Justice Hunter (16 page)
“I
told you. I’m taking care of it,” said Dillon on his cell phone, returning from the courthouse at a snail’s pace.
“What the fuck are you waiting for?” asked Hunter.
The dissonant sound of fire engine sirens made it difficult to hear. “Hold on for fuck’s sake,” Dillon said in frustration.
Even fifteen stories up, Hunter could hear the same blaring sirens, much too loud for a city like Philadelphia, a compact, heavily concentrated echo chamber of office buildings and hotels. “You still there?”
“Right here.” Hunter was leaning back in his desk chair, feet atop the desk and BlackBerry up to his ear. He had purposefully stayed off the company lines for this conversation, just in case Big Brother was eavesdropping. Hunter flexed his toes underneath his white running socks, which took his wrinkled khakis from potentially professional to barely. That was just Hunter’s style. Conforming to the bow ties and Brook Brothers outfits wasn’t his bag.
“Good,” said Dillon. “Hey, I was just by Russo’s chambers, incidentally. I actually considered making a quick detour and beating the shit out of that little bitch.”
“Not sure if that would’ve been the best solution,” Hunter acknowledged, playing along.
“Why wouldn’t it be? The world would be a much better place, and I’d have my ticket out of this crappy gig.”
“You’d be an early Christmas present for the boys at Graterford.” Graterford was Pennsylvania’s largest maximum-security prison.
“I don’t think so. Anyway. Hold on…” added Dillon, proceeding to flirt with two female Kruger lawyers heading toward the courthouse. “They’re so fine,” he whispered, making Hunter his co-conspirator. Dillon mentioned a Happy Hour that night at The Blarney, sounding more like a South Beach promoter-slash-sleazeball than a yuppie-slash-married-man. Flirtatious giggling ensued, but apparently the women didn’t bother stopping. Hunter was just about to hang up, jabbed by another pang of anxiety. “Look, I’ll talk to you about this in a few when I get back,” Dillon resumed. “The way I see it is you’ve got three options. It’s relatively simple. Tell a partner with authority to okay the check and you’re fucked. Find your own creative way. Or trust me.”
“Right,” Hunter acknowledged.
“Christine down in accounting would do anything for me. You know who I’m talking about? The brunette. She’s probably cutting the check for me as we speak.
“Oh. And I forgot. There’s a fourth option. Like I said, I’ll advance you the five K, interest free. I’ll just need the money by Christmas-ish. I’m surprising Meredith with a trip out to Vegas.”
“How romantic. Staying in one of your old rooms, too? Same vibrating bed?” Dillon had been to Vegas on multiple occasions before he tied the knot. According to him, he also had been the fortunate beneficiary of numerous sexual escapades with “outright freaks.”
“Hilarious. Keep pushing. I’ll revoke the offer. Call my girl and tell her to call the whole thing off. Make you open up door number one: manning up to Mancini and telling him about the sanctions.”
“What? You’re the one who apparently made a name for himself out there in the desert.”
“Can’t a brother make amends?” Dillon asked rhetorically.
“I guess anything’s possible.”
“I believe you’re correct, Mr. Gray.” The cool words, which emanated from Hunter’s office, near the doorway, startled Hunter.
“There you go,” replied Dillon, still on the line. And then an extended pause. “You there? Hunter?”
Hunter stared at Mancini, who feigned patience as he perused the personal contents of Hunter’s office. He amused himself momentarily with one of the bobbleheads. As Hunter debated whether to remove his feet from the desk, wanting to avoid the impression of looking guilty, he couldn’t help but notice how much pleasure Mancini appeared to be getting by vigorously shaking David Beckham’s synthetic likeness. “Right. Gotta go,” added Hunter calmly. “One of the partners just walked in. But like I said,
call Mom
and just tell her you’re all right.” And then Hunter ended the call, with a perplexed Dillon still mid-sentence. Loretta, who had clearly dropped the ball in not forewarning Hunter about Mancini, momentarily stepped into Hunter’s sightline wearing an exaggerated, apologetic expression.
