Mob Lawyer

by Dave Daren

  “Mrs. Febbo?” the man asked as he stepped into the waiting room.

  “That’s me,” Gulia said as she stood up.

  “I’m Dr. Rao,” he said. “I’m your husband’s surgeon. I just wanted to let you know that everything went as well as can be expected. He’s out of surgery for now and he’s on his way to the ICU.”

  “Grazie al cielo,” she murmured.

  “He’s still unconscious,” Dr. Rao added. “At this point, we’re simply going to wait and see if he wakes up on his own.”

  “What does that mean?” I interrupted. “Are you saying he’s in a coma?”

  Dr. Rao looked at me for a moment, then back to Gulia.

  “Are you a member of the family?” he asked when no one explained who I was.

  “I’m--” I started.

  “He is,” Anthony cut in. “Is he right? Is my father in a coma?”

  “We have to wait and see,” Dr. Rao finally replied.

  “When can I see him?” Gulia demanded.

  “As soon as he’s settled,” Dr. Rao said. “The nurse will let you know. However, there’s only one visitor allowed at a time, so you’ll have to take turns, and they only let people in for a few hours each day.”

  “I know the routine,” Paul said as he finally came to life. “Went through it after my dad had heart surgery. I even know where the guest waiting area is.”

  “Well, you should have about an hour with him today before they close the ward to guests,” Dr. Rao said. “After that, I would suggest you go home and rest. Do you have someone who could stay with you tonight?”

  “Absolutely,” Anthony insisted.

  Dr. Rao nodded, offered Gulia a reassuring smile, and then made his way back to the doors that led to the surgical suite. Gulia seemed frozen in place, but Annie wrapped an arm around her waist and started to move her. Paulie trotted after them and offered instructions on how to find the next waiting room.

  “Here,” I said to the two other occupants as I handed the wine and cookies to the pair.

  “Good news,” the older woman said as the younger one accepted the bag.

  “Looks like it,” I agreed though I wasn’t so sure about that. “I hope you hear something soon as well. Maybe we’ll see you at the ICU.”

  The older woman smiled as Anthony and I started to follow his relatives. We found ourselves in one of those endless hallways that are so popular in hospital design, though it eventually led us to another waiting room, one that was larger and far busier. There weren’t individual chairs that you could drag to a quiet corner but those rows of seats bolted to the floor that the airlines use in their waiting areas. Most of the people sat in chairs near a pair of double doors and stared hopefully at the portal that stood between them and their loved ones. Next to the doors, a helpful sign explained the rules and hours for ICU visits in four different languages.

  “Mrs. Febbo?” a nurse called out a few minutes after we had arrived.

  “I’m here,” Gulia responded as she stepped towards the nurse.

  “If you’ll come with me, you can come on back,” the nurse said. “Since your husband was just brought in, we’ll let you have a little extra time with him.”

  Gulia nodded then turned to look at us. Annie gave her mother a reassuring hug and Anthony held her hand in his for several seconds. Paul nodded a few times, then focused his attention on the floor.

  I saw Gulia draw a deep breath, and then she stepped through the doors with the nurse. We stood and watched until we couldn’t see her anymore, and then as one, we turned to study the waiting room.

  “Now what?” Annie asked.

  “There are some empty chairs by the window,” I suggested.

  We crossed through the maze of seats until we reached the outer edge of the waiting room. We found four seats together and sat down without uttering a word. The seats were positioned so that they faced another hallway rather than the doors to the ICU, and we all ended up twisted halfway around in our chairs so we could see Gulia when she reappeared.

  My phone saved me from permanent spinal damage as it started to ring only a few minutes after we had sat down. I maneuvered the cell from my jacket pocket and saw that it was Liz. I stood up and started to walk towards the deserted hallway before I answered.

  “Liz, we need to talk,” I said.

  “I should say so,” she agreed. “I turned on the news and heard that there’s a mob war underway. First one hit was Salvatore Febbo and now several of his flunkies have been shot as well.”

