by Dave Daren
“Yeah, they make it hard to get a license in the city,” Anthony mused. “But I think it would be a good idea.”
“Um, okay,” I replied. “Do you carry one?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But mostly I leave it to my drivers and such. They all have licenses.”
“They do?” I asked, again with a note of surprise.
“Sure,” Anthony replied. “They all do. You don’t want to give the police yet another reason to arrest you, right?”
“Right,” I agreed.
“It’s all done through one of the companies,” Anthony continued. “The one they set up as a car service. But you should be able to figure out how to do it, and you’ve got all the documents there for the import company, so you can use that if you want to. Just make sure you get one for a concealed weapon, or else all you can do is keep it in your house. And what good is that?”
“I’m not even sure which gun I would buy,” I admitted.
“Something small, that you can keep hidden,” Anthony suggested. “But big enough to kill someone if you need to.”
So no rifles, I decided. But that left plenty of other options. Like the H & K an assailant had left behind when I’d managed to get the drop on him. But that gun had been turned into the police, and I’d never heard another thing about the case.
“I guess I’m going gun shopping,” I said.
Anthony laughed as he fiddled with the remote. The TV screen emerged from the credenza as I stepped to the door, but when I looked back at my client, he looked deadly serious again, and I doubted he even knew which teams he was watching.
Chapter 18
The rest of the house was quiet as I made my way downstairs. Even the voices in the piano room had vanished, and there was no sign of Uncle Michael and his new toupee. Part of me had hoped I might have a chance to speak to either Gulia, or her assistant Katarina, but I also didn’t want to get caught snooping through my client’s home. I hesitated for a moment, then darted across the vast tiled floor to the door to the piano room. I knocked on the door before I stuck my head around the edge.
Sadly, the room was empty except for the orange tabby who had burrowed into one of the chairs and purred happily as he slept. I wished the cat pleasant dreams, then strode back across the black and white tiles to the front door. I stepped outside and saw that the Volvo was where I had left it, but a Toyota had joined it. The Toyota was probably two or three years old and looked well cared for, despite the layer of dust and grime that currently covered it. I walked past the car and peeked inside, and the first thing I noticed was the collection of battered toys in the back seat. Cathy’s car, I decided.
I heard something rustle in some of the nearby shrubbery, and a moment later, one of the gorilla sized Febbo guards appeared with a cigarette in one hand while his other hand rested on the butt of a rifle. He nodded to me as he started across the drive towards the far end of the property.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?” I called out as I trotted after the man.
He stopped and turned around with a look of surprise on his square face. I wondered if this was the first time anyone had even tried to ask him a question.
“What can I help you with, Mr. Morgan?” the man rumbled.
He only had an inch on me in height, but it seemed like so much more given his girth. I stopped several feet away and wondered why this had seemed like a good idea.
“Anthony suggested that I buy a gun and apply for a concealed weapons license,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, you should do that,” the giant replied with a sage nod. “Times are unsettled right now.”
“So, how did you get your license?” I asked.
“The attorney did most of it,” the giant replied. “I just had to e-sign a couple of documents and that was it.”
“So you filed electronically?” I asked.
“Much easier that way,” the giant assured me. “In the old days, there was a ton of paperwork that had to be filled out and a bunch of sheets that had to be signed. Used to take weeks to make sure everyone was up to date on their licensing.”
“Okay, that’s good to know,” I replied. “What about guns? Do you have any suggestions?”
The giant studied me, and I felt like I was being evaluated for a new suit rather than a gun. He actually walked around me and made a few noises as he took in the view.
“You wear a jacket most days or is this your regular look?” he asked when he was back in front of me.
“It depends,” I admitted. “For interviews and court appearances, I wear a suit and tie.”
“No guns in court,” the giant mused. “Have you done much shooting?”
“At the range and at targets set up in the backyard,” I replied.
“That’s good,” he remarked. “Okay, I’d suggest either a Smith & Wesson M&P Shield or the Glock 43. The Smithie is easy to hide and you can get it in different calibers. The Glock is a Glock, which means super reliable. It’s also pretty easy to conceal, but it doesn’t carry as much ammo as some guns.”
“Oh, well, thanks,” I said.
“Sure,” the giant replied as he ambled away.
I repeated the gun recommendations a few times until I was sure I wouldn’t forget them, then I strolled back to the Volvo while I tried to picture myself with a gun hidden beneath my suit jacket. I tried to remember the last time I had even fired a gun, and decided that a trip to the nearest shooting range was probably in order.
I tossed the file with the company documents onto the passenger seat as I dropped into the driver’s seat and then quickly scribbled down the guard’s suggestions on the file folder with a pen I found in the glove compartment. Satisfied that I wouldn’t forget, I put the car in drive and made my way to the LIE.
The expressway was its usual slow moving mass by the time I arrived at the entrance ramp and I knew I was in for a slow drive back to the city. I briefly considered getting a start on the contents of the folder while I sat still, but the honking horns and angry voices were too distracting, even with the windows up. So I made do with a call to my co-counsel Liz and hoped that I might tempt her with another business dinner.
