by Rusty Ellis
“You eat dinner yet? Tony!” Sartori bellowed toward the kitchen.
“That’s fine, Mr. Sartori. I’ve already eaten. Thank you,” Gianni responded and held up a hand to fend off the food.
A man in a chef jacket appeared from the kitchen and was waved off by Boots.
Sartori shrugged and turned back to Gianni. Gianni emanated a confident but respectful presence. He knew the Boss appreciated his respect for the family. His respect for the Boss. His respect for the traditions that had lost ground with the younger soldiers.
“We’re having a little trouble with a past client,” Sartori started.
Gianni nodded and listened.
Sartori leaned back in his chair, turning the conversation over to Jimmy, “Larry Foster is incarcerated at Southern Desert, as you know.”
Again, Gianni nodded, this time in Jimmy’s direction. He fought back a grin at the mention of Foster’s name. Foster took the fall for Turing’s wife and Gianni was the disconnect between the family and the ordered hit.
“Mr. Turing’s daughter made a visit to the prison last Friday and spoke with Mr. Foster.”
The information sparked interest in Gianni. The young girl would now be about 19 years old if he remembered correctly.
Jimmy let the information sink in and waited for Gianni to make eye contact with him again, “We have tabs on Mr. Foster and are taking care of that loose end.”
“You need me to take care of the daughter?” Gianni couldn’t help himself at the thought of cleaning up where he had left off seven years ago, this time taking care of things directly.
Jimmy glanced at Sartori who gave him no indications or changes to their previous intentions, “No. You just need to follow up with Turing to let him know we are taking his daughter’s actions very seriously. We already met with Mr. Turing, but we just want to make sure he understands how important it is for him to get his daughter under control, so we don’t have to intervene.”
Gianni looked from Jimmy to Mr. Sartori. His Boss’s demeanor told him Jimmy was done.
“Gianni,” Jimmy added, “just know this is a delicate situation. Mr. Sartori appreciates you handling it as such.”
Gianni stood and looked at his Boss, “Anything you need, Mr. Sartori. Me and my boys will take care of it.”
Another nod from Sartori and Gianni was free to leave. Boots made his way around the table and fell in step with Gianni as he skirted the tables to the front door.
“Good to chat with you, Boots,” Gianni smiled and patted the large man on the bicep.
Boots grunted and shook his head and watched Gianni retreat into the dimly lit parking lot.
Part VI
Wednesday
26
Averett Turing sat in his tall backed leather chair and shuffled through the stack of papers in front of him. The front doors to his office normally came to life at 9 a.m., with his secretary Barbara arriving three minutes before then. He preferred to get to the office closer to 7 a.m. and take advantage of the quiet. He could work from home this early, but he found himself less distracted by the norms of being at home and could fully dive into “lawyer mode” in his office surroundings.
Averett still had about 15 minutes before Barbara arrived and was going over a police report for the third time, trying to determine his client’s role in a co-conspiracy charge. A movement near his office door caught his attention and he looked up to see two men standing just inside his office. The men were both wearing suits, one had a dark stubbled beard with white highlights at his chin and the other was clean shaven. Both men had slicked back, dark hair and identical sober looks on their faces.
The appearance of the two men inside his office seemed surreal and took Averett off guard. Gaining his senses, Averett pushed his chair back from his desk, prepared to act, though unsure of how given the odds and size of the men. Averett waited to see what their next move would be.
“Mr. Turing,” the man with the stubbled beard spoke.
“Yes,” Averett answered and fought the compulsion to stand up.
“My associate and I just wanted to stop by and make our acquaintance with you,” he smiled and took a step toward Averett’s desk.
Averett couldn’t fight the urge to stand and raised up from his chair so the man was no longer talking down to him. The second man started forward but was stopped by the first man’s forearm. He complied and stepped back to his original place slightly behind the first man.
“No need to get excited, Mr. Turing. Let’s just say this is a friendly follow up visit. Kind of a, thank you, for making sure your daughter didn’t make an ill-advised second visit to the prison.”
Averett stepped toward his desk at the man’s mentioning of his daughter. The clear mention of his daughter by these two men clearly sending a message from Sartori.
“You can tell Mr. Sartori that I got his message the first time. He didn’t need to send you two…,” Averett caught his tongue and gained control of his temper.
The first man smiled at Averett’s obvious struggle. The second man’s face remained stone-like with no hints at weighing in on the conversation.
“We just wanted to let you know that if you need anything, we are here to help. We are not very far away, Mr. Turing,” the man offered, “...if you need anything, of course. Have a great day, counselor.”
The man turned toward the second man and they walked out of Averett’s office and into the empty lobby. They reached the front door as Barbara was arriving at the office and she looked startled as one of the men held the door open for her to enter the office.
“Thank you…,” she stuttered, “…can I help you? Do you have an appointment?”
“No, ma’am. We already took care of our business with Mr. Turing,” the man said as the two continued out the door into the early summer air and disappeared around the corner on the sidewalk.
Barbara dropped her purse and lunch on her desk as she hurried into Averett’s office. She found him standing and leaning against the front edge of his desk, a distant stare in the direction of the papers on top of his desk.
