Mob Lawyer

by Dave Daren

  Anthony snickered, and then said something else to his mother in Italian. I heard something slam down, probably on a countertop, and I could picture Gulia as she stormed from the room.

  “Those DA types are always cooking up new plans to bring us down,” Anthony finally replied. “They haven’t yet.”

  “Let’s hope we can keep that streak going,” I replied. “I’ll see if I can learn anything about these witnesses, though I would guess they’re about to disappear into the wind.”

  “Well, I’ve got another job for you,” my client remarked. “Mom’s agreed to sell her shares in Campania Olio Imports to me. We just need you to draw up the paperwork.”

  “Excellent,” I replied. “I’ll get right on that.”

  “You can bring the paperwork with you when you come to dinner tonight,” Anthony added. “So we can celebrate.”

  “Dinner, tonight,” I said.

  “No sisters,” Anthony added. “Well, maybe Annie, but she’s all right. But Katarina and Uncle Michael will both be out so it’s just the four of us.”

  “Sounds good,” I replied.

  “I’ll call you after this meeting and let you know what time,” Anthony said.

  Something pinged in my brain as I tried to remember if Anthony had mentioned anything about a meeting before. No, I decided, it hadn’t been Anthony, but something Kroger had said.

  “What meeting?” I asked.

  “Something Kroger set up,” Anthony explained. “He asked for an emergency meeting with the other families. Something about flushing out a rat that was threatening all our operations. No one really wanted to do it, but Ben was really insistent that we were all in danger, and not just the usual horse shit from the government. I don’t know how he did it, but he talked everyone around. I said I’d be there in person, to represent the Febbos.”

  “And the other families?” I pressed.

  “Some are sending representatives,” Anthony said. “A few capos might be there. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Anthony, listen to me,” I pleaded. “Don’t go to this meeting.”

  “I’ve gotta go,” he replied with a note of impatience.

  “No, you don’t,” I replied. “It’s a setup. I’m sure of it.”

  “Are you back on this Kroger is a traitor thing?” Anthony demanded.

  “He may be innocent,” I said, desperate to keep my client from leaving his home. “But if the Serbians have heard about this meeting, I’m pretty sure they’ll take advantage of it.”

  “Meaning what?” Anthony remarked. “They can’t do anything. Everyone there will have protection.”

  “Anthony,” I began, “who the hell do you think is the protection these days?”

  Chapter 31

  Anthony didn’t say anything right away, and I was already running towards the subway station. I tried to guesstimate how long it would take me to get back to Brooklyn, pick up the Volvo, and then head to the meeting. If I was lucky, the meeting was being held in the city somewhere, maybe even at one of the societies in Brooklyn. The Carroll Gardens neighborhood in Brooklyn was also a possibility, but with my luck, they were meeting out at the far end of Long Island, at Montauk.

  “The Serbians are the muscle these days,” I said as I jogged along. “And they’ve started taking over some of the leadership positions as well. Not some, a lot. If Kroger goes in there and tells the capos that the Serbians are trying to muscle out the old families, what the hell do you think is going to happen?”

  “Shit,” the younger Febbo muttered. “But why would Kroger do something that stupid?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “But if he’s working with the Serbians now, then he’ll kill off the heads of the families, including you.”

  “No,” Anthony replied though I heard the doubt in his voice. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  “Look, I’m about to head into the subway,” I said. “Tell me where the meeting is and I’ll meet you there. We can find Kroger and figure out what he’s up to.”

  “I can take care of this,” Anthony replied in a steely voice.

  “So can I, if you’ll just tell me where the hell the meeting is,” I persisted.

  “Aren’t you an officer of the court?” Anthony asked.

  “I don’t know anything about a crime being committed,” I replied. “All I have is a bad feeling.”

  Anthony muttered something I couldn’t quite understand, and then I heard him sigh.

  “There’s a place in Smithtown called Pietro’s,” Anthony said. “They have a room upstairs that they rent out for large parties.”

  “Let me guess, today’s party happens to feature the capos and their lieutenants,” I replied.

  “I’ll meet you out front,” Anthony added as he ignored my remark. “We can talk to Kroger together. Maybe there’s a way to do this without getting everyone killed.”

  “I’ll see you soon,” I replied as I started down the steps to the subway.

  It felt like forever before the Brooklyn-bound G arrived, even though my watch confirmed it was only six minutes. I stood the whole way back to Brooklyn even though there were seats available because I was too wound up to sit still. I tapped my foot impatiently as I watched the stations slip by one by one and the minute hand move yet again on my watch.

  Finally, we were back at Hoyt Street, and I bolted from the train while the doors were still opening. I glanced at the platform for the A and the C, but there weren’t any arriving trains, so I ran up the steps and out into the streets of Brooklyn. I stopped long enough when I stepped into the bright sun to catch my breath, and then I started a fast walk to my apartment building. I fumbled through my pockets as I cut around slow moving pedestrians and realized I had left the car key in the apartment. I managed not to throw my briefcase in frustration, then forced myself to calm down.

