Mob Lawyer

by Dave Daren

  I knew the way to the Febbo estate by heart, and as I pulled into the driveway, I did a quick study to see if anything had changed recently. The Febbo guards weren’t obvious anymore, though I spotted a shadow here and there beneath the forest of trees. I also saw the plain van that I’d learned to expect, parked a short distance away on an empty lot.

  I turned down the long drive and drove slowly among the trees that lined the road. By the time I arrived at the front door, Uncle Michael was already trotting down the stairs to greet me. I noticed that today’s toupee was a mass of blondish-brown curls that looked like they had been shellacked into place. I tried not to grin as I stepped from the car, even though Michael himself pointed to his latest hairdo.

  “Just arrived,” he said with a note of pride.

  “It’s amazing,” I assured him with a straight face.

  “They do good work,” Michael agreed as he led me towards the front steps.

  “Is Anthony here yet?” I asked.

  “He got home about half an hour ago,” Michael said. “Ben’s still with him but Anthony said you should go on up.”

  I thanked Michael as we stepped inside the entryway, and while he turned towards the piano room, where I could hear Gulia’s voice, I climbed the elegant staircase to the second floor. I followed the line of portraits along the hall to Salvatore’s office and tapped quietly on the door.

  “Come in,” Anthony called out.

  I opened the door and stepped inside the office with its green walls and leather furniture. Even though Anthony had been using the room for a month, it was still very much Salvatore’s office. The only thing that Anthony had introduced into his father’s private domain was a small sculpture of a running horse that now sat on the desk. I’d admired it after it had first appeared, and it really was quite lovely, and probably very old, but Anthony had never said a word about it.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t get much chance to look at the artwork in the room because Ben Kroger, Salvatore’s second, was there as well. Kroger was still second-in-command as he helped guide Anthony through the assorted businesses that comprised the Febbo stake, but I had my own suspicions about the man. It was hard to ignore the fact that Anthony had effectively pushed him aside when Salvatore was shot, and then there was Kroger’s link to the Serbians.

  Both Anthony and Kroger had looked towards the door when I stepped in, and it gave me a chance to study both men. Anthony still had a boyish look, fueled by the brown hair in need of a trim and the jug handle ears he’d inherited from his father. But the gray-green eyes had lost a lot of their warmth, and most of the time, they looked more like cold steel.

  Kroger shared that cold look, though it looked more appropriate on him. He was in his forties, with pale blue eyes and bristles of orange hair. He was pasty white except in the face, which always looked flush. I had never seen him smile, or even look relaxed, and I know he hated me as much as I distrusted him.

  “Anthony, Ben,” I greeted as I closed the door behind me and slipped into the other guest chair. “Your meeting was successful today?”

  “It was,” Anthony replied after a quick glance at his second. “Though I don’t know how long that will last if what you said was true.”

  “About Marinello?” I asked when no one spoke.

  “The timing’s really bad,” Anthony sighed. “And the police aren’t the only ones who will consider us the main suspects.”

  “But it doesn’t serve your interests to kill Giorgio Marinello,” I pointed out.

  “Not in the long term,” Anthony agreed. “But there’s a reason the stereotype of Italians usually revolves around bloody feuds.”

  “It’s the appearance that matters,” Kroger added in his raspy voice.

  “I get that,” I replied with a trace of exasperation. “What we need to do is determine who ordered Marinello to kill Francine Mott. We do that, and we’ll know who killed Marinello.”

  “Any of the other families could have set this up,” Kroger growled.

  “But who has it in for the Febbos?” I pushed.

  Kroger made a sharp, barking sound that I had learned was his idea of a laugh. Anthony shot him an angry look, and Kroger quieted, though he gave me a nasty glare of his own.

  “Your father mentioned someone named Jimmy Salerno to me,” I said.

  Anthony’s gaze became more speculative, and even Kroger looked slightly less antagonistic.

  “Salerno’s always looking for a way to move ahead,” Kroger muttered.

