Justice Hunter

by Harper Dimmerman

  Rachel was his older sister, a self-loathing failed actress and drug aficionado. She was fresh off her most recent stint in rehab after being seduced by crystal meth. Again. She would assuredly decimate the smidgen of heart his widowed mother back in Chicago had left after losing the love of her life, his father. Cancer had proved a far too formidable foe even for him, a blue-collar factory worker who hadn’t missed a day of work in thirty years.

  Hunter fumbled for the phone and then raised it to his ear, answering softly and with as much alertness as he could manage. As he concentrated on the voice on the other end of the line, he couldn’t help but notice the dreamy, almost-ethereal glow in the room. One of his vigilant neighbors had a habit of leaving on the floodlights in the rear of his single-family residence. Tonight, though, the light refracting in the back alley, right off his bedroom, moved differently. It was surreal. And although he couldn’t visualize the dream sequence, the angst that went along with it was still prominent. He had the rusted-out flood valve in his mind to thank for the restlessness.

  The voice, colored by terror and panic, belonged to Andy’s famously uptight wife, Pam. All the usual suspects raced through his mind as he speculated about the reason for her middle-of-the-night call. Car crash. Hopefully it isn’t Mike. Their oldest child, Mike, had been born with a complicated and debilitating seizure disorder.

  Pam managed the strength to utter a full sentence after about a minute of quivering. Gradually, she explained that Andy was hurt. He’d been admitted earlier that night in critical condition. He was in ICU at University of Pennsylvania’s hospital, seriously injured, the victim of a purportedly random gang attack.

  Hunter hailed a cab, one of the only cars heading down Spruce Street, his block, at this relatively desolate hour. Within a few minutes of determined, almost suicidally reckless driving, he stood outside Andy’s room. Visiting hours were long since over, yet he managed to charm his way past a punky goth chick with pink highlights and a lip ring. The standards were clearly more relaxed for the graveyard shift.

  He knocked gently, and the heavy oak door yawned open. Hunter quietly made his way into the room, the morbid, sterile smell wafting into his nostrils. Opaque shades were drawn tight around the large window frames, sheltering the outside world from the mortality plaguing them all. Illuminated machinery, aglow in green and orange tones, generated the grating sounds of life support. Pam, her knees raised to her chest in a fetal position, bided her time uncomfortably in an awkwardly shaped chair alongside the contoured metal bed. She didn’t look up when the door clicked softly behind Hunter, whose stomach did somersaults as he acclimated himself to the dismal sobriety permeating the room. His instinct was to withdraw. The painful memories of his feeble, dying father flooded his mind. Fortunately, that was the last time he’d been in an intensive care ward. It was his third and final year of law school when the pancreatic cancer, which led the charge against his father’s immune system with its depraved voracity, had finally conquered its prey.

  Hunter clearly noted, even in the shadows, the bruising around Andy’s nose and eye sockets. A maze of tubes emanated from his orifices like tentacles. His eyes were closed peacefully, the effect of the painkillers tricking the synapses. A small yet noticeable cross-section of Andy’s hair had been sheared precisely, revealing a gnarly gash approximately four inches long held together by dark, Frankenstein-like stitching.

  Hunter moved toward Pam, placing a gentle hand on her tense shoulder. Her mournful eyes opened. Relieved, she shifted toward him, rising slightly and then collapsing lifelessly into his arms. She sobbed uncontrollably as he supported her frame, contorting to do it, for several minutes. The torrent of emotion eventually dissipated, and she donned a brave face.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just…” Hunter had always known Pam to be a strong woman; he’d never seen her so distraught.

  “It’s fine,” Hunter reassured her. “It’s okay,” he said slowly, trying to force eye contact.

  “Thank you.” She blew her nose with a glob of tissues she’d been clenching with her sweaty palms. “Look at me. Jeez. I’m a wreck.” Her breathing was deep. She was oblivious to how loud it was coming out.

  Hunter clasped her arms and subtly gestured toward Andy. “What the hell happened?”

  She just shook her head, disoriented, spiritless.

  “He’ll be all right,” he whispered. “He’s a fighter.” Hunter couldn’t help but suspect the vicious beating was no mere coincidence.

