Mob Lawyer 6: A Legal Thriller

by Dave Daren

  I checked my watch, saw it was only a few minutes before midnight, and so I knew the hacker would be awake. I rifled through the papers, pillows, and the empty bottles of cold brew that I’d somehow accumulated in the last few hours, found my phone, and made the call.

  “Hunter!” the purple-haired man greeted.

  He sounded like he’d just downed an entire can of Monster, and I could hear him typing through the phone.

  “Hey,” I said. “I hope I didn’t call at a bad time.”

  “Nah, man,” the hacker said. “I’m just playing a Battle Royale game online with some friends. I’m destroying them. What do you need?”

  “I need you to find out what you can on a car thief named Chris Johnson,” I told him. “I’ve already looked over his criminal record. And I have his phone number. I’ll probably need you to track him for me tomorrow, but I want to know what I’m getting into before I do.”

  “No prob,” the young man said. “I’ll have all of it in your email before you wake up.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Good luck on your game.”

  “You don’t need luck when you’ve got skills,” the computer whiz chuckled.

  I shook my head as I hung up and was glad that I wasn’t the one playing against him. He’d done fantastic work on our trip to Andorra, and his fingers had flown across the keyboard. I could only imagine how much faster he’d be if he was really into a game.

  A yawn pulled my mouth open, and I decided that it was time for me to turn in for the night. I didn’t set an alarm since I didn’t have any cases, and Gabriele wouldn’t be awake and functional before eleven a.m.. I stripped out of my suit, climbed into bed, and then passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  I woke up with what felt like only an hour later to the sound of banging. I jolted upright, looked around my room while I reached for my Glock on the nightstand, and then realized that the sound was from the construction crew. With a groan, I flopped back into my pillow, and then unearthed my phone from underneath my pillows.

  It was already nine-thirty a.m., so I threw off the covers and padded into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. I took my time since I didn’t have anywhere to be for a couple of hours, and I hadn’t had a lazy morning in almost two months.

  I stood in front of my closet for a long time before I decided on a charcoal-gray suit with a black button-up and a pale-blue tie. My goal was to look intimidating when I confronted the little car thief, and I wanted him to realize the shark that he was dealing with so that he’d loosen his lips.

  “Good morning,” I said and waved to the paralegal when he looked up at my movement, tugged his noise-cancelling headphones out of his ears, and then gave me a sheepish smile.

  “Good morning,” he said. “I hope you didn’t say anything else. These things drown out everything. Including all that sawing and banging.”

  “I might need to get some,” I said and then glanced out of the sliding glass doors to see a team of scruffy men working in my backyard. There wasn’t a clean shirt among them, and their pile of trash had more coffee cups on it than before.

  “They should be done by tomorrow,” Tom told me as he stood and stretched. “They’re finishing up the new outer wall for the office today, and then they’re going to put on the finishing touches.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “We need to make sure that they clean up their mess. There’s been a raccoon out there the last couple of nights.”

  “I’ll let them know,” the paralegal said. “I brought some cruffins. They’re stuffed with Nutella.”

  I turned my attention to the box on the kitchen counter. The name of the bakery wasn’t familiar, but the smell that wafted up to me when I lifted the lid was enough to make me take a second look, and I instantly knew I would definitely be ordering from them again.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Do you have the monthly expenditure report?”

  “I have most of it done,” the young man said as he walked over with his coffee cup. “I’ll have the rest finished once the foreman gives me the bill for the construction job.”

  “Make sure they don’t charge us for anything we didn’t need,” I knew that the construction crew were friends of the Febbo family, but I’d already discovered a few traitors in their midst, and foremen were as notorious as mechanics for slipping in random charges to make the bill higher.

  “I will,” Tommaso said. “I don’t have any new cases for you today. Things have slowed down since the city hall scandal.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I have work that I need to do today. I’ll probably be out most of today, but I do have some paperwork that I need you to file.”

  “Sure,” the paralegal said with a bright smile. “More liquidations?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I’ve already filled it all out, but go ahead and take a second look. And I’ll need you to send a contract to a barrel company, too.”

  I fixed my coffee while I talked, grabbed the cruffin, and then headed to the dining room table. There were files that I had to move out of the way, but I managed to clear a spot big enough for me to eat my breakfast. I would be thrilled when the office was done, and I could get everything back in there.

  “A barrel company?” Tom asked as he joined me.

  “We’re going to buy them stateside, ship them to the property in West Virginia, and then use them to age our Balsamic vinegar,” I explained.

  “Nice,” the younger man said. “I saw the numbers you sent me about buying a semi-truck. I assume that has something to do with it, too.”

  “Yeah,” I said with a nod. “It’ll be cheaper to have our guys transport it.”

  “You know, I have a cousin who drives a big rig,” the curly-haired man said as he tore a piece off of his cruffin. “He’d love to do some work for the family.”

  “Perfect,” I said. “Send me his name, and I’ll get in touch with him.”

  I took my time with my coffee and cruffin, went over some paperwork including the files that Gabriele had sent me about Chris Johnson, and made a few calls to dealerships before it was finally late enough in the day for me to call the night owl computer whiz.

