Mobley opened his court calendar. There had been a cancellation; three weeks from now there was an opening. Judge Mobley wrote a note to his court clerk to immediately contact the parties and schedule the expedited hearing on his docket.
XXXVII
Peter Stone had warned Vicky Driscoll to not contact him unless it was an emergency and stressed that all communication needed to go through his encrypted email. An hour earlier she had sent up an email flare saying they needed to talk, and Stone had responded by telling her when to expect his call. In addition to having an encrypted phone line, Stone took the extra precaution of making the return call using a voice changer.
“You said we needed to talk.”
“Your voice?” she said, put off by his strange-sounding speech.
“Don’t worry about it,” Stone said. The app he was using gave him the voice of Darth Vader.
“Papers arrived today from a lawyer,” she said, her voice shrill. “Legal papers. Lots and lots of pages. They look like trouble, bad trouble.”
“You’re being sued?”
She whispered her answer. “Yes. In the papers there is the name Karina Boyko everywhere. They know she was one of my H2B workers, and they say I’m responsible for wrongful death. When her body turned up in the ocean, I was afraid bad things would happen. Her spirit won’t rest.”
“It’s her lawyer you need to worry about, not some spirit. Who is suing you?”
“Michael Carey is the name of the lawyer.”
“Does he represent the US government, or the state of Florida?”
“Papers say he works for Bergman/Deketomis.”
“Are they a local firm?”
“Main office is in Spanish Trace, Florida.”
“That’s good. He sounds like some local-yokel scum-sucking lawyer who thought he could make easy money by shaking you down for your whore’s death.”
“Karina Boyko isn’t the only name in the papers. How does this lawyer know about Nataliya Nahorny?”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Nataliya was a close friend of Karina’s.”
“Was?”
“She went away a few months ago.”
“Where?”
Vicky paused before saying, “I don’t know.”
Stone got the sense that Vicky didn’t want to know, at least not officially. The whore was definitely worried.
“You need to relax. In the next hour or two, I’ll make sure you get contacted by a lawyer I know. He will make all your problems disappear. Understood?”
“Yes,” she said.
Stone clicked off. And then he spat out an expletive. His curse sounded a lot harsher and uglier in his own voice than in Darth Vader’s.
The whore was scared. She was worried about someone discovering all the skeletons in her closet. He didn’t care about that. But he had to make sure her problems didn’t become his problems.
That’s where the Big Bad Wolf would come in.
BB Wolf—Barry Benjamin Wolf—was an attorney renowned for his scorched-earth tactics. If anyone could shut down the lawsuit, BB could. Ostensibly, he’d be serving the interests of Mrs. Driscoll, all the while reporting to his true client.
He hoped Mrs. Driscoll wasn’t going to prove too much of a problem. Stone didn’t like problems.
XXXVIII
Lily was afraid to speak, but it was just as scary as saying nothing. She had awakened to find Max standing at her bedroom window, the light of the moon illuminating him in the darkness. For the longest time she watched him, scared to do anything else. He appeared to be listening to something, occasionally nodding at what only he could hear.
That was bad enough, but what frightened her even more was when he spoke back to the void. Between her shaking and his indistinct speech, it was difficult to hear what he was saying. Maybe that was for the better, for what she could hear made her that much more afraid. Like what he was saying now.
“I will see to the proper timing of the sacrifice,” he whispered.
As much as Lily wanted to believe otherwise, she was sure that Mad Max was talking about her. She stifled her urge to run out of the room, knowing there was no place to hide. Worse, her movements would awaken him to her presence.
If only she had some kind of weapon. For weeks now she had desperately searched for anything in her cage that was sharp or heavy. There was nothing. Lily had tried to make a knife from toilet paper, wetting and wrapping the paper into tight layers, but her efforts hadn’t gone unnoticed. The cameras, she knew, had caught her. When her half-formed knife disappeared, Lily found a single playing card left in its place. A joker. It seemed as if the malevolent thing was sneering. His mocking look reminded her of Max.
Lily had been no more successful when she’d tried to create a flood by plugging up the bathtub. The floor wasn’t even wet before Max was on the scene. There was no escaping the cameras, even though she did her best to keep her back to them.
With each day, Max seemed to become crazier. She watched and listened as her jailer continued to talk to something that was not there. Dare she sneak up on him? He was too strong for her to fight, but what if she surprised him from behind and tried to strangle him? She could twist her gown around his neck and use it like a garrote. Could she do it? Could she squeeze until he breathed his last?
Yes, she could. Lily visualized sneaking up on him. If she was to have a chance, she needed to be unnoticed, unseen. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about him seeing her reflection as she approached. The treated windows didn’t cast a reflection.
Max was absorbed in what was beyond the window; now was her chance. She needed to remove her gown, twist it silently, then creep up behind him. Lily considered every necessary step, then braced herself, as if getting ready to jump into icy water. Shifting under the covers, she began removing her gown. There was no rustling, no noise, but something alerted him. Lily froze as he turned his head slightly. The monster had awakened.