“Mr. Morgan,” she said when she picked up. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“We did agree to have at least one more meeting before you left,” I reminded her. “And I was hoping you might be willing to forego a night of packing to look over the files with me. I’d even throw in dinner if that would help sweeten the pot.”
“It definitely does,” she laughed and I could picture the twinkle in her eyes as she did. “You know, I wouldn’t mind a bowl of she-crab soup from Gage & Tollner before I leave.”
“Gage & Tollner it is,” I promised. “I’ll even call and make a reservation.”
“Don’t make it too early,” she warned. “I’m still handing off cases here in the office.”
“I’ll see what they have,” I replied.
Three phone calls later and we had our reservations for one of the oldest restaurants in the city. There was a stretch in the early 2000s when the grande dame of Brooklyn dining lost its lease and was forced to close, but it was recently reborn with many of the same recipes that made it such an enduring part of the food scene. Brooklynites had been flocking there ever since its grand reopening, and it was just as delicious as promised. The she-crab soup that Liz wanted was one of their signature dishes, and I had yet to find anyone who could make its equal.
With the dinner reservations settled and visions of she-crab soup in my head, I was happy to see that I’d made it through the worst of the traffic and making good time back to Brooklyn. I was trying to decide if I would have enough time to start looking over the corporate documents before I had to meet Liz when it occurred to me that driving back and forth between Brooklyn and Riverhead was not a great way to spend my days. Maybe it was time to consider leaving Brooklyn for something in the burbs. Someplace that still had easy access to the city but closer to my one and only client.
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Fantasies of the type of house I would buy kept me entertained until I was back in the parking garage in Brooklyn. I sighed and realized I still had too many debts to pay off before I could go house shopping, but it had been fun to pretend, and I told myself that if I stuck with Anthony, or Anthony stuck with me, I could buy my own home soon enough. After all, my client had made a point of giving me a generous raise over my McHale, Parrish pay when we had signed the contract that had officially made me his personal attorney for the Mott investigation. And then there was Anthony’s remark about making me a ‘partner’ if he was happy with the conclusion of the case. A partnership, he had insisted, that would come with partner level pay.
I ran upstairs to the apartment, tossed the phone on the charger, and then grabbed a water from the refrigerator before I retreated to the couch with the folder. The documents were pretty standard, though I was intrigued by the list of shareholders. There were only three, with Salvatore Febbo listed as the majority shareholder. The remaining shares were held by Ben Kroger and Gulia Febbo. Even more interesting was the fact that Gulia held more shares than Ben. I wondered if Anthony knew his mother was part of the company, or if Gulia was even aware of her ownership.
Time passed quickly as I considered Anthony’s options for taking control of the company. The easiest way would be for Gulia and Ben to appoint Anthony as the temporary president until Salvatore was able to resume his duties. Obviously, some sort of agreement would have to be reached as to what would happen if Salvatore never recovered, but I didn’t think that was our biggest problem.
That problem would be Ben, who was now in control and probably wouldn’t want to give up his position. So I was back to Gulia’s shares and how much control she could exercise. The sun had set and the street lights had come on before I finally set the folder aside and decided I needed to clean up a bit before I ventured inside Gage & Tollner.
After a quick shower, I debated what would be appropriate attire for the restaurant. I went back and forth, and then put on a gray suit without a tie. It looked relaxed but not sloppy, and I gave myself a nod of approval in the mirror. I moved back into the living area and spotted the Volvo key on its hook by the door. I’d started driving more since I’d started working for Anthony, but there were some things that were simply too deeply ingrained to be overcome, and one of those was avoiding all unnecessary driving in the city. Gage & Tollner was within easy walking distance, and if I really needed to, I could always catch a car home.
And so it was that I walked along the streets of downtown Brooklyn, past borough hall and the courthouses, to Fulton Street. This is an area that has always been a shopping mecca for Brooklyn, though the stores have changed through the centuries. But, like many Main Streets, it’s suffered through some rough patches. It’s currently on the rise again, though, with a mishmash of high-end department stores and high-end outlet stores next door to wig stores, cheap shoe stores, and the occasional incense seller.
I was right on time and the hostess was happy to seat me even though the other party hadn’t arrived yet. She took me to a cozy table for two and promised to send my date back as soon as she arrived. The hostess had barely left the table when a waiter appeared and asked if I wanted a drink while I waited. I settled on the martini of the day, which the waiter assured me was really delicious, and then I was alone with my thoughts while I waited for Liz.
“You look like you’re doing some serious thinking,” Liz remarked as she strode up to the table.
I took in the dark blue a-line dress she wore with a string of gray pearls and a pair of glossy shoes with small flowers painted onto the leather. She looked tanned and beautiful in the dress, and I really enjoyed the view of her legs, which seemed to stretch on forever. The tawny haired, blue-eyed legal wonder gave me a dazzling smile as she slipped into the other seat and gave me a moment to enjoy the view.
“Just working on some issues,” I replied with a smile. “I didn’t even see you arrive.”
