Blood Money

by Laura M Rizio

  Alonzo Hodge stared ahead, emotionless, arms crossed, not giving the white man the satisfaction of his attention. Yeah, bad things happen all right—always to the little guy. Get real, man. Don’t try to con me, he thought.

  “Acts of God are sometimes devastating, like floods and earthquake. Death happens, my friends…”

  Nick shook his head. This was a closing argument if he had ever heard one. It was more a summation than a road map of where the defense was going. He could object to the entire opening. But no, this was all Asher had—bullshit and bravado. Let Barnes make an ass of him by interrupting and telling him to get off Broadway and get back into the courtroom. Let Asher go on, he thought. He was just tightening the noose around his client’s neck. He could see this from Alonzo Hodge’s body language. There was no sympathy in those eyes, only anger.

  “We will prove to you that surgery is a risky business. Our expert will tell you that—” Asher turned away from the jury and walked toward Dr. Manin, and then quickly turned back to face the jury—”sometimes doctors can’t do anything to prevent a tragedy. Sometimes it’s not in their control, and we will show you that.” Asher’s steel blue eyes fixed themselves on juror number three, whom he had seen nodding her curly head. He walked toward the jury box and stood directly in front of her. Ah, a sympathetic ear, an approving look. Gotcha, he thought. Hopefully she would help turn the others. His eyes went to each and every juror except to juror number one. No one could get to him, so he decided to ignore Alonzo Hodge. He was poison to Asher’s case and of no use to him. His tack was to butter the others up and have them gang up on Hodge. “Thank you,” he said and then walked slowly to the defense table and to his seat next to Victor Manin, giving him a confident nod.

  Patrick and Seamus Riley squirmed in their seats. They sat in the front row, just behind the railing which separated them from their mother and Nick Ceratto. They were twins, in their thirties, burly brutes, well over six feet tall with bellies on them that would rival an Eagles linebacker. It was clear from their girth that they had downed many a pitcher in their native Fishtown neighborhood— and that they knew how to handle themselves when things got rough.

  Seamus leaned over to Patrick and whispered, “I’d like to beat the crap outta that fuckin’ bastard. He’s worse than the fuckin’ murderer sittin’ next to him. I’d like to rip that poker outta his ass right now and teach him a thing or two.”

  Patrick stared ahead and nodded in agreement.

  Seamus continued, “Sometimes it’s not in their control,” he said, mocking Asher. “My ass. I’ll have no control over the terrible things that happen to that cross-burnin’, hymn-singin’ faggot when I get my hands around his pale, scrawny neck…and squeeze until his fuckin’ eyes pop outta his head.” Seamus’s face was beet red as he drew in his breath in preparation to continue his diatribe.

  “Calm down,” Patrick whispered. “The damned judge is looking right at us. We’ll have our chance, Seamus, don’t worry.” He patted his brother’s arm and with his other hand squeezed the rosary he kept in his jacket pocket. “We’ll have our chance.”

  CHAPTER XL

  Gloria Henley shook her white head adamantly. Her gold clip earrings jiggled with the movement, as she said no for the fifth time.

  “I’m sorry Mr. Feinberg,” she said, glancing over her half glasses at the ID which the man in front of her displayed in its worn, leather case. “Ms. Gates cannot see anyone without an appointment.”

  He smiled calmly, totally in control as always, looking down at the brass name plate on her desk. “Gloria. I’m sorry, Ms. Henley,” he corrected himself. “I’ve come at the request of district attorney, Mike Rosa. You know him, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do know of him. I’ve never met him, actually,” she responded aloofly.

  “OK. Excuse me again. Then you must understand that he and Ms. Gates have been in touch with each other and are collaborating in the investigation of several matters crossing county lines, like the Lopez-Maglio deaths…” He had his mouth open to start the next sentence, but she interrupted.

  “Yes, I know, but…”

  His turn to interrupt. “No and but, that’s all you’ve been saying to me this morning, Gloria. All I’m asking you to do is call Ms. Gates, tell her I’m here with an important piece of evidence—a tape.” He patted his inside coat pocket. “Which I’m sure she’ll want to see.”

