Law and Vengeance

by Mike Papantonio

  “Madsen-Zimmer’s defense is to throw everything against the wall,” said Ned, “and see what sticks. Unfortunately, we’ve seen those tactics work with some judges.”

  “What do you know about Judge Sanders?” asked Cara.

  “She has a reputation for being fair,” said Gina.

  “If that’s the case,” said Ned, “she’ll have to allow our suit to go forward. I’m certainly not seeing anything compelling in these arguments. But you never know what’s going on behind-the-scenes.”

  Ned turned to Cara. “They say there are two kinds of lawyers; lawyers who know the law, and lawyers who know the judge.”

  “Should we really be worried about that kind of collusion with a federal judge?” asked Cara.

  “If she were a state court judge, I’d be far more concerned,” said Gina. “Nothing I’ve heard about Judge Sanders would ever lead me to the conclusion that she is anything but ethical.”

  “But does she know bullshit when she sees or smells it?” asked Ned. He turned to Cara: “What do you call a lawyer who spent more time doing political favors than trying cases?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Cara.

  “Your Honor,” said Ned.

  “Any other thoughts on their brief?” asked Gina.

  “I am surprised it seems so . . . boilerplate,” said Ned. “Especially since it’s signed by Charles Zimmer. You would think when one of the founding partners puts his name on a document, it should wow you.

  “I guess I was also expecting something better from a dozen of silk-stocking lawyers all billing at a thousand dollars an hour.” Ned turned to Cara and asked, “What’s the difference between a wealthy corporate lawyer and a poor corporate lawyer?”

  Cara shook her head.

  “A poor corporate lawyer makes your case drag on for years,” said Ned. “A wealthy corporate lawyer makes it drag on for decades.”

  “Years ago, I attended a legal conference,” said Gina, “where Charles Zimmer was one of the presenters in a course that discussed strategies for keeping bank executives out of prison after a jury conviction. That might be the long game Zimmer is playing with this brief. His firm’s job might be more focused on keeping upper management out of prison by signaling all the defenses they could conceivably use if the DOJ started rattling sabers about a criminal case.”

  “Same old, same old,” said Ned. “If you wear an Armani suit and have an army of Wall Street lawyers, you walk.”

  Ned had spent five years working as a serious crimes prosecutor in Miami. He had put plenty of drug dealers and violent criminals behind bars, but had always been astonished at how the system was so unwilling to imprison white-collar criminals.

  “Before seeing this brief,” said Gina, “I would have guessed Madsen-Zimmer was counting on a dismissal. Now I don’t think that is their hope. What I’m reading tells me Madsen-Zimmer wants to make sure this case never goes to trial.

  “Still, I want us to respond to this brief like it’s our backs that are against the wall and not theirs. I want our response to be cogent and compelling. In fact, I want to blow them out of the water right from the get-go. I also don’t want to give them time to breathe. I want our response on Judge Sanders’ desk in two days.”

  “You’re kidding?” said Ned.

  Gina shook her head. “I don’t want to let up the heat, even for a moment. And so far Judge Sanders has been fine with the fast pace.”

  “Lie to me and say we’ll be done by midnight,” Ned said, “so that I can tell my wife that’s what you said.”

  “We’ll be done by midnight,” said Gina.

  “Can we meet back here in thirty minutes?” Ned asked. “I’m going to have to call my wife and clear today’s schedule.”

  “Me too,” said Cara, then added, “What I meant to say is that I have to call my friend and cancel our movie date.”

  “I’ll see everyone back here in thirty minutes,” said Gina. “And I’ll bring Rachel back to help us.”

  Rachel Frank was a paralegal who was great at researching briefs and was an expert at making order out of legalese chaos.

  As Ned and Cara walked out of the conference room, he began telling her another lawyer joke. He’d worked as a lawyer long enough to have heard them all.

  Ned and Cara weren’t the only ones who had to make explanatory calls. Gina had tentatively said she could attend Bryan’s hooroo party—hooroo was apparently an Australian way of saying “goodbye”—beginning at six that night. Writing the brief meant Gina wouldn’t be able to attend.

