But Sal still didn’t let up. He beat Tito to within an inch of his life. And then he leaned down to the face that was now bashed in and virtually unrecognizable. “Tell me who and tell me why,” he said to Tito. “Or I won’t finish you off. I’ll leave your ugly ass in this same painful state. You’re going to die either way. But if you don’t talk; if you don’t tell me what I need to know, it’s going to be a very slow, very painful death.
When Tito tried to spit at him again, and barely missed him, Sal knew it was a losing battle. Tito was no snitch, and wasn’t about to be one now. He respected him for that. He didn’t respect that motherfucker, but he respected him for that.
Sal moved back over, and leaned back against the headrest. Robby looked at him through the rearview. “You aren’t going to take him out of his misery, Boss?” he asked. “He’s a prick, but he didn’t snitch.”
“But we don’t know why,” Sal said. “We don’t know if he didn’t snitch because of honor, or because there was nobody to snitch on.”
Robby hadn’t even thought about that. “You think Tito might have been the mastermind behind this whole scheme?” he asked.
“Could have been,” Sal said.
“But why?” Robby asked. “Why would he and Mouse Lanza claim some mysterious man was out there taking over their territory?”
Sal was still leaned back. He was still recuperating. He didn’t kill or maim for sport. He was not one of those kind. “Three reasons,” he said. “Either some mysterious guy was taking over their territory. Or they were shelling their territory so that it would look like some mysterious guy was taking it over so that they could give me their sob story and rope me in.”
“Or?” Robby asked. “What’s the third reason?”
“Or they were claiming somebody was taking over their territory just to get me distracted so that they could take over my territory. But either way,” Sal said, as he leaned over Tito and opened the door of the fast-moving car, “none of it looks good for T.”
And with that said, Sal took his expensive shoe, leaned back, and kicked Tito Zecatta out of his vehicle.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Gemma managed to drive her Aston-Martin undetected to the back end of the courthouse parking lot. But she knew it was only a temporary fix. Because those reporters weren’t stationed at every single entrance for their health. They were waiting for her. And she had no choice but to confront them. She had to be in court in half an hour.
When her cellphone rang, and she saw Sal’s face on the Caller ID screen, she felt as if she’d been given a reprieve. However temporary too.
“Hey, hon,” she said as soon as she answered. “At your office?”
Sal was on his plane, leaned back and with his legs crossed. Robby sat across from him. And based on his instincts alone, something he relied on more than anything else, Sal trusted him. “I’m not in the office,” he responded to Gemma, “but I’m on my way there.”
Gemma didn’t like the sound of that. “Where are you?”
“I had to take care of some business this morning.”
Gemma knew better than that. “What business, Sal?”
“Business, Gemma.”
“What business?”
There was a hesitation. “I was in Pittsburgh, okay? I’m on my way back.”
Gemma was livid. “You knew you weren’t allowed to leave this jurisdiction until the investigation was over, Sal! They told you to stay put. You don’t want to give these people a reason to indict, and they’ll pull that trick out of their hat just to show you who’s in charge.”
Sal frowned. “And who’s in charge? Them?”
“You know what I mean.” Then Gemma settled back down. It was useless arguing about it now. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going out of state?”
“Because you would have insisted I stay and kowtow to those cops and lawyers just like you’re doing now. But forget that shit. I had business to take care of.”
Gemma hesitated. “Tito Zecatta?” she asked.
Sal looked out of his plane. Messy business. “Yup.”
“What did he say? Did he give you any names?”
“Nope.”
Gemma leaned her head back. “So you went all that way for nothing?”
“I don’t know about that,” Sal responded. “T still was the one who tried to set me up. He might have been working for somebody, he might have worked alone. I don’t know. He wouldn’t snitch. But I still had a debt to settle with him. And I settled it.”
Gemma’s heart squeezed. How she worried about that man! “You didn’t get hurt, did you?” she asked.