  “Why didn’t Mr. Rosa call before sending you? Or why didn’t you call?”

  “He’s a busy man, Gloria. And Mike Rosa didn’t expect you to give me such a hard time. Plus I didn’t want to waste time calling. Besides,” he smiled his most charming smile. “I’d rather talk to you in person, Gloria. Phones are so impersonal.”

  “Why don’t you leave the tape with me, Mr. Feinberg? I’ll give it to Ms. Gates this morning. Or if you wish, you can wait until I can get an appointment for you.” She opened her appointment calendar and smiled back defiantly.

  “No, Gloria, I can’t wait for an appointment. I need to see her now. And I’m sorry, but the tape stays with me.” He lifted his hands apologetically. “Please tell her I’m here with something to deliver from Mike Rosa. That’s the least you can do—for me and for yourself. You see, both of them will be mighty mad if I leave here with the tape.”

  Gloria sighed deeply, resigned to her defeat. Sparring with him was a waste of time, she could see that. She was now more interested in getting rid of him than winning a point.

  “I don’t normally do this, Mr. Feinberg. But I will interrupt her for you.”

  “Thank you, Gloria.”

  “Ms. Henley,” she corrected, looking up at him sternly and gliding her glasses up the bridge of her nose with both hands

  “Ms. Henley. Yes. Sorry.”

  “Have a seat.”

  “No, no thanks,” he said. “Been sitting in traffic all morning.” He moved from the desk and turned, casting his eyes around the office. He noted the position of the chairs, the coffee table, the magazine rack. He mentally mapped the area and planned a proper escape.

  Her voice broke his concentration. “Mr. Feinberg?”

  “Yes?”

  “Ms. Gates will see you now, but just for a few minutes, mind you. That’s all she can spare. You’ll have to leave the tape with her.”

  “Fine,” he said enthusiastically. “That’s fine. Thank you.” He paused and grinned disarmingly, turning on the obviously fake charm again. “Ms. Henley.”

  She opened the heavy oak door and Rudi confidently strode in, keeping his pasted-on smile intact.

  He found Muriel Gates sitting at her desk, her black suit jacket straining across her ample chest. Her eyes were two dark slits which focused on Rudi as he made his way toward her desk.

  He nodded a greeting at Margo Griffin who sat quietly on the white brocade love seat. Pretty girl, he thought as admired her long, slim legs crossed tightly under her short, navy blue, wool skirt. Shame, he thought. Then he focused back on Muriel Gates, who wore a grim expression, clearly annoyed at his intrusion.

  “Mr. Feinberg, what do you have from Mike Rosa that’s so important that it can’t wait?” Gates asked, folding her hands on top of the file he had come for. It was marked in bold black ink: LOPEZ. How easy, he thought.

  She cocked her head sarcastically, waiting for his reply.

  “This.” Rudi reached into his coat, pulled out the silenced automatic, and pulled the trigger.

  Phutt, phutt. The sounds were barely audible. Gates slumped instantly with one perfect shot between her almost nonexistent eyes and one in the chest between the two large mounds that identified her as a female. Her head fell to the desk top with a hollow thud. A thin stream of blood trickled down into her lap and ran down her navy gabardine skirt to the patterned rug under her desk.

  Without hesitating and before Muriel could utter a sound, he pivoted in a sharp, precise turn and then—phutt, phutt. The bullets slammed Margo back against the finely upholstered white sofa. Splotches o
f bright red marked the areas where her tissue had exploded onto it. Her throat was opened wide, and she futilely gasped for breath through her splintered larynx. She gurgled helplessly, looking wide-eyed at Rudi, who quickly put her out of her misery with one shot through her right eye. Real shame, he thought. He shrugged his shoulders as he tucked the gun back into his overcoat. Then he stood at attention and saluted the DA. He moved her head with a gloved hand and slid the file out from under her folded hands. It was smeared with blood. Rudi looked at in disgust and went immediately to the shredder. He slipped the folder and its contents into the tray and pushed the button. “Zap. No more file,” he whispered to himself, chuckling. He carefully retrieved the shredded documents, crumpled them into a ball, and stuffed it into his pocket. “Big pockets come in handy,” he continued, talking to himself. He hit the dnd button on Gates’ telephone before making his way out of the office and closing the door quietly behind him.

