by Kyanna Skye
She swallowed the knot that had tied itself in her throat, but not before noting that he hadn’t mentioned how it would hurt the firm either. “Yes, sir.”
The line went dead.
Jamie hung up her cell and reclined against the headrest of her car. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands and tightened her grip until she could hear the faux the leather groaning in protest under her fingers. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” she muttered, squeezing the wheel.
Her moment of anger ebbed and she released the steering wheel from its unnecessary assault. She unbuckled herself and left her car and entered back into the prison that she had become so familiar with.
She waited in the receiving area with nervous anticipation, uncertain of what it was that she was going to do or what she wanted to say. All she knew was that she had figured out something that she knew would either make or break the firm she worked for, not to mention her own career.
Oh? Why yes, I did have a hand in the Rizzuto case. Strange one, wasn’t it? Yes, the man had supposedly embezzled millions from the firm and he used it to pay for his own prison sentence. How was that for irony? He worked for them, swindled them, and got them to pay for his time inside. I still laugh about it when I’m with friends.
Yes, she could see how that would certainly appear funny to someone who had an ax to grind with Lester & Desoto. But she could also see the other side of that coin, as to how it could affect her on a personal and professional level.
Jamie Lombardo? Oh, yeah… she was the one that uncovered that whole Rizzuto business, wasn’t she? Buried her own firm because she wanted to prove that what she thought was right? Yeah, I remember her… nobody wanted to hire her after that. Everyone was afraid that she’d put them out of business. We all know she’s good at that.
In a strange way, Jamie felt like Lady Justice, blindly holding the scales in one hand and a sword in the other. She had always found that figurehead curious as a child, being uncertain of its meaning. But now, she felt she understood it in a way she never had. The scales would tell her what was right from what was wrong, but the sword held more appeal as she felt she could more easily have thrown herself upon that blade rather than endure what seemed to be the inevitable conclusion.
She could ruin Dominic Rizzuto, which would get him sent to a whole new prison and for a new sentence. In doing so, she knew he wouldn’t survive. He wasn’t an evil man, not from what she had gathered, but she did know that he wasn’t physically given to violence. An ordinary prison, where inmates fought and killed each other left and right would certainly be the death of him.
Or, she could remain silent, ruin her reputation and be cast out as one that no one would hire in the future. Sure, that would cause the least amount of trouble for everyone, although the thought of seeing the disappointment on her father’s face stretched deeply into her imagination.
But there was also the third option. She could break her silence and ruin the firm she worked for. By disclosing that their money hadn’t really been stolen, she would prove herself a success, yes, that was true. But oh, shit, wouldn’t Lester & Desoto become the laughing stock of the legal world? People with millions – even billions – invested in the firm would lose confidence in them and they’d never take on another client again. The firm that had jailed a man who stole millions, but those millions weren’t really gone, they were just moved to another account somewhere within the company and they never even suspected it.
Either way felt like she was losing something.
“Shit,” she muttered a final time before the entry doors opened and Mr. Rizzuto entered.
“Ah, Jamie,” he said with a winning smile. His eyes took in the sight of her, no doubt noting that she was dressed rather informally today being clad only in a pair of jeans and a loose t-shirt. “I hope you had a relaxing evening? You seemed so exhausted when you left yesterday.”
She bit her lip nervously. The exhaustion that she had felt yesterday as she’d left was nothing compared to the fatigue she felt now, even being freshly rested. “Uh… not really, no… it’s kind of hard to explain.”
His expression changed, becoming concerned. “Is there something wrong?”
She rolled her eyes contemplatively. “Why don’t we speak outside?” She didn’t know what she was going to say and she felt like she was only seconds away from doing what her conscience compelled her to do, but she knew that privacy was definitely going to be a part of the recipe.
He gestured for her to leave the receiving room and they entered into the familiar open grounds on which they had already spent many a day walking, talking, and generally getting to know one another. The day was still warm but Jamie felt herself sweating for reasons that were entirely unrelated to the weather.
“Do you have some news regarding these people you represent who wish to help me?” Mr. Rizzuto ventured.
“Not exactly,” she replied, feeling a cramping feeling in her gut that was begging her not to relinquish the truth. “I’m afraid that our business today has to be a bit more… forthright.”
“Forthright?” he asked, arching a curious eyebrow.
“Yes,” she said, feeling her stomach roiling as though something was alive inside of her and begging to get out. She paused in their walk, standing in a wide open space of the prison yard. A quick look around told her that she and he were as alone out here as they were going to get. Save for a few prison guards and one or two other prisoners that were well out of earshot, they at least had this portion of the grounds to themselves.
Standing there, she recalled something that her father had once told her. “Sometimes, sweetheart, you have to choose your spot and stand on it. You can’t let anyone else push you off of it. You pick the time, you pick the place, and you draw that line in the sand and say, ‘mine’. Sometimes, that’s all you can do.”
The memory of the words and the voice that had given them rang in her ears, lending her strength. This is my spot, she thought resolutely.
