Of course, the judge knew full well that at this particular reception the finest wines and champagnes were being served, as well as a selection of hors d’oeuvres fit for royalty, including premium charcuterie, cutting boards of exotic cheeses, and crystal containers filled with beluga caviar. Servers circulated the floor offering up appetizers of carpaccio, oysters, and wagyu beef and asparagus. It was the rare offering that the judge refused. He seemed as driven to eat as a bear fattening up for winter’s hibernation.
Bines watched Judge Irwin flag down a waiter offering grilled lobster tail skewers. He made his approach a few moments after he was served, arriving as the judge bit off half the tail in a single chomp, leaving a trail of butter on the side of his mouth.
“Judge Irwin, what an unexpected pleasure to see you.”
The judge pretended to be as surprised by their encounter as Bines. He finished chewing down his huge bite of lobster and extended his hand. The lawyer managed to keep the smile on his face even as he pressed flesh with the judge’s greasy hand.
“Mr. Bines, I would have thought you’d be spending this weekend in New York with those two apples of your eye, your beautiful and accomplished wife and daughter.”
The two men drew closer so that their words would not extend beyond them.
Bines said, “The reason I stayed in town was to help host this gathering. Our firm wanted to get the best and brightest legal minds together, in the hopes of convincing a select few to join our ranks.”
“Best wishes on your headhunting,” Judge Irwin said.
“I am hoping for more than your best wishes. There’s one name at the top of our firm’s wish list: yours.”
Judge Irwin acted surprised. “I had no idea.”
“I need to know if we even have a chance.”
Irwin shook his head and looked regretful. “I am very happy on the bench. It is a most satisfying position.”
“I am sure. And yet you are overworked and underpaid.”
With a laugh, Irwin said, “I wish I could argue with that.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way. If you were to join our firm, you would be looking at a substantial increase in pay.”
“Substantial?” Irwin asked.
“Unofficially, three or four times your current salary.”
As a federal judge, Irwin was making close to quarter of a million dollars a year. Bines could see Irwin doing the mental calculations.
“That is certainly something to think about,” the judge said, all but salivating while he considered the merits of the bribe—that is, job offer.
“Good, good. Officially, of course, such an offer couldn’t come from me.”
“Of course not. We mustn’t muddy the waters of the current pro-ceedings.”
“Absolutely, but I am hoping you can do me a favor that has nothing to do with the current case.”
“And what might that be?”
Bines baited the hook a little more. “As you are probably aware, I help with the club’s Downtown Speakers’ Series. I am sure you know we have a long tradition of having notable individuals give talks to our membership. Winston Churchill honored the club and the city of Atlanta with a talk in 1932, and we’ve had club functions where a number of US presidents have given addresses.”
Irwin was nodding. “Didn’t I read somewhere that you have Geofredo Salazar as this month’s speaker?”
Geo Salazar, as most called him, was a Spaniard who had made his fortune in the founding and managing of his international hedge fund, but was now better known for his philanthropic endeavors.
Smiling, Bines said, “Since Mr. Salazar was already planning to be in town to award academic scholarships to several deserving African American youths to attend the University of Barcelona and the University of Madrid, he agreed to speak at the club. We are always on the lookout for securing preeminent thought leaders as lecturers. And that’s why I am hoping to get you onboard for a talk. The honorarium would be generous, of course.”
“I would be pleased to speak, but I am afraid my position precludes me from accepting any honoraria.”
Bines looked surprised. “But aren’t you allowed to receive teaching income? I have no doubt that your audience will be learning a great deal from your insights.”
Irwin clearly liked that argument, but did not overtly commit to it. “For now, let’s just say I will agree to speak.”
“Of course, of course, but if we can come to some acceptable financial arrangement, let’s get it done.”
With the hook now in the judge’s mouth, Bines knew he could land his fish at his leisure. Looking at his Patek Philippe Grand wristwatch, Bines expressed surprise. “I’ll have to take my leave of you shortly to take part in a conference call with the other partners.”
He leaned in close to the judge, and spoke in a lowered tone that suggested he was confessing something. “I don’t want this to be an ex parte discussion per se, but this Deketomis thing has got the partners upset. They’re not pleased by his vicious insinuations and aspersions, not to mention his egregious violation of your gag order.”
Irwin made a face and shook his head. “Everyone knows Deketomis is a hothead.”
“But, Your Honor, his theatrics made you a laughingstock. And that’s not acceptable when it comes to one of the most respected jurists in the land.”
“His comments were out of line,” Irwin said.
“Out of line? What Deketomis said showed absolute contempt for the court and your position in it. I’m afraid Deketomis now thinks he can get away with his carny barking without any repercussions whatsoever.”
“That is not the case. As I’ve already informed Mr. Deketomis, there will be consequences.”
“I would hope so.”
“I’ve even been pondering whether Mr. Deketomis’s outburst is reason enough for his removal from this case.”
Bines made a small grimace. “That might play into his hands, and give him a soapbox he would not otherwise have. And his second chair, that Romano woman, isn’t any less obnoxious than he is.”
