Mob Lawyer

by Dave Daren

  “Did he hang around?” I asked.

  “No, definitely did not do that,” Gabby insisted. “He left, I guess to find Francie. That was it.”

  “It sounds like you had a late night,” I commented.

  “It was,” Gabby admitted. “I wasn’t much use at work the next day, but the partners were all gone most of the day, so I could recover.”

  “I’m curious how the three of you met,” I said.

  “Ooh, let me think,” Gabby murmured. “I met Nera during a photoshoot at the courts. As the two lowly assistants, we got to talking and found out we went to some of the same clubs and had been to some of the same parties. Francie, well, she was sort of a friend of a friend. I didn’t spend much time with her at first, but once you got her talking, you found out she was really smart and really funny.”

  “Did you meet her or Tony first?” I asked.

  “I guess Francie,” Gabby replied. “Though, like I said, I didn’t talk to her much at first. I probably knew more about Tony in the beginning than I knew about Francie.”

  “And what’s your impression of Tony?” I asked.

  “He’s a good guy,” Gabby mused. “He does a lot for Francie, a lot more than an ex should. There were a couple of times when I thought he would finally put a stop to it, but he never does.”

  “So do you think it’s really over between them?” I pressed.

  “Oh, they’re definitely not boyfriend and girlfriend,” she said quickly. “Don’t think that. I’d say it’s more like a bad habit that they can’t break.”

  “Bad habits can cause a lot of problems,” I noted.

  “That’s true,” she agreed. “And if the two of them were still doing this in a couple of years, I’d have told them to end it already. But I always figured Tony would finally get serious about a girl and she would tell Tony to dump Francie.”

  “Did you have a girl in mind?” I asked more out of curiosity than anything else.

  “Well, not that Tony’s figured it out yet,” Gabby said in a conspiratorial voice, “but I think there’s a certain Miss Angela Russo who’s interested.”

  “Angela Russo,” I repeated. Lamon hadn’t used her name around me, though there wasn’t a reason why he would, except perhaps as someone who should have been told about his arrest.

  “Like I said,” Gabby explained. “Tony hasn’t figured it out yet.”

  “Does she go to the parties with you as well?” I asked.

  “Naw,” Gabby denied. “Not like the ones last night. But she hangs out at The Hard Mile.”

  “Ah,” I said. “One of Tony’s favorite haunts.”

  “That it is,” Gabby agreed.

  We talked for a few more minutes, mostly about the celebrities who had been in attendance, but Gabby wasn’t able to add anything else to the picture. I handed her one of my cards, and then we stepped back into the workroom. I was surprised to see that two new people were there, seated around the center table while Mr. Moore stood nearby and held up a sketch. We slipped quietly back to the door, where Gabby bid me a hasty goodbye, and then the door closed, the lock clicked, and I was left with the walk down the linoleum covered staircase.

  I strolled back to the office, through the crowd of tourists gathered around Federal Hall and the stock exchange, and enjoyed the pleasant day for a moment longer. I passed the smokers huddled around the ash can and waved to a couple of the secretaries that I recognized, then finally stepped inside the McHale, Parrish building. I managed to make it all the way to my office before anyone even noticed I was back, and I heaved a sigh of relief as I hung up my jacket then dropped into my chair after I cleared a pair of binders out of my way.

  “Just in time,” my officemate chuckled.

  “Anyone come looking for me?” I asked as I plugged my phone into the charger and turned on my computer.

  “Ovitz swung by first thing this morning,” Mark replied. “I said you’d been spotted in the line to get coffee. I just didn’t say which line.”

  “I had a lot of coffee this morning,” I mused. “Which has made me realize that I really need to use the facilities.”

  Mark laughed as I bolted from the office and strode towards the restroom. I was just a few feet from the door when Noble stepped into my path.

  “Well, glad to see you’ve rejoined us,” Noble said with an icy smile.

  “Just had a couple of quick interviews this morning,” I replied as I tried not to fidget in place.

  “And the team meeting?” he pressed.

  “Unexpectedly called away,” I replied.

  Noble scowled, and it was clear he wasn’t going to move until I supplied a better answer.

  “I had a court appearance in Queens,” I explained. “And then I had to track down my client to complete some paperwork for his bail.”

  Which, I realized, I had yet to do. Hopefully, that missing page wouldn’t somehow invalidate Lamon’s bail.

  “And that took all day?” Noble demanded.

  “He lives on Long Island,” I said. “Near Riverhead.”

  “If he lives near Riverhead, then he must have heard of a fax machine,” Noble replied.

  “The clerk was very insistent that they needed an original signature,” I said.

  Okay, maybe not exactly true, but generally, clerks did prefer real signatures when they could get them.

  Noble finally relented when another associate with a stack of binders joined our group.

  “We have the next team meeting tomorrow afternoon,” Noble said. “And you should have copies of everything at your desk.”

  I thought about the binders that had been in my chair and nodded. Noble gave me another icy glare, then marched towards his office with the associate on his heels. I flew towards the bathroom and launched myself inside before anyone else could stop me.