  The meeting wasn’t happening in the next fifteen minutes, I told myself, or Anthony would have left Riverhead already. Smithville was roughly halfway between Brooklyn and Riverhead, so I was still doing okay. I would get there around the same time as my client, and we could stop whatever plan was unfolding. Slightly reassured, I darted across the street in front of a line of cars waiting to get on the Brooklyn Bridge, and pushed through a pack of bicyclists who threatened to spill out of the bike lane and into the regular road traffic.

  A short sprint later, I was back at my building and trotting up the stairs. If I had been sweating heavily after the meeting with Ordman in the courthouse sauna, I was pouring wet when I finally stepped into my apartment. I pulled off my clothes as I moved into the bedroom and tossed them on top of the hamper as a reminder to myself to drop them off at the dry cleaner. I toweled off as best as I could, then found something reasonably cool and dry to wear instead. Armed with the car key, a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator, and my cell phone, I locked the apartment and headed for the parking garage.

  It was a cloudy day, but the rain held off, which meant that traffic along the LIE was moving at a decent pace. I stuck to the left lane until I was close to Smithville, then I had to ask my map app for directions. There were two restaurants near Smithtown that had the word Pietro in their name, but only one was inside the city limits. It was an Italian place that also did catering and had an upstairs ‘event space’ that could host two hundred people. That seemed to match what Anthony had told me, so I set my course for Pietro’s Cucina.

  Smithtown is often called a suburb of New York City, but it’s a good sized city in its own right. Despite that, there is definitely a sleepy feel to the place, especially during the middle of the work week, when most locals have made their daily pilgrimage to their huge neighbor to the west. It’s also one of the older settlements on Long Island, and many of the streets still feature ‘quaint’ buildings and plenty of white picket fences.

  Pietro’s was in a stand alone building near the edge of downtown, though it was unlikely that anyone would label it as quaint. It was, on the outside, little mor
e than a concrete box with a peeling roof and a large neon sign that promised real Italian food. There were a few parking spots along one side of the building, but those were already filled with several oversized cars and a pair of double parked SUV’s, all watched over by dark-haired men with sunglasses. There was another empty lot on the other side of the street where a few other cars had parked, and I pulled in behind a Prius. I found a spot near the back of the lot, not too far from two other cars with their own guards.

  I saw the Prius driver glance at the guards, then scurry quickly from the lot and head towards a hair salon just down the street. I stayed in my own car for several minutes, the phone plastered to my ear as if I were talking to someone. I kept an eye on the thugs in both lots, and watched as more cars slowly filled up the lot.

  There was a routine to each arrival, where the car would pull up in front of Pietro’s, and after a few moments, a large, armed man would step from the passenger side, look around, and then open the back door. I recognized a few of the passengers from pictures I’d seen in the paper, people I knew were capos in the various families. Once the capo and one or two others were safely through the doors of the restaurant, the driver would pull into the lot and park the car. A moment later, the driver and passenger seat thug would join the growing herd of dark haired men with sunglasses and guns that hung around the parking lot.

  Judging by the number of cars, the meeting time must have been fast approaching, but I had yet to see anyone from the Febbo clan. I was starting to hope that Anthony had taken me advice and decided to stay away when I saw a black 300 arrive in front of the restaurant and one of the Febbo guards step from the passenger side. I felt a moment of panic and I jumped from the Volvo, an act that startled the other men already gathered in the parking lot.

  I saw more than a few hands reach for guns, so as calmly as I could, I shut the door of the Volvo and started towards the street without a backwards glance. I still had my phone out, and I uttered a few phrases like I was still talking to someone.

  “Stupid prick,” I heard one of the guards call out, which brought a round of laughter from the rest of the group.

  I just had time to register that the accent that had made the comment was Eastern European, not Italian or even American when I saw the back door of the Febbo car open and Kroger step out. He looked tired and deflated, and he squinted at the facade of the restaurant as if he wasn’t sure where he was.

  “Ben!” I called out as I trotted towards the car.

  Every gaze was now locked on me as I closed in on Kroger, including the Febbo soldiers. But they at least recognized me, and I saw them ease their hands away from their guns as I approached.

  “Aw, fuck,” Kroger muttered when he saw me. “What are you doing here? I didn’t invite you.”

  “I’m waiting for Anthony,” I replied. “He told me to meet him here.”

  “Why the hell would he tell you that?” Kroger asked in disbelief.

  “Because of some information I discovered today,” I said. “We wanted to discuss it with you.”

  I could see Kroger’s internal struggle as he tried to decide whether to walk away from me, or to give in to his curiosity and ask about the information. For a moment, I thought his hatred of me would win out as he took two steps towards the restaurant. But after a moment, he turned back to me, his face flushed its usual shade of red, and shook his head.

  “This was so important that it couldn’t wait until after this meeting?” he demanded.

  “It couldn’t,” I replied.

  “So talk,” he snapped.

  I waited a heartbeat while I studied the restaurant, and then the men gathered nearby. It was almost exclusively Serbians, I realized, the muscle that had been so critical to so many of the families. They were watching the unfolding scene with interest, and more than a few of the stares had a deadly glint.

  “When Anthony arrives--” I began.

  “Anthony isn’t coming,” Kroger replied, though he said it quietly, so that only me and the Febbo guard could hear him.

