by R. D. Cain
“You been in before?” a voice asked from the top bunk.
“No, but I know the rules.” He had to clear his throat twice to get the reply out.
“Humour me,” the voice said.
“Go fuck yourself.” Nastos tried to roll onto his back, but winced and thought better of it.
“I don’t think you’re in much of a position to talk to me like that.” Nastos heard the voice get louder. The top bunk creaked and two big, hairy legs swung over the edge.
“Listen, I’m on trial for murder and I’ve been around the block a few times. When a guy is in jail for murder, especially if it’s his first time in jail, cops often put an undercover in the jail cell with the guy to befriend him and see if he brags or cries about what he’s done. Either I’m right and you’re not going to do anything, or I’m wrong, in which case yours is just one more ass I’m going to have to kick today. Either way, I don’t give a shit.”
“Why don’t you sleep this one off? Consider it a freebie. But tomorrow is a new day. And I’ve already got all the friends I need in here, asshole.”
JAMES NORTH SAT NEXT TO shawn eade of the inhumane society. Michael McCort was a little too drunk for the operation, which suited North just fine since he had something special in mind for Madeleine Nastos. They were in Shawn’s car, a tinted down Royal Taxi with an expired licence plate and two bald tires. Both North and Eade were enjoying the solitude to relax and dreamily spend their money in advance.
North found Eade to be highly reliable. At six-two, two-forty, Eade enjoyed handling the requisite violence involved in gangsterism. Everything from beating the hell out of people to extortion and robbery were in many ways the most exciting parts of the job, and it was work that could never be replaced by machines or be outsourced to India. It was all about up close and personal customer satisfaction.
McCort, smaller at five-ten and one-eighty, usually took the thefts and frauds, but was also not shy about permanently disfiguring people, maiming or scarring for life as per instructions from the paying client. As a team, they covered all the bases.
Money was money and North knew Eade to be a man worth his weight in gold when your back was against a wall. North paid well and left them to do their work without providing tiresome details or any rules of engagement that could make the beatings or torture too much like actual work. When you have good people working for you, micro-managing only stifles creativity. No, all North had to do was hand over the cash and the picture of the target and wait for the result.
When Madeleine stepped out onto her porch and turned, locking the door behind her, the two men sat up abruptly. North checked the time on the car’s radio — six thirty-five. The sun was nearly down and she was taking the family retriever for a walk. How cute.
Eade asked, “Would ya?”
North smirked. “I’d throw her over the hood of the car, fuck her brains out. Classy bitch, she’d be screaming for it.” North was practically salivating as he watched her long legs striding down the steps. “You?”
Eade wiggled in his seat for a moment and pursed his lips as he gave it serious consideration. “I’d strangle her while I drilled her. Just as she started to come, I’d spit in her face.” They laughed at each other’s humour, shaking their heads. North sometimes thought Eade wasn’t joking when he said such things. He seemed more to be laughing at the fact that North thought he was kidding, and it was a little creepy, even for North.
Madeleine turned left when she hit the sidewalk, slinging her purse over her shoulder. And the two men got back to business.
“What are you waiting for Eade? Follow her.”
“She’d notice a slow drive-by. Hey, I’ll just get out. When she gets around the corner you can come do your shit and ransack the place.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
They got out of the car, staying on their side of the street, and began walking after her. She had long strides and they had to walk quickly to keep up with her, but found the shape and movement of her body to be a good motivator. Eade closed in until he was only twenty feet behind her, then crossed the street.
When she made it to the corner, North made his move for the front door. It was locked, but he picked it quickly, closing it behind him. He smelled something cooking. She must have put something in the oven to warm while she’s out, so she won’t be too long. He left his shoes on as he raced up the stairs and into her bedroom. He turned on the light and took a moment to see where she slept. She hadn’t made the bed and he admitted to himself that he was just a little disappointed. It seemed that with hubby gone, she was letting things slip a little. What a shame, Madeleine, I’ll have to sort you out.
He opened her dresser and found her underwear drawer. He took a few thongs to remember her by and stuffed them in his pocket. He opened his coat and took out a picture he had made up especially for her. It was a copy of the one he had obtained at Dewar’s place, featuring Steve Nastos kissing that beautiful prosecutor, Ms. Dewar, on a fall day. It was a nice picture. He took a moment to admire it, propped it up on her dresser in a nice frame he had picked out at a dollar store. It was a self-snap. Dewar’s hand reaching out of frame, an offset angle, tree branches in the background and the beautiful smile of a woman truly in love. North knew it was going to be a real hit with Madeleine. If there’s one thing a beautiful woman can’t stand, it’s a more beautiful woman, and with her man too. He came back down the stairs and went to the kitchen. He needed a good drink, but resisted. Saliva was too good a source of dna; he had to be careful. Instead, he went into the living room and found the wine cabinet. The selection of reds was a little disappointing, but not as much as the messy bed. He took an Australian red, leaving the whites completely.
