“Oh, Colin has some political connections. And he helps us now and then.”
“Us?”
“My firm, Ronin and McCall.”
“Never heard of it.”
“You’re not supposed to have heard of it. But I told the partners about you and everything you did. They were impressed. And I’m impressed, too. Every step you made was right. It’s like you’re a natural.”
“A natural what?”
“Another drink, Victor? It’s a celebration. We won.”
I lifted up my Sea Breeze. “Yes, we did.”
It hadn’t taken long for Judge Winston to decide how to properly deal with me. Even as ADA Fedders objected to my oratory, I could see the calculation play out across the judge’s face. “Sit down, Mr. Carl,” said the judge, finally, caution suddenly in his hoarse voice. “I’m ready to rule.”
“Your honor, I still have—”
“Sit down, Mr. Carl,” he said. “Do as I say.”
And in truth, despite my protestations, I knew it was over even before I sat.
“In this case, pursuant to the report and testimony of State Trooper Trumbull, there was apparently more than sufficient reasonable suspicion to stop the defendant’s vehicle, which is the current requirement in this commonwealth. And normally, this motion would be down quickly because of that.”
The judge looked down at me, something sharp and dangerous in his eye.
“But there was an element in the officer’s testimony that gives me pause, a discrepancy regarding the condition of the rear brake light between his official report and the report from the garage that impounded Mr. Frost’s vehicle. There is in this a gap enough to raise doubts for me about the full scope of State Trooper Trumbull’s testimony. At this point, I am not certain what to believe, and that uncertainty is enough for me to rule for the defendant. I find that reasonable suspicion for stopping Mr. Frost’s vehicle has not been sufficiently evidenced and therefore, pursuant to the Fourth Amendment, I’m excluding all evidence gathered as a result of that stop.”
“Your Honor,” said Fedders, “we object.”
“Of course you do, Mr. Fedders. But with the evidence excluded, will you be able to proceed with this trial?”
“No, sir.”
“Very well, this prosecution is hereby dismissed. Mr. Carl, will you please approach the bench.”
When I stood before Judge Winston, alone in the well of his courtroom, the judge looked down sternly at me and I expected a bout of righteous anger, but that’s not what I got. “You made a fine case for Mr. Frost at this hearing, Mr. Carl. I was surprised and impressed.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll certainly consider you for appointment to other cases. But we’re done, aren’t we? This thing is over?”
“You dismissed the case, Your Honor.”
“Yes, I did. But I want you to understand that I have no regrets. That I would do it all again. That there are imperatives beyond our own pathetic powers that hold sway if we are to be more than mere pawns in this life. Do you understand love?”
“I like to think so.”
“If that’s the best you can do, Mr. Carl, then I feel sorry for you. And next time, have no doubt, I will throw your bony ass straight into a prison cell and you won’t see the sun for a year. Now get the hell out of my sight.”
As I hustled my way out of the courtroom, a figure short and bulky stepped in front of me and put out a hand like a traffic cop. “Slow down, there, counselor,” said Harvey Sloane. “What’s the rush? I’d like to get a statement.”
“How about this,” I said. “No comment. And the name is Carl. Victor Carl.”
“Oh, I know your name. I remember when you were gobsmacked by your own witness in the Jimmy Moore case. Quite a little victory today, hey, Carl? A win against all the odds.”
“Sometimes truth actually triumphs.”
“And sometimes the fix is in.”
“There was no fix, just good lawyering. You can write that if you want, anything else will result in a lawsuit. And make sure you spell my name with a C.”
“Don’t worry,” he said as I walked past. “When I publish, I always get my facts right. And from now on, Victor, I’ll be looking out for you.”
“What kind of firm, exactly, is Ronin and McCall?” I said as Melanie and I splashed down another round at the restaurant bar. “And why am I supposed to never have heard of it?”
“We try to keep a low profile,” said Melanie.
“Why would a law firm in a market like this ever try to keep a low profile?”
“Maybe because it has an exclusive clientele that would rather remain nameless.”
“Are you a criminal firm?”
“Oh, some might say. But basically we’re more like jungle guides. On one side we have our clients, often well known and powerful. On the other side are the things that they want done in the world. And in the middle is a dark wood filled with the thorny thickets of law and regulation, as well as with competitors holding no good intent. Our clients need someone to guide them, someone to help them avoid the cliffs and traps, someone to navigate across the rivers and around these thickets. That’s what we do.”
“So you’re legal fixers.”
“Of a type, yes. But if you want something achieved in this world, you need someone like us. Ronin and McCall: We Get It Done. That’s our motto, or maybe it’s Pay Up. I sometimes get them confused”
“My God, Melanie, just listen to yourself. How did you fall into something like that? I mean you were all about justice and causes and power to the people.”
“I was young.”
“But still.”
