Mob Lawyer 4: A Legal Thriller Page 15

  “I think we can figure it out,” I assured him. “Don’t give up after one day. I know there’s a solution that doesn’t involve, ah, what your dad suggested.”

  “And let my capos think I’m a fica,” Anthony laughed without humor. “I don’t know how to make this work, Hunter.”

  “Just because it’s never been done before,” I insisted. “You want to do things your way, and everyone else has done them like the dons before them. There’s nothing wrong with being different, and I’ll help you with everything I can to make sure at the end of the day, you feel like you can sleep that night.”

  Anthony took in a deep breath and released it.

  “Alright, we’ll wait it out and come up with something,” he agreed. “In the meantime, I hope you still look presentable enough to pass for a lawyer.”

  “I think so,” I said with a nervous laugh. “I might need a shave if I’m going to see a judge. Why?”

  “Because I just got a call from Rossi,” he answered. “Someone went after him in Rikers.”

  “Shit,” I muttered as I threw my car into gear. “I can be there in thirty minutes.”

  “Rossi is fine,” Anthony explained while I pulled into traffic. “But he’s pissed. He has a reputation for fighting back, but he said he resisted the urge to pummel the guy to avoid extra trouble. He said you already had your work cut out for you, and he didn’t want to make it harder to get out.”

  “Well, that was smart,” I said with a note of surprise. “So, what’s the problem?”

  “The warden already pulled him aside and told him the DA’s adding another assault to his case,” my client grunted. “So much for staying out of trouble. He could have beat any of those guys in a fair fight, but someone has it out for him.”

  “It sounds like self-defense,” I murmured. “I wonder what the warden told the DA to have him pressing charges.”

  “I don’t know, but you need to go figure it out before Rossi loses his shit,” Anthony advised me. “I wouldn’t call him a hothead, but everyone has their limits.”

  “Understood,” I agreed before he hung up the phone.

  It was unusual for a DA to agree to file charges without investigating the evidence for himself, and I was concerned that Adams had done so at the warden’s direction. Even if I didn’t suspect nearly all the city officials of corruption, that was downright suspicious.

  No attorney in their right mind should take someone like that at their word. It was dangerous and spoke to a degree of collusion, a point I intended to make if there was even an inkling of truth to Rossi’s story. Considering he’d been able to keep his cool in the precinct interrogation room, I had a feeling Anthony’s enforcer was the kind of guy that only did exactly what needed to be done. If he’d taken a beating in Rikers, it was because he was being smart about the situation, which made additional charges even more confusing.

  When I pulled up to the gates of Rikers, the guards waved me through once they saw my ID badge. An attorney showing up at the edge of visiting hours was common since most of us spent regular office hours in court hearings and the like. I parked in the lot near the main prison and marched inside to get through the rest of security.

  As I tucked my gun into one of the lockboxes, a large cocoa-skinned man in a cheap suit strutted up to the other side of the sliding metal door. His head was shaved nearly bald, and his pudgy face was filled with a cool arrogance as he looked me up and down. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to figure out who I was or decide if I’d make a good snack. Something about him made my skin crawl.

  “You Hunter Morgan?” he asked through the gaps.

  “Yes,” I confirmed as I turned to face him. “I’m here to see my client.”

  “You found me,” he chuckled. “The name’s Richard Marlowe, and I’m the warden here. I assume you’re referring to Mr. Rossi.”

  “Yes, Mr. Rossi is my client,” I said warily. “Are you going to bring him to the visitor’s area for me?”

  “Not just yet, Mr. Morgan,” Marlowe replied with another cocky grin.

  “And why are you denying my client’s right to counsel?” I demanded. “We have to prepare a defense, and--”

  “Calm down, Counselor,” he insisted. “I’ll let you go talk to him, but let’s chat in my office first. Come on back.”

  The door slid open, and I narrowed my eyes for a moment before I followed the wide man through a series of clanging gates. Then he stepped up to a side door and waited for a loud buzz. The door popped open, and he motioned for me to follow him into a much quieter area with carpeted floors and floral wallpaper.

  We walked to the end of the hall and into what I assumed was Marlowe’s office. A few plaques and awards decorated the otherwise bare walls, but the most noticeable feature was an entire wall dedicated to security cameras in the prison.

  At least two dozen screens showed every movement in Rikers, and the warden had a bird’s eye view of the events that took place in his jail.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” he asked as he caught me staring. “That’s how I know everything that goes on here.”

  “Including my client’s alleged fight?” I turned toward him and met his gaze.

  “Yep,” he confirmed and grabbed the laptop from his desk to close it. “I watched the whole thing.”

  “Well, I’d like to see it for myself,” I said and motioned to the laptop.

  “It’s evidence,” Marlowe argued as his eyes narrowed into slits. “I can’t show it to you without the DA’s permission.”

  “It’s evidence regarding my client,” I insisted as I arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying you don’t believe the defense should have access to all parts of the investigation, warden? Because I’ll be happy to drag you into court to argue that point.”

  Some of the arrogance left the warden’s face as he paled at my threat. He cleared his throat and shook his head.