But then he added in a low, secretive voice, “To her credit, though, she does have a very nice ass.”
The judge covered up his laughter behind his hand.
Bines wasn’t finished with his influencing. “No, you wouldn’t want his removal being part of the court record, seeing as this case will clearly never advance to a trial.”
Irwin offered an almost imperceptible nod. The court record was a public document that could be reviewed—and second-guessed. Because of that record, most judges did their best to try and appear unbiased and evenhanded.
“It’s a shame Deketomis even had a forum for his rant,” the judge said. “If it hadn’t been for that singer talking about being a truck stop prostitute, the media wouldn’t have taken any notice of the proceedings.”
“Deketomis played up to the cameras, and in the process put you in a bad light. He knew that things weren’t going well for him. I can’t imagine any forward-thinking jurist would allow an ambulance chaser like Deketomis to waste the court’s time with fantastical speculation.”
Irwin looked a little uneasy. Bines wondered if that was a result of a twinge of ethics, or the judge’s having finished the rest of the lobster tail.
“Clearly, sanctions are in order,” Bines said. “Last month Judge Aberdol in Alabama fined a loudmouthed trial lawyer fifty thousand dollars for saying far less than Deketomis did.”
The judge’s head was bobbing up and down. “That’s pretty much in line with what I was thinking.”
The lawyer patted the judge reassuringly on the shoulder. “Business calls, I’m afraid, but I don’t want to leave before making sure you sample some of the foie gras. It’s not to be missed.”
Bines flagged down a passing server and made sure the judge got his foie gras. As he walked away, he thought about how foie gras was made. Feeding tubes were forced down the throats of male ducks and geese; the force-feeding distended the livers of the
birds. It was a cruel practice, with the birds forcefully stuffed with corn and meal until they could barely breathe.
He reached up to his own collar, loosening it. I’m not a Strasbourg goose, he thought. Still, he wondered at the consequences of being forced to swallow his pride, almost until he could no longer breathe.
With an effort, he kept the smile on his face until he exited the meeting room.
XXIV
While driving around and researching private charters, Michael had put his cell phone on silent mode. Now that he was on his way back home, he was catching up on missed calls. Jake’s message from an hour earlier had been brief.
“Call me when you get a chance,” he’d said.
Jake picked up on the second ring. “You in your office?” Jake asked.
“About two hours from it. I’m just leaving Panama City.”
“What are you doing there?”
“It was my last stop of the day. I traveled the Florida Panhandle coastline finding out who does booze cruises. And more to the point, strip trips.”
“Find anything?”
“Several charter companies do sunset specials and booze cruises. But it seems there’s only one ‘gentlemen’s charter’ in the area that comes complete with party girls. The outing isn’t advertised as a strip trip, probably to avoid liability, but I confirmed there’s a Panama City strip club that arranges for a party boat with what they call their ‘first mates.’”
“Let me guess: the name of that strip club is the Pussy Cat Palace.”
“Bingo. How’d you know?”
“That’s what I was calling you about. Carol and I navigated a maze of shell companies through databases and determined the ownership of the Emerald Hideaway. The proprietorship is one PDL Properties, an abbreviation for Ponce de Leon. The owner of PDL Properties is Viktoria Yevtushenko Driscoll, a naturalized citizen originally from Ukraine.”
“It seems like that’s where all our roads are leading.”
Michael considered telling Jake about Captain Moss’s charter, and how there might be a potential tie-in with the strip club party boat, but decided saying anything would be premature.
Instead, he said, “When Karina called Diana, she mentioned a friend of hers by the name of Nataliya who went missing months earlier. If I can establish that both the drowning victim and Nataliya worked at the Pussy Cat Palace, that should help me demonstrate to a judge that it’s a dangerous workplace.”
“Which might get you access that much sooner to depose Viktoria Driscoll.”
“That’s the hope. Any word on when an autopsy will be performed on the victim?”
“I’m told best-case scenario is by the end of the week, but we’re pushing for it ASAP.”
For Michael, even ASAP didn’t feel like it was soon enough. His gut told him time was not on their side.
* * *
It was half past seven when Michael arrived home, but he decided dinner could wait for a few more minutes. Hearing Captain Moss saying that he’d taken out military recruiters on his fishing charter had piqued Michael’s curiosity. It wasn’t just a casual interest on his part. Michael had a distinct bias against private military contractors, and one in particular. Peter Stone was the founder and CEO of Darkpool Security International, the biggest private military contractor in the world. There were a lot of things Michael detested about Stone and his organization. To his thinking, they were vultures feeding on the carrion of war.
Because of his surname, Stone was known by the nickname of “Rock.” And in Stone’s army, not the US army, he held the rank of general. It was probably nothing, but it was a coincidence Michael felt compelled to pursue. The drowned woman deserved at least that much.
