Justice Hunter (26 page)
H
unter stood on the toilet in the Dunkin’ Donuts restroom as he lifted a square of the drop ceiling with one hand and hid the gun with the other. He was en route to city hall, less than a block away, and he’d have to pass through at least two metal detectors. He needed to find out how high up the food chain the corruption went, and there was no better place to start than with the mayor himself.
About a half dozen or so uniformed cops were stationed outside Mayor Valentine’s wing on the second floor. One of them sat at a desk, which was tucked neatly into a recess right beyond the stairwell. Uninterestedly flipping through his
Daily News
and sipping on a large Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, he looked up at Hunter.
“Help you?”
The chitter-chatter between the others immediately ceased. All eyes were upon Hunter.
“I’m here to see the mayor.”
“Have an appointment?” asked the seated cop as he glanced down at a registry just to humor him. It was obvious he already knew the answer.
“Actually, no,” he replied as the stares from the other officers intensified, wondering exactly where this was going, in a post-9/11 way.
“Sorry but without an appointment—”
“It’s urgent,” interrupted Hunter.
“Pal, we’re gonna have to ask ya ta leave,” said the tallest one of the group.
“Please vacate the area,” requested another.
“This is a matter of life and death,” Hunter added, staring into the eyes of the seated cop. He detected a trace of compassion as he reluctantly lifted his walkie-talkie.
“We got a guy out here who claims it’s urgent. He’s requesting to see the mayor. Copy.”
Static emanated from the receiver. After what seemed like an incredibly long pause, a glib voice came on. “Jesus Christ! Is he a nut job like the one from the other day?”
Chatter resumed behind Hunter, with the officers obviously cracking on the mayor’s staffer.
“Doesn’t appear so,” replied the seated officer. “Over.”
“Tell him to write a letter. The mayor isn’t taking walk-ins this morning.”
“I’ll convey the message,” he said, shaking his head, signaling a no.
“Tell them it involves the mayor and Vito Armani.”
“Wait, wait—”
“What!”
“He says it involves Vito Armani
and
the mayor.”
“Yeah. A criminal probe and the mayor,” he threw in as a last resort.
After another long, deliberate pause, the staffer came back on the line.
“Get his ID and pat him down. Twice.”
“Copy that, sir. I’ll need to see ID,” he said, looking up from the receiver, unfazed.
Mayor Valentine’s office could’ve belonged to any one of the equity partners in town. It was stodgy and masculine, furnished with the usual mahogany trappings and oriental carpets. Philadelphia and United States flags were propped against the wall behind the mayor’s grand desk. A table positioned behind his chair was lined with family photos. Pictures of the mayor with political power brokers such as Arlen Specter and Ed Rendell adorned the walls. These were interspersed with shots of the mayor with homegrown celebrities: Sylvester Stallone, Patti LaBelle, and Kevin Bacon, to name a few.
The mayor and an attractive, unidentified woman rose upon Hunter’s entry into the room. The edgy aide on the walkie-talkie and two escorting cops left the room with Mayor Valentine’s confident nod.
“Mr. Gray, is it?” asked the mayor.
“That’s correct, sir.”
“Don’t let anyone tell you I don’t have an open-door policy over here,” said the mayor with an endearing smile and a slightly cheesy wink in the woman’s direction, who attentively awaited her next official or unofficial instruction, as the case may be.
“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“Your timing was actually impeccable—a welcome distraction from the tedium of planning next month’s itinerary. For some reason, Ms. Worthington here is under the false impression that the mayor is somehow capable of being in more than one place at the same time.” The mayor gestured toward the unidentified woman. “Mr. Gray, meet Ms. Worthington, personal assistant extraordinaire.” Olivia Worthington, half-black, with green eyes, long hair, and very long legs, nodded in Hunter’s direction.
“So, Mr. Gray, I don’t have much time. What’s the emergency?” As an afterthought, he asked, “And of course, you’re not with the press, are you?”
Hunter smiled at the irony of the question. “Far from it.”
“Excellent. Then what may I do you for?”
“Sir, it involves the city’s case against Vito Armani,” he said, trying to read the mayor’s reaction when he heard the name.
“Vito Armani,” he scoffed. “As in Vito’s Pizza, Vito Armani?” It was obvious Mayor Valentine didn’t hold Mr. Armani in very high esteem.
“That’s the one.”
“What the hell did he do this time?” he asked sternly.
“It’s nothing like that.”
“Then I’m not sure
I
can be of much help to you. We obviously have our attorneys handling the matter, whatever it is. And naturally I’m not at liberty to comment on this case—or any of them, for that matter.”
“Sir—”
“Really,
Mr. Gray
,” he replied, “unless it’s truly an emergency, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Suddenly, Hunter could hear activity right outside the office, presumably other staffers or security detail awaiting the mayor’s cue.
“Please,” he said, putting his hands out in a diplomatic, hold-on-a-minute gesture. “I’m an associate at Whitman Packer and lead counsel on the case for the city—the Human Relations Commission, to be more precise.” He paused, allowing Mayor Valentine to absorb that fact. “I work with Al Mancini.”
A light bulb seemed to go off inside the mayor’s head. His exaggerated, even-I-make-mistakes smile morphed into an arrogant chuckle, clearly a response he had mastered over the years in politics. Ms. Worthington followed suit in a shameless display of ring kissing.
“Al Mancini. Now there’s a blast from the blast,” he said, running his thumb’s fingernail in between his yellowish front teeth.