  “N-No,” he stuttered and drummed his fingers on the laptop lid. “I just, ah, don’t have permission to, um, share it.”

  “You shared it with the DA, didn’t you?” I pressed.

  “Well, I told him what happened,” he hedged.

  “And now, you’ll show me,” I demanded. “I’ll see it once I file for discovery anyway, so you might as well let me see it now. Or I can subpoena you as a witness when I file a motion against the state for withholding evidence.”

  “No, uh, don’t do that.” Marlowe’s skin began to moisten with sweat. “Listen, I’ll just let you look at it, and then you can talk to the DA about it. I’m sure he’s on his way.”

  “Good, I think Mr. Adams will be happy to know you cooperated,” I muttered as he flipped the laptop open and turned it around.

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the grainy image on the screen, but I was able to pick out Rossi’s large form as he sat at a table and ate his meal alone. He never looked up at anyone else and only focused on the tray in front of him as he ate small, quick bites of his lunch.

  Suddenly, another inmate sprinted across the cafeteria and jumped onto Rossi’s back. He wrapped his forearm around Rossi’s throat and held on like a monkey while Rossi rose to his feet and tried to sling him off.

  Eventually, Rossi realized the inmate wouldn’t let go, and he grabbed his tray and smashed it over his attacker’s head. The correctional officers finally took notice of the fight and slowly began to push their way through the growing crowd but not before two more inmates tried to jump Rossi from behind. He whirled around with the food tray and knocked both of them on their asses, but he stopped once the officers were within arm’s length. He gently set the tray down, dropped to his knees, and put his hands on the back of his head.

  I was in shock.

  The video clearly showed Rossi had been jumped and then defended himself, and the warden tried to play it off as Rossi’s fault. Even a blind man could see my client hadn’t been the aggressor, and I was baffled as to why the warden would want Rossi in deeper trouble.

  “So, t
here you have it,” Marlowe declared. “Mr. Rossi assaulted three fellow inmates and sent them to the infirmary with head injuries. As is my duty, I notified DA Adams about the inmate’s attack, so he could press charges against the offending party.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I scoffed. “Do you even know what an offending party is? That video shows my client acting in self-defense against three different attackers. If anyone should be charged, it’s those three.”

  “I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree,” he chuckled.

  I opened my mouth to reply when there was a knock at the door. Then DA Adams walked inside and glanced at me in surprise before he recovered and set his briefcase on the desk.

  “Mr. Morgan, I’m surprised you beat me here,” Adams muttered. “I assume your client is willing to speak with me about a plea deal now?”

  “Not today, Counselor,” I shot back. “Watch the video for yourself.”

  Adams frowned before he motioned for Marlowe to restart the security footage. His face grew redder and redder as we all watched the replay of the fight, and he clenched his fists at his side when it was finished.

  “Rich, are you kidding me with this shit?” he snarled. “I can’t take that to a judge to charge Rossi.”

  “He assaulted three inmates!” Marlowe insisted. “I told you!”

  “Sure, three inmates that attacked him first.” I smirked and rolled my eyes. “Even Mr. Adams can’t believe you tried to turn this into something it isn’t. I don’t know what you have against my client, but he acted exactly the way someone is supposed to who gets jumped. Get the attackers away and wait for authorities. It’s textbook self-defense.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Morgan,” Adams grunted. “And I’m disappointed you called me up here for this bullshit. I don’t have time for games. If you get a real issue, call me.”

  I grinned as I grabbed my briefcase, and the two of us turned to walk out of Marlowe’s office.

  Then the red light above the door flashed on and off as a piercing alarm shrieked down the halls.

  Chapter 9

  “What the hell is going on?” Adams demanded as we both whirled around to face Marlowe.

  The warden’s eyes widened as he dabbed the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief and tucked it back into his pocket.

  “Hello?” I waved my hands in front of him. “What’s happening?”

  “It’s a lockdown,” Marlowe finally answered and took a deep breath. “Which means I have to go, and you have to stay here.”

  “Stay here?” Adams repeated with wide eyes. “We need to get out of here.”

  “You can’t,” the warden insisted and sighed exasperatedly. “Lock. Down. It means no one in, and no one out, including attorneys. Just stay in my office, and you’ll be fine.”

  “A lockdown for what?” I stomped closer to his desk. “What kind of show are you running here?”

  Marlowe ignored me and marched past us to his door before he turned around with a serious look on his pudgy face.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he warned. “You’ll only put everyone in danger.”

  With that, he slammed the door shut behind him, and Adams and I were left to his office alone while the sirens blared throughout the prison.

  “What do they go into lockdown for?” Adams asked.

  “How should I know?” I retorted. “I’ve never been in prison.”

  “You defend criminals,” he sneered and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Well, I guess we can figure it out for ourselves,” I muttered as I pointed to the wall of security feed screens. “He said he can see everything that goes on here, so I suppose we can, too.”

  Obviously, neither of us were familiar with what we were looking at, so it took a few minutes to figure out what had triggered the lockdown. Most of the inmates were rushing toward their cells while officers slammed the doors shut to pin them down.

  One screen, however, showed a very different scene.