Michael began doing searches on his phone, calling up multiple profiles of Peter Stone. In one posed picture, Stone was wearing a white Uncle Sam top hat complete with a blue band and white stars. The caption featured a quote from Stone: “I want you for my army.” The corporate offices for Darkpool were located in Virginia, in near proximity to Washington, DC. Given that there were so many military bases in Florida’s Panhandle, it would have been more surprising if Darkpool wasn’t recruiting throughout the area than if they were. But Michael couldn’t find anything linking Stone or Darkpool to having traveled to the area in the past week.
All the articles Michael scanned were in agreement on one thing: the business of war had been good for Stone and his company, and had made him rich.
“Some people refer to my fortune as blood money,” Stone was quoted as saying. “I’m okay with that.”
“I’m not,” Michael said, putting away his phone.
He had already kept Mona waiting too long and jogged to the stairs, taking them two at a time. Michael signaled his arrival by knocking, then unlocked the dead bolt and stepped inside. He was greeted by the aroma of the onions and peppers that had gone into the making of the riza shirwah, and the cinnamon, allspice, and mint in the rice dolma. Mona emerged from the kitchen. Her large dark eyes had beguiled him from the first. Mona’s arched eyebrows seemed to have their own vocabulary, telling stories with the way they rose, and lowered, and furrowed. The two of them kissed.
“You are hungry, I hope,” she asked.
“I am.”
“Then let us both eat.”
“I hope you weren’t waiting for me.”
“I sampled the food while preparing it, as any good cook must.”
“Did you leave any for me?”
“Only a very little. Enough for a mouse, and no more.”
They kissed again. “Need help serving the food?” he asked.
“I do not. Why don’t you select your beverage of choice?”
“I will get my beverage of choice,” said Michael, trying to hide his smile.
Mona had a unique way of saying, “Get yourself a beer,” the same way she had a unique way of saying most things. He grabbed a bottle and took a seat at the table. A plate of dolma wrapped in grape leaves was waiting for him, as was a basket of lavash and baba ghanoush. Mona came with their stew and joined him.
“You work late, husband.”
“And I’m afraid I will have to leave quite early.”
“You will forget what I look like.”
“Not in a million years.”
Judging by her smile, his remark pleased her. Mona had barely been holding on to life when the two of them had first met in the carnage of war. She had been the only one in her family to survive an ISIS attack, and at the time she was being evacuated by helicopter, Michael had wondered if the wounded young woman would ever smile again in her lifetime. Now, she smiled for him.
It felt like a miracle.
XXV
In fits and starts, Lily began to awaken, the passage to her regaining consciousness marked by the increasing volume of her moans. As her eyes gradually opened, she had trouble understanding what she was seeing. The room’s windows seemed to fade in, then fade out. Colors shimmered, appearing and disappearing like will-o’-the-wisps. She reached out a tentative hand, grasping for one of the mysterious reflections, wondering if the light was something that could be touched.
Was she in heaven?
No, she decided. In heaven her head would not hurt this much, and the veins around her temples would not be pounding. She gingerly touched the sides of her head and tried to make sense of things. Then, Lily realized she wasn’t alone and screamed.
A man in a white linen suit was seated in a chair staring at her. He had a dark, carefully trimmed beard. In his hand he held a plastic champagne flute, which he was lightly tapping with a long thumbnail that tapered out like a knife.
“Would you like some champagne?” he asked.
“Champagne?” Her reply sounded more like a croak than a word. Lily’s head felt as if it were exploding.
“Yes. Champagne.”
She made the mistake of looking at him and was confronted by his unblinking eyes. For her, it felt like she was looking at something reptilian, or alien.
“No. Water.”
Her throat was so dry it was hard getting the words out. Lily tried to lick her parched lips, but her mouth was too dry for her to moisten them. Her body told her she’d been on a bender. How long had she been out of it? She remembered being forced to inhale something, and seemed to recall a hypodermic needle being inserted into her arm, but everything was hazy.
And crazy.
“I’m afraid we only have tap water available at this time. I’ll get you some.”
What was she doing in this strange place? Lily sat up on the sofa and tried to focus. A number of questions came to mind, but she resisted asking them. It wasn’t only that her head and throat hurt, making speaking difficult. Instinctively, Lily knew not to trust the man in the white suit. His politeness didn’t fool her. During the past year, she had gotten a terrible education in reading men. The guy was twisted, of that she was sure. His playing nice didn’t fool her. It just put her more on edge.
He returned with a paper cup filled with water. Lily gulped it down.
“More?”
She nodded, and he went to get her a refill. The water made her feel a little less like a corpse, but not much. The man came back, handed the refilled cup to her, and said, “I would drink it more slowly.”
Lily didn’t like the man hovering over her and leaned away from him. The only thing good about Tío Leo was that he’d watched over his sex workers. Not that he gave a shit about them; he was protective of what he thought was his merchandise. But Lily had learned to be careful as well, ready to run, ready to scream, ready to defend herself. She was glad when the man returned to his chair. Once more she noticed lights casting colors and making strange patterns in the room, prompting her question.
“What is this place, and where am I?”
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