  “And he’s clashed with my dad before,” Anthony added. “That might make this extra sweet for him.”

  “But he and Marinello aren’t working for the same family,” I pointed out.

  “Marinello was a born snitch,” Kroger said. “He’d sell information to anyone. Why do you think the family kept him on the outside of anything important?”

  “It’s possible,” Anthony agreed.

  “So I’ll try to meet with Salerno,” I replied. “Along with these witnesses the police have suddenly found that place you at the scene of Francie’s murder.”

  Anthony nodded, but Kroger was staring at me like I’d suddenly started twerking.

  “What?” I demanded testily.

  “So you think you’re just going to talk to Salerno?” the second demanded.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  Kroger looked at Anthony, who shrugged, then back at me. I saw Anthony grin when Kroger looked away, but he smothered it quickly enough and tried to put on his more serious face.

  “Made guys don’t talk,” the pale man insisted.

  “Sometimes they do,” I replied. “Especially if I can link him to Marinello.”

  “This is fucking ridiculous,” Kroger snorted.

  “Enough,” Anthony said quietly, yet his voice managed to sound menacing. “Do what you can, Hunter. If you need help tracking down information, I can probably put some guys on it, maybe see if anyone saw Marinello and Salerno meeting somewhere.”

  “I doubt they’d meet anywhere there would be witnesses,” I replied. “But I’m more interested in phone calls and text messages. I think that’s how we’ll catch him.”

  “They would have used burners,” Kroger noted.

  “I imagine so,” I agreed.

  “You and Liz know what you’re doing,” Anthony cut in.

  “Ah, about that...” I replied, which drew looks from the other two men.

  “C’mon, Hunter,” Anthony said when I hesitated. “You can’t say ‘about that’ and then not finish.”

  “Liz is taking an assignment in London for a year,” I replied. “If all goes well, she’ll get a partnership out of it.”

  “So it’s just you,” Anthony noted.

  “Liz will still be available for consultations,” I replied. “But no, she won’t be able to conduct interviews or such.”

  My client frowned as he considered that, and I had a hard time reading what he was thinking. Then again, Anthony probably wasn’t all that sure himself. There was no doubt that Liz Bennet had been a key part of building the defense and losing her was a blow, but I had already proven my own abilities and loyalty to Anthony, and I was quite sure I could handle his defense successfully.

  “This is too big to leave to one attorney,” Kroger insisted. “And I can’t believe your father would have left it in their hands even if the woman was staying. We have a whole stable of attorneys who deal with these kinds of accusations all the time. We should turn the case over to them.”

  “My father has a whole stable of attorneys,” the younger Febbo corrected. “I do not.”

  “I’m Anthony’s personal attorney,” I added.

  “On a fucking traffic ticket,” Kroger growled.

  “On an assault charge,” I replied. “And not just an assault charge, but assault on an officer.”

  “You don’t know anything about criminal law,” Kroger snapped. “You think Salvatore didn’t have you checked out? You’re just another Wall Street lawyer, looki
ng for his first million. At least the Bennet woman had actual experience in criminal law, even if it was for a bunch of pansy celebrities.”

  “Salvatore was perfectly happy with what I had done,” I said as my own anger started to boil to the surface. “And he was perfectly happy to have me continue as Anthony’s attorney. Not that it matters because Anthony had already asked me to stay on and handle this matter for him.”

  “Don’t get a big head,” Kroger warned. “Salvatore had his lawyers preparing to handle things, just in case you fucked up.”

  “Salvatore isn’t here,” I growled.

  Anthony hadn’t said a word during our little dust-up, though his head had swiveled back and forth like someone watching a tennis match. He’d looked amused at first, but at the mention of Salvatore, he’d taken on a more grim aspect.

  “Enough!” Anthony shouted before Kroger could respond.

  Several moments passed while Kroger and I sat tensely in our chairs. Neither of us was willing to speak first while Anthony glared at both of us.

