“Yes I do, Your Honor. The witness, in her response to a perfectly justifiable redirect question, did precisely what a witness is supposed to do: She described facts. No personal opinions, no personal conclusions, just facts as she knew them. ‘I was afraid’—fact. ‘Nancy Shea visited me and I told her what I just told the court’—fact. ‘Nancy Shea was killed right after she left my house’—fact, Your Honor,” Jack said, barely able to contain his anger as he spat out the last three words.
“Mr. DiCarlo, I agree that this evidence does not put your clients in the best light, but that’s your problem. You ventured down this slippery slope—not me and not Mr. Tobin. Your objection is overruled, your motion is denied, and your request for a mistrial is denied. Is there anything else?”
“No, Your Honor.” Jimmy had the distinctly recognizable look of an outclassed litigator.
“Then let’s proceed.”
Jack returned to the podium. “Ms. Lopez, why was Mr. Sanchez living in the house?”
“He and Dick Radek are both living there. They are retired Miami police officers and they are serving as bodyguards.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
Jimmy had managed to compose himself—he was nothing if not relentless—and was already on his feet approaching the witness, so the judge didn’t even ask him if he wanted to recross.
“This Nancy Shea—Mr. Tobin’s investigator—she was killed in a car accident, wasn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“An accident?”
“That’s what they say.”
“And the ‘they’ you are referring to is the county sheriff’s department and that’s a totally separate department from the Bass Creek police department?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t believe that, do you?”
“No.”
“No further questions.”
Jack wanted the last word. “Your Honor, may I follow up? I only have one or two questions.”
“Make it quick.”
“Where is Joaquin Sanchez?” Jack asked Maria. She took the cue.
“He’s in the hospital. He was shot the other night when we were all out to dinner.”
“That wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Approach.”
“Was this man actually shot?” Judge Stanton asked, looking at Jack.
“Yes, sir,” Jack replied. “It was no accident.”
“Your Honor—” Jimmy started to speak but the judge stopped him. “Mr. DiCarlo, I’m inclined to agree with you that we can only try one murder at a time, but you keep opening these doors. I’ll tell you what, I’m going to sustain your objection and I’m going to instruct the jury not to consider these last questions about Joaquin Sanchez and I’m not going to let anybody ask any more questions. This has gotten way out of hand. Mr. Tobin, are you done?”
“Yes, sir. I’m resting.”
“Mr. DiCarlo, are you ready to start your case? Do you have any witnesses to put on?”
“I have at least two, Judge—and possibly two more. I’d like to start tomorrow morning, if possible. And I do have a Motion for Acquittal.”
“Okay. I’ll call it a day right after Mr. Tobin officially rests. Be here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Oh, and Mr. DiCarlo, your motion is denied. I’ll consider it only after all the evidence has been presented, including rebuttal evidence.”
“Yes, sir,” both men replied at the same time.
That afternoon, Jimmy DiCarlo and Clay Evans had a late lunch in Jimmy’s hotel room.
“I can’t believe you did that!” Clay Evans shouted as soon as the room service waiter had left.
“Did what?” Jimmy asked, knowing full well what Clay meant. “I had to beat her up on the stand.”
“You didn’t have to beat me up in the process. You had her—you just went too far. Now the judge is thinking I’m a killer. He’s going to send this case to the jury and I’m going to fry—I can see it in their eyes.”
“We’ve still got a chance.”
“What chance?”
“You could testify. You and Brume could say you never received that letter. You don’t know what Maria Lopez is talking about.”
“You still don’t get it, you stupid fuck.”
“Get what?”
“Tobin wants us to testify. He’s waiting. He’s holding something back. You can put Brume on if you want, but I’m not going anywhere near that stand. I’ll take my chances.”
Jimmy didn’t say a thing for a moment. He took an enormous bite from his corned beef sandwich, chewed it down, then looked across the table at Clay.
“There’s another way.”
“What’s that?”
“It involves you delivering one of those satchels of money to me.”
“How much?”
“$250,000.”
For a moment the thought crossed Clay’s mind that Jimmy might have set everything up to get to this point. He’d already paid the son-of-a-bitch $200,000 for the worst fucking defense he’d ever seen. Nah, he’s not that smart. He just got out-lawyered.
“And what do I get for my money?”
“Well, in this case if you eliminate the prosecutor you eliminate the prosecution. Nobody else would have brought this case in the first place.”
“That’s certainly something Brume doesn’t understand. He’s tried to kill everybody but Tobin.”
“Are you sure it’s been Brume?” Jimmy asked.
“Who else could it be? Which makes me wonder why the fat little fuck is killing everybody. He knows something is coming. Where are all the fuckin’ honest people in this world?” Jimmy almost choked on his sandwich.
“If you’re interested, I could set something up for tomorrow morning,” Jimmy said, ignoring the tirade. “These guys are pros—they won’t miss. And you and I will be giving a press conference on the courthouse steps.”
“I’ve got nothing to lose. I’m a dead man anyway. All right, let’s do it.”