“Mr. Rizzuto… I need to be honest with you now… completely. I work for the firm that you used to work for and I’m here to find out about the money that you swindled from them. Specifically, I need to know about the money you stole and where it went,” she said, feeling an iceberg plummet into her belly, squishing the gyrating creature in her belly but giving birth to newer ones all at once.
Mr. Rizzuto’s eyes widened in what she knew could only be a bonafide shock. She wouldn’t have expected less from dropping an A-bomb on him. His mouth was slightly agape and for the first time since she’d known him, he looked at a loss for words. Still, he managed to maintain his composure and his lips fluttered looking for a response.
She held up a hand to silence him before he could say anything. “Mr. Rizzuto, please, I know that you used what amounts to a magic trick to steal that money. You gave it away when you told me about how much you enjoyed magic… that’s one of the magician’s basic tricks, isn’t it? Sleight of hand? Look over here,” she said, holding up one hand above her head and wiggling her fingers to draw his attention. “But secretly, I’m doing something over here,” she said, using her other hand and wiggling those fingers, but lower and near her pelvis.
Mr. Rizzuto only stared at her.
She couldn’t determine if he was angry, sad, or terrified. His expression sank back into a kind of neutrality that she found worse than anger, sadness, or terror. At least if he’d reacted with those she would have known what he felt. But with his face an unreadable blank, all she felt was her own sorrow building within her.
“It didn’t occur to me until I thought about what you’d said,” she pressed on, taking his silence as an invitation to keep talking about what she already knew. “You said, ‘sometimes you just have to keep things where people don’t look for it’. That’s also a magician’s trick, isn’t it? Misdirection? Whether it’s hiding pigeons up your sleeve… a rabbit in your hat… whatever the case may be, that’s what you did wit
h the money, isn’t it? You didn’t actually steal it, it’s still there, and it’s paying for your time here in prison, isn’t it?”
She watched and waited. She could have said more, but the words wouldn’t form in her mind or mouth. She knew that there was more to this whole thing than what she was seeing and hearing from her client. A blind man should have been able to see as much. This whole thing had been a mystery from the beginning and it felt like it was one mystery built on another, built upon another under that.
Finally, it felt like she had reached the center of those problems and found only another mystery. And she had found that she’d grown tired of trying to solve those mysteries. Her career was in the balance, not to mention the future of a firm that was depending on her. She wished that her father was here, he would know what to do. The temptation to call him had been a powerful one, but she knew that she couldn’t drag her own father into this. Even that would be bad, branding her as the girl that ran to her daddy whenever things got rough.
Mr. Rizzuto sighed and put his hands on his waist. She could see something behind his eyes, at first, it had looked much like a storm before it settled into something that surprised her: a smile. Somehow, that was more worrisome than anything else he could have done.
“Well, I appreciate your directness in this matter, Jamie. And I can see no reason why I shouldn’t answer your questions, now that you’ve dropped the pretense and chosen to confer with me directly.” He folded his hands at his waist, very gentlemanly like, and his smile continued. “I’ll answer all of your questions – whatever they may be – if you meet my price.”
“Name it,” she said before she could stop herself, feeling as though she had already committed to this path and that there was no turning back now.
“Have dinner with me tonight. Not dinner like we’ve had at the lounge here before now… I mean a real dinner.”
She wondered briefly at that before realizing that the direct approach was all she had left. Her own theories in being able to whittle information out of someone with tact and subtlety had already proven true; last night had been proof enough of that. But she didn’t have time for that any longer. She needed to be direct or nothing.
“Alright,” she said with a nod. “Dinner.”
***
She had imagined perhaps a small dinner set upon a table in the receiving room. Possibly even something akin to a picnic on a blanket out in the yard where they had already shared so much time. Mr. Rizzuto had said that he didn’t care to visit the lounge, as was their usual fare when wanting something to eat. But he had said he’d wanted a real dinner with her.
She hadn’t expected this.
The rooftop of the prison proper was as flat as a helicopter pad and roofed with stones, on which a metal pathway had been laid for people to walk here and there. At the center of one large area, looking like some kind of a maintenance area she thought it was had been cleared away, just for them. A table had been set there, with all of the elegances of a romantic dinner. It had been that notion that surprised her more than anything.
She looked around, noting the absentness of any guards.
“We’re alone here,” he assured her as they walked, her arm in his. “We’re several stories above the ground and the guards made sure that there wasn’t climbing gear or any such thing here that I might try and use to escape. We’re still well within the wire and any fall from this high up would most certainly be fatal. They’ll not bother us here.”
He guided her to the table that sat waiting for them, like a romantic evening set for two. The table was round and covered in a silken tablecloth. Centered upon it were candles and flowers. There were two place settings where richly made silverware wrapped within silk napkins sat waiting for them. And waiting for her – for the both of them – were dishes holding steaming lobster tail dinners, complimented by what she knew was unmistakably a real bottle of wine.
