by Dave Daren
“We just have a few questions,” the frizzy-haired detective assured me.
“Which I don’t have to answer,” I pointed out.
Both the frizzy-haired detective and I jumped when the door to the office was flung open to reveal the blonde detective and a man in his sixties with a broad forehead and hound dog eyes. The blonde detective scowled as she marched towards us while the man followed at a slower pace, an inscrutable expression on his face.
“Mr. Morgan,” the man said as he addressed me. “I’m Chief Carson. I’m going to ask you to stay for a bit. It seems the Queens DA wants to have a word with you.”
“The Queens…” I muttered. “Do you mean Ordman? Why the fuck is Ordman coming out here?”
The Chief shrugged and rocked on the balls of his feet for a moment.
“He was quite explicit that we should keep you here until he arrived,” the Chief replied.
“Under what pretense?” I asked angrily. “I’ve already said several times that I want to leave and I won’t talk to anyone else. I’ve already told the detectives what I know and I’m not going to say anything else.”
“That’s fine,” the Chief assured me. “But it would be helpful if you would just meet with the DA and let him say whatever he wants to say.”
“Helpful for whom?” I demanded as I squinted at the hound dog eyes.
“For us,” Carson admitted. “I’d rather not have the man arrive and not find you here. I suspect you probably won’t either. He seemed really….”
Carson couldn’t seem to come up with a word to describe Ordman, so he resorted to a shrug and another sigh. The blonde, I finally noticed, had folded her arms across her chest and tapped her fingers impatiently. She was pissed off, probably at me, but Ordman was undoubtedly a target as well.
“If you’d like to get out of those clothes,” the Chief started to offer as he waved a hand at my blood-encrusted clothing.
“No,” I said sharply. “And I’d like to use the phone. I need to call my attorney.”
The Chief rocked back and forth for a moment, then gave the frizzy haired detective a nod.
“Sure thing,” the Chief replied.
The frizzy-haired detective pushed the landline towards me as the Chief swiveled on his feet and headed back to his office. The blonde watched his retreating back for a moment, then started to march in the other direction.
“I need coffee,” she announced as she brushed past a pair of patrolmen.
“Just dial nine for an outside line,” the frizzy haired detective said as she handed me the handset.
I pondered who to call, then dialed Liz’s old number. I hoped that the firm hadn’t reassigned it yet, or that Asha might at least pick up. At first, there was only a clicking sound and I was convinced I was going to get someone I didn’t know, but then I heard Asha’s pleasant voice announce the name of the firm and I sighed in relief.
“Asha,” I said happily, “It’s Hunter Morgan.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Morgan,” she replied. “How may I help you today? Did everything go well at the hearing?”
I glanced towards the wall clock and saw that it was indeed afternoon. I shook my head, then focused on Asha.
“It did,” I replied. “The DA will be dropping the charges. But I was hoping you could help me with one other thing. I’m at the police station in Smithtown and Ordman is on his way out to talk to me. I was hoping you could ask Liz if there was someone nearby she would recommend.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Asha said quickly. “I know just the person. I’ll give him a call and send him over.”
“Thank you,” I said fervently. “No one seems very interested in my demands to be released.”
“We’ll just see about that,” Asha sniffed. “Not that I need to tell you, but don’t say anything until Mr. Warren arrives.”
“Mr. Warren,” I repeated.
“He’ll be there soon,” Asha assured me and then hung up.
“My lawyer’s on the way,” I told the frizzy haired detective as I pushed the phone back towards her.
“I thought your attorney was in London,” she replied.
“She is,” I said. “This is the backup I mentioned.”
The detective scratched at her scalp again and another drift of flakes settled on her shoulders. I looked away and found an interesting spot on the far wall to stare at. The blonde detective eventually returned, and though she and her partner peppered me with questions, I refused to say another word. I ignored them completely, and would have gladly stood up and left if I could have either pulled away in my Volvo or at least called for an Uber on my cell phone. But without either of those things, and a need to keep my client away from the scene, I simply sat and waited for either Ordman or Warren to arrive.
Sadly, Ordman arrived first. He rolled into the Smithtown police department with a pair of NYPD detectives hot on his heels. The trio banged through the front door and swept past the front desk officer like a tidal wave. The few police officers who had been left behind to manage the station were on their feet and moving towards Ordman, but one of the NYPD detectives flashed a badge and loudly announced that they were expected. The commotion drew Chief Carson from his office, and he waved his own team away as Ordman’s eyes found mine.
“You’re the DA from Queens,” Carson noted as he studied the three invaders.
“I am,” Ordman replied without taking his eyes from me.
“He called for an attorney,” Carson noted blandly. “He should be here soon.”
“You let him call an attorney?” Ordman asked in disbelief.
Carson blinked and shrugged.
“He asked,” the Chief replied.
“But he hasn’t been arrested,” Ordman pointed out.
The Chief shrugged again, and I had to give him points for standing up to Ordman. The man was smarter than I’d given him credit for, and he played Ordman perfectly. Ordman, for his part, sputtered but stormed past the Chief and stopped in front of me.
“We need to talk,” Ordman declared.
“About what?” I asked calmly. “Unless you intend to back out of our agreement? If that’s the case, then I’d rather have this discussion in front of the judge.”
“You really want me to drag you back in front of the judge and ask to have you removed from the case again?” Ordman spat.
“On what grounds?” I snapped back. “Being at the scene of the crime? It does happen, you know, even to lawyers.”
Ordman finally seemed to register the audience we had, and he swiveled to face the Chief who stood nearby.