North could have used the picks to re-lock the door, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. It would be much more thrilling to see the obtuse expression on her face when she came home found the door unlocked. He could practically envision it in his mind. She’ll begin to doubt herself and get concerned. Then, because she’s a stupid woman, like they all are, she’ll ignore her intuition and go in anyways, risking her life — or at the least, her sexual integrity.
North smiled to himself as he left the house. He got back to the car and took the driver’s seat. With his quick text message sent, North knew that Eade would be on his way back in no time, mission complete. All he had to do was wait for the fireworks to start.
CARSCADDEN SAT AT THE BACK table at Frankie’s Restaurant. It was secluded, lit only by dim candles on a white tablecloth. He was drinking Perrier and dipping bread into a plate of oil and balsamic vinegar. What a Russian mobster was doing owning an Italian restaurant, Carscadden had no idea, but it was the best food in town, bar none. Even better was that he never had to pay. He was beginning to accept Victor’s generosity more easily. The open invitation was greatly appreciated. A one-hundred-dollar-a-plate meal, not including drinks, was a luxury he couldn’t afford and he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. Viktor insisted on the perk though; he was a very gracious man and seemed disappointed that Carscadden often came by himself. Well, you won’t be disappointed tonight, Viktor.
He was distracted from his bread and oil doodling by the front door chime and saw Angela Dewar approaching. She slid into the bench seat across from Carscadden, not saying a word.
“Glad you could make it.” The honeyed, rich mahogany behind her brought out the gold flecks and creamy undertone of her skin.
“What do you plan to do about Steve going to jail?” she said, staring at him, almost angry.
“Your boss sent him there, it’s going to take time to get him out. And what do you care, anyway?” He couldn’t eat the last of the bread and dropped it to his plate.
Dewar took a sip of water. “That was a travesty of justice.”
“So you honestly didn’t want him to go to jail?”
“Well, you should know by now tha
t he didn’t kill the dentist.” Dewar cocked her head to a slight angle, the way a Jack Russell looks at you when it thinks you’re missing the obvious.
“I should? I’m not so convinced — how can you be?”
Carscadden’s phone rang. He checked the call display — it was Madeleine Nastos.
“Hello?” He had to hold the phone away when she started shouting in his ear. “Easy, easy, easy. When? When was he in the house?” He saw that Dewar was concerned by his half of the conversation, held up a finger to stop her from interrupting. “Then, what the hell are you even doing there? Where’s your mom live, can you stay with her? Picture? How the hell should I know? What does she look like?” Madeleine gave him the description of the person sitting across the table from him.
Carscadden shook his head, his mouth dropping open. “Yes, I’d feel better, and I know your husband would feel better, if you left and stayed with family. I know I said that. I’ll deal with that one right now. Sorry, Madeleine. Call me when you’re okay. No, anytime, I’m not going to sleep tonight unless you call. Okay, bye.”
Dewar sat waiting till he hung up the phone and put it on the table. She started slowly. “Nastos’ wife, I take it?”
“Yes. Nastos goes to jail, the deposition of Josie was a nightmare, and then this.”
An expression of dread washed over Dewar. “What did Scott do?”
“It started off pretty rocky, Ang,” Carscadden said, and gave her a sour smile. “But at least Montgomery kept him on a tight leash. Scott basically wanted Josie to go through every single detail of the assault — the more disgusting and agonizing for her, the more motive for her dad. Accusing a seven-year-old of avoiding the details of what happened to her didn’t make Scott any friends with anyone in the room. I got it back on track, then Montgomery stopped it after fifteen minutes, mostly because of Josie crying and Madeleine glaring at Scott like she was going to kill him. My read on Montgomery was that he would have liked to punch him himself.”
Dewar said, “Montgomery was born a few hundred years too late. He should have been a judge in the wild west — a bible in one hand and a length of rope in the other.”
Carscadden thought, Scott might even have gone too far anyway, teetering on the justifiable homicide angle. This case cuts both ways so fast, it’s a razor’s edge.
“And Madeleine’s been harassed too?”
Carscadden took a sip of water. “Yeah, someone’s been following her. He broke into her house and left a little present.” He was still staring at Dewar, shaking his head. Viktor wasn’t far away. He noticed Carscadden dining with a woman and came over.
The Russian had a robust smile and an extended hand. “Mr. Carscadden, I hope everything meets your satisfaction tonight?”
“Best food in town, Viktor — it’s not that, it’s —”
Viktor grabbed a chair from an empty table nearby and brought it over. He smiled to Dewar and turned his gaze back to Carscadden. “Go on?”
“I asked if you could help watch a friend of mine, Mrs. Madeleine Nastos. You remember that?”
Some colour left Viktor’s face and a slight expression of dread disturbed his features. “Oh my god, did something happen?”
“No big deal, just someone got a little too close again. She’s pretty scared, Viktor.”
“Damn it, I’m sorry, Kevin. I’m so sorry. I swear to god I told my guy. I spelled it out pretty clear.” He slammed his dishtowel on the table hard and his fists clenched up.