Only one question came to mind as they ascended the metal work platform where the table sat. “How…?” she asked, witnessing the setting, and utterly bewildered.
Mr. Rizzuto shrugged as he guided her to the table and offered her a seat. Still being in her most casual clothes she felt terribly underdressed for an occasion like this. “Well, I have some connections and when you can afford such things, the warden, the guards, and the rest of the staff are quite agreeable.”
She looked at the bottle. “Real wine? Why didn’t you get this before?”
He chuckled. “I’ll be leaving here soon. As I understand it, most prisoners are gifted with a bottle like this when they leave. The warden was kind enough to give me mine in advance.” He rolled his eyes. “Well, he was kind enough to do so after I made a generous donation to the prison,” he added with a wink.
Not a bribe, she thought, but an honest donation. Dominic didn’t seem the sort to set bribes for anything. And if he did, it wouldn’t be something as simple as a bottle of real wine. It would have been for something far more important.
Settling into her chair she looked on at the lavish dinner that had been set out for them. She couldn’t escape the feeling that this was a date, not a business meeting as she had originally thought it would be. The idea sent an excited shiver down her back that she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed.
Mr. Rizzuto settled into his chair across from her and in true gentlemanly fashion, he offered to pour her a glass of the red wine that sat waiting for them. Eager for something – anything – to steady her nerves, she accepted. He poured her a generous measure of the scarlet liquid and did likewise for himself, then offered his glass in a toast.
“To full disclosure,” he offered simply.
She saluted him with her own glass, gently clinking it with his and hearing the ring of authentic crystal in the air. God, he didn’t pull any punches, did he? She sipped from the wine and felt an explosion of taste wrap itself around her taste buds and she looked at the wine with awe. “This is the stuff they give you when you leave?”
“Good, isn’t it?” Mr. Rizzuto said, setting his glass down and gesturing to her lobster tail. “Please, dig in.”
She set her napkin on her lap and as she had been taught, she began eating the offered meal with slow, small, and deliberate movements, though she felt a little ridiculous doing so. Lobster, she knew, was a gentleman’s dish and she had the distinct impression that she should eat it as a lady in gentleman’s company would. Being underdressed again added a keen embarrassment to her. And even though she knew she had pierced the veil of Dominic Rizzuto, she still felt that there was so much about him that she didn’t know.
“So, you have questions?” Mr. Rizzuto said, taking in a mouthful of lobster. “I asked for a price and you’ve met it, Jamie. Now comes my end of the bargain, I think.” He looked at her with the kind eyes that she had only ever known him to have. “Please.”
She had been chewing on these thoughts all day and had yet to decide on which question she wanted to ask first. She had only just put the first bit of lobster into her mouth when the first question rolled into her mind. She spared a moment to chew her food and swallow before she formed the words to speak. “Who are you? I mean, really?” She gestured to the table before them. “How can you set this up? Somehow I doubt that even in a place like this you could get away with it if you have the money.”
He smiled at her and sipped his wine. “Well, it’s not so much a ‘who’ as a ‘what’ that’s interesting.” He took a short breath. “To be honest, Jamie… ‘Rizzuto’ isn’t my real name. I changed it because I have an,” he rolled his eyes thoughtfully, “unfortunate tie to, shall we say, certain families,” he said pointedly.
The simplicity of the answer hit her as though she had been struck with a sledgehammer. There was no need for explanations either. Her eyes widened and she froze before taking her next bite. She looked at him, amazed, as he calmly sat eating his lobster. “Families… as in the Mafia?”
He nodded simply as though confirming the color of his prison shoes
. “My father used to work for one of the original five families. That was how he wound up in prison.”
She sat aghast. “You’re a mobster?”
He laughed aloud at that and took another sip of wine. “A mobster? No, or at least, not in any such grotesque terms. When people hear the word ‘mobster’ they flesh out some thug with a fedora and a long coat carrying a Tommy gun in his pocket and a baseball bat up his sleeve who happily breaks people’s bones in broad daylight.” He gave her a reassuring wink. “I’ve done no such thing.”
She didn’t know what else to say. He had just let out – and willingly – a detail that could have landed him in a federal prison where inmates were ground up and fed to each other in pieces just because she had asked. Normally this wasn’t the kind of thing that one discussed over dinner.
Well, what the hell did I expect? It was a redundant question, being as how she didn’t have a damn clue.
“So, you’re not tied to the mob?”
“Well, no, I didn’t say that… I most certainly am now,” he said, though she noted a small kind of regret in his voice.
She measured the sound of his voice. “You’re not happy about that?”
He half-shrugged, “Sometimes you have to make deals in order to get what you want.” He picked up his wine and gently let the fluid roll around inside the glass before he took a drink. “But considering what I stood to lose, I guess I feel good about the deal that I made.”
There was something cryptic in that, but Jamie could not sense the need to delve deeper into it. She pressed on with her original line of questioning. “So… the money… your stay here?” she asked, two questions fighting for dominance at once in her mind.