  When my bladder was empty and my hands cleaned, I started to return to my desk and the stack of paper that awaited me. I was congratulating myself on surviving the encounter with Noble when I came around the corner and saw Ovitz standing in the doorway to my office. I groaned inwardly, then put on my busy professional face.

  “Ms. Ovitz,” I said as I strode up behind her.

  “Barbara, please.” Ovitz turned around slowly and peered at me for several heartbeats before she moved to the side.

  I stepped past her and returned to my desk, after exchanging a grim smile with Mark.

  “So, I hear you spent the day in Queens and Long Island,” she said as she slithered back into our office.

  “I had a hearing in Queens,” I replied. “And then--”

  “Yes, yes,” she said as she waved away the rest of my response. “This would be your pro bono client.”

  “It is,” I admitted. “He called to ask for my help again.”

  “So this isn’t something that was assigned?” she pressed.

  “He’s my client,” I replied as I gritted my teeth.

  “Was your client,” the Amazon corrected. “For one matter. That does not make him your regular client. You have paying clients who are expecting you to work on their cases, work that is time sensitive.”

  “I’m on top of my caseload,” I began.

  “Are you?” she snapped. “You missed a crucial team meeting yesterday.”

  That was an oxymoron if I’d ever heard one, crucial team meeting, but I didn’t say that out loud. Instead, I picked a spot just behind Ovitz’s head and stared at it for a quick ten count.

  “I’m turning all of my attention to the matter today,” I said.

  “See that you do,” she replied. “As I understand it, there’s another team meeting tomorrow, and I shouldn’t have to remind you that there’s a conference at DOJ tomorrow morning on the Ballmer matter.”

  Before I could reply, she stalked from the office, and I could have sworn that a whiff of sulfur trailed after her.

  “So what did I miss at the crucial team meeting?” I asked when I judged she was out of hearing range.

  “No
t much,” Mark chuckled. “You and I will be in charge of the reviewers. The first batch will start next Monday.”

  “We don’t actually have the second request yet,” I pointed out.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Mark replied. “They have a pretty good idea of what the bulk of the requests will be and Noble wants to have a team ready to go as soon as the request arrives. At least we get to stay here. Janine has to put together a team to start document collection at all of the offices.”

  “Ugh,” I replied.

  “You want to hear the worst part?” Mark added. “They’ve got something like sixty thousand boxes sitting in a warehouse outside of Chicago and no one has a clue what’s in them.”

  “How is that even possible?” I asked.

  “Apparently, that office doesn’t require the person sending the box to the warehouse to create an index of the contents,” Mark replied. “So no one does.”

  “That’s insane,” I said with a shake of the head.

  “That’s business,” Mark replied.

  With the image of sixty thousand mystery boxes in my head, I set to work on my other cases. Though I’d cleared a good chunk of my other McHale, Parrish cases in order to work on the second request, there were still some small matters to take care of before I could focus on the binders from hell. First up was a franchise agreement for a ‘family-style restaurant’ that hoped to open several branches in the city in the upcoming months. Most of it was straightforward, but the plan had hit a road bump when one of the potential properties turned out to be zoned residential. Now there was a new stack of paperwork to be filled out and submitted, and a silent prayer said that none of the neighbors decided to protest the proposed addition to their neighborhood.

  I worked my way through the forms and the proposed changes to the agreement. Mark dropped a hamburger and a bag of chips in front of me at some point, which I ate without really tasting. I slurped down a Coke while I drafted a partnership agreement for yet another tech start-up, then took a quick look at the latest version of a client’s compliance program.

  It was all soul-crushingly mundane, and my mind kept drifting towards more interesting things, like the mystery man who had given Francie a ride home and just how low would the Knicks sink this season. By the time I was ready to face the second request, I was actually looking forward to it as something other than mere contract work.

  Of course, the first thing I saw when I opened the first binder was a contract for services between the client and the company that supplied safety equipment to the client’s oil rigs. I shook my head and flipped through the tabs in both binders and saw that most were contracts, although some poor paralegal had taken the time to highlight the important sections. There were also org charts, spreadsheets that showed ten years worth of crude oil pricing at the major hubs, derivatives deals, and a three-page summary of what was likely to draw the attention of the feds.

  Mark left while I was still trying to make sense out of the IT department’s org chart, and I finally gave up and tossed the binders onto the bookshelf. I checked my cell phone for the first time in hours and saw that I’d missed a call from Liz. I tried not to smile, but the idea of talking to someone about something other than corporate law was enticing. I dialed her number and chuckled when she picked up after one ring.

  “Either something very bad has happened, or you’re as bored as I am, to answer so quickly,” I said.

  “The world is still here, so it must be because I’m bored,” she agreed. “I wanted to see if you had anything new to report on the Lamon matter.”

  “I talked to the two friends who were with Francie at the party,” I said. “I recorded them, so you can listen to the interviews yourself, but they’re stories are pretty similar. They both agree that this guy barged into their group and claimed he knew Francie from high school. He then told a lot of stories about going to school with her, but both Nera and Gabby weren’t sure that Francie ever remembered him.”

  “Why did she leave with him then?” Liz asked.