  “See,” he said, passing Gloria Henley on the way out. “That was easy, wasn’t it, Gloria?”

  She looked up at him, over the tops of her glasses. “Ms. Henley,” she corrected without a smile.

  “Sorry,” he laughed, making his way to the door marked with a lit exit sign. “Ms. Henley,” he said in an exaggerated, almost mocking tone. He was partway out of the door when he peeked his head back in. “Ah, Ms. Gates asked me to tell you that she’ll be busy watching the tape for the next twenty minutes, and she doesn’t want to be disturbed.

  Gloria looked down at the small screen on her phone and saw the “Do Not Disturb” light on Muriel Gate’s extension. She shook her head in affirmation. “Fine,” she said without a smile. “Good day, Mr. Feinberg.” It was clear from her tone that she would be happy to be rid of the pest.

  “Glad to be of service.” Rudi smiled and closed the door.

  He took the stairs instead of the elevator. It was safer. In no time he was on the street, where he quickly disappeared into a crowd of pedestrians moving along Arch Street. He was a master at melding into the landscape, looking like any other citizen on his way somewhere to do something. For Rudi, he was on his way to business—his business. “Two down, three to go,” he murmured as he walked along Arch street, briefly distracted by a hot dog vendor. “A hot dog would be perfect right now,” he said to the small man. He laid a five on the slightly greasy counter of the vendor’s cart, pointing to the catsup bottle. Before the little brown-skinned man could give him his change, Rudi was down the street with only one bite left of the oozing red wiener.

  CHAPTER XLI

  Ralph Kirby waited patiently for the call on his cell phone. He had laid it on the table in the McDonald’s located at the corner of Broad and Arch, and was watching it as Carmen and Lily Lopez drank their third hot chocolate.

  “Mister, can I have more fries?” Lily asked, wide-eyed.

  “You just finished an extra large. How could you eat another fry?” he asked, taking a Marlboro out of a crumpled pack.

  “Unh unh,” Carmen warned, shaking her head. “Don’t you know that smoking is bad for you?” She took another sip of the sweet brown liquid. “Besides, it’s a terrible thing to do in front of kids.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He put the smoke back into the pack and tucked the pack back into his inside jacket pocket. “I been smoking for so many years I just forgot.”

  “What? That it’s bad for you or that it’s bad to do in front of kids?” Carmen asked abruptly in an unsympathetic tone. A strand of her black hair fell over one eye, which she pushed back.

  “Do I criticize you? Do I tell you that you have a smart mouth for a kid, and that you should comb your hair in the morning?” Kirby sat back, shaking his head in disapproval.

  Carmen laughed. “You just did, Kirby. So you’re fair game, right? Look, I just wanna remind you that you’re killing yourself with that stuff, that’s all. I’m trying to help you.”

  Lily laughed. “She says that all the time to me, mister.” She scrunched up her little features and imitated her sister: “I’m just trying to help you.” “

  Look, kid. I been killing myself for years, more years than you can count. I’m old, I’m tired. So let me enjoy the rest of my life— whatever’s left, OK?”

  “OK.” Carmen looked into her cup, grinning. “Suit yourself. But I’m not coming to your funeral.”

  It had been an hour, and Kirby couldn’t stand waiting any longer, especially sitting with these brats. Correction, he thought, one brat. The other, a nice little girl. He felt sorry for Lily. Carmen he could definitely do without.

  He picked up the phone and dialed Gates’ office. The phone rang three times before Gloria Henley picked it up. “District Attorney Gates’ office.”

  “Yeah, this is Ralph Kirby.”

  “Yes, Mr. Kirby, what can I do for you?”

  “You can find out why I haven’t received a call from Ms. Gates. I’ve been waiting here for an hour with these kids. She told me she wanted to see the file first and then talk to the girls.”

  “Mr. Kirby,” Gloria interrupted, “I’m sorry, but her phone is on Do Not Disturb. I can’t interrupt her. She was in with an assistant DA from Mike Rosa’s office, you know, the DA from Montgomery County and…”

  “Yeah, I know Mike Rosa. I’ve worked on cases with Montco detectives.”