  “Hello?” the young hacker asked, and he was much less enthusiastic than he’d been at midnight, and the sound of him slurping what I assumed was a Monster filled the speaker on my phone.

  “Hey,” I said. “Late night?”

  “Yeah,” the purple-haired man said with a yawn. “But I destroyed the other team. Did you get the info I sent over about Chris?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I want to meet with him. Can you track his phone for me?”

  “Sure,” Gabriele said around another yawn. “Ugh, this Monster needs to kick in already.”

  The sound of typing came through the line, and then the young hacker let out a bark of laughter.

  “He’s at a basketball court,” he chuckled. “I’ll text you the address.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “No prob,” the computer whiz said.

  I hung up the phone, grabbed my gear, and told Tommaso that I’d be back later. I plugged the address that Gabriele sent me into my GPS, pulled out of the driveway, and pointed my car toward Queens.

  The LIE was fairly decent for the lunch rush, but it was bumper to bumper by the time I made it into the city. I turned on some music, rolled down the windows, and let the cool winter air calm my road rage as I waited for a garbage truck to turn down a different road.

  It was almost noon by the time that I turned onto the street with the basketball courts. The flat blacktop was surrounded by a ten-foot-high chain-link fence, and there were tall streetlights at all four corners of the massive slab of painted asphalt. There were three courts side by side, and two of them already had games going while a group of teenagers stood around on the third like they were picking their teams.

  I found a parking spot a block away from the courts and walked over. I stood outside of the chain link fence as I looked for Chris, and then spotted him
on the court to the far left.

  He looked like he was in the middle of a game with his friends, so I walked in through the gate and waited for him to finish by the cold silver bleachers that watched over the court. He glanced my way a few times, but he and his friends seemed to agree that they’d ignore me, at least until they’d finished.

  I was impressed with how athletic he was, though I wasn’t surprised since he’d been a runner for a few of the Italian mob families. He hadn’t worked for the Febbos, and most of his arrests had been for crimes that he’d committed outside of mob work.

  “What do you want?” a young man asked.

  He had a shaved head and a scar on the right side of his cheek. His shirt had come off for the game, and tattoos covered his chest and most of his arms.

  “I’m here to speak with Chris Johnson,” I said with a calm smile.

  “Yeah?” the tattooed man growled. “Well, he don’t want to talk to you.”

  The buff man glanced over at Chris, nodded his head, and then turned back to me.

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll change his mind,” I said as I looked over at Chris.

  The car thief strolled over to me with a bottle of water in his hand, and took a long swig, looked me up and down, and then shrugged.

  “It’s okay, Tiny,” the young man said. “I’ll talk to him.”

  The tattooed man narrowed his eyes at me, huffed, and then walked off to a black duffle bag that he produced a granola bar from.

  “Your bodyguard?” I asked, and Chris glanced back at his buddy, laughed, and then looked back at me.

  “He’s a bit overprotective,” the thief said with a shrug. “What can I do for you… Mr… ?”

  “Morgan,” I said. “My name is Hunter Morgan.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Morgan?” Chris asked before he took another swig from his bottle of water.

  He stood with his shoulders relaxed and an easy grin on his face like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  “I want you to tell me where the Ferrari Enzo is,” I said.

  The color drained from his face as my words sunk in. He glanced behind him like he wanted to make sure that no one was close enough to hear, and then motioned to the bleachers. He took a few steps closer to it, and I followed so that we could have a private conversation.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the thief said as he set his water bottle down on the bleachers.

  “You should’ve said that before you moved us away from everyone else,” I said. “It would’ve sounded more believable.”

  “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” the kid repeated.

  “Do you know who the car belonged to?” I shook my head at the young man as he pulled his shoulders back and lifted his chin in the air defiantly.

  The thief blinked a few times, looked back over his shoulder, and then narrowed his eyes at me as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his gym shorts.

  “How am I supposed to know?” he asked. “Like I said, I don’t know anything about any Ferrari. You see me? You think I’d have the money to drive something like that.”

  There was a hint of pride in his voice that betrayed him, and I rolled my eyes as I tired of his little game.

  “It belonged to Anthony Febbo,” I said.

  “Febbo?” the kid repeated, and he snatched up his water bottle and took a long swig. He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his sweaty hair, and then looked back at me.

  “Yes,” I said. “Now, if you can tell me where the Ferrari is, then I won’t have to bring your little enterprise to their attention.”

  “I-I really don’t know where it is,” the young thief stuttered, and his bravado had melted away with the mention of the well-known Italian family, and he shifted from foot to foot as he wiped his hands on his sweat soaked t-shirt.

  “Sure, you do,” I said. “You stole it two nights ago from outside of a townhouse in Brooklyn. The Febbo house, in fact.”

  “The Febbos live in Riverhead,” Chris said as his confidence flooded back over him. “Everyone knows that.” He grinned at me like he’d just played a trump card, and I almost felt bad for the eighteen-year-old.