“No. And all of my guys got out okay too. A few cuts and bruises, but they’re okay.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Gemma said. “What about the other one? Mouse Lanza? Did you go see him?”
“Can’t find him. But my men are on it.”
“He lives In Pittsburgh too?”
“I don’t know where he lives. That’s why they call him Mouse. He has bolt holes all over the country. Never a go-to residence. He could be anywhere. But my men are on it.”
“You don’t think he could be the mastermind. Do you?”
“Hell no. If anything, he was following T. But I don’t rule shit out until I can rule it out. And at this point, I can’t rule anything out.”
“When should you be back in town?” Gemma asked.
“In a few hours,” Sal said. “You have court today, right?”
“In a few minutes, yeah. I’m at the courthouse now. I dread going in.”
Sal frowned. “You’re dreading it? Why?”
“The press, what else?” Gemma looked at the reporters standing outside the entrance. Some were photojournalists, some had pads and pens or iPads, but they all were itching to get her on record. “They’re lying in wait for my black ass,” she said with a smile.
“Are they out there because of my situation,” Sal asked, “or your situation?”
Gemma smiled at the way he phrased it. “My situation I’m sure,” she said. “They want the inside scoop on why I decided to run for D.A. when everybody knows that Jasper, at least in their eyes, is unbeatable.”
“When I get back in town, you want me to get over there and bash a few heads in?”
Gemma laughed. “No, boy! Don’t even play like that. The press is the last best refuge of our democracy. They’re only doing what they’re supposed to do. And as to your situation, I did speak with Detective Morales this morning.”
This interested Sal greatly. “What did he say? He’s dropping the investigation?”
“He wouldn’t say so exactly, but he told me to stay tuned. It’s heading in that direction. That is, if he doesn’t find out that you’ve disobeyed his request.”
“A request isn’t a requirement.”
“True enough,” Gemma said. “But why trouble the water? Anyway,” she said as she grabbed her briefcase off of the passenger seat, “I’d better get out of this car and go face the vultures. Call me when your plane touch down. If I’m in court, I’ll call you back.”
“Will do.”
And they ended the call. Robby looked at him. “Is Mrs. Gabrini okay?” he asked.
Sal exhaled. “She’s fine,” he said. But even Robby could see that Sal was worried about her. Even Robby could see that Sal wasn’t so fine.
At the courthouse, however, Gemma got out of her car and began the slow walk toward the building. For some reason, one of the reporters saw her and nudged her cameraman. They eased away from the other reporters, walking sideways until they were further over, but another reporter saw them and looked Gemma’s way too. When she did, and when she saw her, she couldn’t help herself. She came running toward Gemma. Every reporter and cameraman came running toward Gemma. It was almost comical the way they ran, with each trying to outmuscle the other one. But the reporter and cameraman who first spotted her and who had walked out of the way to try and approach without tipping off anybody else, were the last one
s to make it over. Poetic justice, Gemma thought with a smile.
She kept smiling as the reporters swarmed her. “Hello guys,” she said as she picked up her walking pace.
Inside his plane, Sal pressed a button and a television screen came up above the cockpit. Sal navigated from buttons that asked what Country, what State, what City, and all way over to what genre of TV he wanted to see. He pressed Streaming News – Live, and there it was. Gemma was on Live TV as she walked in the courthouse parking lot, surrounded by reporters. His heartbeat quickened when one camera was able to get a close up of her face. She was smiling and looked gorgeous, in her power skirt suit and heels, with her briefcase slinging at her side, but he saw her eyes. Deep into her eyes. She looked cool and collected, but she wasn’t. She was worried.
That didn’t stop reporters from pouncing, however, Sal thought bitterly. He leaned back, and crossed his legs.
“Why have you decided to challenge DA Lowe, Mrs. Gabrini?” a reporter asked. “I thought you and he were friends.”
Gemma almost stopped in her tracks. Friends? With that judgmental bastard? But this was politics now. She played along. “Jasper and I have known each other for a long time,” she said, “but friendship has nothing to do with this. I’ve decided to run for District Attorney to be a voice to the voiceless.”