“Well, maybe I realized that nothing was as powerless as the people. And here’s the thing, Victor. When I was in law school and even after, I think I enjoyed my powerlessness. Did I really believe I was going to make the world more just by fighting within the system for the dispossessed? Did I really believe I could defeat the Man with his own laws? I knew I would fail, and it warmed me. Nothing is easier than failure—all you need to do is open your arms and let it swamp you mercilessly. Every day you get in deeper, until it sinks into your bones, and it’s all you know, and deep down, no matter what you tell yourself, it’s all you really want.”
“I think I know what you mean.”
“I accepted my failure, embraced it, actually, so long as it was wrapped in a cloak of good intent. I allowed myself to be defined by it.”
“But things have changed.”
“I grew tired of losing.”
I leaned forward, concentrating a little too intently. “But how did you do it? How did you stop being a loser?”
“I decided to do whatever it took to win. I embraced my inner Machiavelli.”
“You’ve become a power-mad schemer?”
“No, Victor. Our Italian friend has been misunderstood. I’ve become a patriot.” Her phone vibrated; she kept speaking even as she picked it up and wheeled through her messages. “You’ll be glad to know that a spot in the rehab facility opened up unexpectedly, which happens when you represent the facility’s major charitable donor. Colin is being ferried there in a Town Car as we speak.”
“Good.”
“You were right to insist we get him to rehab immediately. Sloane’s been sniffing around like a rabid dog, but anything we say now might compromise Colin’s rehabilitation. We have a ready-made answer to any of Sloane’s inconvenient questions.”
“That’s not why I did it. He was my client, even if just for a couple of hours. He needs help, and now he’s getting it. My job isn’t just to acquit, and it doesn’t end at the courtroom steps.”
“How noble of you. I can almost imagine you mean it. But even so, the partners were quite pleased with your performance all around. Don’t wait to send in your bill.”
“Don’t worry.”
“You have good instincts, Victor. The way you handled the judge, sending Colin right to rehab. It’s just . . . for us, losing Colin so suddenly is a bit inconvenient.”
“How so?”
“He does some work for us, independent contractor stuff, you know the drill. Limited knowledge, limited responsibility. He was very useful, but now he’s tied up for a swath of time. We had other errands for him and now we need to find someone else.”
“Oh,” I said, with as much ingenuousness as I could put into my voice.
Melanie glanced up from her phone, raising her brows like an idea was rising unbidden. “You wouldn’t have some free time, would you?”
“I have the feeling you already know the answer to that question.”
She laughed, lifted up her chin, flipped her hair like a cheerleader. “I always liked you, Victor. You have a certain charming smarminess about you. Why didn’t we ever date in law school? You tried to horn in on everyone else, but never me.”
I looked at my drink, gave the ice cubes a rattle. “You were too damn sincere. You made my teeth hurt.”
“I was sincere, wasn’t I?” she said, laughing and showing her canines. “And now?”
“Now you scare me.”
“That’s progress. So let’s talk tacks. Have you ever been to Chicago?”
“As a matter of fact.”
“Good, then you’ll know your way around.”
CHAPTER 9
THE OPERATIVE
I flew into O’Hare with only a briefcase and a question.
Off the plane and through security, I spotted my driver holding his little sign. I didn’t break stride as I nodded and followed him to the exit. The car was black and plush and hummed like a cat. All the way down I-94 I felt like a ninja in a navy-blue suit.
The driver had been advised of the address where we were headed, I was simply along for the ride. I expected to end up in one of the great granite buildings on Michigan Avenue or in a modernist skyscraper smack in the Loop, but I found myself instead on the west side of the highway, in a shabby business district with a nail salon, a blues club, and a storefront selling “Energéticos Hormonas.” The driver told me the man I was meeting was on the second floor of the boxy brick building that held the club. The greasy scent of Cuban food from the restaurant next door followed me up the stairs.
A woman sat behind a desk in front of a frosted glass office door, leaning on her elbows in an almost Zen-like stillness. From the size of her, I figured she was part-time receptionist, full-time bouncer. With those forearms, she could have tied me into a pretzel.
“Victor Carl,” I said. “Here to see Mr. Flores.”
She didn’t respond; she simply blinked and stared at me as if I were just another cockroach scuttling across her floor.
“I have an appointment,” I said.
“Mr. Flores has no appointment today with a Carl or a Victor,” she said. “So whichever one you are, sorry, but no.”
“I’m both,” I said.
“Two first names?”
“Yes.”
“Usually one is enough.”
“You would think.”
“Mr. Flores is no taking appointment today with no one who has no appointment. In fact he never takes appointment with no one who has no appointment. It is a rule as firm as a fist.”
“Tell him I’m the man from Philadelphia.”
“Philadelphia? I have cousin who live in Philadelphia. Her name Adalia Martinez. Maybe you know her.”
“It’s a big town.”
“She’s a witch.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’s not that bad.”
“I mean a real witch. Dead chickens, charred corn.”
“Sounds like dinner.”
She reached over and picked up a phone, pressed a button, waited. I heard a muffled sound from the other side of the door.
