by Dave Daren
“It’s normal,” Kroger croaked. “My second would go through the same thing.”
“And then Anthony took over, instead of hunkering down in Queens and fighting this murder charge,” I continued. “And there wasn’t the slightest bit of protest from anyone when he just walked in and took control. Not from the other members of the crew, not even from the other families. Everybody seemed really happy to have him. Which made your chances of ever ascending to the top spot that much smaller.”
“So you think you’ve got this all figured out,” Kroger spat. “What reason do I have for hiring a Durante thug and sending him to the station to pick you up?”
“What reason does anyone have?” my client mused as he adjusted his lanky frame and tugged on a large earlobe.
“To make a statement,” I replied.
Kroger threw his hands up in the air and turned to look at Anthony. There was a pleading look there, but Anthony’s gaze was locked on the photos on display by the door.
“Everything the families do is to make a statement,” my client noted. “So what’s the message behind taking out my personal attorney? As far as I know, you haven’t double crossed any of the other families, and unless you’ve been stealing money from the Durantes on the sly, there’s no reason for them to take a personal interest in you. You don’t have any other ties to any of the families, do you Hunter?”
“None,” I assured him. “So really, no one benefits from my kidnapping and probable murder. Except Ben.”
“How do I benefit?” the orange-haired man demanded.
“It leaves me vulnerable,” Anthony said. “Though, that would be a benefit to anyone. But people like attorneys and accountants are generally off-limits. The families would never be able to operate if they weren’t.”
“Which is probably why a Serb was recruited,” I replied. “They wouldn’t care about the rules of the business.”
“Tony,” Kroger pleaded. “You know me. You’ve known me since you were just a tyke. I love you, I love your family. You know I would never turn against Salvatore.”
“But you hired Serbians, even though Salvatore didn’t trust them,” I pointed out.
Kroger swung back to me as anger blazed in his eyes.
“You shut your fucking mouth!” Kroger shouted, but I didn’t flinch.
“Take it easy, Ben,” Anthony said.
Kroger looked as if he were about to leap across the desk and attack me, and just for a moment, the look he gave Anthony was not that of a trusted lieutenant, but more like a very angry and very dangerous man who had just found his next victim. Most people would have quailed under such a stare, but Anthony’s gray-green eyes hardened and his body went from relaxed to ready to spring in a heartbeat.
“I’m done with this fool,” Kroger finally declared as he waved a hand in my direction.
Kroger’s angry blue glare never left Anthony’s face, though, and I saw my client’s hand snake towards one of the drawers. Kroger saw the motion as well, and just for a moment, there was something like disappointment on his face. The orange-haired lieutenant finally shook his head and took a step back, then slowly turned towards me.
Kroger refused to look at me as he took a few tentative steps around the desk and moved towards the door. When the lieutenant opened the door, he risked a glance back at Anthony, but no one spoke for several heartbeats.
“You know the first rule of the family business, Tony,” Kroger finally said. “Never trust anyone other than family.”
With another shake of the head, Kroger stepped into the hallway and slammed the door behind himself.
“Anthony,” I started after several minutes of silence. “Look, I didn’t mean to get him so upset. But you have to admit, he’s the one with the most to lose in this and everything to gain. And I can’t believe he told you not to trust me, not after he went and hired the Serbians.”
“And the attack on you?” Anthony asked. “Why would he do that?”
“He hates me,” I replied. “And I give you a freedom you wouldn’t otherwise have.”
“What do you mean?” Anthony asked in confusion.
“If I hadn’t stuck with you after the assault charge,” I said, “who would you have gone to for legal advice?”
“The next Legal Aid attorney, I guess,” he said with a shrug.
“Who definitely wouldn’t have been helping you with some of these other issues,” I pointed out. “And certainly wouldn’t be conducting the investigations that we’ve done. When you took over for Salvatore, I’m sure Kroger was expecting that it was only temporary and that you would rely heavily on him, even more than Salvatore. He probably told himself that he would really be running everything because you had no idea how things were done. Only that wasn’t true, and you’ve been able to take control because of what I’ve done for you.”
“You certainly have a high opinion of yourself,” Anthony replied.
I felt myself start to blush under my client’s steady gaze, and he let me stew for a moment before he finally grinned.
“But you’re right,” he admitted. “Your work on my legal issues has left me free to take over the business. So you think Kroger planned to get rid of you so he could gain more control over me?”
“Until he can safely eliminate you completely,” I added.
Anthony stared at the photos again, and I had time to wonder what I was doing. It was one thing to give Anthony a basic report on what had happened at the station, but it was another thing to walk into my client’s office and offer theories about what his second in command was really up to. I was being drawn deeper into the Febbo world, and if I wasn’t careful, I would find myself dealing with a lot more than just their legal issues.
“It’s something to think about,” Anthony finally said. “But that wasn’t the reason you came out here to see me.”
It took me a moment to shift gears, and though I still had plenty to say about Ben Kroger, it was clear that Anthony considered the topic closed for now. I wanted to protest, but my client’s cold look killed whatever I had been about to say.