Mancini paused deliberately. Hunter just waited for the other shoe to drop. “Everything all right on the old home front there, my friend?” Mancini clearly wasn’t buying it.
Who knows how long he was standing outside the door?
Hunter had to think fast. “So-so. My sister’s been a proverbial thorn in my side for years,” answered Hunter sincerely, making a point of dead eying Mancini. “And lately she’s driving my poor mom batty.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks.”
“She your only sibling?”
“Yes.”
“And I take it she’s not an attorney.”
“An aspiring actress.”
“Interesting,” replied Mancini, pretending to care. “You know, she might fit in well around here,” he said cryptically.
“How do you mean?”
“Just that some of the finest trial lawyers I’ve ever encountered are also extremely proficient actors. All the world truly is a stage, with the courtroom being no exception,” philosophized Mancini. “Anyway, you’re a very tough man to get a hold of. E-mails, phone calls. Didn’t Stephanie give you the message? I’ll have to have a talk with her.”
“She did,” Hunter defended her. “Things have been more than a little crazy lately, as you might’ve heard.”
“And I bet the last thing you need is a partner like me micromanaging you.”
“No. It’s all right. I mean, you’re not.”
Bullshit.
“Frankly, that’s not even my style. It’s just that this particular case intrigues me. And I’m not used to that these days. It’s become mundane. These behemoth cases, millions of dollars at stake. No emotion. No passion. Just crunching the numbers, strategizing, and cost-benefit analysis.”
Hunter tried to be attentive. But the last thing he needed at the moment was a sappy lecture on the emotional hurdles confronting a multimillionaire managing partner.
Mancini continued, “That’s for another time, though. I actually wanted to share some news, which I thought might be of interest to you. Something that might shed some light on the real history of this case.” Mancini paused. “Before I do, though, how is Andy?” Mancini’s question seemed heartfelt. “I’m sorry,” consoled Mancini. “I know you guys have been pretty close for some time now.”
“Thanks. Frankly, I’m still in a little bit of shock.”
“So, how’s he holding up? Last I heard he made a bit of progress over the night.”
“That’s about all I know, too. The doctors think he’s finally out of the woods, as far as permanent brain damage goes. I was planning on heading up to the hospital after work.”
Mancini’s BlackBerry buzzed in its belt holster. Mancini whipped it out and stared at the screen, quickly ruling out the need for an immediate response. “Sorry,” he said as he looked back up and re-holstered. “So do they have any leads in the case?”
“I doubt it at this point. I know for sure there’ve been no arrests. There’s a detective who has been assigned to the case.”
“Detective Risotto, right?”
“Yeah. That’s the one.” Hunter was surprised by Mancini’s insight.
Mancini read him like an open book. “You seem surprised?”
“No. It’s just that…”
“Andy’s part of the Whitman family. He’s one of us. In fact, this could’ve been any one of us.”
“So you don’t think Andy was targeted?”
“Too early to tell. I’m announcing a fifty-thousand-dollar reward on tonight’s news.” Mancini paused and adjusted the already perfect knot of his silver silk tie. A high flyer like him always had to be prepared for the next power meeting or media appearance.
Although Mancini seemed to care for another member of the “Whitman family,” Hunter couldn’t help but to think it was just another PR opportunity in his eyes. “That should help.”
“So long as any witnesses aren’t too chicken shit to come forward.”
“Fifty grand’s a lot of money,” acknowledged Hunter.
“True,” concurred Mancini proudly. “At any rate, I’ve already spoken with the DA and the police commissioner. They’re of the opinion, and frankly I think the DA takes the lead from Commissioner O’Brien, that the beating is consistent with the spate of recent subway attacks.” Hunter immediately wondered whether the DA would’ve revealed anything about his own predicament to Mancini. Sheila had just spoken to him about the matter, and it had to be fresh in his mind—even if he was consumed by hundreds of serious cases.
