by Dave Daren
I slammed on the brakes and punched the shift into reverse. A cloud of smoke from the tires followed me as I backed up several feet and slipped onto the shoulder. I saw the Charger keep going straight ahead, and when it had cleared the next exit, I shifted back into drive and barreled towards the ramp without leaving the edge of the road.
I was heading up the ramp and debating the easiest way to go around the cars stopped at the red light when I heard the sound of metal crunching and squealing tires. I checked the rearview mirror and saw the Charger tearing up the ramp right behind me. There was no time to plot a course, so I just stuck with the shoulder and made a right turn at the light, just as it turned green. I swept around the first few cars and shot back onto the road.
“McDonald’s it is,” I muttered when I spotted the closest fast food joint.
I swept past the Mickey D’s, then jumped the median and turned back towards the restaurant. I’d timed it so that I had a clear path on the other side, but anyone following me would have to deal with the cars that had just started forward from the next stoplight.
It seemed like a brilliant plan, and at first, everything went as I had hoped. I pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot and shot towards the back. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to actually get out and run inside or if I was going to circle the building and pull back onto the road. I’d settled on heading inside and calling the police when I heard what sounded like an explosion from the front of the restaurant.
I stopped the car and looked over my shoulder to see the Charger caught in a tangled mess with an SUV that had just started to leave the parking lot. Steam puffed out from beneath the SUV’s hood, and I could see that the airbag had deployed. The Charger had taken most of the blow along the passenger side, and though it hadn’t rolled, it was at a dead stop across two lanes of traffic. It looked lop-sided, with the driver’s side tilted towards the ground, and I didn’t think the car would be able to move it all.
“What the heck?” I heard a woman in the parking lot say as she took in the mess.
Somehow, the Charger had managed to avoid being hit by another car, though it was a close thing. The other drivers were getting out of their cars and headings towards the SUV and the Charger. It was my perfect opportunity to slip away, but I was worried about the driver in the SUV. The door had yet to open and the smoke from the hood was starting to look more black.
And then the Charger somehow got itself turned around, and with an audience that included the people pouring out of the McDonald’s, the car took off down the road, straight for the entrance to the LIE. With my nemesis gone, I tumbled out of the Volvo and ran towards the SUV. A small crowd had gathered already and I saw one man yanking on the door handle.
“It’s locked!” the man said in frustration.
I cursed the fact that I’d left my jacket back at the apartment, then spotted the bricks the restaurant had used to outline the flowerbed around the sign. I pulled one out of the wet soil and carried it back to the driver’s side window. As I glanced inside, I could see the driver, still face down in the airbag. She was an older woman with gray hair and frail looking hands, but what really caught my attention was the blood that had turned the airbag red.
“Stand back,” I warned as I brought the brick down against the glass.
It only cracked with the first blow, and I knew I was being tentative, but I didn’t want to give it a full swing and add to the woman’s injuries either. I hit the glass again and this time it splintered and then crumbled away from the door. I was able to reach in and unlock the door, and then the man who had been tugging on the door handle yanked the door open.
Two other men joined us as we carefully eased the driver from the seat and carried her a short distance away. I knew you weren’t supposed to move people until the EMT’s had checked them over, but I glanced back at the SUV and saw the first flickers of flame start to move along the front of the vehicle. One guy was encouraging everyone else to step back while a McDonald’s employee ran over with a fire extinguisher.
Over all that, I heard the sound of sirens quickly approaching. Both police and ambulance, it sounded like, as well as firefighters. I glanced down at the woman we’d pulled from the SUV and saw that she was still unconscious. Her face was covered in blood, but a woman with pink hair had appeared with a package of baby wipes and was gently wiping her face.
“Can you believe that guy?” one of the rescuers muttered. He was a young guy with a pencil thin mustache and a Beastie Boys t-shirt.
“Did anyone get the license plate?” the man who had yanked the SUV’s door open asked. He looked like a middle-aged accountant, complete with brown suit, balding head and thick glasses.
There were lots of muttered no’s, but no one seemed to remember the Volvo that had plowed into the parking lot just moments before the accident. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but the calvary had arrived by then, and we were shooed away from the victim by a team of EMT’s. I looked around at the scene as the EMT’s got to work and saw that the firemen were working on the SUV while the police had started to direct people around the accident.
Another police car arrived, and those cops hopped from their vehicle and started to talk to anyone who had been a witness. I started to ease my way back to the Volvo, but yet another police car pulled up, this one with a pair of detectives. There was a quick conversation between the detectives and the first cops on the scene, and then one of the detectives moved towards the witnesses while his partner started towards the parking lot.
It was obvious that someone had called 9-1-1 during our chase along the LIE, and it was also obvious that the detectives had linked the two events. The detective in the parking lot scanned the cars and quickly spotted my Volvo. He trotted towards it, then stopped to take in the damage as well as the open door.
“Is the driver of this car here?” the detective, an Asian with a buzz cut, yelled out.