“Landis had an interesting offer,” I replied. “Basically, I should either turn over your case to them and back away, or join their firm and keep working on the matter.”
“Really?” Anthony chuckled. “I didn’t think he had it in him.”
“He also said there’s nothing they can do about the import company,” I added. “He insisted there was no way you could take over while Salvatore is out of commission.”
“I don’t need to take over,” Anthony huffed, though I was pretty sure that was what he wanted to do.
“But I’m guessing you don’t want to unload the trucks either,” I noted.
“Well, no,” Anthony admitted. “I did that for a couple of summers. It sucked.”
“Do you know who your father’s proxy is?” I asked. “For his shares of the company.”
“I would guess my mom,” Anthony replied. “But I’d have to ask her.”
“Your mom has shares, too,” I said. “If she is the proxy for Salvatore, then that makes her the majority shareholder, and she could appoint you over Ben’s objections.”
My client sat back in his chair, his whole body relaxed as he considered his options. With Kroger gone, the atmosphere in the office had become decidedly more business like and less feudal, and I felt my own stress levels start to drop.
“I’ll talk to her,” Anthony said.
“If you really want full control, you should ask her to sell you her shares,” I said. “She could stay on as the proxy for Salvatore, at least until he’s back.”
“I’m not sure dad would be all that thrilled if he wakes up from his coma and finds out that I’m now a shareholder in his company,” my client said.
“I think he’ll get over his doubts pretty quickly when he hears the rest of the story,” I replied. “Not to mention the amazing job I’m sure you’ll do of running the company.”
“You just want Kroger out,
” Anthony snickered.
“I do,” I agreed, “but only because I’m not at all convinced that his actions are in your best interests. Or Gulia’s, for that matter.”
“I can convince my mother to sell her shares to me,” Anthony finally said. “Did Lyle Landis have anything else to say?”
“No,” I replied. “But I do think you should be careful around him. I don’t think he sees you as Salvatore’s successor. I’d guess he’s one of Kroger’s guys, and he’s probably already working on ways to keep you out of the business. Now, that may be as simple as knowing that Salvatore wanted to retire and was going to name Kroger as the head, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Landis had his own personal reasons for wanting to see Kroger in charge.”
“I’m sure he does,” Anthony replied. “Dad always said that he only trusted Landis as long as he paid him. And I’ve started to cut back on how much business the Febbos send to Landis.”
“No doubt Landis believes Kroger would maintain the relationship,” I said.
“There’s a lot of uncertainty right now,” my client replied. “Landis isn’t the only one who’s trying to figure out how to make the most out of recent events.”
I nodded and was about to ask about the meeting Anthony had attended, but there was another tap on the door and Katarina, the lovely blonde who worked as Gulia’s aide, opened the door a crack.
“Will you be staying for dinner?” Katarina asked in a quiet voice.
I glanced at Anthony, who gave me an encouraging glance, and I was sorely tempted as I remembered the last family meal I’d had with the Febbos, but I finally shook my head.
“I have a ton of work to take care of,” I replied. “Including filling out my application for a gun license, and just figuring out what kind of gun I want. That somehow seems more important after today.”
“I heard about that,” Katarina replied. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely.
She smiled at both of us, something I don’t think I had ever seen her do with Salvatore, then slipped away as she closed the door.
“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Anthony asked. “It’s just me, mom, and Annie tonight.”
“No, I really do need to get back to the city,” I insisted.
“Take a car,” Anthony said as he picked up an old-fashioned landline phone. “It’ll be faster than the train. Not to mention safer.”
I wasn’t sure if either of those things were true, but Anthony was already talking to someone about bringing a car around to take me home.
“You haven’t told me about your own meeting,” I noted when Anthony hung up.
“We have a truce, for now,” Anthony said. “The news about Giorgio’s murder hit while we were in discussions, and about half of the families threatened to walk out, so I don’t know how long this will last.”
“If you need any help,” I offered.
“Maybe soon,” Anthony replied. “But I think I’ve got this for now.”
Anthony wasn’t willing to say anything else about the truce. Instead, my client stood up and waved me towards the office door. We stepped into the hallway together, and made our way past the long line of portraits. Anthony walked down the stairs with me, then across the vast expanse of black and white tile that was the entryway, and held the door open while I stepped outside into the last of the sun’s rays.
A dark blue BMW was parked just outside, next to the fountain, and two men in matching dusky green guayabera shirts and dark khaki pants stood nearby. It was hard to see their faces behind the oversized sunglasses they both wore, but they both had thick black hair that fell to their shoulders and a heavy thatch of hair on their arms and chests.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Anthony said as I started down the steps towards the waiting sedan.
I waved as one of the mystery men opened the back door of the BMW, and then closed it firmly behind me. The men both climbed into the front seat, and after a quick conversation in Italian, the German amalgamation of leather seats, chrome trim and a very impressive sound system eased its way down the long drive and towards the LIE.
