Family Counsel (The Samuel Collins Series Book 2) (15 page)

Mendoza ran his hand across his chin.  “Miss Armstrong was good
enough to loan me a razor and cut my hair.”

I looked at a beaming Felicia.  “You know how to cut hair?”

She nodded without speaking because my wife had taken over the
conversation. 

“You look wonderful!  Gosh, you’re so handsome without all that
horrible hair,” she raved.

I turned back to Oliver.  “You know what that is in the
trashcan?”

Oliver shook his head.

“It’s this guy’s hair and his shaved-off beard.”

“It’s not an animal?” I detected a note of disappointment.

“No, but it looked like it, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

We all went into the kitchen.  The women were still fawning
over Mendoza’s makeover. I had to admit, it was definitely a transformation.  It
was hard not to stare.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked.

“Clean,” he said enthusiastically.  He had an easy smile, and I
thought of Niki Lautrec.

“You smell better,” I agreed. “Hey, is that my shirt?” I said
indignantly.

Mendoza nodded.  “Pants too.”

Felicia piped in, “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Mendoza fingered the buttons with a new found interest. “It’s a
nice shirt,” he confirmed.  He stretched out his arms and the sleeves rose
above his wrists. “It almost fits.  The pants are perfect.  Thanks.”

“Sure.”  I looked at Maddie and she gave me a patronizing
smile.  The truth was, I didn’t mind the guy wearing my clothes.  I’d have made
the offer myself had I been there.  It was the fact that Felicia had loaned
them out that irked me.

I went to the fridge and took out a beer.  “Anybody?” I offered.

“I’ll take one of those,” Mendoza said. 

I brought out two Dos XX, cut up a lime and squeezed some juice
into each bottle, then shoved a lime wedge into the bottle.  “Here you go.”  I
handed one to Mendoza and he clinked his bottle against mine.

“Thanks. Cheers.” He upended the bottle and chugged a third of
it in one go, then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if to savor the
moment.  When he opened his eyes again, all three of us were staring.  “It’s
been a long time,” he explained.

I wondered if he’d just fallen off  the wagon.  I took a chug
off my own beer.  “Why
is
that?” I asked, and I could see Maddie making frantic
faces at me from behind Mendoza. 

“It wasn’t allowed,” he said.

I don’t know why, but suddenly I was determined to get to the
bottom of the mystery.  “Exactly why were you in that hospital?”

He took another swig, downing the next third.  “I was
placed
there,” he said cryptically.  “By people who wanted to shut me up,” he
added.

And there it was.  He was the mafia guy - wearing my clothes
and drinking my beer.

“You okay, Sam?  You look a little frayed,” Mendoza said.

“Could I speak to you in the other room for a minute?” I asked
him.

He opened his arms in a gesture of agreement and headed back
toward the living room with me following.  When he was out of sight, Maddie
grabbed my arm and yanked me back.  “Are you crazy?  What are you doing?” she
whispered. “I thought we weren’t going to confront him.”

“I changed my mind.  We’re going to be out of here tomorrow,
and I need to know where we stand. And besides, we can’t just leave him here
alone with Felicia, regardless of who he is.  We need a game plan and, like it
or not, it’s going to have to involve him.”

“I guess you’re right, but . . . don’t make him mad.”

“I won’t.”  I gave my wife a quick kiss.  “Why don’t you fill
Felicia in on what Niki told us.”

I left Maddie and Felicia in the kitchen and caught up with Mendoza in the living room.  He was lounging on the couch with Sherlock on his lap.  I
weighed several strategies in my head before I started, trying to line up in
order of importance everything that needed to be discussed.  I decided that,
first of all, I needed to assure Mendoza’s health and wellbeing. And as a very
close second, I needed to cover my butt legally.

 “Should you be on medication?” I asked.

Mendoza seemed amused by the question.  “No, this beer is fine.” 

Sherlock climbed up Mendoza’s chest onto his shoulder.  I could
hear his claws snagging the threads of my shirt.

“Do you need any medical services, any therapy?  Anything that
you were receiving when Felicia arranged for your . . .
removal
. . . from
the hospital?”