“In his statement this morning,” another reporter said, “DA Lowe described you as a bleeding-heart liberal who wants to be a voice for hardened criminals who get what they deserve. He said he’s the law and order candidate in this race and you’re the lawless and disorderly candidate. Do you think that was a veiled swipe against your husband, Mrs. Gabrini?”
The bastard, Sal thought, watching the TV screen. “I don’t think anything of the kind,” Gemma said. “That law and order line has been Jasper’s signature line since his first campaign. It’s old.”
Sal smiled.
“Old like him?” another reporter asked. “Are you suggesting that a young, stylish woman such as yourself can bring new blood to the office? Is that what you’re saying, Mrs. Gabrini?
Those people, Sal thought. “I’m saying what I said, Merv,” Gemma said. “Come on now. I’m not calling him old. I’m calling his campaign theme old. I’m calling the way he described my candidacy as lame. I want to know why his decision to prosecute defendants seem to drop along class lines. The haves and have-nots. The haves? He rarely prosecutes. The haves-nots? Every single time. And I’m not just throwing that out there. These are facts, ladies and gentlemen. And you can quote me on that.”
“Under your conclusion,” a reporter pointed out, “your husband, reputed mob boss Sal Gabrini, will not be prosecuted for that shooting at Granville. Since he’s what you would call a have rather than a have-not. Am I right?”
Gemma looked specifically at that reporter. Sal’s private life was his private life, and they were not going to besmirch it, no matter how truthful their comments were. “First of all,” she said, “my husband is not a mob boss, has never been a mob boss, and has nothing to do with the mob, okay?”
“Tell those fuckers,” Sal said angrily, although it pained him to see an honorable, highly ethical woman like her have to constantly lie just to defend his shady ass.
“Second of all,” Gemma continued, “my husband should not be prosecuted for that shooting because he didn’t do anything wrong. A man walked into his home, a home he has owned for years, and reached into his pocket as if he was coming out with a weapon. Mr. Gabrini did what he had to do. What any reasonable man would have done. It’s unfortunate, and our thoughts and prayers are with the Chikelu family. But no crime was committed.”
“Wouldn’t that be the very same thing the haves, as you call them, would say when DA Lowe refuses to prosecute them?”
Gemma inwardly smiled. She walked right into that one. Sal inwardly fumed. He wished he could get his hands on that dumb shit reporter who asked that dumb shit question. “I am certain that some of the wealthy people Jasper has decided not to prosecute should not have been prosecuted,” Gemma answered the reporter. “Some are, in fact, innocent legally. That goes without saying. But every single one of them are innocent based on Jasper’s charge record. Every single one? I don’t think so.”
Sal smiled. “That’s my girl,” he said out loud and Robby, surprised to hear such affectionate words coming out of the mouth of his most unaffectionate boss, looked at him.
The reporters smiled too. Most of them knew Gemma during her time as a defense attorney and during her days when she assisted the public defender’s office. But they never knew how smooth a transition it was for her to go from defense attorney to politician. They were impressed. And decided to dig deeper.
“What about the woman, Mrs. Gabrini?” one asked. “There’s a report that a woman has come forward to say that she was there, at that lodge, with your husband on the day of the shooting. According to my sources, the woman was your husband’s girlfriend. What can you tell us about that, ma’am?”
“She’s not his girlfriend.”
“But she was with him at that lodge. Doesn’t that anger you?”
“She’s not his girlfriend. Why should I be angry? My husband associates with many women. He’s a very successful businessman.”
“Damn right,” Sal said.
“But yes, you’re correct,” Gemma continued. She was pleased to get the word out. “A witness has come forward, from what I understand, that corroborates my husband’s account of what happened that day. And that is all the more reason there should be no charges.”
“But beyond the allegations of other women,” a report said, “what does it say about you, Mrs. Gabrini, that you would stand by a man who has shot and killed an unarmed black man and who was known, in his days as a police officer, as a flaming racist?”
