And if he was willing to do that, his love for Michael was true.
Chapter Forty-One
Michael
“He has insisted that you get in to see him in a secure location,” Al said.
“Secure location?” I asked. “What? How in the hell—”
“The room we use to prepare his legal case is private and confidential. There are no cameras, nor are there recording devices.”
“And you can get me in?”
He handed me a slip of paper. “Here.”
I looked at it. It was a check for fifteen hundred dollars written out to me from his law firm.
We were sitting at a coffee shop a few miles from the jail. Shocked by his calling of our meeting, and even more so at the check I was holding, I looked at him with eyes filled with uncertainty.
“Your name’s Aldo? I thought it was Albert.” I chuckled. “And what’s this?”
He grinned. “My given name is Aldo, but I go by Al. And I listed you as my paralegal. Kansas doesn’t have a state requirement for the minimum education of paralegals. The bar has a recommendation, but it’s only that. Just to keep things semilegitimate, we’re going to drive through your bank, and you’re going to deposit that check. Okay?”
“I’m your paralegal and this is my paycheck?”
He nodded. “I employ you. I’ve listed you on the form, and I’ve already taken the liberty of emailing it and faxing it to the authorities.”
“And this will get me in to see him?”
He grinned. “The law has a provision for it, yes. Will you be my paralegal?”
“If it’ll let me get in there with you and see him, I’m good with it.”
“Just remember. In that courthouse, and in the jail, you’ve got to maintain a professional attitude. None of this ‘my cock’s bigger than yours’ bullshit.”
I folded the check and put it in my jacket pocket. “I’ll be professional.”
“Are you ready to deposit the check?”
“I, um. Yeah, I guess so,” I stammered.
“Leave your car.” He stood. “I need to grab a coffee to go, and then we can leave. I’ll drive.”
“Okay.”
After depositing the check, we drove to the jail. A quick—and uneventful—trip through the metal detectors later, and we were escorted through a corridor, and into a meeting room.
I looked the room over thoroughly and sat down. A simple meeting room with four chairs, a steel table and a water cooler, it was minimalistic.
“You’re sure there’s no way they can record this?”
Al removed documents from his satchel and placed them on the table. “You have my assurance. It’s not only contrary to law, but even if he admitted to murder in the confines of this room, they wouldn’t be able to use it in court. You may speak freely.”
The door opened. Agrioli stepped in with a guard right behind him. After uncuffing one of his hands and securing the cuff to the underside of the table, the guard left the room.
Agrioli sat down, looked at me and shrugged. His mouth twisted into a smirk. “The coffee. It’s terrible.”
Al slid his cup of coffee across the table. “Eight shots of espresso. It’s the best I could do.”
Agrioli grinned. “Put it on my bill.”
“You called this meeting,” Al said. “As far as what I know, nothing’s changed. I’ve filed the motion for discovery, but we know they’ve got the teeth. Sixty-three total, from what the inventory sheet says that’s attached to the search warrant.”
I glanced at Al. “So, are you thinking that Gino must have said something to the informant before he got...”
He nodded. “That’s my guess. My motion for discovery not only asks for what you may expect, but it also calls for any recordings made, be them electronic, oral, written or transcribed in any manner. It will include any information from wiretaps.”
“Do you think they’ve got the restaurant wired?”
He shook his head. “I’m quite certain that’s not the case. A judge must sign an authorization for wiretap, and a public place will never be allowed. It’s invasive to the right of expectation to privacy. Too broad a swath of the Fourth Amendment’s paintbrush, I’m afraid.”
“Didn’t know that,” I said.
“You’ll learn a lot during this trial, I’m sure.”
Al looked at Agrioli. “Did you do as I asked?”
Agrioli nodded, leaned forward and pointed to the notepad that was sitting beside Al’s leather satchel.
“My apologies,” Al said. He slid a notepad and pen across the table. “Here.”
“Take a walk,” Agrioli said.
“Five minutes?” Al asked.
Agrioli nodded.
Al left the room.
Methodically, Agrioli tore a sheet of paper free, placed it on the table beside the pad and began writing. When he was finished, he pushed the paper across the table.
I looked at it.
Hillcrest Village. Justin Carter. Call Katie Miller 316 249 3618. Pay her $50,000 cash.
“Justin Carter?” I whispered. “What’s this?”
“I asked around about a cocaine dealer that got pinched and hasn’t gone to prison yet. The tattoo on his neck made it easy. That’s him.” He nodded toward the paper. “Pay her fifty large. Her husband needs the money for legal fees.”
“Good work.” I folded the paper and put it in my pocket. “I’ll get this taken care of.”