“You know the drill. It’s the same as usual. This time, however, you put a bag with $250,000 on your back porch at midnight.”
“Can’t you give me a couple of days? The banks close in two hours and it will take me over an hour to get to Miami.”
“No can do, Your Honor. These fellas aren’t exactly bankers. They deal on a cash basis.” Jimmy didn’t feel the need to tell Clay that his cut was a cool $100,000. That amount, combined with the $200,000 he was paid to handle the case, and things were starting to look up for old Jimmy regardless of the outcome.
Later that day Jimmy stopped by to see his other client, Wesley Brume. Although he’d given Clay a guarantee, it was always wise to have a fallback plan. In the unlikely event Jack Tobin showed up at court the next day, he needed Wesley Brume to testify.
Wes was much kinder than Clay Evans had been in his assessment of the day’s events.
“Things didn’t go too well there at the end, did they?”
“Nah, but it’s all part of the give-and-take of a trial. Tomorrow’s another day and we’ve got some surprises in store for Jack Tobin.”
“That son-of-a-bitch needs to be put in his place.”
“You’re right, Wesley, and you’re the man to do it,” Jimmy told him.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You’re the chief of police here in Bass Creek. The people need to hear from you. They need to know the truth. They need to know that Maria Lopez is a liar.”
“What about Clay? He’s a federal judge.”
“He’s a pussy. You know that—you worked with him for years. He doesn’t have the balls to walk up there, take the oath and speak up for justice. You do.”
The Grunt started scratching his head. Jimmy DiCarlo was sure right about him, but how the hell did Jimmy know him so well? He’d only talked to the guy one other time and that was a five-minute phone conversation. Clay had handled all the lawyer stuff, told him not to worry about it Whate
ver. Wes had no qualms about testifying. He figured he’d eliminated all the problems already. He could just call Maria Lopez a liar, say the letter was a figment of her imagination and be done with it. There was one thing he wanted to make sure of, though.
“You did check with the Del Rio police department, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, they have no record of a letter. The man who would have sent the letter is coming tomorrow. He’s going to say he doesn’t remember sending the letter and it’s not in his files anywhere.”
“All right then, I’ll testify. I don’t have anything to lose, do I?”
Except your life, you idiot, but Jimmy simply said, “Not at this point.”
Forty–eight
Dick saw the setup long before it started to unfold. They had already left the ranch and were on the back roads heading towards town. It was almost eight and the sun was up. Jack and Pat were in the back seat, Jack going over his notes, hoping that this was the day he had been waiting for—the day he got to cross-examine both Wesley Brume and Clay Evans.
Dick and Joaquin had planned out three separate routes to town that they alternated taking. Along those routes, they knew every turn in the road, every side road, every leaf that was out of place—every place where an ambush could be possible. When Dick rounded a turn and saw a car protruding from a side road up ahead, he instantly knew something was going down.
“Jack, get the guns.”
“What?”
“Get the guns!” Dick shouted. “They’re going to hit us up here.” Pat had moved and Jack was scrambling to get the AK-47s from under the back seat. “A car is going to pull out in front of me,” Dick told them very calmly but quickly. “As soon as I stop, a car is going to pull in behind us. Jack, stick your gun out that porthole like I showed you and start shooting as soon as they get out of their car. Wait until they get out. You want to hit somebody. I’ll take the front car. I’m going to try and kill a few people and then I’m taking off. So be ready. Pat, you stay down.”
Jack handed Dick a gun and put the nozzle of his gun through the back hole. He waited.
Everything happened in slow motion, and everything happened exactly the way Dick described it. The car he’d seen ahead pulled out, blocking the road. Dick put on the brakes, and another car pulled out from another side road behind them, blocking the rear. Three men got out of the front car, Uzis at the ready, and started shooting. The bullets ricocheted off the Mercedes. Dick returned fire through his front porthole, killing all three men. Meanwhile, two men had gotten out of the back car, firing as they emerged. Jack fired back, hitting one of them. Suddenly, the Mercedes lurched forward as Dick rammed the Cadillac in front of them, moving it just enough so he could maneuver around it. Then he sped away.
“Do you think they’ll follow?” Jack asked, keeping a sharp eye out the back window. Pat was still on the floor.
“No,” Dick replied calmly. “They don’t know what hit ’em. They’ll stay and lick their wounds.”
Jack helped Pat up and they looked at each other with expressions that said, What the hell just happened? It felt like a dream. And here they were, almost as if nothing had happened, continuing their ride to the courthouse.
At around the same time, on the courthouse steps, Jimmy DiCarlo, flanked by his two clients, was wrapping up a half hour impromptu press conference, during which he once again predicted that his clients would be vindicated.
Jimmy had a habit, every morning before the proceedings started, of going to the courthouse men’s room to primp. This morning was no different. Jack had not arrived yet, so he was sure everything had gone as planned. He was combing his hair in front of the mirror when, seemingly out of nowhere, Dick Radek was standing beside him. They were alone.
Dick spoke to the mirror. “If someone even bumps into one of my people from now on, I’m going to kill you.”