Sal rolled his eyes. Here we go, he thought. Gemma rolled her eyes too. She was so tired of these allegations that she wanted to scream. “My husband is not a racist,” was all she would say in answer.
“But as a black woman, Mrs. Gabrini, you must certainly feel some kind of way about the allegations. Mr. Gabrini has a terrible reputation.”
“My husband is not a racist,” Gemma said again. “I would not have fallen in love with nor married a racist.”
And just as she made that statement, and was nearing the entrance into the courthouse, two men came out of the entrance, one young, one older, both white, and hurried to her. The older man, a tall, attractive man, placed his arm around her waist, while the young man placed his hand on her arm, and they began shielding her from reporters and ushering her toward the entrance. Sal unfolded his legs and leaned forward. Robby turned toward the TV screen. When he saw the older guy with his arm around Mrs. Gabrini’s waist, he knew exactly what Boss was curious about.
“Who is that guy?” Sal asked without taking his eyes off of the screen.
“I don’t know,” Robby said, looking too. Then he looked at Sal. “Want me to find out?”
Sal leaned back, as the threesome disappeared into the courthouse. “Yes,” he responded.
Inside the courthouse, Cory Gallagher, the young man who had rescued Gemma, released her arm. The older guy who had rescued her, her friend and mentor Ben Walker, kept his arm around her waist. “You okay?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” Gemma responded as she began heading for the elevators. She had to prep her client before court. “I just didn’t expect this kind of coverage.”
“Neither did we,” Cory said. He was her newly hired campaign manager. “It was an onslaught. When my assistant phoned and told me to turn on the television, and I saw the coverage, I grabbed Ben and we took off downstairs.”
Gemma looked at Cory. “I didn’t know we had a meeting today,” she said.
“You don’t,” Ben said. He was the campaign’s CEO, which made him Cory’s boss. “Cory wanted to run some ideas by me. We were just about to have a powwow in a friend’s office when he hurried in and told me about the media event.”
<
br /> “This is a problem,” Cory said as they arrived at the elevators. He pressed the button repeatedly, as if that would speed up the elevator’s arrival. “We can’t have this every day of our campaign or we’ll never get a chance to define ourselves. The press will do that for us, and it’ll play right into Jasper Lowe’s hands.” Then he looked at Gemma. “Maybe a separation will help.”
Gemma looked at him. “Excuse me?”
But Cory wasn’t backing down. “I said maybe a separation is in order. I hate to say this, Mrs. Gabrini, but your husband is bad news. There’s no other way to put it. He will drag you down. You need to show the public you get it, and separate from him. Women may even identify with you. You thought you were falling in love with a good guy, only to find out he has not been the man you thought he was. To put it bluntly,” Cory ended his tirade, “you should leave your husband. We can play it up to our advantage. I’m good at that.”
Gemma couldn’t believe it. She looked at Ben. Ben, who was disgusted by Cory too, shook his head. Gemma looked back at Cory. “To put it bluntly,” she said, as the elevator doors slid open, “you’re fired.” And Gemma stepped onto the elevator.
Ben, showing his displeasure with the campaign manager, stepped on with Gemma. And the doors closed, shutting Cory and his ill-conceived idea, out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Later that night, when only one car remained at the Gemma Jones-Gabrini Law Office, Sal parked his Bugatti beside his wife’s vehicle and got out. The security detail he had on her was out in force, and he could see them strategically placed, but Sal wasn’t satisfied. He needed to beef up security around Gemma. Although Tito was dead, Mouse was still missing. And Sal still didn’t know if anybody else was involved. He didn’t want to take any chances.
He swiped his clearance keycard and the front door opened. Sal walked in. Gemma’s voice was immediate.
“Hey, babe,” she said into the office intercom, “come on up!” Whenever she bothered to turn it on, she had a monitor, along with a sophisticated security system Sal installed, that allowed her to see who was coming and going from her office upstairs.
Sal Gabrini: Burning Love Page 9