Mendoza laughed.  “Don’t worry, Sam.  I’m not going to keel
over because your cousin kidnapped me from my hospital room.”

“Maddie’s cousin,” I corrected.  “I want you to understand what
frame of mind Felicia was in when she made that decision.  It was . . .
temporary insanity.  Felicia’s a kook, but she’s not
that
kooky.  She
was so upset about her brother that she was delusional.  She’d even convinced
herself that your drug-induced state was a direct result of your talking to her
that day.  She thought she was saving you!”

“Your cousin is very perceptive.”

“Maddie’s cousin.  We’re not related.  Are you saying she was
right?”

“Bottom line:  You want to know if I’m going to sue you for
being an accessory to kidnapping.”

I had no idea I was that transparent.

“Isn’t that right?” he prodded.

“Yeah.  That’s pretty much it,” I agreed.  “Or Felicia. 
Because I’d end up having to represent her.”

Mendoza laughed.  “Put your mind at ease, Counselor.  I have no
intention of suing any of you.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and sat down heavily into the
chair.  “Is there anyone you want to get in touch with?  Anyone I should call
to let them know you’re okay?”

He thought about it for a second before he answered.  “I’d like
to hire you to be my attorney.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want you to be my lawyer.”

“Civil or criminal?” I asked skeptically.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

“Well . . . yes.”  And then it just came hurtling out of my
mouth.  “Does it have anything to do with the murder of a prosecutor?”

The initial shock on the man’s face was obvious, then he broke
into a broad grin.  He removed Sherlock from his shoulder and held the kitten
up in front of his face and told him, “Mr. Collins has resources.”  The cat
responded on cue with a hearty
meow
.  “So what do you say, Counselor? 
You going to be my lawyer?”  But before I could answer, he added, “Or do I sue
you for kidnapping?” He let the sentence hang long enough to freak me out, then
he leaned over and clapped his hand on my leg and laughed out loud.  “Hey, I’m
kidding.  Don’t be so solemn.  It was a joke.”

“Seriously,” I said, then I waited until he quit laughing. 
“Why do you think you need a lawyer?”

“This is privileged right?”

Suddenly it was all clear.  Whatever he was about to confess
to, I’d be sworn to secrecy because of the attorney-client privilege.  I didn’t
want any part of it.

“Hold on a minute,” I said irritably.  “I don’t want to know
anything that’s going to come back and haunt me.  I don’t want to have to worry
about retribution against my wife or kids.  If you really need a lawyer, I’ll
find you the best money can buy, but I can’t represent you.”

He eyed me suspiciously.  “How much do you know about me?”

“I know you’re connected to
La Gente
;  I know a
prosecutor was murdered the day he obtained a guilty verdict against someone in
the organization; and I know you disappeared simultaneously.”

Mendoza studied me. I held his stare. 

“I’ve never been a part of that,” he finally said.

“But you are Rafael de la Fuentes Mendoza?”

“I am.” 

“Did you witness the murder?”

“Yes.”

“And you went into hiding?”

“I’m not a coward.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“The question implies it.”

“Does not.”

“Does too.”

“Not.”

“Too.”

Mendoza laughed and clinked his bottle against mine.  “Cheers,”
he said, and both of us downed our beers.  In spite of myself, I liked the
guy. 

“I told you, I was
put
in that hospital.  I didn’t go
voluntarily.”

“You mean you were held there against your will?” I asked in
disbelief.  “For two years?  How could they keep you there?”

“Behind lock and key at first,” he said matter-of-factly.  “Later
with drugs.  I was working on my next escape attempt when your wife and Miss
Armstrong found me.  After the orderly saw me talking to the women, they
injected me with sedatives until I was unconscious practically around the clock. 
And then Miss Armstrong had me
removed
from the hospital.”

“You’re telling me that the hospital administration and staff
was a party to your being held there without your will or consent?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.  You think prisons are
corrupt?  That place is as corrupt as any penal institution you’ll ever find. 
Just like with Jackson Whitaker.  How much money do you think the
administration bilked from his trust since he died?  By keeping him alive on
paper, they probably raked in another quarter of a million dollars.  He only
turned up dead when he did because his sister showed up.”