Could he divine her intentions? Was he smelling her desperation? Did he sense murder on her mind? That wasn’t possible, of course, but Lily still felt the desperate need to do something to distract him. Say something, she thought, do something, anything.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
“I stare at the abyss, and it stares back at me.”
How in the hell was she supposed to respond to that?
“I turned around when I felt your green eyes upon me. I’m sensitive to the rays that they cast.”
Max wasn’t even hiding his eye obsession anymore. With each passing day of captivity, she was witness to his mask slipping off. Lily was afraid of what would happen when his creep show turned into a freak show.
“The Cheshire Cat smiles even when you cannot see it,” he said. “Sometimes you see its complete form, and sometimes not. But always it laughs at you.”
He pointed in the direction of the moonlight, as if that should explain his words. She didn’t say anything, but Max was hearing something else. He tilted his head toward the window, as if trying to hear better.
“Yes, I agree, music is needed.”
He turned back to Lily. “I would not insult you by playing Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune.’ The entire song is a fraud. He changed the title. It was supposed to be about a stroll. This is not a night for lies.
“Genie,” Max called.
A female voice answered him from the ether. “What is your wish?”
“Play ‘Let Slip the Madness,’” he commanded.
Hidden speakers revealed themselves; music began to play. At first Lily thought the song was a church requiem, but its contemplative notes did not last for long. Drums began pounding, and Max’s head with them. He looked like some kind of freaky metalhead.
A low, gravelly voice began to roar, and Max joined in the singing: “Embrace now the dance of the dead, scream with the damned as your sanity is bled.”
The speakers could not contain the beating of the drums. The room began shakin
g. Max joined in with the beat. He rattled the window, pounding it with his fists, then with his head, violently ramming himself into it. A trickle of blood began running from his forehead.
Lily tried covering her ears, tried to keep the madness from entering her head, but there was no relief. Max turned from the window to look at her. His eyes were large, black holes that were drawing Lily in.
Over the music he screamed, “Dance with me,” and extended a hand her way.
Lily shook her head.
Droplets of blood were falling on his body. Max ran his fingers along the blood and painted his face. There was no looking away from him, as much as Lily wanted to.
His voice became more demanding. “Come, dance with me.”
Lily dared not move, dared not say anything, but that didn’t spare her. In one bound he was on the bed, grabbing her arm.
Touching her. Pulling at her. He had spared her any physical contact until now. This was the first time he’d violated her, or the first time he’d done so while Lily was conscious. She screamed as he dragged her toward the window. The music pounded as if the gates of hell had opened and all its demons were screaming.
He pulled her toward the edge, her stomach doing flip-flops. Death drew closer. They were so high up. Lily thrashed, trying to pull away from him, but his grip tightened. The bones in her hand threatened to break. Her screams seemed to be part of the dissonant music.
Max released his hold, not as a mercy, but as a prelude. It took Lily a moment to realize her captor was mimicking the position assumed by a man at the onset of a slow dance. His right arm was at her waist, his left arm extended to her back.
“Shall we dance?” he said.
Her answer was to try and desperately push him away, but he took that as an invitation to wrap her in a bear hug. She tried kicking, but he only squeezed harder. Lily couldn’t catch a breath. Then he ran with her, running toward the window. She closed her eyes, afraid of the impact, afraid of falling from so high up. They slammed into the glass. For a moment Lily was sure they had broken through it and that she was plummeting to the ground, but the window rebuffed their assault and they fell backward. Max landed on his feet, Lily in his arms.
Over the raucous graveyard music, its beat trying to pound her into submission, she heard him say, “You dance divinely.”
XXXIX
The day after the New York Times Sunday edition published its article on the ongoing theatrics in the Welcome Mat Hospitality proceedings, Judge Irwin requested that all lawyers involved in the case meet in his chambers on Wednesday morning.
The judge’s “request” was in name only. There was nothing optional about the parties showing up. And though the judge didn’t offer a reason for the meeting, all concerned knew it had to have been prompted by the story in the Times. Much to Gina’s delight, the article had been accompanied by the illustration of two tailors pretending to be outfitting an obese and very naked Judge Irwin. The illustrator had even seen to the detail of Irwin wearing the white horsehair wig associated with British barristers.
Although Deke and Gina arrived fifteen minutes before the meeting was due to start, they were immediately shown into Judge Irwin’s chambers. Nathan Bines and his associate Linda Sabin were already seated.
Irwin remained sitting behind his desk. He did not stand up to greet Deke and Gina, and his “take a seat” was noticeably brusque.
With everyone gathered, the grim-faced judge held up a copy of the article for all to see. Deke knew better than to turn Gina’s way. If their eyes were to meet, he feared the two of them might start laughing. The illustration of Judge Irwin was not flattering. The drawing made him look porcine, his folds of flesh accentuated by his nakedness.
With undisguised wrath, Irwin said, “Explain this,” and began shaking the paper in the faces of Deke and Gina.
His attempt at intimidation only succeeded in provoking Deke’s own ire.
“To be abundantly clear, I can’t explain that any more than I can explain this.”