  Her lips quivered. “I know. I know.” A long pause. “He’s strong, right?” she asked, craving reassurance.

  “One of the toughest people I know.” Hunter comforted her again as he marveled at the sheer immensity of the love between Pam and Andy. He knew at times Pam could be difficult; a taskmaster of sorts. But the admiration Andy had garnered over the years, a doting husband and father of two little boys, was a testament to his character. He was unshakably loyal and humble to a fault. Hunter often pondered whether he’d ever have the chance to experience something even remotely comparable. Or whether he was worthy, for that matter. “Don’t be deceived by the wiry frame.” Andy was slim, a bit gawky. Certainly not the muscle-bound jock type.

  Andy stirred momentarily and then quickly fell back into the current of his drug-induced slumber.

  “What did the doctors say?”

  “They said he took one helluva beating. But that they don’t think he sustained any brain damage.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Why would someone want to do this to him?” asked Pam. “I just can’t make any sense of it.”

  Hunter tried to mask the guilt, instinctually knowing he was in some way to blame. She was right. Andy wasn’t the type to have enemies. Hunter debated asking but knew that time was of the essence. “Has anyone spoken to you yet?”

  “The police?” She paused, still out of it. “There were a couple who were leaving when I first got here. Hours ago already.” Hunter was relieved to hear there was already an active investigation. Not that it would necessarily foil the mob’s stratagems.

  “Did they happen to mention whether there were any leads?”

  “I don’t think so. But I’m really not sure. My mind has been so scattered. I’m sorry,” she said, overwhelmed. “I know I need to talk to them. I just haven’t…”

  “I know,” he interrupted paternally. “When you’re ready. Take your time.”

  She nodded listlessly.

  “How about the kids? Are your parents over there?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, distracted. “Wait. There was a detective. He left his card,” she added as she rummaged through her pockets. “My purse?” she mumbled to herself. “He was sort of quirky, with an odd name. Here it is.” She strained to make out the name on the business card in the darkness of the room. “That’s right,” she said, handing it over. “Risotto. Detective Risotto.”

  “As in the Italian dish?” he asked as he scanned it. He made a mental note. He had to get to this detective and clue him in to the Vito’s case.

  “Exactly.”

  “Didn’t say much.”

  “Can you recall any of it?” he asked, feeling too much like a probing detective himself.

  “I think so. He mentioned that this was one in a series of seemingly random subway attacks around the city. And then he asked a couple questions.”

  “Like what?”

  “Real basic. Family stuff, my line of work.” Before kids, Pam taught elementary school full time. Nowadays she occasionally substituted. That was it. She was too busy with the boys. “He asked about Andy’s cases at the firm. And I really didn’t know what to say. You know how he is. He doesn’t tell me much. Too concerned with compromising his client’s case or the firm.” Andy’s ethical standards were second to none, almost superhumanly so. “Is there anything I need to know, Hunter? I know he tells you everything.”

  Hunter lied, following his impulse to allay Pam’s concerns. “No. I mean Andy hasn’t mentioned anything
out of the ordinary.”

  “What about his adversaries?”

  “Doubtful. He generally wins and does it with class. Don’t get me wrong—nobody enjoys defeat. But the corporate clients are all adults. Seasoned execs who’ve seen more than their fair share of the courtroom. All of the usual highs and lows that come with rolling the dice on litigation.”

  She was on the verge of breaking down. “This is my fault,” she confessed, her eyes welling with tears. “All of it. I wish I could take this morning back.”

  “Pam.”

  “No. Don’t. We were fighting. It’s just that he’s been working so much lately. The thought of him spending another Sunday at that place was unbearable. But you know Andy. Die-hard commitment. He loves it,” she said, admiring Andy even in his comatose state. Her expression said she would never take normalcy for granted again. All she needed was a do-over.

  “You couldn’t have foreseen any of this.”

  “I took off in a huff, stranding him at the house without the car.” She smiled at the absurdity of the situation. “What the hell was I thinking?”

  “So he trained it in?” The attack occurred on the train platform at Suburban Station, just a couple blocks from the office. “He always finds a way, doesn’t the little bastard?”

  “Yes, he does.” Her smile, full of hope, was a good sign.

