chapter Fifty-One: Emergency Service

  Three Weeks Later

  All was quiet in Vinny and Lisa’s home. The digital clock on the nightstand read 3:00 a.m. They were in bed, sound asleep, the muffled flutter of Vinny’s snoring filled the bedroom with a hypnotic hum. They’d gone to bed early so that he’d be well rested and sharp for the first day of jury selection.

  That was their plan, anyway.

  When 3:00 clicked over to 3:01, the night exploded. Their eyes shot open in unison. Dazzling lights breached the gaps in the window shades, turning their bedroom into a strobe-lit dance floor. The house shook as if succumbing to the seismic shocks generated by an earthquake, but the riveting thunder of a jackhammer said otherwise. They were literally vibrating in bed.

  “You got to be fuckin’ kidding me,” Vinny said in a strained voice. “A construction crew? Here? At this hour?”

  Lisa made a face, then yanked the pillow out from under her head and covered her face with it. “Maybe they followed us home from Alabama.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Just make it stop.”

  He rubbed his eyes, pushed back the covers, and shivered as his feet hit the cold wooden floor. He pushed the window shade aside, making the room as bright as if it were high noon. “Son of a bitch!” he swore as he took in the turbulent scene taking place on the street in front of their driveway. Three gas company trucks and a half-dozen hardhats were hustling about while a jackhammer ate huge chunks of asphalt, creating a six-inch deep trench in front of of their driveway. He’d been sleeping in his sweats and needed only to step into his boots before leaving the bedroom. He clumsily navigated down the staircase and out the front door.

  “Hey!” he yelled above the roar of the jackhammer to get the attention of one of the hardhats. “You got any idea what time it is?”

  The worker turned to him. “What?”

  He formed a megaphone with his hands and yelled, “I asked if you got any idea what time it is?”

  “Emergency gas leak,” the hardhat replied, his shout barely discernable above the roar of the pneumatic jackhammer.

  “Emergency gas leak,” Vinny muttered in defeat. “How long you gonna be here?”

  “What?”

  Vinny once again pulled out the megaphone. “I said, how long you gonna be here?”

  “As long as it takes, Mack.”

  Vinny glanced down at the broad channel being cut in front of his driveway. “How am I gonna get my car out? I gotta go to work in a few hours.”

  “What?”

  He repeated his question with his arms folded across his chest, shivering, his teeth chattering. “How am I gonna get my car out?”

  “You’d better pull it out now,” the hardhat yelled, “before it’s too deep. I’ve got no idea what we’ll find when we get down there.”

  “‘Pull it out now,’” Vinny repeated in a muffled voice before trudging back into the house to fetch his car keys.

  He yawned long and loud from within the passenger compartment while he waited for the massive V-8 to warm up. He rubbed his eyes to clear them, but they were glassy and the glare of the bright mobile lights were blinding. He threw the gearshift into reverse and barreled down the driveway faster than he should have, lack of sleep and overconfidence overriding good common sense. The workers scattered as the red gargantuan convertible came straight for them. The jackhammer operator dropped his large power tool and ran for cover.

  Vinny cut the wheel sharply but not in time to avoid the jagged rift in the street. He popped the left rear tire, deflating it completely. He knew what had happened the second he heard the loud pop and the whoosh of escaping pressurized air. He stopped the car and covered his eyes with his hand as the irate construction crew rushed toward the car. “I can’t fuckin’ believe it,” he said. When he looked up again, Lisa was at the window, once again shaking her head in disbelief.

  Chapter Fifty-Two: Almost 10:16

  “Four thousand eight hundred and fifty pounds, plus your own very svelte body weight, puts the weight of the Caddy at over five thousand pounds,” Lisa preached much to Vinny’s chagrin.

  He glared at her from behind the wheel on their way to court as snow fell and the Caddy slid on icy sludge.

  “Now, given the fact that the Caddy rides on fifteen-inch, tubeless, bias-ply tires, coupled with the frigid ambient air, which must’ve shrunken the steel rim just a fraction of an inch, when you plowed into the pothole at excessive speed, there was no way the seal wasn’t going to rupture. Why the hell were you backing down the driveway so fast?”

  “Lisa, please. I don’t need to hear your expert lecture on the dynamics of automobile tire failure under adverse road conditions. I’ve been up since three o’clock in the morning. I had a confrontation with half a dozen men in hardhats. I changed a flat tire in the freezing cold. I’ve got a hard-ass judge who just loves to tell me what I’m doing wrong, a two-and-a-half-ton sled that’s sliding back and forth over the road like a puck on an ice hockey rink—not to mention that today is the first day of jury selection for the murder trial of an innocent woman. I got plenty on my mind already.”

  “Bad timing?”

  “Ya think?”