It was tempting not to say anything, especially when none of the people in the parking lot pointed towards me. But it wouldn’t take them long to run the plates and track me down, and it wasn’t like there were cabs out here I could just hop into in order to disappear. More importantly, someone else had been seriously injured during the chase, and I couldn’t walk away from that.
“I’m the driver,” I admitted as I walked towards the detective.
He motioned for me to stop a short distance away as he looked inside the car again, then turned back to me.
“We had reports of a Dodge Charger and a Volvo sedan engaged in a race along the LIE,” he said as he studied me.
“It wasn’t a race,” I replied. “It was a chase, and the Charger was trying to kill me.”
“Is that so?” the detective said skeptically. “And why would someone be trying to kill you?”
I sighed as I tried to decide how to answer that question. There were too many possibilities, and I didn’t know how to explain that to the detective without digging myself into an even deeper pit. I even considered calling Duvernay, or even Gomez, but I wasn’t sure what they would be able to say beyond the fact that I represented a Mafia don’s son.
“I’m not sure,” I finally replied. “But I think it’s tied to a matter that I’m working on.”
“What kind of matter?” the detective asked.
“A criminal matter,” I explained.
“You’re an attorney,” the detective said in surprise as he took in my appearance.
“Yes,” I agreed. “And I was on my way to meet with my client when the Charger started to follow me. It nearly drove me off the LIE a couple of times, so I pulled off at the first exit I could. I pulled in here because I thought I’d lost them, and I was going to call the police, but then the accident happened.”
“Let’s move!” one of the EMT’s shouted.
Both the detective and I looked towards the scene of the crash, and I saw that the woman had been strapped to a gurney and was being loaded into the back of the ambulance. A few moments later, th
e emergency vehicle pulled back onto the road with its lights and sirens on, and sped away in a spray of gravel and grass.
“You need to make a statement,” the detective said after the sound of the siren had faded away.
“I will,” I replied, “but I need to get to my client first and make sure he’s okay.”
The detective was already shaking his head and I saw him start to reach for his handcuffs.
“Someone was injured, and if she dies, that’s a homicide,” the detective replied.
“I’ve already explained what happened,” I said calmly. “And if my client is killed, then that’s on you.”
We were at a standoff, and truthfully, the detective would have been well within his rights to insist that I head to the nearest police station right then, either of my own free will or in handcuffs. We glared at each other as these thoughts bounced around my brain, until the second detective joined us.
“You know who was in the Charger?” the second detective, a black man with a very large Afro, asked.
“No,” I declared. “And I couldn’t see him because the windows were tinted.”
The second detective nodded as he started to prowl around my Volvo.
“Yeah, that’s what the other witnesses say,” he agreed. “So who’s this all-important client that almost got you killed?”
Both detectives looked at me then, and I shuffled in place for a moment.
“Don’t cite attorney-client privilege to me,” the second detective warned.
“Anthony Lamon,” I replied after a moment’s hesitation.
“Don’t know that name,” the Asian detective said.
“I do,” the black detective replied. “You probably know him better as Anthony Febbo, Salvatore’s kid.”
The Asian detective twitched, and then glanced at the Volvo again. He and his partner exchanged a long look that seemed to drag on forever. With the ambulance gone and the fire out on the SUV, I was now the center of interest to the people from the restaurant, and I could feel them staring at the three of us while the detectives had their silent conversation. I heard my phone ring in the car somewhere, and I started towards it, but stopped when the Asian detective held up his hand.
“Your client’s in a heap of trouble right now,” the black detective mused.
“Perhaps,” I said, since I wasn’t sure exactly what the detective was referring to.
“Did he tell you what happened?” the black detective asked his partner.
“Said he was driving out to meet his client when the Charger tried to run him off the road,” the Asian replied.
“We need to take statements from the other witnesses on the LIE,” the black detective said to me. “And we’ll review the recordings. You can leave, for now, but you’ll need to come by the station to make an official statement.”
He handed me a card as he said this, and I nodded as I tucked it into my wallet. The Asian looked surprised for a moment, but after he glanced at his partner, he took on the bland expression of a police officer trying to restore calm. I had to admit, I was surprised as well, and part of me was wondering if the detective was on somebody else’s payroll besides the NYPD. But now didn’t seem like a great time to pursue that question, and even if I did, it wasn’t like he would admit it with the audience we had.
“Is your car safe to drive?” the black officer continued.
“Yes,” I said quickly. “It’s just cosmetic damage. Everything still works the way it’s supposed to.”
“Unlike the SUV,” the Asian muttered.
“Let’s go talk to the people in the restaurant before they all leave,” the black detective suggested as he started across the parking lot.
The Asian scowled at me for a moment and then followed his partner towards the throng of people that had gathered outside. The black detective swept into the center of the crowd amid promises to talk to everyone personally, then led them all back inside. I waited until the Asian detective had herded the last few stragglers into the restaurant before I returned to my own car.