  “Are you gonna be okay?”

  She nodded, exuding strength for the first time that evening.

  “Stay strong for him,” Hunter said.

  “Okay.”

  “Good. I should get going.” A pang of guilt hit Hunter. He felt like a deserter, but he knew the clock was ticking, oblivious to the uncertainties in life. He had to get answers. He decided to track down this Detective Risotto. “Call me the second he wakes up or if you need anything. I won’t be very far.”

  “Thank you, Hunter.”

  “Of course.” A pause. “And does Dillon know yet?”

  “I tried his cell. But it went right to voicemail.”

  Dillon always answers his cell.

  “I’ll try him again. Just hang in there, Pam. We’ll catch the bastards who did this.”

  She fought back the tears as Hunter embarked upon his journey into the thick of chaos.

  SEVENTEEN

  The news of Andy’s attack spread like wildfire throughout the firm and the incestuous legal community. By the time Hunter arrived at the Whitman offices, where he went after stealing a couple more hours of sleep, he’d already received e-mails from friends at other firms inquiring about the circumstances surrounding Andy’s mugging. In addition to the hysteria these sorts of things tended to generate, leading to speculation among lawyers about whether they, too, had become targets, people also soaked up that perverse sense of excitement, the kind that came with somehow being part of the world of the victim, however many times removed.

  Hunter had left the hospital just as Andy’s parents and Dillon arrived. He was reluctant to leave as soon as he did, but he figured he would return later that evening. He’d get some time alone with a hopefully more alert Andy. Not to mention there were mountains to be moved on the Vito’s case, with the first order of business being the motion due the very next day, the one he hadn’t even started to draft.

  Luckily, Stephanie Diaz, his second in command on the case, was just as accessible Sunday morning as she appeared to be at the end of last week. Hunter e-mailed her as soon as he got to the office, and she replied almost immediately. Hunter started to conduct preliminary research for the motion but got sidetracked. Growing increasingly suspicious of Mancini’s motives, he couldn’t stop himself from checking up on Mancini, scouring the search engines for anything irregular. Aside from a few hundred results, most of which seemed to revolve around Mancini’s uberlawyer status and being a rainmaker extraordinaire, there was a surprising dearth of information about the man in the public domain. Certainly, it went without saying that Mancini wasn’t exactly your Facebook, Plaxo, or LinkedIn kind of guy. Inaccessibility and mystery, in fact, seemed more of the rule than the exception. He was downright elusive. An enigma.

  In less than twenty minutes, Stephanie was politely knocking on his door.

  “Hunter?”

  “Yes. Stephanie.”

  Hunter glanced at her professionally, doing his best to avoid seeming too stern or authoritative. Technically, she was working for him on the case, which essentially meant that he was her boss for a few days. He had to assure her from the very beginning, in order to give this thing a chance to work, that he wasn’t your run-of-the-mill power-hungry senior associate. Her smoky brown eyes gazed out inquisitively, asking, “What is this guy all about?” She was sizing him up in that very instant. She revealed a perfect smile and seemed willing to give him a shot at earning her trust. A good sign, thought Hunter. He stood and approached her, still nervous, though, that she would pick up on his angst and get the wrong impression.

  “Thanks for rushing in like that,” he said once he got past his desk. He extended his hand, and she did the same. They shared an awkward moment as he concentrated on not squeezing too hard, yet hard enough so as not to seem sexist. Her hand was soft, and he noticed they were both paint-stained. “I see that I’ve dragged you away from something better suited for a Sunday than being stuck in the office.”

  She looked confused and then she followed Hunter’s gaze to her hand. “Oh, that,” she recalled. “I was just messing around. Think of your request as saving me from myself.”

  “House painting?”

  “I wish,” she said and then smiled warmly. “I’m still trying to persuade myself I have an eye for Impressionism. I should’ve learned my lesson by now, but I guess you could say I’m a bit of a masochist,” she added self-deprecatingly.

  Hunter was pleasantly surprised by Stephanie’s personality, which filled the drab room like a breath of fresh air. He caught himself admiring her for an instant. And he noticed her appearance up close for the first time as well. She had long, straight brown hair and pouty lips. With her big dark eyes, she reminded him of a young Penelope Cruz. She was wearing a form-fitting black top and stylish blue jeans, which accentuated her perfect shape, at the same time giving her an artsy, mysterious flair. “Independence Hall never looked so deplorable,” she joked.