  “I’m at the hospital now,” I replied. “Salvatore just came out of surgery and is in the ICU. The doctor hinted that he was in a coma, but that was it. Gulia just went back to be with him.”

  “And our client?” she asked.

  “He’s here,” I said. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

  “Is he likely to start anything?” the blonde attorney pressed.

  “He’s angry, but he hasn’t threatened to go get a gun and start shooting everyone,” I sighed.

  “Good,” Liz replied. “The last thing we need is for him to go off half-cocked and decide he needs to protect the family’s honor or whatever.”

  “I’ll keep him here as long as I can,” I said. “But the ICU visiting hours will be over soon. I’m assuming he’ll head back to Long Island with his mom, or maybe they’ll stay at his place in Queens since it’s closer.”

  “Or a hotel nearby,” Liz suggested. “If they stay at a hotel, you could stay there as well.”

  “You really don’t trust him,” I noted.

  “I’ve seen this before,” she replied. “Well, not a Mafia war, but I’ve seen what can happen when family members get angry. Nothing good can come of it.”

  “Just so you know, Cathy, Ella and their kids all went home,” I said. “Kenyon left as well, but Paul is still here.”

  “Great,” she muttered. “Well, Cathy will probably be buried under her kids and Ella will spend her time drinking wine and listening to music, so I don’t think we have to worry about them. Annie’s the only one of the daughters who would be up for a little personal revenge.”

  “She’s here,” I said. “Maybe I can convince her to stay at the hotel with her mother as well.”

  “That’s good,” Liz agreed.

  “So what kind of revenge did your client want?” I asked.

  “It was a divorce case,” she mused. “The couple was living apart by that point and sharing custody of their son and the dog. The dog died when it dug through the husband’s garbage and found all the chocolate he had decided to toss out as part of his plan to get fit and trim. The wife attacked him with a pair of hedge clippers the next day.”

  “I can’t quite picture Anthony charging after someone with a pair of hedge clippers,” I chuckled.

  “Neither can I,” she replied sternly. “And that’s what worries me.”

  I knew what she meant. I’d seen parts of Anthony today that I hadn’t known were there, and I’m not sure Anthony had even known he possessed. For all his attempts to distance himself from his father, Anthony was still his father’s son. I may not have been able to picture Anthony with hedge clippers in his hand, but a gun was another matter.

  “I’ll keep an eye on him,” I said.

  “And you be careful, too,” she added. “I don’t want to read in the paper tomorrow that you got shot because you happened to be standing next to Anthony.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I assured her. “But I better go. I see a couple of police officers making a beeline for our client.”

  The police officers were actually a pair of detectives with their guns and badges on full display. They glanced around the waiting area, then spotted Anthony, Annie and Paul by the window. I saw them head towards the trio and I moved to intercept them, even as Anthony came to his feet and glared at the two men.

  “Mr. Febbo,” one of the detectives said as he neared my client. He was the older of the two detectives, with a thinning patch of gray hair atop
a narrow head.

  “Mr. Febbo is my father,” Anthony replied in an icy voice. “I’m Anthony Lamon.”

  “Mr. Lamon then,” the younger detective, a black man with gray eyes and a squashed nose, said.

  Both detectives were on the short side, though I realized that wasn’t quite true. Both men tended to slouch, which gave them a rumpled air I was sure was meant to make them seem harmless.

  “I’m Mr. Lamon’s attorney,” I added as I stepped up next to Anthony.

  “Your attorney’s here?” the black detective asked in surprise.

  “He’s a family friend as well,” Anthony replied.

  “We’d like to ask you some questions,” the older detective said.

  “About what?” I asked.

  “About today’s events,” the younger detective said in a reassuring tone.

  “We’re sure you’d like to help us find whoever shot your father and so many of his associates,” the older detective added.

  “Of course he would,” I replied. “But this hardly seems like the place to have that discussion.”