Call me naïve, but in my wildest dreams I couldn’t have come up
with such an unscrupulous scheme.  I obviously don’t have what it takes to be a
good criminal.

“What’s the matter?  You look dumbfounded,” Mendoza said.

“I’m just . . . I don’t know.  How could they get away with
that?” I asked stupidly.  

“They’re corrupt.  It was easy.  Everyone has their price,” he
asserted.

“I’d like to believe that’s not true,” I said.

“But you know otherwise.”

I thought about it.  “Not necessarily.  I don’t think that
everyone is corruptible.”

“Are you?” he asked.

“I’m basically an honest man, but I’m not a saint.  Yes, I
think I’m probably corruptible,” I admitted.  “But I don’t think my wife is,” I
added hopefully.

“Then she’s one in a handful.  I’ve spent most of my life
trying to get away from my family, but you know what?  It doesn’t matter. 
Because in the end, I can’t get away from who I am.  It’s their blood running
through my veins.  And no matter what I do, they’re always there, affecting the
outcome of everything I do.  Their influence is there in any project I
undertake, so I can never achieve anything that is truly my own doing.”

“And what is it that you do?” I asked.

“A little of this, a little of that.”  In other words, none of
my business.

“Never mind.  I don’t want to know.  I suppose having you
testify on Felicia’s behalf is out of the question?”

“There are others whose testimony would be more credible. You’d
probably find that my involvement would be more detrimental than helpful.”

“That may be true.  But I’ll tell you something.  Eighteen months
ago, I would have taken you on as a client in a heartbeat.  I just didn’t have
anything precious enough to lose.  But now . . .”

“It’s another lifetime.”

“It’s another lifetime,” I agreed.

Mendoza clasped me on the shoulder.  It was the second time he’d
touched me during the conversation and if he’d been anybody else, I might have
decided that he was hitting on me.  Maybe I’d seen the Godfather too many
times, but instead I chalked it up to his mafia connections.  All that kissing
on both cheeks and all.

“You refer me to someone you’d use if you were in my shoes,” he
said.

“And in the meantime?  What do we do with you?” 

Mendoza laughed.  “You let me worry about that.  I’ve had two
years to plan for the day I escaped.  Or as you like to put it, the day I was
removed
.”

I knew the less I knew about the guy, the better, but my
curiosity got the best of me.  I had to ask.  “Why didn’t they just kill you if
they didn’t want you to talk?  Why go to the trouble to hold you there?”

Mendoza spread his hands as if the answer was elementary.  “La
Familia!  You don’t kill family.”

“You mean your
family
is the one who put you there?” I
asked in disbelief.

“They’ve always been overbearing.”  The smile he was wearing
didn’t reach his eyes, and it made a chill run up the back of my neck.  Rafael
de la Fuentes Mendoza was not a man to be trifled with, and I wondered what
kind of retribution had been two years in the making.

Felicia came in carrying Morgan and the room filled with an
incriminating stench.  “She’s all yours,” Felicia said.

And on that note, I ended my first conversation with a mobster.

Sunday morning dawned with clear skies and the promise of an
escape from my own private Alcatraz.  A helicopter would pick us up before
noon.  The series of storms had washed away much of the caliche, leaving huge
craters in the middle of the road and in places, a 4-foot drop off at the
road’s edge. Maddie and I trudged on foot down to the river and what we saw
defied imagination.  The water was 40-50 feet up in the trees, and there were
dead cattle and goats floating down, mingled with 200-year-old cypress trees,
fences, barn siding.  It was as if everything upstream had been uprooted and
was on parade before us.  It would be at least a week before the bridge to the
farm was passable again, if there was anything left of it. 