  “Gabby says that an older man was pestering Francie, and she probably accepted the offer so she wouldn’t have to put up with the creeper, as she called him, any longer,” I explained.

  “She must have figured it would be okay to go with someone from her old school even if she couldn’t remember him,” Liz mused.

  “Apparently this guy really talked up knowing Tony, especially once Nera mentioned that he was on the way to pick her up,” I said.

  “So our mystery driver knew Tony was on the way,” she said. “And he probably had a pretty good idea of how long it would take Tony to get there.”

  “I wonder what he would have done if Francie had decided to wait for Tony,” I pondered.

  “I’m sure there was a backup plan,” she replied. “Someone’s put too much effort into this to let something that simple stop them. Besides, do we know for sure that she said yes to the ride? Or did he just offer to wait outside with her and then he forced her into his car?”

  “Both Nera and Gabby said that he offered her a ride and she accepted, but we can push them on that,” I said.

  “I’m happy to do the follow up on that,” she laughed, “but I can tell by your voice that you have something even more exciting to report, so spill.”

  “Neither one was able to give me a very good description of the guy, though he shops at TopShop and can buy pricey shoes,” I replied. “But he wore a distinctive cross.”

  “A cross?” she said in surprise.

  “A large one, with some sort of vine weaving around it and a stone in the center,” I explained.

  “That’s certainly unusual,” she mused. “I’m surprised a hitman would wear something so distinct.”

  “I’m glad he did,” I replied. “It gives us something to go on.”

  “It might be distinct but that doesn’t mean it will be easy to find,” she pointed out.

  “But if he’s from one of the families, maybe Salvatore or Anthony will recognize it,” I said.

  “Do you really want to provide them with that information?” she asked. “You know what will happen next, and we still don’t have any actual proof that he’s the one who killed Francie. We need to be able to talk to him and build our case for dismissal, and we can’t do that if he’s dead.”

  Liz was right, at least as far as Salvatore was concerned, but Anthony had seemed determined to distance himself from the family business. I felt sure the younger Febbo wouldn’t take any action against our mystery driver, but the real question was whether he would be able to keep that information from his father.

  “There’s got to be someone we can ask,” I replied as I thought about the people we had met at the Febbo house. Maybe one of the sisters was an option, since they grew up with the same group of kids.

  “I might know someone who can help you,” Liz said and I could picture the sparkle in her eyes as she found the solution to our problem.

  “What, like your source in the police department?” I asked.

  “Not the police department,” she replied. “That guy is in vice and he’s not very good about returning phone calls in a timely manner. But I’ve got a buddy in Treasury.”

  “Treasury?” I laughed. “You mean, like Eliot Ness? Or that Clint Eastwood movie?”

  “Exactly like that,” she sniffed. “He mostly handles money laundering and forgery cases.”

  “So how does that help me track down a guy with an unusual necklace?” I snickered.

  “Who do you think does most of the money laundering and forgery in the United States?” she asked.

  “Umm, drug dealers?” I suggested.

  “Okay, they do a lot, too,” she admitted, “but the Mafia still handles a good chunk of it. My guy knows all the family members, not just in New York and New Jersey, but across the country. If our driver belongs to one of the families, he’ll know him.”

  “Okay, now I’m interested,” I said. “How soon could I meet him?”

  “He�
�s probably still at his office,” she replied. “Let me call him and tell him that you’ll buy him a drink at his favorite watering hole in exchange for a chance to pick his brain.”

  She hung up then, and I answered emails while I waited for her to call back. I’ll admit, I also kept an eye on the door just in case Noble or Ovitz reappeared. But my door remained clear, and Liz called back a mere five minutes later.

  “So my contact’s name is Desmond Duvernay, and he’ll meet you at the Dead Rabbit in half an hour. He likes the Parlor Room,” she announced.

  “How will I recognize him?” I asked.

  “He’ll be the tallest guy there unless someone from the Knicks or the Nets shows up,” she replied.

  The Dead Rabbit was only a short walk from the office, so I made a few more phone calls and worked up a timeline of the certification process for Noble’s review, then decided I really needed to leave. I could almost feel Barbara Ovitz on the prowl, and I wasn’t up for another lecture on how I spent my time or whether I was allowed to work on pro bono cases.

  I grabbed my jacket from the coat rack and slipped it on, then packed my briefcase with whatever I thought I might need for the night. I did a quick check of the hallway, and saw one of the mailroom guys go by with a last minute stack of Fed Ex envelopes, but otherwise my path looked clear. I darted past office doors and around the printer area, and reached the elevator without encountering another attorney. Somewhere in the building, I knew, there were plenty of attorneys and paralegals still at their desks, but none were on my floor.

  The door dinged, and I leapt inside. A woman in a blue dress with a guest pass pinned to her lapel jumped in surprise, and I quickly apologized for my strange arrival.

  “We won our case today,” I said with a grin.

  It’s what people expected lawyers to say, and she smiled and nodded, clearly impressed with the firm she, or her company, had hired. We rode to the lobby together in silence, and I gave her another grin as she turned towards the security desk to return her pass and I bounded towards my escape.