  “Let me see if I can find a space we could use,” the younger detective suggested.

  The younger detective walked away, which left me and Anthony exchanging wary glances with the older man while Annie and Paul looked on.

  “I didn’t catch your names,” I said.

  “I’m Detective Allan,” the man replied. “My partner is Detective Orson.”

  “We’ll be happy to answer your questions surrounding Salvatore Febbo’s shooting,” I added.

  “Good, good,” Detective Allan replied.

  “Have you arrested anyone?” Anthony demanded.

  “We’re still looking,” Allan said. “But we have some suspects.”

  Anthony rolled his eyes and shook his head.

  “I’m sure they’re doing the best they can,” Annie said from her seat.

  “You’re Salvatore’s daughter,” the detective said as he studied the woman.

  “I am,” she agreed with a nasty grin. “Can you guess which one?”

  “Anna Emilia,” the Detective replied. “The youngest daughter. You go by the name Annie.”

  Annie scowled while I tried to hide my surprise. I hadn’t really appreciated that the entire family had grown up under government surveillance until that point, and it was disconcerting to realize that many treasured Febbo family moments, like the dude ranch in Idaho, had probably been shared with various government agents down through the years.

  “Congratulations, you know her name,” Anthony sniped. “How long have you been watching us? I mean, you personally.”

  The detective didn’t bite and an uneasy silence settled on our group. Detective Orson returned a few moments later and smiled at everyone as if we had just bumped into each other at a lawn party.

  “So, there’s a conference room we can use upstairs,” Orson announced.

  “Fabulous,” his partner replied.

  Anthony glanced at his sister, who shot a fiery look at the detectives before she smiled sweetly at her brother.

  “Paul and I will wait here,” she said. “For mom and you. We won’t leave until you’re done.”

  Paul nodded and flapped his hand towards the detectives. I took that to be some sort of shooing motion which only elicited another eye roll from Anthony.

  “Lead the way,” I said as I picked up my briefcase.

  “You don’t need an attorney,” Allan noted.

  “Yes, he does,” I insisted.

  Allan shrugged and turned away, but not before I caught the glimmer of anger in his eyes. Orson did a better job of keeping up his nonchalant attitude, but there was a stiffness to his motions as he tried to smile. When neither Anthony nor I said anything else, Orson led the way back to the elevators.

  We rode to the next floor in silence and followed Orson as he led us past a long line of rooms and then a collection of tiny offices to a conference room that was little more than a folding table and four hard plastic chairs. There was a whiteboard as well with a hand drawn grid that listed each of the rooms followed by a series of notations.

  “Nice,” Anthony remarked as he sat down.

  “Perhaps your highness would prefer something more comfortable?” Allan asked in a sarcastic tone. “I’m sure we could find an orderly to bring in an armchair.”

  “What’s with the attitude?” I demanded before Anthony could say anything. “You said you had questions about the shooting, and we agreed that we would answer them. We want you to find who did this and we want you to arrest that person and bring them to trial.”

  “Do you?” Allan asked.

  “Everyone take a deep breath,” Orson suggested. “We’re all here for the same reason.”

  “Sure we are,” Anthony said in a bitter voice.

  There was a moment of silence as Anthony and Allan glared at each other, and then Orson smiled again.

  “Why don’t you start by telling us about the last time you saw your father,” Orson said.

  “This morning,” Anthony replied. “He was leaving for a meeting. He said he would be back in time for an early dinner with my mom and then he was going to take her to see a movie.”

  “Did he seem nervous or anxious?” Orson asked.

  “You obviously don’t know my father,” Anthony snickered. “My father never seems nervous or anxious.”

  “Well, was there anything unusual about him this morning?” Orson pressed.

  “No,” Anthony replied. “He was just like he always is.”

  “What about the last few days?” Allan asked. “Anything unusual happen or anything that made him mad or worried?”

  “No,” Anthony replied. “Nothing happened and my dad was just like he’s always been.”