“Well, you were staring at the wall pretty hard,” she pointed out. “I don’t think anything short of an explosion would have drawn your attention.”
“Sorry,” I apologized. “I should have held your chair for you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of sitting down on my own,” she replied. “Besides, I always end up moving the chair forward after I’m seated anyway, so I might as well just do it on my own.”
“But it’s polite,” I replied. “And my mother would be horrified if she thought I wasn’t being a gentleman.”
“I promise I won’t tell her,” Liz teased.
We both laughed, and then the waiter returned with my martini, a golden elixir in the traditional glass that tasted of lavender honey and lemon. Liz ordered one as well after she saw my smile, and for a while, we must have looked like a real couple as we sipped our martinis and reviewed the menu.
After we’d placed our orders, we were quiet for a few moments as we both gathered our thoughts. I finally spoke first as I raised my glass in the air.
“Congratulations are in order,” I said. “To the newest partner.”
“I haven’t made partner yet,” she laughed as she raised her own glass.
“As if there’s any doubt,” I replied.
“And to you,” she said after she’d taken a sip. “For finally venturing out on your own. How’s it feel to be free of the firm?”
“It’s been a little scary,” I admitted. “And I’m not entirely convinced that Anthony will keep me on as his personal attorney once this is over, but I like the way it feels to be on my own.”
“He’ll keep you on,” Liz assured me. “He’d be a fool not to, and though I haven’t spent as much time around him as you have, I’m pretty sure our client isn’t a fool.”
“No, he’s not,” I agreed. “I think he learned more from his father than he’s willing to admit.”
“Didn’t we all?” Liz mused.
The she-crab soup arrived at that moment, a divine concoction of cream, sherry, blue crab meat and roe. Neither of us spoke as we devoured the soup and tried to avoid slurping too much. When there was nothing but a few drops left along the sides and bottom of the bowl, we both used the warm Pain au Levain to sop up the rest.
“So good,” Liz murmured as she chewed on the last bite of her soup-soaked bread.
“Admit it, you’ll miss this in London,” I teased.
“Oh, definitely,” she replied. “But luckily English cuisine is so good.”
“Now that is a bold-faced lie,” I laughed.
“I almost had you,” she giggled.
With the soup gone and the martinis finished, the waiter returned with a platter of Devils and Angels on Horseback for us to share and the white wine Liz had ordered. The scallops were amazing, though I had to admit that the smoked almonds probably stole the show. I was even considering asking for a doggy bag full of almonds, but my first tentative question to the waiter about taking some home was pleasantly but firmly rebuffed.
My disappointment was short lived when the entrees arrived. Liz had gone with the Spanish mackerel, and thus the white wine, but as tempting as many of the items were, I’d finally settled on my favorite, the New York strip with Bernaise. It’s big, beefy and just a shade on the extravagant side with the rich, creamy tarragon sauce on top. We barely spoke as we made our way through the main portion of the meal, though we both ate slowly so we could savor every bite.
I was beyond stuffed but Liz talked me into sharing a blood orange tart for the dessert round. Well, admittedly, she didn’t have to work that hard. The tart appeared, and we somehow found a way to eat every last bite of the tangy and bright delight. Not even a single drop of the vanilla ice cream remained on the plate, a fact which even the waiter commented on.
By the time we were done and we’d stepped through the landmark revolving door, the idea of a Lyft ride home sounded good even though the smarter part of my brain was insisting that the exercise would be really good.
“We didn’t get much work done,” Liz noted in a bemused voice.
“If you’re willing to come back to my apartment, we can go over that file you’ve been toting around,” I replied.
Liz considered that for a moment and then nodded as she looped her arm through mine.
“I think I can stay awake long enough to do that,” she said.
We ended up walking back to my building, where my favorite doorman among the night crew, Sulla, greeted us warmly. He held the door for us as we stepped inside and offered Liz a pleasant smile and me a wink. Somehow, I convinced Liz to walk up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, though she wasn’t quite as sold on the idea by the time we stopped in front of my door.
“I’m in heels, damn it,” she muttered as she stepped out of her shoes.
I had the door unlocked by then and held it open for her. She stepped inside and dropped her shoes by the sneakers I always left near the door before she retreated towards the couch. She hesitated for a moment, went over to the table, and sat down in one of the hard chairs.
“We really should go over this first before I make myself too comfortable,” she noted.
“Coffee?” I suggested as I rummaged in the kitchen.
“Please,” she replied as she pulled a pair of folders from her purse.
While the coffee percolated, I joined her at my multi-purpose table and pulled out my own files. Liz had just received a copy of the police reports, including the photos of Francie’s apartment at the time of her death and later photos that had been taken of Anthony’s apartment.
“So, I was looking through these today,” Liz explained as she laid out the photos of Anthony’s apartment. “This is the one that supposedly shows the needle with Francie’s DNA that they now say they found.”
The photo showed a needle lying on the floor of the closet, tucked among the shoes and a collection of various cords for electronic devices. I had a similar collection in the bottom of my nightstand, some of which probably went to devices I didn’t even have any more.