  “G’day, mate,” said Gina.

  “That remains to be seen,” said Bryan. “Getting a midday call from you makes me suspicious that I’m about to be stood up.”

  “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,” said Gina. “The main reason for this call is to confirm our dinner date at the Blue Planet tomorrow night at seven o’clock.”

  “I can’t wait,” said Bryan.

  “And as my bon voyage present to you,” said Gina, “I expect you to order their surf and turf.”

  Planet Blue was Spanish Trace’s best restaurant, and their surf and turf consisted of bacon wrapped lobster and wagyu beef. It was as decadent as it was costly.

  “You really don’t have to,” said Bryan.

  “I do,” said Gina. Her tone suddenly changed, becoming higher and more apologetic. “Especially since I won’t be able to make it tonight.”

  “I knew it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gina said. “My team is writing an important brief, and I can’t skip out and make them do the work.”

  “I think I liked it better when you were in the hospital,” Bryan said. “At least I got to see you there.”

  “You know how important this case is to me,” said Gina, “and you know I warned you about how busy I am going to be over the next few weeks. Isn’t that why you thought it made sense to go to Australia now?”

  “I’m still disappointed you won’t be able to make my hooroo party.”

  “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night.”

  After their dinner at the Blue Planet, the plan was for Gina to stay over at Bryan’s house. At dawn she’d be giving him a ride to the airport, and he’d begin the first leg of his journey to Australia.

  “I like the sound of that,” he said. “Can you elaborate on that topic, though? I mean it has been so long since we’ve had sex that I’ve forgotten who ties up who.”

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to work my apology into phone sex?”

  “I am deeply offended,” he said. “But if you talk dirty to me, I’ll forgive you.”

  Gina faked a little heavy breathing, and then in an entirely too seductive whisper said, “You want some freedom of speech dirty talk? In 1964, in the obscenity case of Jacobellis v. Ohio, US Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart wrote about why the material in question was not obscene, and because of that he believed it was protected under freedom of speech.”

  She paused long enough to loudly fake a groan; her breathing grew faster and more primal, and in the homestretch her whispering became that much more frantic: “When it came to hardcore pornography, Justice Stewart said that he really couldn’t define it, but he wrote, ‘I know it when I see it.’”

  Gina’s story and her rapid breathing, came to a sudden stop.

  “That’s talking dirty to me?” said Bryan.

  “It is until tomorrow night,” and then whispered, “Bye, baby.”

  24

  BUNGLE IN THE JUNGLE

  Whenever the two Stokes brothers were together, people took notice. Louis Stokes wasn’t quite the beheomoth Bennie was—the younger brother was probably two inches shorter and forty pounds lighter—but he was still an imposing figure. People sometimes mistook Bennie and Louis for one another. Their faces were certainly similar, and both wore their dark hair long, but Louis didn’t have feathers in his hair. Louis was also more given to smiling even though it was Bennie’s wry humor that made people laugh.
r />   It was the younger of the two brothers who was heading up the Robert Diaz security team. Earlier that morning, Louis had called Gina and asked if he could meet with her and discuss a “situation.”

  Bennie preceded Louis into Gina’s office. Unsmiling, he taunted, “I hope this guy doesn’t give you any grief. I’ll be glad to throw him out if he does.”

  “It won’t come to that,” said Louis, “lucky for you.”

  The two brothers did a little more jawing back and forth.

  When the big man took a seat, Gina asked, “What can I do for you, Louis?”

  He looked away, not meeting her eyes. “I am afraid we’re going to need to find new accommodations for Mr. Diaz and Ms. Reinhart.”

  “Why is that? I thought Rob was happy where we situated him.”

  “He is,” said Louis. “But he and Miss Honey are loud.”

  “Loud,” repeated Gina.

  “They are loud,” said Louis, “four or five times a day. And at night they are especially loud. Mr. and Mrs. Terry say it’s so loud they can’t sleep.”