Neither man spoke for the trip back to Brooklyn. Instead, we listened to Italian opera the entire way, and I found myself daydreaming as I watched the rest of the world roll by from the too comfortable confines of the BMW. The sedan moved so smoothly and yet so quickly that I even started to fall asleep at one point, though I woke up when the driver started to pull over towards the service lane. I was on alert at the sudden shift, and I started to wonder if these were a pair of Kroger’s men, but then an ambulance shot by us and we eased back onto the road. It took me a moment to realize that the soundproofing on the car was so good that I hadn’t even heard the ambulance until it was practically on top of us.
I was actually disappointed when the blue BMW pulled up in front of my building. I thanked the two men, who nodded in reply before they pulled away. I watched the car until it turned the corner, then trudged across the sidewalk to the entrance. The lobby was busy as I stepped in, with people just returning from work while others prepared to head out for the evening. I exchanged a few nods, checked my mail, then walked up the stairs with my one paltry envelope from the loan company that held my student loan.
I dropped everything on my multi-purpose table, then poked around in the tiny kitchen. I found a bag of fries in the freezer and even managed to pull together enough ingredients to make a grilled cheese with bacon. While the oven was heating up, I retreated to the bedroom to slip into a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt, then returned to the kitchen to finish putting my dinner together.
I ate on the sofa while I watched a singing competition that seemed to have nothing but really bad singers, then moved over to the table where I pulled out my laptop and pulled up the site for the NYPD. It was easy enough to find the page for the license application, and after reading through the instructions, I felt I was ready to take a look and start filling in the blanks.
I thought I’d seen red tape before. I’d dealt with the SEC, the DOJ, the FCC, and a whole host of other federal agencies while I worked at McHale, Parrish, and I had worked my way through the requirements for rezoning requests with the city of New York and even a production license in mainland China. But filling out the form to request a concealed weapons license in New York City was probably the worst example of bureaucratic run around I’d ever encountered.
I had actually given up and laid my head on the table top as the site beeped at me to tell me that I had used an unacceptable symbol in one of my responses when my cell phone rang. I snatched it up, happy for the break, and checked the number. It wasn’t one I recognized, but at that point I didn’t care. Anything, even another threat to walk away from the Febbo case, had to be better than filling out the request.
“Hunter Morgan,” I said as I closed the laptop and pushed it aside.
“Mr. Morgan, hi, I was hoping this was your number,” a breathless woman’s voice said.
“And you are?’ I asked.
“Oh, sorry, my name is Brenda Borowski,” she replied. “I’m sorry to call out of the blue, but I got your number from a friend at McHale, Parrish. Jimmy Dugan?”
“I know Jimmy,” I agreed as I remembered a short paralegal with brown hair and a love for boxing.
“When I saw that you used to work at McHale, Parrish, I called him and asked if he had a number where I could reach you,” she explained.
“And why did you need to reach me?” I asked as I tried to understand why she had even called. The license application was beginning to look like the more attractive option.
“Oh, you don’t know me,” she replied and she sounded disappointed. “I’m the crime reporter for the Daily News.”
“Ah,” I said though I still wasn’t sure why she was calling me. I couldn’t talk to her about the current matter even if I wanted to.
“The thing is, I’ve been working on a major piece on police corruption,” she added. “And Anthony
Febbo’s case is one of those that I’ve been following because I think there’s a lot of funny stuff going on.”
I perked up when she mentioned police corruption, something I had been sniffing around as well. Even Desmond Duvernay, Treasury agent and mob expert, had warned me that the NYPD couldn’t always be trusted when it came to dealing with the Mafia. It had quickly become part of our defense against the charges that my client faced, but convincing a jury that Anthony had been framed by the police and the prosecutor was an uphill task, given who his family was. But if there was a reporter who was investigating as well, it just might make my job easier. If we could win in the court of public opinion before it even made it to trial, we would have a huge advantage.
“It’s an angle we’ve been pursuing,” I finally said in what I hoped was a bored voice.
“And I think I could help you with that,” she added.
“How so?” I asked.
“I’d like to talk to you and your client,” she replied. “A full interview. And in return, I can tell you what I’ve learned so far about some of the people who have been involved in Mr. Febbo’s case.”
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “My client isn’t looking for any publicity, especially since his case is still pending.”
“Trust me, you’ll want to hear what I know,” she replied. “All I need is some time with Mr. Febbo.”
The first rule of talking to a reporter is don’t. Everything you say becomes part of the public record and usually comes back to bite you in the rear. Just look at Martha Stewart. But part of me really wanted to know what this woman knew about police corruption and whether she really had tied that into Anthony’s case.
“Let me call my client,” I said. “Can I reach you at this number?”
“Yes, yes,” she assured me.
I hung up before she could add anything else and dialed Anthony’s cell phone. I hoped I wasn’t interrupting the long Febbo family meal, but my client picked up quickly. I could hear women’s voices in the background, and realized it was Gulia, Annie and Katarina.