“Are you okay, Mr. Turing?” she asked. When he didn’t respond she asked again, “Mr. Turing, are you okay?”
Noticing Barbara in his doorway he answered, “Yes, Barbara. I’m fine, thank you.”
Averett fumbled for his chair and lowered down into the curved seat. He placed his palms on top of his desk and pulled his chair back under the wooden front.
Barbara waited until he looked up at her, “Can I get you a glass of water or something?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.”
His face felt clammy and wet. He looked down and saw his hands visibly shaking.
Barbara turned and began to walk out the door but stopped, “You have a 9 o’clock with a Mr. Walsh this morning. Sorry, but he was adamant about wanting to see you first thing. He said you’d know what it was about.” She turned and walked toward the kitchen area of the office.
Walsh? Mr. Walsh? The only Walsh I know is…Ransom Walsh!
27
Leesa pulled into the parking lot adjacent to Turing’s law office. She backed into a parking spot just inside the lot and put the sedan in park. Ransom reached for his cane while Leesa grabbed her notepad from the area between their seats. Before either one could open their door, two men in suits rounded the corner of the office and stopped on either side of a black SUV.
The two men surveyed the parking lot before climbing into the dark-tinted vehicle.
“Grab the plate,” Ransom nodded toward the vehicle.
Leesa muttered the plate number out loud as she opened her notepad and wrote the number down.
“Did you recognize them?” she asked.
“Nah. They just seemed squirrelly. Is it me or does Turing seems to attract this type of crowd?”
“Well, he is a defense attorney,” Leesa shrugged and pulled the handle on her door.
“True.”
Ransom and Leesa made their way into the
lobby of Turing’s law office. The front desk was empty with a purse and lunch sack setting on top of the counter. Leesa gave Ransom a curious look at seeing the purse out in the open and was about to say something when a woman appeared with a glass of water in her hand.
She was startled by the appearance of Ransom and Leesa next to her desk and clasped a hand to her chest in surprise, “Oh!”
Leesa stepped forward, “Sorry about that. We didn’t mean to startle you.”
The woman stood frozen and caught her breath. She looked toward Ransom, “Mr. Walsh?”
“Yes, Ransom Walsh,” Ransom answered.
“I’ll let Mr. Turing know you’re here,” she half-smiled and disappeared through the door next to the reception desk.
“Looks like our two friends outside were here before us,” Leesa raised an eyebrow.
The woman reappeared, this time more composed, “Mr. Turing will see you now.”
Leesa stepped through the doorway and Ransom followed behind. The receptionist reached in and shut the door behind them.
The room was about double what Ransom had anticipated. A large desk and chair filled one wall with two padded leather chairs on the visitor’s side. A wet bar was off to one side along with an oversized leather love seat and chair.
Turing stepped from behind his desk to greet them, “Detective Walsh and Detective Gardner, was it?”
Leesa answered and shook Turing’s hand, “Yes, good memory.”
“It’s just Ransom now,” Ransom shook Turing’s hand next.
“How is retirement?” Turing motioned toward the chairs in front of his desk and returned to his own chair.
Leesa gave Ransom a sideways glance and laughed.
Ransom shrugged, “It’s been eventful.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess?” Turing responded and waited for a response.
“It has its moments.”
“So what can I do for the two of you this morning? Barbara said you told her I would know what this visit’s all about? I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage here. I’m not sure what this is about, unless there’s more charges related to my clients from the other day?”
“Can you tell me who the guys were that just left your office?” Ransom asked.
Turing was thrown off by the question and hesitated to answer, a sure tell in Ransom’s book.
Turing forced a smile and a laugh, “You know I can’t discuss clients. Attorney-client privilege.”
“So they are your clients, then?” Leesa joined the questioning.
The smile visibly faded from Turing’s face.
“Are you okay,” Ransom decided to play his hand a little further.
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Your secretary seems a little jolted by their visit this morning.”
“Who, Barbara? She’s fine. She’s always a little jumpy in the morning after her first cup of coffee.” Before Ransom could continue, Turing looked down at his watch then spoke up, “Sorry to be rude, but I have a 9:30 initial arraignment this morning. So what can I help you with?”
“Have you ever had a client named Amber Blankenship?” Ransom dropped the name and waited for Turing’s physical response.
Turing’s eyes widened, a brief, uncontrollable response to Ransom's question.
“I can’t say I have. Why?” Turing failed at his attempt to sound sincere, his emotions still on edge from his first meeting of the day.
“How about Larry Foster?” Leesa added.
Turing leaned back in his chair, “Of course I have, Detective Gardner.” He turned toward Ransom, “You know I did.”
“Let’s try again, Averett,” Ransom slid up to the edge of his chair. “Do you know Amber Blankenship?”
A knock on Turing’s door interrupted and Barbara poked her head through a crack in the door as she opened it, “I’m sorry, Mr. Turing. If you don’t leave now, you’ll be late for initial appearances.”