  “And everyone knows that they were attacked last week,” I said. “They’re doing some renovations. And they’re staying in their Brooklyn townhouse while it’s being completed. The car was a present from my client’s father. You really should’ve done your homework. But, I’ll keep you out of their crosshairs, if you tell me where I can find the Enzo.”

  “Fuck,” the kid said as he started to pace back and forth. “I really don’t know, man. I had no idea who the car belonged to. I just take the cars, I don’t know who owns them.”

  I lifted an eyebrow at the tattooed man as he took a few steps toward us. I shook my jacket so that he was able to see the holster with my Glock, shook my head, and then watched as the big man blanched and turned away.

  “How do you decide which cars to take?” I asked Chris as I turned back to him. “Do you just wander around the city looking for high-end cars?”

  “What?” the young thief asked, and he paused mid-pace, rolled his eyes, and then ran both hands through his hair as he huffed. It was like he expected someone to pop up and shoot him, and then he noticed the gun on my hip, and the rest of the color drained from his face.

  “How do you pick what cars you take?” I asked again. “And what do you do with them once you’ve stolen them? Where would the Ferrari have gone?” I had the urge to lean against the chain-link fence, but I didn’t trust the neighborhood, so I stuffed my hands in my pockets and watched the frantic young man.

  “I can’t tell you that,” he said and walked over to the bleachers, climbed up to the level where he had his water bottle, and then plopped down with a loud twang from the metal seat. His legs hung down as he downed the rest of his water bottle, and he looked directly into my eyes as he pleaded silently for me to just go away.

  I felt bad for the kid, after all, he’d bitten off more than he could chew, but I needed to get my client’s car back. If I didn’t, then the young thief would have to deal with Jovanni, and the capo wouldn’t ask nearly as nicely as I would.

  “Sure you can,” I pressed. “Where did you take the Enzo once you boosted it?”

  “Just some garage,” Chris hedged with a shrug.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “In Brooklyn,” he answered and he clasped his hands together and swung his legs back and forth as if he needed to release his nervous energy. It was clear that he was backed into a corner and it would only be a matter of time before he told me everything that I wanted to know.

  I took a deep breath and looked around at him as I let him stew for a few minutes. The rest of his teammates nodded to me as they headed out, and I returned the gesture before I looked back to the eighteen-year-old bundle of fear.

  “So, you brought the car to Brooklyn,” I repeated. “Would it still be there?”

  “I don’t know, man,” the thief huffed. “I don’t know anything. I just boost the cars and deliver them. They don’t tell me nothing.”

  There it was. I’d suspected that he worked for someone, but I hadn’t been able to prove it. I forced myself not to smile so that I didn’t lose the air of intimidation that I’d managed to manufacture.

  “Who do you take the cars for?” I asked.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the kid muttered. “I can’t tell you that! They’ll kill me.”

  “Alright,” I said with a shrug. “I’ll just tell the Febbos that this little car stealing business is yours. I’m sure they’ll ask nicely for you to return their two and a half million dollar car.”

  The young man looked like he was about to throw up. His water bottle was empty when he reached for it, and he sighed as he crushed it in his hands and looked at me pleadingly.

  “Listen,” he said. “I don’t know anything. I’m just a low-level grunt. I just get a list, find the cars, and then deliver them to the garage and l
et my boss know it’s done.”

  “I’m surprised that your list included a Ferarri Enzo,” I said.

  The luxury car wasn’t common, so if someone had put it on the list, then they knew that it would be in the city, and that narrowed down who could’ve made the request.

  “I mean,” the kid said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “It wasn’t. Something like that doesn’t usually come up, but I knew that it would sell fast, and it was just sitting there. I had to nab it. When else would I have the chance to drive a freaking Ferrari Enzo? I didn’t know that it was Mr. Febbo’s.”

  I nodded my head as he rushed through his explanation. He couldn’t lead me to a specific buyer, especially if he’d just taken it as a crime of opportunity, so I’d have to settle for his boss.

  “You can make this right,” I said. “You just have to tell me who your boss is.”

  “Fuck,” the thief whispered. “Fine. Fine. I’ll tell you. Dammit, I’m going to end up in the harbor. I should’ve known that damn car was too good to be true.”

  I waited patiently for him to work through his panic because I knew that he would tell me. The Febbos were a terrifying enemy, and I doubted that he’d risk their wrath for a car theft ring.

  “My boss’ name is Dian,” the thief muttered.

  Chapter 7

  “Dian?” I asked and I studied the eighteen-year-old for any signs of deception, but he was sweating bullets, and it had nothing to do with the basketball game that he’d just finished.

  “Yeah,” Chris said as he nodded his head. “He’s my boss. He texts me the list of cars that he needs, and then I find them and bring them to the garage.”

  “Does he own the place?” I asked.

  “No,” the young thief said. “That’s Carlos’ place, but he and Dian work together to file off the VIN numbers and take out the trackers.”

  I knew where the garage was since Jovanni had given me the address, but I didn’t want to walk in on a chop shop without Hank to back me up. A fight wouldn’t be too much of a problem since I could hold my own, but a place like that would have more than just the tools of the trade around, and I only had the Glock.