  “Who are Mr. and Mrs. Terry?”

  “They own the B&B,” said Louis. “To be honest, I can’t really blame them. Everyone on my team can’t help but notice the loudness.”

  Maybe Rob Diaz really had found his true love, thought Gina. “Thank you, Louis. Tell you what; I’m going to find alternative accommodations for Mr. Diaz and Ms. Reinhart. Just have them packed and ready to go within the hour.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Romano,” he said.

  Gina thought for a minute, and then called Martin Bergman. The founding partner’s house was one of the largest in Spanish Trace. It was fenced in, and had a state-of-the-art security system. No one could approach it without setting off lights, and beyond a certain point alarms were triggered. Gina had heard Martin say his house was like a fortress, and probably more secure than any residence other than the White House.

  “Martin?” said Gina. “Is that guest house of yours currently being used?”

  The lawyers at Bergman-Deketomis were used to multitasking and working several cases at the same time. Because the Arbalest case had been all-consuming, Gina had fallen behind on her other cases. She knew this week would be spent playing catch-up with other work, and perhaps the next week as well, depending on how quickly Judge Sanders responded to the Madsen-Zimmer motion to dismiss their case.

  Peter called Gina’s cell at midday. Even though she hadn’t gotten home until one the night before, Peter still hadn’t been in. She wondered if he had already found a girlfriend. Making friends with the opposite sex had always been a talent of his. If he was dating already, Gina wasn’t sure what she thought of that. He was still married, after all.

  “Hey, little brother,” said Gina.

  “Hey to you,” said Peter. “You’ve been working such long hours our paths haven’t crossed.”

  “You’ve been putting in some late hours yourself,” said Gina, fishing to get a few answers as to what her brother had been up to.

  “That’s why I thought we should spend a little time together. And you did say you owed me for finding your phone. How about taking your poor—and unfortunately that word pretty much describes my current economic state—brother to dinner tonight?”

  “Having dinner with you sounds great,” said Gina, “but I’m not sure if tonight works for me.”

  “I’m sure even Clarence Darrow rested on occasion,” he said.

  “It’s not that,” said Gina. “It’s just that Bryan and I have plans. He’s leaving for Australia in the morning.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to be the third wheel,” Peter said.

  Gina could hear the hurt in his voice. “You wouldn’t be,” she said. “And you’re welcome to join us if you want.”

  “Are you sure? Because I was hoping to get your thoughts on a business decision I was considering.”

  “Then join us,” said Gina. “We’re meeting up at seven at the Blue Planet.”

  “I won’t be intruding?”

  “Of course you won’t.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you there tonight.”

  After Peter hung up, Gina found herself staring at her phone. In any given conversation she knew exactly what to say, but not to her younger brother. Old habits die hard. She had always looked after Peter, and couldn’t help doing it still. Gina almost considered calling Peter back and telling him she’d take him out to dinner the following night. That’s what she should have told him, Gina knew. After all, this was supposed to be Bryan’s bon voyage dinner. But instead of calling Peter, Gina decided to text Bryan.

  “I am not canceling tonight,” she wrote. “I am looking forward to tonight! But I made the mistake of inviting Peter to join us. Please forgive me! Please tell me everything is fine. XXOO!!”

  Gina sent the message and grimaced. She knew Bryan wasn’t exactly enamored with Peter. He hadn’t approved of his behavior while Gina was hospitalized, and hadn’t liked Peter’s drunken monologue on the Jean Louise. Peter’s living in her house was also a bone of contention. It certainly hadn’t helped her and Bryan’s, of late, nonexistent sex life.

  Bryan didn’t immediately respond to her text. Even when he was with patients, Bryan was usually good about getting right back to her. Maybe he was in surgery, she thought.

  Or maybe he was just pissed.

  Five minutes after she sent her text, the sound of a doorbell ringing told Gina she had received a text. She opened her display and saw Bryan had responded.