We still hadn’t settled on a game plan.  Felicia was being her
belligerent self, refusing to acknowledge the fact that she had no business
staying at the farm alone with Mendoza. I’d spelled it out to her clearly and
concisely, pointing out that she’d be alone, trapped with a stranger – a
stranger connected with the mob, no less – and that it was neither safe, nor
appropriate for her to stay there.  I was merely looking out for her welfare,
and how did she respond?  In typical Felicia fashion:  with ridicule and
derision.  She scoffed at the suggestion that she couldn’t handle herself with Mendoza; and she laughed in my face at the notion of his taking advantage of her.  And to
make matters worse, my wife was taking her side.

“I really think she’ll be fine,” Maddie said. 

“Okay.  I give up,” I said.  “But if something happens to her,
it’s not going to be on my conscience.”

Maddie hugged me.  “You’ll be free to say,
I told you so
,”
she said, and she kissed me on the lips. 

“I will, too,” I assured her.

“I know you will.”

An old pickup truck pulled up on the other side of the river
and two cowboys got out and waved at us.  They were shouting something at us,
but the roaring river devoured the sound before it reached us, so Maddie and I
merely waved back. 

By the time we made it back to the house it was almost noon.  Our bags were packed and waiting on the front porch.  Since Felicia wasn’t taking
my advice, I decided to work on Mendoza.

“There’ll be room on the helicopter,” I said.

“Thanks, but this is actually a good place for me to recoup. 
No one’s going to find me here.  By the time the water recedes, I’ll be ready.”

Ready for what, I didn’t ask.  I didn’t want to know.  I’d find
him a lawyer and barring an inquisition by Serenity, my relationship with
Rafael Mendoza would be ended.  The sooner the better.

The helicopter arrived, sending ripples through puddles in the
vicinity. Oliver and Max  raced outside, watching as it touched down, and I glimpsed
what
joy and rapture
would look like if it could be bottled.  My boys
were beyond ecstatic and I doubted they would talk of anything else for a week. 
Morgan, on the other hand, screamed like a banshee.

We unloaded food and supplies for Felicia and the foreman’s
family, then my family and I boarded the helicopter.  After the boys had
sufficiently mauled all the gauges and instruments, we took off for home.  Two
days had seemed more like two weeks.  I thought about Felicia and I thought
about Mendoza, and I thought about my beaten up Suburban that had almost become
my family’s coffin.  I looked down at the raging waters below, and tried to
think of some redeeming factor that would lend a positive spin to the crappiest
weekend I’d ever had.  And then I realized that was it:  my kid was potty
trained.  

I suspect my wife was in on it from the beginning, although she
denied involvement in the scheme.  We arrived home, not five of us, but six,
the latter possessing four legs, a tail and  whiskers.  With a grin that
spanned the width of his face, Oliver triumphantly produced Sherlock from an
outside pocket of his suitcase. 

“Oliver!  What’s he doing here?” I demanded.

“It was magic,” Oliver asserted.

“It was
not
magic.  And we can’t have another cat.”

“He’s not a cat.  He’s a kitten,” he argued.  He looked
thoughtful for a second, then he asked, “Is there such a thing as magic?”

“No.  There’s no such thing as magic,” I replied

“Then why is there a word for it?”

On those occasions when my kid is too smart for me, I fall back
on my stock answer. “I don’t know. But that’s a good question.”

“Can we keep him, Dad?” 

Maddie was conspicuously quiet, but she met my eye when I
looked at her. She looked guilty.  The cat was climbing the sofa, exploring. 
Wonderful
. 
“See, he likes it here!” Oliver exclaimed.

“Does Felicia know you took him?” I asked.

“She told me I could keep him,” Oliver said.

Now, there’s a good evasive answer.  If I was coaching a
witness, I would have been proud.  The cat population at my house was expanding
at an alarming rate. I didn’t want three cats.  Hell, I didn’t even want two. 
But I also didn’t want to be the bad guy.  And by Mrs. Howard’s logic, what’s
one more when I’ve already got more than I want? 

“You can keep him,” I said, and I started plotting my revenge
on Felicia.  I’d get her a puppy.  Something high-strung; extremely
high-maintenance.  “When’s your cousin’s birthday?” I asked Maddie.