“How so? The timing? The style?”
“They didn’t give me too much more to go on. Don’t want to,” Mancini used his fingers as quotation marks, “‘jeopardize the other investigations.’ What’s your instinct tell you?”
“
My instinct
?” asked Hunter, caught slightly off guard.
“Sure. Your instincts are pretty good, right?” Hunter couldn’t tell if Mancini was being sincere or just toying with him. Although it was true, his instincts were typically spot-on. The Vito’s case had thrown him off balance, though, rattled his confidence.
“My gut tells me it’s related to the Vito’s case.”
“The Vito’s case?” pondered Mancini. “That’s interesting. And what makes you say that?”
Hunter had debated over mentioning his own targeting. But he decided to take a risk and clue Mancini in anyway. “I won’t bore you with the nitty-gritty, and this isn’t my way of telling you I want off the case, but someone’s been keeping pretty close tabs on me. And frankly, I don’t think they’re very happy about my involvement in the case.”
“You mean the firm’s involvement?” corrected Mancini.
“Right. I guess it would be anybody representing the city.”
“And there’s no chance you’re being…”
“What? Paranoid?” interrupted Hunter. “Not a snowball’s chance in hell. These guys will do whatever it takes to send me a message. And that includes going after Andy.”
“Why Andy, though? I don’t see it. He’s not even on the case.”
“He’s close to me, though.”
“Still think it’s a stretch. If all we’ve got is a conceivably random attack on one of our associates, and one you know pretty well, then that’s not a whole helluva lot to base a conspiracy theory on.” Mancini clearly didn’t know about Stephanie nearly becoming roadkill in the Italian market. But that topic was entirely off-limits. Once Mancini realized where it happened and put two and two together, it wouldn’t be long before he figured out that Stephanie had gone there to warn him about Mancini.
“I’m sure you’re right. But if you’re not, we’ll find out soon enough. These people, whoever they are, seem hell-bent on getting their point across. They’re downright brazen.”
“So there’s definitely more than one of them? Not just some isolated whack-job?”
“I’m not sure exactly how many. I’ve only come face to face with one of them. But there’s no doubt they’re professionals.”
“And you’re sure everything started when you came on board the case?”
“Positive.”
“But how the hell did they know you were on the case that quickly?” wondered Mancini under his breath. “And so your thought is that it’s Vito Armani’s people? And the attack on Andy was supposed to be a warning shot to you and the firm about our involvement in the case?”
“Something like that. That’s the only logical explanation there is at the moment.”
“It doesn’t add up, though. The guy’s an extremely savvy businessman. And despite what he might’ve originally thought about the case, he’s been riding the PR train all the way to the bank. If anything, I would suspect that it’s one of those white supremacist groups.”
“Consider this for motive, though. If the guy loses the case, all the favorable publicity may very well go away. The last time I checked, no major network was in the habit of overtly promoting xenophobia or bigotry,” said Hunter.
“That’s debatable,” interjected Mancini. “A loss and a string of appeals might only bolster his public persona.”
“Anyway, at the moment, with the trial a few days out, there’s still a very real possibility that anti-immigration sentiment and free speech win the day. And if he truly is that business savvy, he understands the concept of quitting while one’s ahead. Should the city drop its case today, or tomorrow, for example, he’d go out on a high note. He becomes even more of a right-wing media darling, helping his cause and most importantly, his bottom line.”
Mancini still wasn’t persuaded. “But
if
he got caught trying to back the city down like that, the whole thing could just as easily blow up in his face. Not to mention he’d be looking at a nice little vacation to Club Fed.”
“Maybe the success went to his head and he convinced himself he’s invincible. Or he’s like any other shrewd millionaire. He’s got others he can rely on to take care of his dirty work.”
“Like who? Loyalty isn’t exactly for sale these days, in case you haven’t noticed. If there’s a conspiracy, the only conceivable explanation is that the Mafia’s involved.”