  “Since I am going to have to put up with your brother,” he wrote, “I WILL be ordering the surf and turf. XXOO. Promise me, though, he won’t be coming with us to my house.”

  Gina sighed in relief. It was a good thing she had a forgiving boyfriend. She texted back, “I PROMISE!!!!!”

  When her phone alarm went off, Gina could barely believe it. She had hardly put a dent in her deferred work, but there was no way she was going to be late for dinner. There were at least fifty items on her to-do list that she hadn’t tended to. Among them was to call Cathy. Gina didn’t want Angus’s widow to feel abandoned. It was important for Cathy to know how Angus was so near and dear to all of their hearts. Gina wished she could tell Cathy the rest of the story, the story that only she and Deke were privy to. The hunt for the killer of Angus was ongoing; so was their pursuit of paybacks.

  Gina went to the restroom to tidy up. She gave herself a critical look in the large mirror. There were bags under her eyes that Gina did her best to cover up. The bruising from the accident, she was happy to see, had almost completely vanished. It was the same with her road rash; her daily ministrations of vitamin E oil and coconut oil had helped restore her skin to its former luster. Gina reapplied some lipstick, and added a hint of perfume.

  I’m almost all the way back, Gina thought. She was actually feeling a little nervous. Before the car crash, she and Bryan had found a wonderful rhythm with one another both personally and physically. Was she ready to get back into the saddle? Was she ready to resume their increasingly-bonded relationship?

  “Anticipation,” whispered Gina, and then began humming the Carly Simon oldie.

  Bryan hadn’t been able to find a big enough space for Jennifer anywhere near the Blue Planet. Luckily, he had arrived early, so it was no big deal that he had to park a few blocks away. As he stepped onto the crosswalk, though, Bryan saw a familiar figure standing on the opposite corner. Peter was talking to a young man. At Bryan’s approach, the young man took off in the opposite direction.

  “Who’s your friend?” Bryan asked.

  “Friend?” asked Peter. “Oh, that guy? He was panhandling in Florida’s Panhandle.”

  The two men began walking toward the restaurant together. “I’m afraid we’re getting more and more panhandlers in Spanish Trace,” said Bryan.

  “That’s actually a good sign,” said Peter.

  “Begging is a good sign?”

  “Spanish Trace is attracting more and more wealth. Beggars
aren’t stupid. They don’t set up shop in poor areas. They go where the money is.”

  “It sounds like you should be a spokesperson for the Trump administration,” said Bryan. Then, trying to make his point like a spin doctor might, Bryan spoke with the pompous assurance of a talking head: “If you’re seeing a lot more beggars, and you are, then that’s a very good thing.”

  Peter wasn’t amused. “Did you ever stop to think I might know what I’m talking about? I have an MBA, and I’m a Chartered Financial Analyst.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Bryan, but his apology wasn’t exactly what Peter wanted to hear: “I guess you do know about begging.”

  The two men walked in silence the rest of the way to the Blue Planet.

  Gina sat at a window table looking out at the water. When she had first moved to Spanish Trace, she never imagined that one day she would think of it as home. The beauty of the place had overwhelmed her right away. She was used to New Jersey after all, and compared to that, Spanish Trace seemed like some wonderfully exotic world with vibrant tropical colors. The city was small enough—fewer than sixty thousand residents—to be intimate. But it was also large enough to support several museums, a botanical garden, and several art festivals.

  To most outsiders, Spanish Trace had the reputation of being a navy town. Certainly the presence of one of the largest US naval air stations spoke to a military presence, but the city was now much more than that. Maybe that’s why so many high profile individuals were calling Spanish Trace home, including actors, musicians, writers, scientists, and athletes.

  And nowadays, even she called it home. Gina’s main complaint about her adopted home was that she wished there were more young urban professionals. The infrastructure for Spanish Trace seemed more accommodating to the old than to the up-and-coming. Gina also didn’t like the threat of hurricanes. Every hurricane season seemed to bring more storms with more violent damage. For a woman who had been referred to since law school as “Hurricane Gina,” she still hated hurricanes.