“We need somewhere we can talk,” Ordman said. “An office without any microphones.”
“Well, now,” the Chief protested. “That’s not the way things are normally done.”
“We’ll be discussing confidential matters relating to a case we’re trying,” Ordman snapped.
“You might want to wait until the other attorney arrives,” the Chief suggested.
“Now,” Ordman insisted.
The Chief rocked on his feet again, then slowly nodded. He started towards the back of the station and the door we had used to avoid the press, and after a moment’s hesitation, Ordman started to follow. The NYPD detectives did as well, but Ordman waved them off before turning a questioning glance at me.
With a sigh, I stood up and joined Ordman. We found the Chief standing outside a small office, and when we both stopped, he opened the door. There was a table and a pair of folding chairs, but the rest of the space had been converted to storage. There were boxes of old files, and if the dates were accurate, some of those went back as far as the 1950’s. There were also stacks of office supplies, including bags of ground coffee, boxes of pens, and a hodgepodge of cords and wires for every imaginable electronic device.
“I’ll send your attorney back as soon as he arrives,” the Chief said as he walked away.
Ordman and I stepped into the room, and though I was fine with leaving the door open, Ord
man slammed it shut before turning his glare on me.
“So your client decided to take out the competition,” Ordman began.
“Is that how you’re going to play this?” I sighed. “You know as well as I do that the Serbians are behind the attack.”
“The Serbians?” Ordman laughed. “Who or what are the Serbians? Is that supposed to be some new gang?”
I spotted one of those spinner toys that were supposed to help ADHD kids focus and picked it up. I started to play with it, my own focus apparently on the little wheels as they spun around with each click.
“Your client will go down for this,” Ordman asserted.
“How so?” I asked in a bored tone.
“He’s the only one left,” Ordman snickered. “There’s no one else to blame.”
I shrugged and finally looked towards the DA.
“Maybe,” I said. “But that’s a hard case to make, no matter how much evidence you manufacture. I’ve got plenty to counter it with, along with the truth.”
“The truth,” Ordman said dismissively. “The law isn’t about the truth.”
“I’m surprised you would admit that out loud,” I replied. “But as long as we’re blurting out secrets, then let me tell you this. I know about the Serbians, I know about their plans, and I know you’re part of it. So when you leave here, you can call your bosses and tell them that the Febbos aren’t afraid, and they aren’t going down. As for you, Ordman, you might want to watch your back. I’ll be coming for you and all the rest of the corrupt officers in the DA’s office as well as the NYPD.”
Ordman’s eyes flashed with anger, and I could see he was breathing hard as I finished my little speech. His lips were little more than a thin line as he tried to formulate an answer he thought would intimidate me.
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he finally muttered.
I gave him a sunny smile as I set the toy back in its spot.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” I assured him. “And that should worry you.”
The door opened suddenly and we both turned to scowl at the interloper. It was an older black man, possibly in his seventies though eighties seemed more like the right age range. He still had a full head of white hair and the eyes behind the heavy glasses were bright and clear. He wore a pair of baggy pants, a loose fitting t-shirt, and a dirty pair of Chuck Connors. I would have thought he was lost, but he carried a leather briefcase in one hand and a cell phone in the other.
“Mr. Morgan,” the man said as he studied me. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Mr. Warren,” I guessed.
“Yes, indeed,” the man replied. “Sorry it took me so long to get here. Some sort of big to-do, and they’ve closed half the streets it seems.”
“Thank you for coming,” I said earnestly.
“No problem,” he replied as he turned to look at Ordman. “Always happy to help out a friend of my old firm.”
Ordman was still scowling, but Warren smiled and offered his hand after he tucked his cell phone into a pocket.
“Now, my client won’t be talking to anyone else today,” Warren said in an affable voice. “And if anyone does have more questions for him, they’ll have to contact me first. That applies to the Smithtown police department as well as the NYPD and the Queens DA. Though, to be honest, I don’t know why you’re here at all, Mr. Ordman.”
Ordman refused to shake Warren’s hand, and Warren finally shook his head with a chuckle and dropped his hand. He pointed me towards the door, an invitation I was happy to accept.
“Remember what I said,” Ordman called out as I stepped into the hallway.
“Oh, I will,” I assured him. “I’ll remember every stinking word you’ve ever uttered. And if you come after me or my client, the rest of the world will know as well.”
Ordman’s lips narrowed again and Warren chuckled. I led the two-man parade past the Chief’s closed door and the rows of desks, the NYPD detectives who paced around the edge of the room, the desk officer, and the reporter who was demanding to interview the Chief. I stepped outside into the cloudy day, and spotted a familiar black Chrysler 300 with Abe at the wheel. I shook hands with Mr. Warren, who slipped me his card, then strode across the clipped lawn to my ride.
“Do you want to go back to Brooklyn, Mr. Morgan?” Abe asked as I slid into the passenger seat. “Or we could take you back to the house. Gulia said the invitation to dinner tonight is still open.”
I pondered my options as the car eased into traffic ahead of an influx of news vans. My first response was to tell the men to take me home to Brooklyn, but a night alone in the apartment sounded too depressing after what I had seen. I needed friends and family, and the only place I was going to find that was in Riverhead.
“Dinner with Anthony and Gulia sounds good,” I said.
Abe and his companion nodded in approval, and I felt some of the weight of the day fade away as we put a few miles between ourselves and Smithtown. I had survived the Mafia war, warned Ordman away from my client, and saved my own budding career. I had found my perfect job, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do to convince me otherwise.
End of book 1
Author’s Notes
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Dave Daren