  “There’s a rumor that your father was looking to retire,” Allan mused.

  Anthony glared at Allan again, but he didn’t respond right away.

  “What does Salvatore Febbo’s potential retirement have to do with anything?” I demanded.

  “You can’t be that stupid,” Allan snickered as he shifted his gaze to me.

  “Let’s assume I am,” I replied as I tried to buy my client time to recover his cool. “Why don’t you explain your interest to me?”

  “Febbo’s departure from the Mafia leaves a hole in the leadership,” Orson supplied. “That hole could start a mob war as the other families fight for control of his operations.”

  “Mr. Febbo has never been indicted,” I reminded the detectives. “And any ties he may have to organized criminal activities is nothing but speculation on your part.”

  “Spoken like a true lawyer,” Allan griped.

  “Do you have any other questions besides ‘did my dad father seem normal this morning’?” Anthony demanded.

  “We do have a few more,” Orson replied.

  “Then ask them,” Anthony insisted. “So I can be there for my mother when they tell her she has to leave my father’s side.”

  Neither detective looked like they cared very much about Gulia’s need for comfort, though Orson managed to make a sympathetic noise.

  “So where were you all day?” Allan asked.

  “You’re not seriously suggesting my client is a suspect?” I interrupted.

  “We have to ask,” Orson said with a shrug.

  Anthony rolled his eyes and slouched back in his chair. He scowled at the two detectives, both of whom watched him intently.

  “I was at my parents’ house most of the day,” he finally said. “I went out about eleven to go to the gym and I stopped for a smoothie on the way back.”

  “Anybody who can vouch for that?” Allan pressed.

  “My mother,” Anthony replied. “And Katarina, my mother’s assistant. The maids were there this morning, cleaning the upstairs rooms. And Uncle Michael came by in the afternoon. He didn’t stay long, though.”

  “So why are you staying out at your parents’ place?” Orson asked. “I thought you had your own plac
e in Queens.”

  “That’s not relevant,” I snapped.

  “Sure it is,” Allan replied.

  “You know why,” Anthony stated.

  “You killed a girl,” Allan said.

  “That’s it,” I declared as Anthony shot to his feet.

  “You motherfucker!” Anthony yelled.

  My clients hands were balled at his side, and he leaned in towards Allan. The older detective didn’t flinch, just gave Anthony a satisfied smirk. Orson and I both clambered to our feet as well, but Orson managed to reach towards Anthony first. The younger detective placed a hand on Anthony’s arm, which Anthony promptly swatted away.

  “Anthony,” I warned as I pulled my client away from the table.

  “That’s assault,” Allan declared.

  “Don’t even try it,” I replied. “Or maybe you haven’t heard what I can do with an assault charge.”

  I really didn’t want to end up in the crosshairs of the NYPD, and I certainly didn’t want to turn this into a bragging session, but I needed to put some space between Anthony and the detectives, and I needed to divert their attention from my client.

  “Shit,” Allan huffed as he scowled at me.

  For a moment, I thought the older detective would spit at me, but he swallowed whatever bile he had been about to expel and made do with a nasty glare. Orson, at least, looked slightly impressed, though I wasn’t sure if that was because of my defense in the assault case or my semi-successful attempt to divert attention.

  “Let’s take a break,” I suggested. “If you have any more questions about the shooting of Salvatore Febbo, we’ll answer those when we get back. Anything else, and we’ll walk out of here.”

  Allan turned to look at Anthony but Orson nodded.

  “Sure,” Orson agreed. “That’s all we want to do is figure out what’s going on.”

  “Come on,” I said to Anthony as I pulled him to the door. “We’ll let everyone cool down.”

  Anthony and I stepped back into the hallway. A nurse walked towards us as she read through something on a tablet, and then she stepped into one of the rooms. I tugged Anthony towards one of the office doors, and after making sure no one was inside, pulled him in and closed the door.