  Her vibrancy impressed Hunter, which he tried not to show. He was also immediately attracted to her, which he also tried not to show.

  “All right, great.” Hunter abruptly shifted gears. “So why don’t we get started?” He would’ve actually preferred to converse a bit more. Take his mind off Andy. Truth be told, though, an immense amount of work had to be done in an extremely short period of time. Plus, the last thing he needed was to become the lead defendant in a bazillion-dollar sexual harassment lawsuit against the firm. He could tell she seemed tentative.

  “Anyway,” she played it off. “I’m excited to get started. It seems like an intriguing case.”

  “So you’ve looked at the file?” asked Hunter, feeling he was cross-examining her, something he didn’t mean to do. He’d hated when high-ranking associates did that to him when he first started—pretending to educate him on how to think, to have evidence for every point of view, opinion, conclusion. Yet it was really just hazing—retaliation for the way they were treated when they first came to the firm.

  “No, no. Just from what I’ve heard in the media. I took a look at the ordinance, that sort of thing.”

  Hunter was tempted to ask her if Mancini had briefed her personally, one of many things he assuredly wanted to do to her now that he’d gotten a closer look at her. But he resisted the urge. He had his instincts, but there was no reason to think he could trust her at this point. She might even be a mole, working for Mancini, for all he knew. “Do you think the city has a case?”

  “I do. In fact, I don’t even think it’s a close call.” Hunter couldn’t tell if she was super naïve or super confident. “That sign is reprehensible, no matter how you slice it or dice it.
Excuse the corny pun.”

  “Excused.” Hunter replied. “So the first thing we need to do is get you a copy of everything.” As Hunter turned to look at his desk, he realized the entire file was at his apartment. “Which I forgot to bring with me,” he added with levity, yet feeling foolish. He felt his face go flush with embarrassment. This was a sign. The motion was already shaping up to be an all-nighter. He dreaded the thought, knowing that he needed to recharge his batteries before the workweek officially kicked off. “I rushed out this morning and…”

  “No problem,” interrupted Stephanie, understandingly. He considered telling her about Andy but quickly decided against it. She probably didn’t even know Andy. Plus, Hunter wasn’t exactly the type to make excuses for himself. There was no getting around the simple fact that he was thoroughly unprepared. He should’ve made sure his ducks were in a row before he commanded that Stephanie rush into the office bright and early on a precious Sunday morning. He would’ve gone berserk had a senior associate ever done that to him. “I don’t mind hanging around for a while if you need to grab it. Trust me, I’ve got plenty of work just screaming my name.” She dramatically cocked her neck, pretending to hear something outside the office. “There. I can hear it beckoning even as I speak.”

  “Thanks,” said Hunter. “Just give me about an hour.” He checked his watch. “I’ve got nine-ten now. Shall we say ten?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ll call you?” asked Hunter, who immediately realized his question sounded more social than business.

  Stephanie gave a formal nod and then walked away. Hunter stood there momentarily, reflecting upon his interaction with Stephanie. Why did Mancini assign her to the case? He already knew she was too inexperienced, even if she did come across as highly intelligent. She was extremely understanding—almost too understanding. And of course, there were her looks. She was attractive, striking even. There was just no way a typical heterosexual male such as himself wouldn’t see it, spoken for or not. Acting upon it, of course, was a totally different matter. If Mancini did in fact know about him and Sheila, which he suspected he did, then it wasn’t altogether inconceivable that Stephanie was part of a master plan to get Sheila back. And what better revenge could there be for a scorned lover? What did Shakespeare say about jealousy again? It’s the green-eyed monster that doth mocketh the meat it feedeth upon? First knock Hunter out of the picture romantically and then watch him crash and burn on a high-profile case. Hunter vowed to defeat Mancini on both fronts and watch Mancini be devoured like a medium-rare filet at The Palm. Hunter just needed to figure out how to ensure Mancini wouldn’t get the credit for a surprise victory on the Vito’s case.