It was scratched and dinged, but the engine turned over as soon as I turned the key and none of the warning lights came on. I waited a moment and just listened, but there were no strange sounds and no liquids appeared beneath the car and no steam vented from under the hood. Convinced that the car was truly highway safe, I dug my cell phone out from under the seat and checked the number. Liz had called, but I decided I would wait and call as soon as I was somewhere safer, like the Febbo estate.
Instead, I called Anthony on the number he had given me. The phone rang twice, and then there was a click as the phone was picked up.
“Hello?” a voice asked.
It took me a moment to place it, but I realized it was Katarina.
“Katarina, this is Hunter Morgan, Anthony’s attorney,” I said. “We met the other night.”
“Oh, yes,” she said in a more assured voice.
“Is he there?” I asked. “I need to speak to him for a moment.”
“Please wait,” she replied.
There was another click, and then a moment later I heard my client’s voice in the background as he picked up the call.
“Hunter?” Anthony said into the phone. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “I just needed to tell you to be on your guard. Someone in a rust colored Dodge Charger just tried to run me off the road.”
“I just saw the traffic report about the chase along the LIE,” Anthony replied. “I had a feeling it might be you.”
I could hear the thump-thump-thump of an approaching helicopter and I spotted the first of the news choppers hovering over the expressway.
“Listen, I’m heading back to the highway,” I said. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Do you want me to send a car?” Anthony asked.
“I can’t imagine they’ll try this again,” I replied though truthfully, I also didn’t feel like hanging around the McDonald’s while I waited for a Febbo car to pick me up. I was still jumpy, though I’d managed to stay calm around the detectives, and staying in one place seemed like a bad idea if they were really determined. And being in an official Febbo vehicle didn’t sound all that safe, either.
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Anthony countered. “Look, I’ll just make sure that we have eyes on you. My guys will make sure no one else harasses you.”
I was about to protest again, but gave up. Maybe having an unofficial escort wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Your guys?” I chuckled as I started to ease out of the parking lot.
“You know what I mean,” Anthony snickered. “Just give me your plate and car.”
I rattled off my plate number and then told him that my escort should just look for the blue Volvo with all the scratches. Anthony muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an Italian curse word, then told me I should be okay for the rest of the trip.
I rejoined the traffic on the LIE just as I hung up, and for the first part of the drive, I found myself carefully checking every car that came anywhere near my poor Volvo. Cars with tinted windows were given a wide berth as I picked my way between lanes, as was anyone who stared at the Volvo for more than a heartbeat. I finally settled into a pack of minivans filled with kids heading to a soccer tournament, judging by the net full of soccer balls on the roof of one minivan, which got me almost all the way to Riverhead.
I took the correct exit and skimmed the edge of the town. I drove past the farms and the winery, then somehow ended up on the outskirts of a small town that I had never seen before. I backtracked and found the intersection where I’d taken the wrong turn, then found my way to the large homes with manicured lawns. I found the Febbo estate easily enough, though the armed men that walked the perimeter and skulked beneath the trees that lined the drive were new.
Uncle Michael was already out front when I came to a stop near the fountain. He scurried over to the driver’s side and threw open the door with so much enthusiasm that it rebounded and
slammed shut. He looked embarrassed as I opened the door more calmly, but he swooped in as soon as I was upright and grabbed my elbow.
“Were you injured?” he asked as he squinted at my face.
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “My nerves are a little on edge.”
“Sure, sure,” he replied as he started to lead me towards the house. “Anthony’s been really anxious about you since you called.”
“Well, I did get turned around by that farmer’s stand,” I said.
“Oh, that’s easy to do,” Michael laughed. “I’ve done it a few times myself.”
We were inside the house by then, and I spotted Katarina as she slipped into the piano room with a laptop in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. The tabby followed close behind her, it’s tail in the air and a pleased look on its face. I exchanged a quick glance with the Polish woman, and then Uncle Michael was directing me up the grand staircase to the second floor.
We walked past the line of portraits again, to the side hall and I knew instantly where we were going. Michael stopped in front of the office door and tapped once before opening the door and stepping aside. I took a step forward and saw that Anthony was seated behind his father’s desk, with a laptop open in front of him and a stack of legal documents by one elbow. Michael made a little half-bow, then stepped back and closed the door.
“You’re dressed rather casually,” Anthony noted after we’d stared at each other for several moments.
“Oh, uh,” I stammered as I glanced down. “About that.”
“Take a seat first,” Anthony said as he waved me towards the armchairs in front of the desk.
I sat down in the same chair I’d used before and carefully studied my client. He looked tired, but there was something else there as well. It was the same steel I’d witnessed in his father’s eyes during my last meeting in this room, and for a moment, I wondered if anyone would ever see me again.
“So your firm is having a casual day?” Anthony teased, and he once again looked like the typical young New Yorker I’d first met.