“El hombre de Philadelphia está aquí,” she said. “Su nombre es Carl Victor. Sí. Carl Victor.” A chuckle. “En serio. Improbable. Sí.”
She put down the phone and nodded toward the door.
I hesitated outside that door as the woman stared. Melanie had given me the assignment, and I had jumped at the hourly pay—ten hours of travel and this meeting would bring in enough to cover my rent for the next month—but I didn’t know who I was representing, or why I was asking the question I had been given to ask. There is a myth that lawyers tell themselves about their service to client and community and the rule of law. And in representing Colin Frost, making the state prove every aspect of its criminal case, including the constitutionality of the stop, I could believe I was working within the proud tradition of the profession, despite Selma’s help. But walking through this door, I could no longer sustain such illusions. Melanie Brooks had made of me a tool, handy and expensive, yes, like a premium wrench from Sears, yet a tool nonetheless.
And how did I feel about that?
Evidently Craftsman tough and Craftsman shiny, because though I hesitated a moment, a moment was all. I knocked twice, pushed open the door, and walked into my future.
The office was dark and spare, full of shadows. It smelled of aftershave and tobacco, of thin ties and secret deals and a generation long gone. The desktop was clear, the shelves in the bookcases empty, the walls bare, the lock on the file cabinet depressed. I had walked into a Hopper painting. Standing behind the desk, his back to me, was a tall, thin man in a brown checked suit.
“So you’re Carl Victor from Philadelphia,” said the man, in a gentle voice with only a trace of an accent.
“Close enough. Thank you for seeing me.”
“It is nothing,” he said. “Do you want something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“A cigar?”
“No.”
He turned, a glass filled with amber in one hand, an unlit cigar in the other. His face was thin and handsome, his hair was gray, and his eyes were surprisingly kind. “Perhaps, then, a plate of empanadas from downstairs.”
“Tempting, but no.”
“Your loss. I own the restaurant, and the chef is marvelous.” He stepped around the chair and sat down, leaned back, took a sip of his drink, put the cigar in his mouth. He stared at his glass for a moment, as if appraising a jewel.
“I don’t know you, Carl Victor,” he said, his voice just as gentle as before. “Normally, I have a rule that I will not meet with someone I do not personally know. It is a rule that has well protected me over the years.”
“And yet here I am.”
“I was told by someone that I must see you. There are only a few people in this world that I trust enough to cause me to break such a rule. Whether fortunately for you or not is still to be determined, but he was one, and so here you are. What can I do for you, Carl Victor from Philadelphia?”
“I have a question,” I said.
“No request, no favor, no point you want to get across? Just a question?”
“Just a question.”
“Go ahead and ask your question and we’ll see if I will answer it.”
“What do you want?” I said.
“What do I want?” He laughed. “You’re the one who came all this way. What do you want?”
“I want to know what you want.”
“What does anyone want? Wealth, sex, a fine Scotch and a Cuban cigar. Peace on earth, goodwill for all men, the White Sox to win another pennant.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” I said. “But I didn’t ask what anyone would want. What do you want?”
“Me.”
“You. Specifically.”
“And you will grant my every wish, is that the idea? Make me rich beyond my wildest dreams?”
“Is that what you want, money?”
“Who doesn’t want money?”
“I look at this office, and I look at your secretary, and I doubt very much that what you want most is money. Oh, you like your Scotch and your cigars, and I assume they’re both premium—we all want to maintain a certain lifestyle. But this office tells me that money is not what you are about.”
“Your eyes are sharper than your tie, Carl Victor. So maybe what I really want is power.”
“Power.”
“Who doesn’t want power?”
“And why do you want all this unlimited power? So you can stand with senators and governors and have your picture snapped? I figure you can already do that, or I wouldn’t be here. And yet, your walls are bare of trophy pictures. No smiling pols, no glowering moguls, no evidence of a single lever of power.”
“I am maybe discreet.”
“You are definitely discreet. And you are also cautious. Even with all the power you have, you sit in this spare little office and refuse to meet anyone you do not personally know. How much more power do you want? Enough so you would be unwilling to meet with your own brother?”
“It is a conundrum, is it not? If you were faced with such a question, Mr. Carl Victor, what is it that you would want?”
“Money and power, or maybe for someone to get my name right, but it is not a question for me.”
“I see. It is my question only.”
“Yes.”
“And what will I have to do in return for having my most secret desires filled?”
“Nothing.”
“Excuse me, Carl Victor, I don’t see fairy wings on your back.”
“I have been assured that there is no quid pro quo here.”
“No quid and no pro. A freebie.”
“To the extent there is such a thing,” I said.
“Who sent you?”
“Even I don’t know.”
“And I am to give you an answer with no idea of who is asking the question and with what motive?”
“Yes.”
“Why would I do such a thing?”
“Because I’m from Philadelphia, the place where dreams come true.”
Bagmen (A Victor Carl Novel) Page 5