“Don’t do this. Don’t say any more.” Wolfe started to stand the rest of the way, but Lindsey pushed him back down. He yielded and sat.
“You listen to me. I will not let you run away again, Aaron. You must deal with this.” She grabbed her glass and took a sloppy swallow of wine with her eyes locked on him. At that very moment she realized he meant even more to her. He was her true love and her rock—the only man she could show everything, the man that made her safe.
“I won’t leave, but you need to stop talking,” he said in a firm whisper.
“You must hear this, Aaron. They told me Ramsey was coming.”
“Who told you?”
“The two men in my bedroom. They said they had been watching him, following him, listening to him. They knew his plan. They knew the date and the time. They knew he was going to attack and kill me this time. Ramsey bragged about it, Aaron. He had evil intentions.”
Wolfe did not move. His mind raced through all possibilities—he could not stop it.
Lindsey took another swallow of wine. “I got the phone call a few weeks ago. The state prosecutor called. He said Eric Ramsey would be released from prison. He explained it as a combination of the plea bargain deal and a new work-release program.”
Damn system makes zero sense sometimes, Wolfe mused.
“How could they do that? He killed my husband, Aaron. He raped and beat me. How could they let that man out of prison?”
“I remember legal procedural problems that threw out the DNA,” Wolfe muttered. “The plea bargain deal put the bastard behind bars twenty years before parole consideration. I know nothing about work-release programs. Still, I can’t imagine that dirt bag being eligible.”
“His attorney pulled strings and made him eligible,” she sighed.
“Who were the guys next to your bed?” Wolfe asked.
“I don’t know names. I don’t even know what they look like. They wore ski masks and long black coats. Their existence had to be denied. It was their only condition.”
“Their only condition for what?” Wolfe puffed.
“I had a choice, Aaron. They are part of a movement to fix the criminal justice system. They represent victims of the most heinous crimes where justice did not prevail. They said they have one mission.”
“And what is that?” Wolfe asked.
“Serial intent. They remove these predators from society when the criminal justice system does not,” she said.
“Serial intent. Predators. Well, that sounds just wonderful.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Oh. You mean they are not fanatics,” Wolfe shot back. “You’re telling me they are not taking the law into their own hands.”
“They are not fanatics, Aaron.”
“Come on now,” he exploded. “They seek their own justice. You know better. You’re a lawyer. These people are no different. They hunt humans without a license. They are criminals. They operate outside the law.”
Lindsey looked over at the flickering candle and stopped the argument. “I was laying there, the two standing beside my bed. I thought Eric Ramsey would murder me this time. One of the men spoke. It was an elderly voice. He said they came to help me. I didn’t move. He quoted a Supreme Court Justice. ‘Guilt or innocence becomes irrelevant in criminal trials when we flounder in a morass of artificial rules poorly conceived and impossible to apply.’ Warren Burger said that back in the ‘70s, Aaron.”
“I want to know how they got on the tenth floor of this secured building without being detected.”
“Stop and listen to me,” she demanded.
“I think you’re lucky they did not hurt you,” he muttered.
“They were old men—articulate, gentle, and soft spoken. They know they’re operating outside the law. I think they were survivors. I think they lost someone they loved and now they want to do something about it, Aaron. They said they have no intentions of getting involved in every murder case.”
“Great. They have principles,” Aaron scoffed.
“Their focus is on the most heinous crimes committed by serial offenders who beat the legal system. They believe these people are born with twisted minds.” Lindsey walked to the window and opened the thick curtain. The night light fell into the room touching Wolfe’s face.
“They said there are Bengal Tigers walking the streets. They said these animals look for people to kill. They will never stop on their own, because there are no cages strong enough, or systems smart enough to contain them, they must be terminated.”
“According to their rules, any felon acquitted of murder could be designated a monster and be terminated,” Aaron said. “These fanatics could kill an innocent person, Lindsey. We know people are wrongfully accused all the time. Who are these people to think they could get it right more than us? In this country, a person is innocent until proven guilty. It’s the prosecution’s job to prove guilt, not the defense’s job to prove innocence.”
Lindsey returned to the table and sipped her wine waiting for the lecture to be over. She not only had heard the argument a hundred times, she had made it often. “Why didn’t you practice law after passing the bar, Aaron?”
“I had other interests,” he snapped back.
“Stop. You’re talking to me. We both know why you chose law enforcement over the courtroom. Why can’t you just admit it?”
“Fine. The legal system is broken. Too many assholes are getting away with murder. But that’s still not justification to take matters into your own hands. People have bias, especially when they are close to pain. They do not make good decisions. In the end, an impartial judge and jury are our best shot to get it right.”
“I used to believe that too,” Lindsey said. “But then it happened to me. It’s different when you are victimized and the monster gets away with it and returns.”
He could not argue the point. Although he witnessed a lot of injustices and saw many victims, he did not have the personal experience. If he had, would he see more? Would he demand more? Would he be less tolerant of the justice system? Would he support another avenue to justice? And most importantly, could Aaron Wolfe step outside of the law?