  ***

  The snow was two inches deep by the time Vinny and Lisa marched up the courthouse steps. They stomped their feet to get the snow off their shoes and proceeded through security. “You feel prepared?” Lisa asked as she smoothed the shoulders on his suit. “You look prepared. I think you’re ready.”

  “Yeah, I guess I am,” he said halfheartedly.

  “Listen, Vinny, I know you’re tired but you gotta shake out the cobwebs. This is no time to start doubting yourself. You got to go in there and show the jurors who you are or they won’t have no respect for you. You think you can do that?”

  “I can. I mean…yes.”

  “Great,” she said, supplying all the enthusiasm he seemed to be lacking. “Now get up there and do your thing.”

&
nbsp; “Thanks, Lisa.”

  “I gotta run,” she said. “I can’t sit there for jury selection anyway, and Gloria wants me in the shop by eleven.”

  “You sure you’re okay taking the train?”

  “Yeah. What’s the big deal? Besides with the snow sticking like it is and every asshole with a driver’s license out on the road, I’m safer on the subway than I am behind the wheel. Pick me up at the shop tonight, okay?” She kissed him and hurried off.

  ***

  Gold was first to voir dire Rose Donnelly, an elderly woman clinging onto the handle of her cane in the jury box. He read from the juror questionnaire she’d completed in advance before looking up and greeting her with a smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Donnelly. You’re looking fine this morning.”

  She grinned absently and checked her watch before answering in a thick Irish brogue. “Ten-fifteen.”

  Gold’s forehead wrinkled as he inched closer to the jury box. “Mrs. Donnelly, can you hear me all right? I didn’t ask the time. I said, you’re looking fine.”

  She checked her watch again and clarified her response, “Almost ten-sixteen.”

  Gold glanced at the judge, who said, “Thank you for your service, ma’am. You’re dismissed.”

  “I’ll be missed?” she asked.

  “Yes, very much.” Whorhatz motioned for the court officer to escort her from the room.

  All the jurors moved over one position until Mrs. Donnelly’s seat had been filled. An alternate juror moved to the jury box to bring the total number back to twelve.

  Gold tried again. The next juror was also elderly, a balding man who exposed gaps between his teeth when he smiled in anticipation of being spoken to. Gold smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Goldberg. How are you today, sir?”

  “Me? I’m wonderful,” he said in a heavy Yiddish accent. “We got a Gold and a Goldberg, two Hamish boys in a court of law. What could be bad? I started the day with a cup of sweet tea and a nice thick slice of chocolate babka. I was out of the shower by five a.m., dressed and ready to do my civic duty.”

  “And we appreciate your enthusiasm. Thank you.” Gold seemed pleased as he checked the questionnaire. “I see that you’ve served as a juror in the State of New York before. Can you tell me about that experience?”

  “Why sure. I’d be delighted to. Some big shot gonif attorney embezzled—”

  Gold’s hand shot up.

  The judge grinned and dismissed the juror.

  ***

  It was after three and only six jurors had been selected. Vinny seemed worn as he questioned a prospective juror, a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties. She was on the plain side but wore lots of makeup,

  “How are you, Ms. Matthews?”

  “Fine. Thank you.”

  “And are you looking forward to performing your service as a juror?”

  Again her answer was curt. “Yes.”

  “Yes. And do you feel that you could participate fairly in a murder trial?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. You don’t have a lot to say, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Can you expand on that?”

  She grimaced. “What?”

  “Never mind, dear. I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

  Her poker face didn’t budge.

  “Do you have any reason for not wanting to sit on this trial?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes. And for the record, would you please explain why?”

  “With pleasure. My filthy rotten son of a bitch husband left me to be with his twenty-three-year-old secretary when I was pregnant with our first child.”

  The sudden outpouring of emotion stunned Vinny. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Truly I am, but why would that prevent you from being an impartial juror?”

  “Because.”

  “Because why?”

  “Because my son of a bitch husband was a lawyer,” she said. “And I can’t stand the sight of any of you philandering pieces of shit!”

  ***

  It was late in the day, later than Whorhatz would’ve cared to continue, but they’d made progress and had selected eleven of the twelve jurors. The next prospective juror stood up, prominently displaying a book entitled The Best Defense by Alan Dershowitz. Gold asked Whorhatz to dismiss him without asking a solitary question.

  Chapter Fifty-Three: Big Sal

  Lack of sleep and the long, difficult day of selecting a jury had really done Vinny in. Five inches of snow had accumulated on the roadway contributing several accidents on the BQE. The thirty-minute drive took almost two hours, making him too late to pick up Lisa and necessitating her getting a ride home with one of the other girls from the shop. She was dropped off at her parent’s house where they were both supposed to have dinner with Ma and Augie.