Carscadden felt a little sorry for Viktor. He was obviously upset, but Madeleine was terrified, very deservedly. “Listen, Viktor, don’t beat yourself up over it, but I’d appreciate —”
“Name it, I’ll get a car out front of her house right now.”
“Actually, Viktor, don’t bother. She’s leaving town to stay with family. It’s for the best till things blow over.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. He stole a glance at Dewar and Carscadden thought that maybe he was becoming a little embarrassed. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up in front of a woman; Viktor was so concerned about his image with the ladies. Carscadden tried to minimize the damage.
“You know, Viktor, you’re just a restaurant guy, you can only do so much.”
“True, very true,” he agreed. “Listen, I should go. Try to have a good night. I’ll have to deal with my associate.”
“Thanks, Viktor.”
He left the table and began dialing a number in his BlackBerry.
Carscadden took a sip of his water, his eyes fixed on Dewar.
“What?” she asked, turning to meet his gaze.
“There was a framed picture placed in Madeleine’s bedroom of Nastos kissing a beautiful Indian woman. Long, hair, perfect smile — you don’t know anyone like that, do you?”
Dewar didn’t speak; she took a gulp of wine.
Carscadden offered, “I take it that it’s from a long time ago.”
“Years ago, before Madeleine.”
Carscadden knew that Dewar was holding back information and he had to admit that he didn’t trust her much. He decided she didn’t need to know about North, at least until he had a chance to talk with Nastos and to run it by him first.
“This man, whoever he is, got into her house. Was Nastos with you the night of the murder? Is that why he won’t give an alibi?” Carscadden’s mind was reeling; he had fifty questions to ask, but didn’t know where to start. He found himself staring at her, mouth agape, like an idiot. “You’ll be disbarred — there’ll be a mistrial — holy shit.”
“Listen, he didn’t kill the guy.”
“Then withdraw the prosecution’s case tomorrow morning and end this.”
When she looked down at the table and began fidgeting with her hands, he knew she wasn’t going to be doing that anytime soon.
“I know he didn’t do it, so I took the case. He should know I have his back, but I’m getting direction from upstairs, like the meddling you saw in court today. I can only do so much.”
“That explains his secrecy with me. He thinks you’ve got him covered, so he doesn’t have to co-operate much with me.” Carscadden began running through past conversations in his head. Should I have seen this coming somehow? What else am I missing? Why do I think she is still not telling me everything?
“Listen, I didn’t know I was going to have this kind of pressure from Scott. He was reading my notes every night when I left the office. I started taking everything home, but I think he got in there too — as crazy as that sounds. Now, he’s taken me off the case and is going to finish it himself.”
“Yeah — if he gets a conviction, your career is done and he’s a hero,” Carscadden observed.
“I even caught some guy stealing things from my office. I chased him, but he got away with something very important.”
Carscadden seemed not to have heard the last thing. “If anyone finds out about you and Nastos, you’ll be fired and charged with accessory after the fact, breach of trust —”
“Listen to what I’m saying. They’re getting into my house — people want to string him up from the rafters.”
“They think he murdered someone — what do you want them to do, bake him a cake?”
Dewar took a breath. “In my office, there was exculpatory evidence. It’s gone missing. They got it. You were losing the trial when I was prosecuting and I wasn’t trying. With Scott running the show, you don’t stand a chance.”
Carscadden reluctantly suggested, “We should go to the police.”
“You’re crazy if you think that’s a good idea.”
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“I’d need a lot more evidence before I could get the police to investigate Jeff Scott.”
“What did you just say?” Carscadden asked.
Dewar spoke slowly, spelling it out for him. “Whoever got into my
office is who we have to deal with. If Scott or Koche get any hint that we’re coming after them, that evidence will disappear. Nastos goes to jail for good and my tapes disappear.”
Carscadden found himself agreeing that Scott, Koche and now North were seemingly working toward a common purpose. Scott and Koche wanted the conviction, North was trying to breach Nastos. North was definitely working for them.
And he had to agree that going to the police with such a convoluted story during a murder trial would seem contrived and desperate. They were going to need more proof.
And he had already lost the jury. “Ang,” he said, “if I find any way to clear him, even if it means you go down, I’m taking it. He’s my client here, not you.”
Dewar pleaded. “Just give me a bit of time before you tell them about me and Nastos. I think we can still save everyone’s asses.” She didn’t sound convincing enough for Carscadden. He hung his head, pondering, then leaned forward to say something to Dewar, but stayed silent. She reached for his hand and he allowed her to take it.
A shadow appeared across the table that drew their attention. Ms. Hopkins was standing there; she had an uncomfortable smile and had noticed their hands touching in the centre of the table. Dewar tightened up, sensing that things had just gotten awkward. Hopkins appeared confused and disappointed.
She’s going think I’m such an asshole. Just when I was ready to go for her, I screw it up.