  “Tony,” the old second-in-command finally risked in what passed for his soothing voice. “You know I would never disrespect your father or your family. And I know you wanted to handle things on your own, but your father was worried about you. He didn’t know anything about this guy.”

  “I think he’s proven himself,” Anthony said after several more moments of silence.

  “Maybe he has,” Kroger agreed. “But if his partner is leaving, then you’re down to one attorney. One attorney who no longer even has access to everything that his old firm could offer, like paralegals, researchers, even investigators. You might as well stick with one of those Legal Aid attorneys for that. I think you should consider turning this murder case over to the attorneys, at least. Morgan here can still handle your other personal business.”

  Anthony studied Kroger for a long minute while I tried to calm myself down enough to actually speak instead of throwing myself at the other man and punching him in his round, red nose.

  “I don’t need all that,” I managed to choke out. “I can handle this case on my own. And if I do need assistance later, I’ll hire someone.”

  “Tony,” Kroger started again.

  Anthony held up his hand, and Kroger went quiet.

  “You say you can handle this, Hunter, and I believe you,” my client replied. “But you’ll let me know if you need help, right?”

  “I will,” I agreed.

  “Damn it, Tony,” Kroger blurted out. “This is not what your father wanted.”

  “Nothing that’s happened for the last month is what my father wanted,” Anthony snapped.

  Kroger opened and closed his mouth several times and then finally stood up.

  “If you want to keep him as your attorney, that’s your business,” Kroger finally growled. “And I’ll go along, because I’m loyal to your father and to you. But that doesn’t mean I won’t point out when you’re being stupid.”

  “So you’ve made clear,” my client said quietly.

  Kroger turned slowly towards me and even waved a finger at me.

  “Don’t think I won’t come for you if you screw this up,” the orange-haired mafioso warned.

  “Ben,” my client barked.

  Kroger’s permanent flush had turned an ugly red color that made his head look like a giant beet. He scowled at me, then turned back to face his boss. He drew in a deep breath, and then another, before he finally spoke.

  “I have business to take care of,” Kroger rasped. “I’ll send you those numbers from last month.”

  The pasty-skinned Mafioso turned on his heel and stomped from the room, just like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum. He even slammed the door once he was in the hall, and Anthony and I could hear his footsteps all the way back to the staircase, despite the thick carpet.

  “He’s your trusted lieutenant?” I asked in disbelief when the noise finally faded.

  “He’s been loyal to this family for a good twenty years or more,” Anthony replied. “He’s always protected us from people who posed a threat.”

  “I’m not a threat to you,” I pointed out.

  “He’s not sure about that,” my client said.

  I watched Anthony for a moment, then heard myself chuckle.

  “He talked to you about me,” I noted.

  “Mostly what you just heard,” Anthony admitted. “That dad would have let one of the regular firms handle it, that dad wanted me to dump you as my attorney, that you had no idea what you’re doing, yada, yada, yada.”

  “Salvatore seemed happy enough to let me continue as your attorney when we spoke,” I replied.

  “And trust me, if he had wanted to kick you off my case after that meeting, I would have heard about it,” Anthony snickered. “But you convinced dad you knew what you were doing, and you long ago sold me on that as well.”

  “Then what the hell is Kroger’s problem?” I demanded.

  “Your timing sucks,” Anthony said. “You show up, just as everything goes to hell. I’m pretty sure he thinks you’re a spy.”

  “Me?” I asked in disbelief.

  I heard myself start to laugh, then quickly tamped it down when I saw Anthony’s hard stare.

  “You find that funny?” my client asked in an unpleasant tone.

  “It’s just--” I started, then drew a couple of deep breaths of my own. “I’ve been wondering about Kroger.”

  “What do you mean?” Anthony demanded sharply.

  “These ties he has to the Serbians,” I tried to explain. “Plus the fact that you took over when he should have. It crossed my mind that it might serve his own purposes to keep this little war going until you’re out, either on the murder charge for Francie or George, or both, or because George’s family decides to get revenge.”