  Just ahead of him, a street plow cleared the snow all the way to the curb right in front of Barone’s Deli. Nature abhors a vacuum—likewise Vinny felt compelled to pull into the newly cleared space. He did so on impulse—it was as if he’d made it that far, had run out of steam, and could continue no further. Ma and Augie lived only ten minutes away but he just didn’t have the energy to go on. He sorely needed a little peace and quiet and knew he wouldn’t get any from Lisa and his future in-laws.

  “Barone,” he boomed as he walked into the store stomping snow from his shoes.

  “Vinny? Vinny Bag O’ Donuts? You son of a bitch.” He closed his phone book, walked around the counter with it still in his hand, and gave Vinny a man hug. “I can’t believe it.”

  “You can’t believe what?” Vinny asked.

  He held up his personal phone book. “See this? I was just looking for your phone number.”

  “My phone number? You were looking for my phone number? How come? You feeling lonely or something? You feel an overwhelming need to reminisce?”

  “Yeah, right? I haven’t been ranked out in ages and I figured my self-esteem could use a good kick in the balls. Who better to break my shoes than you?”

  “Barone, I just drove two hours on the BQE in bumper-to-bumper traffic. I’m physically and mentally exhausted after a really long day in court. My legs are numb, my neck is stiff, and I’m just dying for a hot cup of coffee. Maybe you could just tell me what you’re talking about in plain English.”

  “Sure. Sure,” Barone said as he nudged Vinny into a corner. “I can’t believe you came in here when you did,” he whispered. “Your brother Joe told me you were looking for that guy, Bald Louie, and—”

  Vinny perked up. “You know where he is?”

  “No, but something almost as good.” He pointed to a man alone at a table in the back of the store chomping down a monster sub. “You know who that is?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “That’s Sal Sauseech wolfing down about two pounds of cold cuts back there. I ain’t seen him around here in ages but he’s here now and so are you. It’s like fate chose to bring the two of you together at the same time.”

  “Sal Sausage?”

  “Yeah…Sauseech actually.”

  “Ain’t it the same thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So? He’s got a big appetite. So what? I ain’t with Ripley’s Believe It Or Not. I don’t care if he swallows an entire roast beef and washes it down with a Virginia ham.”

  “Vinny, Vinny,” he said. “Who do you think Bald Louie was working for when he got pinched and went away?”

  “Don’t tell me it was this guy?”

  “Yeah. Louie was one of Sal’s guys.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Maybe if you chat him up he’ll tell you something that might help you find him.”

  “Really? You think so?”

  “Couldn’t hurt to ask. What’s the worst he could do, pull his piece and shoot you in the ass?”

  “Very funny, Barone. Why do you say that? Is this guy mobbed up or something?”

  “Does a chicken have lips?”

  Vinny scowled. “Why do people ask that? Everyo
ne knows they don’t.”

  Barone became pensive. “You know that’s a good question.” I’ve been saying that my whole life and I never thought about it before. I guess you’re right.”

  “About what?”

  “Chickens.”

  “Any chance we could get past the chicken anatomy lesson?”

  Barone peered at Sal Sauseech. “That hero sandwich is whizzing past his teeth like a kindling through a wood chipper. You’d better hurry up before he finishes.”

  “Right. Give me a—”

  “Don’t worry. I got it.” Barone wrapped up a hunk of coffee cake, poured coffee, and pushed them into Vinny’s hands before he could take out his wallet.

  “But I didn’t pay.”

  “Just hurry up. Catch me on the way out.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Sal was a large man wearing a wool coat with a fur collar that hid his neck. He extended his teeth to bite into the foot-long hero like a shark would to engulf prey in its powerful jaws.

  Vinny sat down at the next table. As he took a sip of coffee, he noticed that Sal was eying him. “That’s a hell of a good-looking sandwich you got there. What’s in it? On second thought, it might be easier to ask what’s not in it.”

  “You talking to me?” he asked with his mouth full, his voice gravelly. It sounded as if he had begun smoking while still in the womb.

  “Yeah. I’m talking to you. I bought this here coffee cake but you got me thinking maybe I should’ve ordered something more substantial. You got any mortadella in there? I love that stuff.”

  Sal put down the sandwich and pinned him with an icy cold stare. “You a cop?”

  “Me? No, I ain’t a cop. I’m a lawyer.”

  “You a DA or something?” he asked cautiously.

  “No, I’m a defense attorney.” He reached over and offered his hand. “Vincent Gambini. Nice to meet you.”

  He wiped the crumbs from his mouth before accepting Vinny’s hand. “Sal Sauseech.”

  “Huh. That’s an interesting moniker you got there, Sal. You named for your favorite meal or something? I like sausage myself, especially with peppers and onions on a roll like at the Feast of San Gennaro in Little Italy.”