  “I just talked to Anthony,” I protested although that wasn’t strictly true.

  “Anthony isn’t coming,” Kroger reiterated, and I felt a cold jab of fear hit me in the stomach. “So whatever you wanted to say, you say it to me here and now.”

  “Fine,” I agreed though part of my brain was screaming that this was a really bad idea. “I have some interesting statistics about the Serbians.”

  I looked around at the other drivers and guards then, and decided it was better if I followed Kroger’s lead and kept my voice low.

  “And what did these statistics reveal?” Kroger asked.

  “They’re well on their way to replacing the Italians,” I replied. “And they have now moved into positions where that’s possible.”

  “Is that so?” Kroger asked in a bored voice.

  “Even if they don’t kill off the last of the families, it’s only a matter of time before they’ve pushed out the Italians,” I added. “But with so many of the Serbians now running a lot of the operations, I wonder how long it will be before they decide it’s time to just get rid of the Italians once and for all.”

  Kroger took his own survey of the surrounding area, then nodded towards the Febbo guard.

  “And what?” Kroger asked. “You have some sort of plan to save us all?”

  “I intend to protect my client,” I replied. “And his family.”

  “By showing him statistics?” Kroger laughed.

  “And maybe unmasking a traitor,” I said coldly. “What is the purpose of this meeting, Ben?”

  Kroger stopped laughing and stared at me with his usually grim look. I was almost happy to see it again, rather than the old man look he’d been wearing for the last couple of days.

  “That’s none of your concern,” Kroger snapped.

  “Are you going to tell the families about the Serbian invasion?” I continued. “Maybe tell them it’s time to find some new help? Or were you going to tell them it’s time to give in to the inevitable or face extermination?”

  Kroger growled, a low, throaty sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach.The Febbo muscleman looked back and forth between us, not certain which one of us he should stand with in what looked like an unfolding battle.

  “And where the hell is Anthony?” I demanded angrily. “He planned on being here.”

  “Anthony is fine,” Kroger snapped. “But he’s been delayed. So I’m representing the Febbos today. You are just a scumbag attorney who shouldn’t be here.”

  “My client--” I started to protest.

  “Ain’t here,” Kroger declared. “And that’s the way Salvatore would want it. I know I’ve told you this before, and I know you never believe me, but you damn well better believe me this time. I’ve only ever done what Salvatore would want me to do. Now, get the hell out of my way. I’ve got a meeting to attend. I don’t care where you go, as long as it isn’t inside with me.”

  Kroger started to walk away, and I reached towards him. But Kroger had given his orders to the Febbo men with that speech, and the armed guard placed himself between me and Kroger.

  “Sorry, Mr. Morgan,” the guard said with a trace of regret. “But you’ve got to stay outside.”

  I didn’t want to be inside with Kroger, but I did want more information from him, especially about Anthony and the mystery delay. It was tempting to run after Kroger and demand more answers, but the guard would put me down if that was what Kroger ordered, and I wasn’t willing to die just yet.

  I held my arms out wide and shrugged my shoulders, then retreated towards the lot where I had left the Volvo. Kroger’s guard finally slipped back into the 300 when he saw me climb inside my own car, but the Chrysler didn’t move from its spot in front of the restaurant.

  By now, the Serbians were watching me with even more interest, and it was hard to ignore the pair that had taken up spots closer to my own car. I pulled out the phone yet again and dialed
Anthony’s number. I started the car while I waited for someone to answer and told myself I would make another mad dash to the Febbo estate if someone didn’t answer my call.

  “Shit, Hunter,” Anthony said when he picked up. “Are you at the restaurant?”

  “I am,” I replied. “And I just saw Kroger going in. He said he was there to represent the Febbos because you were delayed.”

  “I guess that’s one way of putting it,” Anthony replied.

  “What the hell is going on?” I asked.

  “The cars have all been sabotaged,” Anthony explained. “Sugar in the gas tanks, it looks like. No one will admit to knowing anything about it. I thought about taking the train, but Annie said I could drive her car. I’m on the LIE.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I replied. “The meeting’s about to start anyway, and Kroger is going to claim he’s the representative for the Febbos.”

  “Shit,” Anthony muttered.

  “Just stay away,” I advised. “I’m not sure what Kroger is up to, but he went to a lot of trouble to keep you away from here.”

  “All the more reason I should be there,” Anthony pointed out.

  “Maybe,” I replied. “But there are a ton of Serbs here, too. And they’re all armed. I really don’t think this is going to end well.”

  “Can you tell if they’re starting?” Anthony asked.

  “I’m outside, so I can’t be sure,” I replied. “But no one else has pulled up since Kroger made his appearance. Based on the number of cars, I’d guess everyone else was here.”

  “Shit,” Anthony muttered again.

  “Do you have any idea what the meeting was about?” I asked as I saw the two Serbs drift back towards their car after one of the other drivers waved them over.

  “Not sure,” Anthony said. “Something about a rat, which I already told you. It’s about the Serbians, I think.”

  “Damn,” I muttered. “Anthony, there are a lot of them.”

  “Then take your own advice and get the hell out of there,” Anthony replied.