Jimmy kept his cool and looked at Dick like he was a piece of dirt in his path.
“Get out of my way,” he said as he started forward, attempting to brush the smaller man out of the way. In an instant he was against the wall, with Dick Radek’s left hand covering his mouth and his right hand holding a pistol to Jimmy’s left temple. It had a silencer attachment. Jimmy had the sudden urge to pee even though he had relieved himself moments before.
“I’m going to kill you, tough guy. Not your clients,” Dick snarled through clenched teeth. “Do you want to be able to spend the money you’ve been making off these assholes?” Jimmy’s eyes were bulging out of his head as he tried to nod his head up and down ever so slowly. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to take your cell phone and call whoever you need to call and tell them it’s off.” Dick took his hand off Jimmy’s mouth and moved away, now pointing the gun at Jimmy’s chest.
“Now?” Jimmy asked, almost whining.
“Right now.” Jimmy dialed a number. A few seconds later, he said, “It’s over. Call everybody off.” And hung up the phone.
“I am one of many,” Dick said calmly. “You know how the game works. If something happens to me or to any of my people from this date forward, you are a dead man. You will not be able to run. You will not be able to hide. And you will not be able to spend your money. If you think I’m bullshitting, tough guy, try me.” Dick turned and walked out of the bathroom.
Inside the courtroom, Jack was setting up his table for the day. He noticed that Clay Evans was eyeing him with a surprised look.
“Why, Mr. Evans, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jack said. Clay Evans looked away.
Just then Jimmy DiCarlo walked in the courtroom. It wasn’t Jimmy’s typical entrance. His face was pale and he looked a little disheveled.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Clay whispered when Jimmy sat down next to him.
“I don’t know. It looks like we’ve had some complications.”
“What about my money?” Clay asked. Jimmy just shrugged.
“Don’t worry. It’s not over,” Jimmy lied. It was over for him. He had his money.
Just then the judge walked into the courtroom. He had wanted to talk to the lawyers alone in open court but he hadn’t gotten the word to the bailiff in time, and the courtroom was now full.
“Counsel, will you approach?” Jimmy and Jack came forward. Jack had to keep himself calm. He didn’t dare look at the man standing next to him, the man he knew had tried to have him murdered that very morning. Instead Jack concentrated on Judge Stanton and listened as he delivered another near-fatal blow to his case. “I’ve been thinking about this all night and I’ve decided to reconsider and grant the defense’s motion for a mistrial.”
Jack immediately concluded that they had somehow gotten to the judge. He wanted to scream but he said nothing. “This record is too much of a mess,” the judge continued. “We’re only three days into this trial. I’ve ordered another panel of potential jurors up this morning and we can start over again in an hour. That should give you time to notify your witnesses. Jack, I know you have Charley Peterson in from out of town—has he left yet?”
“No, Judge.”
“Good. We can go on Saturday if you want. By Saturday evening we should be where we are today. As I said, it’s only a three-day delay. Jack, you don’t call the prosecution’s case a lie in your opening and you make sure Ms. Lopez doesn’t talk about what everybody in the neighborhood knew about Geronimo Cruz. Mr. DiCarlo, you don’t ask Ms. Lopez where she lives and who she lives with—understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Jimmy couldn’t control his enthusiasm. He didn’t notice the judge was calling Jack by his first name.
“Good. I hate to do this, but we need to have a fair trial and we need to have a good record for appellate purposes.” He looked right at Jack as he spoke the words. “And a three-day setback isn’t all that bad when you take everything into consideration.”
Clay Evans was somewhat happy about the new trial but he couldn’t get it out of his mind that he had just spent $250,000 for nothing.
“We’ll see you all on Monday morning,” Judge Stanton said when Jack rested. The old man was becoming more relaxed and familiar with the lawyers, at least with Jack, and Jack became convinced that the mistrial was truly to clear up the record. Was the judge going to let this case go to the jury? He didn’t know that yet. But the judge had given him the opportunity to try his case.
Jack spent Sunday out at the ranch with Pat. They went for a long run in the morning, something they hadn’t been able to do. When they returned they had the house to themselves. Maria was still staying at the hospital with Joaquin, and Dick was off playing cowboy with Steve Preston.
Dick had really taken to the ranch life. Every opportunity he had lately he was on a horse or over working the cows with Steve’s ranch hands. There was a rumor floating around that Steve had a sister who had lost her husband a few months ago and was staying out at the ranch, but it was just a rumor. Jack couldn’t even remember where he heard it.
“Joaquin told you,” Pat reminded him. “Just before he was shot.” They were lying in bed relaxing after a long love-making session. Something they both had been missing.
“So you think he likes going over there because he likes being a cowboy, or is it the sister?” Jack asked the expert. It was nice talking about the mundane.
“Oh, I think he likes being a cowboy, but the sister’s definitely in the mix.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s just the way he prepares to go over there. He always takes a shower. His jeans are always clean. I saw him plucking his nose hairs the other day.”
The Mayor of Lexington Avenue Page 37