Having anticipated Irwin’s use of the Times article, Deke raised up a copy of the American Enquirer. The headline of the article—Bottom Line Explored. Lawyer’s Happy Ending?—had managed two double entendres in just six words. The accompanying picture showed Deke in the arms of a woman the tabloid identified as a high-priced call girl.
“I am certain you know this court had nothing to do with that, Mr. Deketomis,” Irwin said.
“And we had nothing to do with the article in the Times.”
Irwin’s face soured. “How is it that Ms. Romano was quoted in the piece?”
“Mr. Bines was also quoted, as were you.”
Irwin continued to glower. “The only individuals who stood to benefit from that article were you and Ms. Romano.”
“If that’s so, it would suggest that the terms of your gag order were detrimental to our side, and prejudicial to our case.”
“I warn you not to poke the bear, Mr. Deketomis,” Judge Irwin said. “I am in no mood for your word games.”
Deke allowed himself a slight smile. “Word games? How can I be playing word games when you’ve forbidden me from saying anything other than ‘No comment’? When this completely fabricated hit piece came out in the Enquirer, I couldn’t even respond to it because your gag order prohibited me from commenting on anything having to do with the Welcome Mat case, which I believe was the motivating factor for my having been set up. Clearly, I believe certain vested interests wanted to undermine my credibility in that case, but under the terms of your order I was not allowed to make that assertion. I had to bite my tongue while my character was being assassinated.”
The two men, vying newspapers still held aloft, stared each other down; it was Irwin who finally looked away and lowered his newspaper. Deke followed suit.
Irwin said, “For the record, you are stating that you are not the source behind the story in the Times?”
“That’s correct.”
“Same question to you, Ms. Romano,” the judge said.
Gina’s unblinking gaze was just shy of a glower. “I did not initiate the story, and I was not its source. The reporter for the Times called me up and told me the purpose of her call was to verify what her source had already told her. It was clear from her questioning that she knew every word that had been spoken during that hearing.”
“There were only eight individuals in the courtroom that day,” Irwin said.
“And five of those eight people are seated right here.” Deke looked pointedly over to Bines and Linda Sabin.
Bines spoke for the two of them. “As we already told Judge Irwin, the article did our side no favors. Indeed, we were clearly cast as its villains, which has forced us to have to deal with the ongoing fallout. Ms. Romano’s erroneous assertion that I have been trying to move the goalpost when it comes to the age of consent has painted me in a very poor light.”
“It was your own amicus curiae brief that told us that, counselor,” Gina said. “I sure didn’t write it.”
“It was a brief unrelated to this case, but from which you managed to derive an apples-to-oranges comparison. I’ll have you know that I have a fifteen-year-old daughter.”
She said, “That being the case, I find it strange that you attached your name to a brief so reprehensible.”
“It speaks to governmental overstepping,” Bines said.
“That’s enough,” Irwin said. “It’s clear everyone in these chambers believes they are the aggrieved party. What isn’t clear is how a seemingly verbatim transcript of what transpired in a sealed court proceeding was obtained by the Times.”
“Or who was behind the American Enquirer story,” Deke said.
Everyone in chambers looked as suspicious as they looked unhappy.
XL
“Like your wheels,” Deke said as he opened the passenger door to Michael’s Jeep.
“I guess it’s not the usual lawyer ride.”
“Don’t ask me. My commute vehicle is an old truck.�
�
“It’s official. You’re my role model.”
As the two men got into the Jeep, Michael said, “Got us both coffees for the ride.”
“Breakfast of champions.” Deke lifted the coffee with his name on it from the cup holder, took a satisfied sip, and said, “Many thanks.”
The two men had arrived early at the office for the drive to Bay County. For the last two weeks, Michael had been spending long hours preparing for this hearing. In that, he wasn’t alone; the work had been nonstop for everyone.
Deke thought his role today was more for moral support than anything else. It was going to be Michael’s game to win or lose, and it would likely be the latter. It was rare for any judge to grant an expedited hearing. Deke had warned the associate that the odds were against him, but that had only made Michael work all the harder.
Normally, Deke preferred driving to being the passenger, but Michael was so sure at the wheel it wasn’t hard to relax. He drove with an assuredness most drivers lacked, easily dancing with the flow of the traffic. Deke was content to just sip his coffee.
“I heard the Enquirer printed a retraction,” Michael said.
“Too little, too late,” Deke said. “It’s not going to stop me from going after them, but I’m glad for Teri’s sake that they did that. My skin’s thick enough to slough off their lies. It hasn’t been as easy for her.”
“What happened?”
“Some little things that felt like big things. Teri volunteers as a court-appointed special advocate for foster children. It’s something that’s near and dear to both our hearts. But last week she overheard a woman asking whether Teri should be allowed to continue working with children at risk because of ‘her husband’s whoremongering.’”
“That’s ugly.”
“I’m not sure what’s uglier, what the woman said, or her need to say it.”
“Schadenfreude.”
“That’s a fancy way of saying ‘asshole.’”
Both men laughed.
“Anything on Tío Leo?” Michael asked.
“We thought we were close in Jacksonville, but he went ghost on us. Carol tells me I just need to be patient.”
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