  “Well there was an important tape—ah, something that Mr. Rosa wanted Ms. Gates to watch and get back to him on.”

  “For an hour? She’s been watching for an hour?”

  “Yes sir. I guess it’s a long tape.”

  “Well, I gotta do something with these kids,” he said, looking into Lily’s large dark eyes.

  “Don’t send us back to school,” she interrupted. Kirby put his finger to his lips to signal Lily to shut up.

  “Well, you can bring them here if you wish. There’s plenty of books here. Some children’s books that we keep for children who visit.”

  “Children visit the DA?” Kirby responded in disbelief.

  “Oh yes. Ms. Gates is fond of children and encourages employees to bring their children to visit on certain days. Schools are invited to see the workings of the criminal justice system, you know. To encourage career choices,” she said earnestly.

  “Great. I got one here who’s a natural. Make a great prison warden,” he said looking squarely at Carmen.

  Gloria Henley chuckled. “Bring them here, Detective. I’ll look after them.”

  “Let’s go,” he said, hitting the end button on his phone. His chair scraped the tile floor as he slowly got up. His bones ached, especially on cold, damp winter days like this one.

  “To school?’ asked Lily, obviously upset.

  “No. To the DA’s office. There’s a nice lady there who’s going to take care of you. I gotta get back to my desk. I got a lot of work to do.”

  “Before you retire?” Lily looked quizzically at him, her sweet voice pitched to the highest octave humanly possible. It made Kirby wince, like a long, slow scratch on a blackboard.

  “Yeah, if I ever make it.” He looked at Carmen, lit a cigarette, and blew out a long stream of smoke.

  She fanned it away, annoyed, reaching for her coat. “We’re getting on your nerves, huh?”

  He nodded in affirmation. “My mother taught me to tell the truth,” he groaned as he stood, taxing his aching bones, cigarette hanging from his mouth. “I do need a break from you kids. You’re gonna wait in the DA’s office until Ms. Gates can see us. And the nice lady at the reception desk is gonna give you some books to read.

  “I hope they’re dirty,” Carmen laughed, pushing her chair away.

  “Get outta here!” Kirby held back his own laughter, shooing them toward the door, as he clumsily lumbered behind.

  He was way ahead of them. He had been standing in the cold looking into the two-story windows of McDonald’s and he had lip-read every word Kirby had said. It was a skill for which he was eternally grateful. He was happy his father had been deaf and had taught hi
m to sign and read lips. He could feel the old man’s belt on his back if he made a mistake. He’d quickly learned to be accurate, and then there were no more beatings. But he’d nevertheless felt compelled to pay his teacher for the invaluable lessons he had learned. When he was fifteen, he stood silently behind his father, tapped him on the shoulder, and when he turned, pushed him down two flights of stairs. Instead of dying, the old man became a quadriplegic. He couldn’t sign and he couldn’t utter one sound since his larynx was crushed. He hung onto life by a breathing tube which Rudi was only too happy to toy with. He’d watched his father suffocate and signed to him the equivalent of “See you in hell, you fuck.”

  Rudi moved quickly. There were no sirens, no ambulances, and no police around, so it was clear that Gloria had not found the mess behind the closed door. She was a faithful and obedient servant, and he had gambled that she would continue to be so when he hit the Do Not Disturb button on the DA’s phone.

  He approached the building cautiously, looking for signs of trouble. The guard in the lobby gave him a nod of recognition, signaling that he could go on through. There was an open elevator waiting for him. The up arrow was lit and in a second he was on his way to Muriel Gates’ floor again. Why was he returning? What would he tell her? He had to think fast. He opened the door and stood face-to-face with Gloria Henley. As expected she had been faithful to her boss.

  She looked up from her computer screen, her glasses propped on the end of her nose. “Mr. Feinberg, you’re back. I’m sorry, I can’t…”

  “Yes, I know. I don’t want you to disturb Ms. Gates. You see, I lost my car keys. I looked all over, retraced my steps, and wound up back here.” He feigned being out of breath, holding his chest. “Do you mind if I crawl around the floor here, looking for them?”