A nervous habit,
Hunter thought. “What’s Al up to these days? You’ll have to convey my warm regards.”
“Will do,” said Hunter, feeling the mayor’s stare bore into him. Utter curiosity and determination marked Valentine’s expression, his hair an African-American salt-and-pepper puff—much heavier on the salt.
While Hunter had the mayor’s undivided attention, he figured he’d get right to the point, if to gauge his reaction more than anything else. There was no doubt in Hunter’s mind that the mayor’s behavior was strange. Now it was just a question of whether he was concealing something or merely playing the part of the savvy politician. “Sir, it’s my understanding that you, rather than the Human Rights Commission, initiated the case against Vito. Isn’t that highly unconventional?” Hunter had no actual proof for this allegation, but it was the only hypothesis that made sense.
Valentine, unfazed, smiled. “I’m not sure where you came up with that farfetched theory, or even why, for that matter,” he replied expertly, slowly turning toward his assistant. “Olivia, why don’t you leave us alone for a minute? Get started on the changes we discussed while I finish up here with Mr. Gray.”
Olivia obediently left the room. And with a simple nod from Valentine, the door to his office clicked shut. As cool as he was playing it in the company of staff, they were alone now. Valentine had carte blanche to blow up, set aside restraint. There were no witnesses, and it became perfectly clear that the mayor intended to do just that. “Who the hell do you think you are waltzing into my office slinging accusations like that? Without any evidence, no less.”
“With all due respect—” Hunter started, not intimidated in the least.
“Oh, come on now, son,” whipped the mayor, spinning on the heel of his Gucci loafer before moving into Hunter’s space. “Don’t give me that fake polite bullshit. Where are you going with this? Because I don’t take too kindly to people who waste my time.” A deliberate pause. “Does Al, or shall I say Mr. Mancini, even know you’re here harassing the person in control of every goddamn contract that firm of yours has ever seen?”
No response.
“That’s what I thought,” replied the mayor angrily. “And why shouldn’t I get him on the phone right now?”
“That’s your prerogative, Mr. Mayor,” said Hunter, calling his bluff. “But I would consider this before you go ahead and do that. I’ve acquired evidence that links Mr. Mancini to Vito Armani. If it turns out in the end this case was nothing more than a ruse, you’ll be implicated, guaranteed. And don’t think for an instant that your old pal Al would hesitate to sell you out if it meant cutting some sort of deal for himself.” Hunter waited for the threat to register. “Still want to make that call?”
“Just ask your goddamn questions. And know that this conversation never happened.”
The door clicked open, and Ms. Worthington reappeared. She held a note out in the mayor’s direction as she concentrated on her seductive gait and high heels. Hunter noticed for the first time that her business professional skirt was about two inches too short.
The mayor casually accepted the note and glanced at it, his accusatorial stare shifting to Hunter as the assistant retreated toward the door. “But before you do, let me ask
you
a couple questions.”
Hunter consented reluctantly, knowing that whatever was on that note couldn’t be good.
“So we just received word that you’re a person of interest in Judge Russo’s murder investigation. Isn’t that right?” he asked, revealing his litigation chops. In his previous life, Valentine had been a litigator at a powerful and politically connected insurance defense firm. “Why don’t you fill me in there, counselor,” he ordered.
“There’s nothing to know,” said Hunter, masking his anxiety. “Just a simple misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding?” asked Valentine, smiling in utter disbelief. “That’s a pretty big
fucking
misunderstanding, son. Isn’t it?”
“I had nothing to do with it,” replied Hunter, adamant about his innocence. “I can assure you.”
“I sure as hell hope not.” The mayor paused to strategize his next move. “And this wouldn’t be connected in any way to Judge Primeau, now would it?”
“Excuse me?”
How the hell did he know about her?
“Oh, I know all about your convenient little tryst with that judge. A highly unethical one, I’m hearing, to boot,” he added, twisting the knife. “Isn’t that why you’re really here, though?” he pressed. “It’s got nothing to do with the city’s case against Mr. Armani. Rather, it’s about you. Trying to cover your goddamn tracks. That’s my theory.”
“My tracks?” questioned Hunter. “And you think I’d come here to do that?”
“Not a doubt in my mind,” Valentine replied, puffing his lips in revulsion. “Don’t play me for a fool, Mr. Gray. I suppose you want me to start an investigation—something implicating Al, no less.” Valentine’s responses were beginning to seem rehearsed. As if he’d been forewarned by Mancini.
“If that’s what it takes,” tested Hunter.
Like an enraged bull, Valentine began his charge, getting right up in Hunter’s face. He was absolutely seething, venomous even. For a second, Hunter was sure the mayor was going to clutch his throat. Yet he stopped just short in an impressive display of will power—the sort of control exuded by the most charismatic and narcissistic of leaders. “If I find out that you came here for the purpose of somehow implicating me in any of this, don’t think for an instant I won’t hunt you down and destroy you.”
“With all due respect,” replied Hunter, refusing to back down, “it’s too late for that.”
“Get the fuck out of my office.”
Hunter retreated, never taking his eye off of Valentine. “I’ll leave. That’s fine. But I can assure you, sir, that I’m close. Very close,” he threatened.
“You’re insane. You know that?”
Hunter donned a big smile a la Jack Nicholson in
The Shining
. “Maybe you’re right. But just don’t say I never gave you a fighting chance,” he said before opening the door and making sure to slam it behind him.