“They offered me a gun. It had been registered to me. They took care of everything the day Eric Ramsey was prematurely released from prison. They said if I wanted to stop him I could shoot him with my gun in my bedroom that night. They said he was on his way.”
She looked down and wiped her tears. “They understood I might not be able to shoot a man regardless of what he had done. They also warned that killing a man would change me forever. They said the decision had to be mine. They respected my decision either way.”
“Nice set up. They scared you into only one possible action,” Wolfe muttered.
“No. I didn’t have to kill Ramsey. They said they would divert him but could not assure he would stay away. If I chose diversion, they advised I leave Chicago and not return. There was a good chance he would not look for me outside the city.”
Wolfe stared at his empty glass.
“They would support my decision either way, but they would not execute Eric Ramsey for me. Their mission is to give victims a level field for justice to prevail on the victim’s terms.”
“You chose the gun,” Wolfe said with piercing eyes.
“Yes. I did.”
“Did they stay?”
“No. They left.”
“Ramsey came,” Wolfe said, “and then what?”
“He came just as they said he would. I shot him.”
“You know your bullet did not hit Ramsey, right?”
“I missed. When he saw the gun, he waved his knife daring me to shoot.”
“Who shot him between the eyes?” Wolfe asked.
“I don’t know. I do know one of the men in my room went to the window while the other was talking. I thought he just opened the curtain to let some light in. He opened the window. I didn’t realize it until later, although I was cold. I guess I was scared waiting
for Ramsey.”
“After you missed Ramsey, what happened?”
“The window sheer moved, like a gust of wind entering the room. Ramsey got knocked backwards and dropped out of sight. I didn’t move for a while. I had no idea what happened. I just held my gun. When I got out of bed, I saw him on the floor. I realized my window was open. I checked. The sheer had been torn. The ledge outside my window is too narrow for someone to stand on it. The bullet had to come from far away.”
Wolfe left the table and returned to the shrouded window on the same side of the building as Lindsey’s bedroom. He opened the curtain and felt the white sheer. He scanned the skyline of Chicago, the stark shadows reaching into the night above the city lights. He saw a cluster of buildings a mile away. They were in line with the bullet trajectory, information he did not share.
“They helped me, Aaron. Once I pulled the trigger, they made sure Eric Ramsey could not hurt me ever again.
Your action was a green light, their justification. These people leveled the playing field alright. They knew you shot and missed Ramsey. Wolfe rubbed his neck struggling with the reality that Lindsey Fetter was alive only because someone stopped a monster. He stared at the skyline. A single shot between the eyes at night from a mile away—a professional.
Nine
“Men like honesty when it favors them.”
Anickee Tockukwu Ezekiel
* * *
Meeting William T. Marcantonio was the last thing he wanted to do. Next to last was passing a kidney stone.
Eldon Babcock’s charcoal pinstripe suit, Burberry velvet-trimmed overcoat, and black Zegna Chelsea boots were out of place in Old Town. It was minutes away from midnight when he parked his white Mercedes on North LaSalle and Clark. Wieland at North Avenue was a ten minute walk. He did not want his car on any video stream around the Ale House, Kanela Breakfast Club, or Zanies Comedy Night Club—known mafia hangouts. His fedora covered just enough of his face to make a positive ID impossible in a courtroom.
He entered the bar disoriented in the thick smoke, dim lighting, and rolling babel. Before he could remove his hat, a large suit and bald head took his arm and whisked him away. Babcock did not resist, even if he could. If he was not taken out back and beaten to a pulp, the aggressive greeting meant he was in the right place.
They snaked through the legion of laughter and bellowing banter, clouds of cigarette and cigar smoke, sloshing beer mugs and rolling eyes. When a door closed behind, the harsh cacophony and sour smells waned. Without a word, the suit took Babcock through the winding halls and up three dark flights. When the last door opened, he was looking at Marcantonio sitting on a long leather sofa sucking a fat cigar. The other six in the room eyed him with disdain.
“Mr. Babcock. It’s been a while. You look like your father forty years ago.”
Eldon nodded forcing a smile like a kid swallowing a spoonful of cod liver oil. The large suit with the bald head let go of his arm and disappeared.
“My father said you wanted to meet,” Eldon said. Marcantonio’s smile immediately left his face. A single nod emptied the room. Before the door closed leaving the two alone, the mafia family patriarch put a sticky glass of brandy in Eldon’s hand.
“Sit here,” Marcantonio said between cigar puffs as he patted the sofa.
Eldon sat at the far end on the edge as if ready to sprint. After placing his hat between them to mark his space, he swallowed hard. His next words squeaked out, the high pitch even surprised him. “I understand you seek legal services.”
Marcantonio flashed a smile and studied the man so different from him. “Yes. That is correct.” The room fell silent for a long ten seconds.
Eldon cleared his throat. “There are dozens of capable law firms in the city of Chicago, why Babcock, Boyle & Brayden?” He cradled his sticky glass in his lap like a motion-sensitive bomb. He had no intention of putting anything from the room into his body.
“I like Jennings. He’s been good for me.”
“I understand. He speaks favorably of you as well. However, I’m not sure we are the best fit today, Mr. Marcantonio.”