  “Ben wouldn’t do that,” Anthony insisted.

  “Are you sure?” I pressed.

  “I’m sure,” Anthony snapped.

  Anthony glared at me for several seconds, but with Kroger out of the room, I was able to keep my own anger in check. Anthony finally sighed and shook his head.

  “You two need to learn how to get along,” Anthony said.

  “We’ll work on it,” I replied though I still had my own doubts about Kroger.

  Anthony gave me a wry smile to show he’d heard the doubts in my voice. He studied me again, then sat back in his chair and stared at the photos on the wall behind me.

  “There was another matter I wanted your help with,” he said.

  “Okay,” I replied as I wondered if yet another body had turned up somewhere.

  “See, my father owns an import business,” Anthony continued. “Mostly olive oil, but he brings other Italian specialties as well, like dried meats and fruits, and cheeses. Lots of cheeses.”

  “Agricultural products,” I supplied.

  “That’s it,” Anthony agreed. “Agricultural products. The thing is, there’s no one really running it right now with dad in a coma.”

  “He must have had something set up,” I mused. “Is Kroger supposed to be running it?”

  “Probably,” Anthony conceded. “But he’s got other stuff to worry about. I don’t want the company to go under because no one’s paying attention to it.”

  “So what do you want to do exactly?” I pressed.

  “I want to be the president or whatever while dad is in a coma,” my client replied.

  “And if he doesn’t wake up?” I asked.

  Anger flitted across Anthony’s features, but he shrugged it off.

  “Then it’ll go to Kroger, like the rest of the family businesses, once everything is settled,” my client replied. “But I want to run things for now, and I want to do it legally. You know, the whole W-2 thing.”

  I stared at my client for a moment but he didn’t offer anything else. I knew he was running most of the family operations now, and he’d taken over without worrying about the niceties of tax law. I wasn’t sure why he was so concerned about r
unning this import company until he mentioned the W-2. And then I realized that Anthony probably had a lot more money sitting in his private accounts right now than he had ever earned at the brewery in Queens where he’d worked before. What he needed was proof that he had earned that money legitimately, and being appointed the legal head of the company was the easiest way to accomplish that.

  “Do you have copies of all of the documents?” I asked. “Articles of incorporation, bylaws, that kind of thing.”

  “I got a copy last week from dad’s corporate lawyer,” Anthony replied as he pulled open a desk drawer. “But I haven’t had time to go through it.”

  “I’ll take a look,” I replied as he slid a folder towards me. “I might have to meet with the team that put this together, but I’m sure I can find some way to put you in charge.”

  “Thanks,” Anthony replied. “Listen, if you do need to hire extra people to help, I’m okay with that. You do whatever needs to be done to put an end to this.”

  “I won’t lie,” I said. “Losing Liz hurts, but we can still call her, and for now, I’d rather handle things on my own. Just until we sort out who all the players are and who we can trust.”

  “I know you don’t like him,” Anthony smirked. “But dad trusted him.”

  “But your father didn’t trust the Serbians,” I pointed out. “And he wanted them out of the family.”

  Anthony nodded and picked up the TV remote. It seemed like our interview was at an end, so I scooped up the folder and started to stand up.

  “I had one other small suggestion that I was going to make,” my client said when I was halfway to the door.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “It’s just another safety precaution,” he added. “You know, until things settle down.”

  “Are you suggesting I hire a bodyguard?” I snickered.

  “No, no, you don’t need to go that far,” he assured me. “But I think you should have a gun.”

  “A gun?” I said in surprise.

  “Have you ever shot one before?” my client asked.

  “When I was a kid,” I replied as I tried to recover from my surprise. “I had a Remington rifle that I used to shoot cans and such. And sometimes my dad would take me to the driving range to shoot a pistol. But I haven’t fired anything since I moved to the city.”