“Thank you, Barbara.” Turing stood from his desk, “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
Ransom pushed up from the arm of his chair and leaned on his cane. Leesa stood as well and stood by Ransom’s side.
“If they’re threatening you or your daughter, Averett, we can help,” Leesa offered.
Turing’s eyes darted back and forth, Leesa’s statement had obviously struck a nerve.
Turing shook his head to clear out the thoughts, “No, no, everything’s fine, I need to go, really.”
Leesa pulled out a business card and Ransom took it from her. He reached for a pen off of Turing’s desk and flipped Leesa’s card to the back. He wrote on the card and handed it to Turing.
“You’re shacked up with some really bad characters, Averett. If they have their hooks in you, they’ll never let go, no matter what they say or what you do for them.” Ransom let his words sink in before finishing, “You can either call Leesa or call me. My number’s on the back.”
Ransom looked to Leesa, “Ready?”
Leesa nodded and the two walked out of Turing’s office. Ransom glanced back as they left and saw Turing flip the card over in his hand and look at Ransom’s number.
28
“How did it go?” Jimmy asked.
Gianni and Tino sat in the parking lot of Turing’s office with the air conditioning running in the SUV.
“He got the message,” Gianni answered and motioned for Tino to pull onto the road. “We’re going to go check on the girl and see what she’s up to. I have someone sitting on her house.”
“Sounds good. Don’t scare the girl, though,” Jimmy added. “We would prefer to see if Mr. Turing follows through on our concerns and takes care of matters himself. If not, we will need to make other arrangements.”
“Understood.”
“Have you found Mr. Foster’s daughter?”
Gianni hesitated to answer the question. He took losing track of Foster’s daughter personally. As such, the men he’d sent to her apartment were dealt with accordingly. Gianna was no longer a solo player in the Sartori organization. It had been a productive seven years since he first met and dealt with Foster. He now had his own crew to run and the tradition of loyalty, respect, and accountability, were top on his list.
“I’m working on it,” he finally offered.
“See that you do. We prefer no loose ends, Gianni.”
“Understood.”
As soon as Gianni hung up the phone, Tino asked, “Turing’s place?”
Gianni nodded and stared through the front window of the vehicle. He squinted as he worked on how to divide up his crew to watch and hunt the two girls. He’d prefer to focus on Turing’s daughter. The Foster girl took herself out of the equation by disappearing. If he could keep Foster’s mouth from running in prison, he couldn’t care less what happened to his daughter. She existed as only a pawn in keeping Foster in line. And if Gianni could get Sartori to follow his plan for Foster, the girl would turn into a non-issue.
29
Foster sat on the corner of his bunk where the two cement walls met. He was reading through a ragged copy of Ayn Rand’s book Anthem. There was something about the primitive nature of the short book that intrigued him. The irony of prison life in comparison to the character’s lives in Anthem struck a chord with him. The sound of footsteps on the cement walkway outside his cell grew louder until they stopped at the bars at the foot of his bed. Foster looked up to see an inmate dressed in the standard blue jeans and long-sleeved denim shirt standing just outside his cell.
The man put his hands through the bars and rested his forearms on the bracing beams. A scar traveled down the man’s bald head from his crown to above his right eyebrow. A small black goatee hung below the man’s lower lip and extended several inches below his chin.
Foster lowered the book he was reading and leaned it against his chest. The man just smiled at him. Foster didn’t recognize the man, not that he was able to have much contact with the general population. They kept his section of the prison segregated from
the rest of the yard. He and the other inmates on his block were released into a caged area within the greater yard area; limiting their movement. Foster knew going in he would be classified to a more closely kept population.
“If you’re selling Girl Scout cookies I’m on a diet,” Foster commented then lifted the book back up in front of his face.
Hearing no response, he lowered the book a second time to see the man still standing with his arms still dangling inside his cell. The man’s smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed as he stared at Foster.
“You talk too much,” he growled.
Foster lifted his book back up in front of his face. He could still feel the man’s stare on the other side of the pages.
He lowered the book a third time, this time setting it on the bed next to him. He stood and walked toward the bars where the man was standing. The man began to pull his arms back from inside the bars but acted too slow. Foster took a quick stride and reached the man’s left wrist before he could pull it from between the bars, tweaking the man’s wrist into a gooseneck position and yanking it toward him. The man’s arm pulled through the bars up to his shoulder. Foster gave his wrist a twist and the man rose up on his toes and made a grunting noise.
“Leave me alone and you don’t have to hear me talk. Tell your boss that I don’t care what happens to me.”
Foster shoved the man’s arm back and let his wrist go. The man flipped around to face Foster, the anger on his face glowed red as he rubbed his wrist with his other hand.
“He doesn’t care what happens to you,” the man seethed. The look on his face morphed into wry grin and he continued, “But what about your daughter?”
Foster stepped toward the bars at the mention of his daughter, returning the man’s glare. He took a deep breath to control his emotions and quell the sudden burst of anger running through his veins.
“You’ll never find her,” Foster returned to his bed and picked up the book off the mattress. He climbed back into the corner and leaned against the wall to continue with his book.