First, I’d make him pay for what he did to my dog. Then I’d make sure he wouldn’t testify in the case against Agrioli. Without Gino, and without the informant, I doubted they’d even be able to present their case.
With his face covered in whiskers, and wearing his orange jumpsuit, Agrioli looked no differently than when Terra and I came to see him the first time he was arrested. He pulled against his handcuff, causing the restraint to rattle against the steel table. “This? This is my life. There’s only so much I can do from here.”
He took a drink of the coffee, tore another sheet from the tablet and wrote on it. When he was finished, he pressed his free hand against the sheet, leaned forward and lifted his chin slightly.
“You take this to Sal.”
“I will.”
His eyes met mine. His mouth curled into a smile I wouldn’t have guessed any man in jail would ever smile. For that one moment, at least, he was truly happy about whatever it was he was thinking.
“The men,” he said. “They may complain to themselves. But. They’ll be respectful. In time?” He shrugged. “In time, they’ll decide. Like I decided. This is what’s best for the family.”
“What are you talking—”
“I talk.” He chuckled. “You listen.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Peter. He is...” His eyes fell to the table. After a moment, he shook his head, sighed and then looked up. “This stays between you and me.”
I nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Peter,” he said. “He is my son, and I will always love him. But he doesn’t like the women.”
I had no idea Peter was gay, and I was sure Terra didn’t, either. I didn’t care one way or the other, but for the sake of our conversation, Agrioli sure seemed to.
“You will marry my daughter soon. And you will make me a promise.”
“Absolutely,” I said.
“You will have the grandchildren.” He smiled. “And you promise me that you will bring them to see me.”
Emotion washed over me that I wasn’t expecting. My mouth went dry, and I fought to swallow. “We will. And, we will. We’ll come over for Sunday dinners, they’ll play, we’ll—”
He raised his hand and shook his head. When he met my gaze, I could see that he was just as
emotional as I was.
He shook his head. “I said never. You will never bring them to see me. This? This is my new home. I don’t want them to see me here. To the world, I can be a criminal. To them, I am a legend.”
His lower lip was quivering.
Seeing a man of his stature attempting to contain such emotion tugged at my heart strings.
He cleared his throat. “God will grace you with a son. You will give him my name. You will call him Anthony.”
Upon hearing him say it, my entire body began to tingle. I couldn’t speak. I simply nodded my head.
“Make the promise.”
“I promise,” I stammered. “I’ll name him Anthony.”
He slid the sheet of paper across the table.
With swollen eyes, I glanced down.
Sal,
Michael will take my place as the boss.
Stand at his side as the Consigliere.
Together, you will make me proud.
Anthony
I read it, re-read it and chewed against my bottom lip for a moment. After gaining my composure, I looked up.
“I can’t—”
He raised his hand. “The Omerta. You took an oath to obey my orders, no?”
“I did.”
He nodded his head toward the sheet of paper. “That is an order.”
I fought to swallow the lump that had risen in my throat.
With his hand cuffed to the table, he stood the best he was able. “Take care of my daughter,” he said. “And take care of the family.”
“I will.”
I walked around the corner of the table, and we embraced in a hug.
“I love you, my son.” he said.
Son?
A father’s love.
They were words I had yearned for a lifetime to hear, but knew they’d never come. I swallowed hard and tried my best to maintain my composure. It wasn’t easy, but I somehow accomplished it.
At least long enough to speak.
“I love you, too,” I muttered.
He pressed his free hand against my shoulder and looked at me through watering eyes.
“You will be—” he murmured. “You will be...”
He cleared his throat. “The good boss.”
I’d hoped for a family since the day mine was taken from me. Now I was being given a chance not only to be an integral part of a family, but the acting father of the family.
The family I could trust. The family I had grown to respect. The family I would protect at any and all costs.
No one knew what the future held for Anthony, but it looked grim.
I met his tearful gaze and held it. “I will make you proud.”
I would do that and more.
For the man who had become the father I had never known?
He was right.
I would be the good boss.
* * * * *
Acknowledgments
Michelle. You were right. You’re always right.
Also available from Scott Hildreth
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The Gun Runner
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The Good Boss
About the Author
Born in San Diego, California, Scott now calls Naples, Florida, home. Residing along the Gulf of Mexico with his wife and children, he somehow finds twelve hours a day to work on his writing. A hybrid author who has published more than two dozen romance and erotica novels, he can generally be found in a tattoo shop, on his Harley or in a local coffeehouse when not writing.
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ISBN-13: 9781460396872
> The Game Changer
Copyright © 2017 by Scott Hildreth
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