“Is that right? An interesting comment. Explain yourself, please,” he said as he leaned closer and pushed Eldon’s hat to the side. How would the stiff underling of an old friend manage ratcheted discomfort—Marcantonio was a master at finding a man’s limits.
“We are not into criminal law to the extent we were when you engaged my father years ago, sir. We are now a diversified law firm whose primary focus is business, banking, and international trade.”
“I am a business. I use banks. I trade internationally. Do you think I only deal in crime? Is that what you’re saying, young man?” Marcantonio leaned even closer. He saw the sweat bead grow and emerge from the young Babcock’s sideburn. It reminded him of Jennings years ago.
“No sir. I’m not suggesting you only have criminal defense needs. I’m referring to past requirements—your primary focus with my father and our recent legal defense of Mr. Pender. I do not know what you and my father have discussed beyond this history.”
Eldon left the droplet of sweat on his jaw hoping Marcantonio missed it. The room was dark enough, there was some distance between them, and Marcantonio was an older man with less than perfect eyesight. Showing weakness would not be the best way to open discussions. The Marcantonio crime family was not the typical client. They were into drug trafficking, tax evasion, gambling, and prostitution. Eldon assumed everything was hidden in the financials of family owned restaurants, clubs, and several car dealerships throughout the state.
Marcantonio pushed out his cigar and picked up his glass of vodka. Swirling the cubes he said with a challenging tone, “Your law firm is about to go under, young man. I am cash heavy and have a problem requiring immediate attention. I also have ongoing needs.”
“Depending on your needs, we may or may not be the right law firm.”
Marcantonio produced a tattered file from the side of the sofa. He pulled and passed a single page to the pensive attorney and directed, “Read.”
Eldon scanned the document. “This contract entered into by Eldon Michener Babcock (hereinafter referred to as ‘the Provider’) and William Trent Marcantonio (hereinafter referred to as ‘the Client’) on this date (left blank) affirms the Client engages the Provider to deliver said services as described herein under ‘Scope and Manner of Services’. The Provider hereby agrees to provide the client with said services in exchange for consideration described herein under ‘Payment for Services Rendered’.”
“I am quite familiar with a contract for services rendered. The scope and manner of services are undefined. I would need more,” Eldon said with growing confidence.
Marcantonio pulled a second page and passed it to the cautious man. He watched as Babcock read and the dollars registered.
With eyes wide, he muttered, “This is a very big number. I cannot imagine any services you could need from our law firm that would justify such a large opening figure and guaranteed minimum annual payments over a ten year relationship.”
Marcantonio passed a third document, the confidentiality agreement. “I am sure you are familiar with this legal instrument. Before we can go further, you must sign this. What I am going to share is only for the eyes and ears of my legal representative. Sign this document now or leave as the son of a friend and do not look back.”
“But, Mr. Marcantonio, I—”
“After signing this document, and after hearing what I have to say, if you feel you cannot go forward, you are free to leave. However, as you well know, you are bound to maintain complete and total confidentiality on all matters discussed in this room. If you accept the two-million dollar retainer, you are bound to represent me until the initial matter has been concluded to my satisfaction. The money cannot be returned. You cannot change your mind midstream. You cannot disengage without my approval. The annual compensation plan of one-million dollars will adjust with inflation and increase at a twenty-five percent rate eac
h year. There will be performance bonuses. Should you accept this arrangement, you sir become my personal legal representative. You will tend to all my legal needs—only you, not an associate or your father. Do you understand me, Eldon Michener Babcock?”
He stared at the engagement figures and sipped his drink. “Why me?”
“Your father’s a good man, but he is unable to keep up. I have watched you over the years. Like it or not, you’re very much like Jennings, except you are more practical and a rule person. I’ve watched you take your father’s firm to the top in a very competitive world. You’re smart but your weakness is your resistance to cold business realities. I understand the financial complexities facing your law firm. Mr. Babcock, you cannot survive at the level you are accustomed without a serious adjustment in your business strategy. You face more competition every day. You have a meddling father and misplaced power with an over-the-hill founder’s board. Those old farts understand one thing—revenue. You need all of these pesky obstacles moved out of your way.”
“A lot of what you say is true, but I still don’t know why me.”
Marcantonio poured more vodka, gulped down half the glass, and crushed an ice cube in his mouth. “The world has changed for people like me. The way I handle problems today must be different. You know this new world. You can help me navigate in a more civilized manner. If that explanation is not good enough for you, know I could put your father away for the rest of his life if my needs are not met.”
“Didn’t take you long to get there,” Eldon chided.
“See. My comment was inappropriate, not necessary. It’s the old way—threats. Instead, I would prefer to enter into a more civilized arrangement, one binding and mutually beneficial.”
Eldon smiled. He pulled his Mont Blanc from his pocket and signed the confidentiality agreement. The enormous inflow of new capital would solve his business problems. The annual stipend would take the founder’s board out of his life. He would have the board sign over rights based on his commitment to ridiculous growth objectives that now could be reached. The board would not know about the Marcantonio deal until the ink had dried on their new contract with him, the lifelong CEO and new COB for the BB&B law firm.
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