  A man in a jailer’s uniform laid still on the ground. A dark stain blossomed on his torso, and even through the grainy feed, I could tell it was blood. Next to his unmoving body, a handful of inmates were trading blows.

  The security camera wasn’t the best quality, and at first, it looked like a flurry of fists and feet as the group tumbled around on the ground in the fight. Then one of the men stood up and wiped a stream of blood from his mouth.

  It was Gervasio Rossi.

  “Surprise, surprise,” Adams muttered.

  “What surprises you, Counselor?” I scoffed. “The fact that my client is clearly being targeted by someone in Rikers?”

  “No,” he chuckled. “That a mobster thug has only taken out one guard since he got here.”

  “You don’t know what happened,” I snarled. “Neither of us do.”

  “Sure,” Adams said with a shrug.

  My client was dealing with his second fight in less than twenty-four hours, and I gritted my teeth as I watched helplessly from the warden’s office. As Rossi took a step back from the other inmates, they clambered to their feet and went after him again. This time it was two-on-one, and Adams kept a close eye on the fight, though he didn’t add to his accusation.

  We watched in silence as the fight continued and no more jailers made an appearance.

  I didn’t recognize the other two inmates, though it was hard to make out any details in the low-quality video. All I could tell was one man was covered in prison tattoos from his neck down to his wrists, while the other one had long pale hair tied back in a ponytail. I didn’t think either of them looked like Serbians, but they could have just as easily been paid to start this altercation.

  Then I grew wary of the time it took for someone to intervene. These two had already killed an officer, but no one was rushing in to keep them from killing Rossi as well.

  “Do they just let them fight since someone killed the other CO?” I asked in confusion. “They should have gotten there by now, right?”

  “Someone,” Adams repeated with a smirk. “Like we don’t know who did it.”

  “Did you see the beginning of the fight?” I demanded. “Because I sure didn’t, and I’m fairly certain our justice system says my client is innocent until proven guilty. Being involved in a fight is not evidence of guilt, or have you already forgotten the first fight we just watched?”

  “Two fights in two days?” The Brooklyn DA arched a doubtful eyebrow. “I’d say that’s evidence of something.”

  “Yeah, evidence that someone is out to harm my client,” I argued. “You should be worried about how that reflects on your office since it’s your bogus charges that got him here in the first place.”

  Adams furrowed his brow but didn’t argue as we both turned to see a group of officers in full riot gear trot down the hall toward the fight. They held riot shields, batons, and various guns. One man with a riot shield led the charge with what appeared to be a grenade in his hand.

  “Ah, here come the SORT guys,” the DA murmured.

  “With grenades and rifles?” I shifted uncomfortably as we watched the team’s movement across the cameras.

  I had a solid defense in place to keep Rossi’s case from even getting to a jury trial, but there wasn’t much I could do to defend him from a riot squad with a grenade already primed and ready to go.

  “Non-lethal,” Adams replied with a wave of his hand. “Lethal weapons are secondary.”

  I frowned and crossed my arms over my chest. I was already frustrated watching Rossi defend himself from two other inmates, and now I had to worry about his being possibly injured by the SORT officers who filed toward him with military precision.

  As they approached the last turn before the fight, the lead officer tossed what I’d thought was a grenade. A flash of pure white light filled the screen, and when it cleared, all three inmates had their hands over their eyes.

  “A flashbang,” I muttered, and Adams nodded.

  We watched in
silence as Rossi dropped to his knees and surrendered, while the other two inmates started after him again before the SORT officers shot them with rubber bullets. The duo went down to the floor and writhed in pain while the team cuffed them and brought them to their feet.

  I sighed with relief as the officers began to detain the inmates and then Rossi. They didn’t seem to care who had started the fight, but they were fair in their assessment about how to resolve it. I figured if the other COs had stepped in, my client would likely have been shot or worse, so I was grateful for the SORT officers who had taken over.

  “Crisis averted,” the DA exhaled. “The alarms should stop any second.”

  Once the SORT gave the all-clear, the wailing siren and flashing light ceased, and a hushed silence fell over the warden’s office while we waited for his return. We both seemed lost in our own thoughts about what had happened to the correctional officer who was still on the concrete floor as the SORT officers escorted the three inmates from the area.

  A few minutes later, another team rushed on-camera and began to check on the correctional officer. They started quickly but soon slowed their pace as they seemed to confirm his death.

  I shook my head as I turned away from the screens and began to pace the office.

  What the hell was going on with my client?

  And why was he in the middle of multiple fights in such little time?

  I realized I hadn’t updated Anthony on anything since I’d arrived, and I started to pull out my cell phone when Marlowe breezed back into his office and took a deep breath.

  “One of my COs is dead,” he declared as he narrowed his eyes on me. “Mr. Rossi has some explaining to do.”

  “How about we let the videos do the explaining?” I suggested in a calm voice as I pointed to the monitor. “The fight was in perfect view of that camera, so we should be able to see everything that led up to the lockdown, right?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled and waddled over to his laptop. “My guys already told me Rossi was in on it, though. They all saw him right there when Bradford went down. You can ask any of them. They know it was Rossi.”