Mob Lawyer 4: A Legal Thriller Page 4

Two pairs of large hands latched onto each of my arms and pushed me up against the bricks that walled the alley. When I finally got my wits about me, I realized two men in plain gray suits had me pinned, and my protection was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter 3

  “Who the hell are you?” I demanded as I tried fruitlessly to struggle against their grasp.

  “Mr. Morgan, calm down,” the one on my right said.

  I focused on his bald head and almond-shaped eyes then looked further down his wide frame. He had a bulge on his right hip that I recognized right away, but I noticed something else tucked onto his belt.

  A badge that read Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  “Feds?” I asked in a bewildered voice. “What’s going on?”

  “We need to talk to you,” the other one said. “Can you stop trying to fight us now?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t guarantee I’ll respond,” I muttered as they released their grip.

  I brushed off my jacket and stood squarely in front of the two FBI agents.

  “My name is Agent Hisashi,” the bald one introduced himself. “This is my partner, Agent Monroe. We need your help with our investigation.”

  “I’ve been down this road multiple times,” I said with a degree of frustration. “I told the other feds everything I know about the Pietro’s shooting. My client did the same. And I hope you weren’t stupid enough to talk to him again without me being present.”

  “No, you were our first stop.” Monroe smirked.

  Something about Agent Monroe rubbed me the wrong way. He was considerably younger than Hisashi and much more arrogant. His suit was freshly pressed, and his shoes were so shiny the sun seemed to reflect at full power. His beady chocolate eyes were homed in on me, and his cocky smile revealed a pair of dimples on his cheeks. He looked fresh out of Quantico, and I decided to ignore his attitude and focus on his more experienced partner.

  “Good choice,” I murmured as I reached for my wallet and pulled out a fresh new business card. “Now, I have a client to help, so if you want to call me, we can set up a time for me to come by your office--”

  “We can’t do that,” Monroe interrupted with a wave of his hand. “We need to talk now. We’re federal agents, for God’s sake.”

  “Well, that’s not going to happen,” I replied. “I have a job, and you two are currently impeding on it. I don’t think the judge will accept ‘the feds stopped me outside’ as a valid excuse for being late to court. So, you can either wait until I’m done, or you can call me for a more convenient time. You can decide in the next ten seconds.”

  The federal agents glanced at each other before Hisashi motioned for his rookie partner to join him a few feet away from me. They discussed the situation in whispers, and I pointedly looked at my watch again.

  Five minutes until court started.

  Just as my mental countdown from ten had reached zero, Hisashi turned around and nodded his head.

  “Alright, we’ll wait for you here. And don’t bother getting your bodyguard to clear us out first. If we have to subpoena you, we will, but we don’t want to do that.”

  The thought of sending Hank had briefly crossed my mind, but they seemed to be legitimate agents, and I didn’t want the bodyguard talking to them, especially without me present or knowing what they wanted to talk about. I didn’t need to get any of Anthony’s other associates involved in this just yet. I’d have to figure it out myself before I looped in anyone else.

  It could be something completely unrelated to Anthony, but I wouldn’t know anything until I got done with court. And I wouldn’t have a job if I didn’t get to court on time.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be back.” I grimaced before I sprinted down the alley toward the courthouse.

  As I pushed through the large glass doors, I had only three minutes to spare. While I walked down the hall to the elevator, I wondered what in the world the feds could want from me this time. I knew they weren’t satisfied with our answers about the shooting, but there wasn’t anything else I could give them, and the first set of investigators had already agreed that my involvement had been strictly as a victim who happened to be in the area.

  Well, they mostly agreed with the circumstantial victim part. They obviously suspected I knew what was going on inside with Salvatore Febbo’s former lieutenant, but they had no evidence to suggest I’d done anything except go inside to check on him. It had to be something else.

  Maybe they were investigating Salvatore’s shooting? The Febbo patriarch had nearly died from his attack, and while Anthony had his suspects, he hadn’t been able to nail down who was responsible for his father’s near death. As far as I knew, no one had been named as a suspect, which was partially surprising because the families liked to take credit for their attacks, but it was also a brazen move to go after the father of the family.

  If it wasn’t either of the shootings, then what else could it be? I’d been defending several known mobsters, but they obviously knew I couldn’t talk about the family’s dealings with them. It was all protected conversation. And I hadn’t done anything illegal for the family… well, not exactly illegal. I’d bought a burner phone and tipped off the cops about a drug deal from the rival Serbians, but that was to see who was loyal within the NYPD, not to make Anthony’s business easier, though that might have been an unintended side effect.

  Even if they knew I’d purchased and made the call from the burner, it wasn’t against the law to tip off the cops about a drug deal. It was frowned upon to use untraceable phones, but they couldn’t stop it. So, what the hell would they want with me?

  All in all, I couldn’t come up with one damn thing they could want to talk to me about that I could answer. It didn’t make any sense.

  I hurried into the courtroom and power walked through the gallery. A few heads turned to watch my breezy entrance, but I had to focus on the case. Serafina Davide was my current client, and she stood accused of robbery. The state had pressed charges based on a single witness who described the attack on a small liquor store in the Midland Beach area and was “pretty sure” Serafina was the girl she saw.

  The owner of the store had declined to press charges, but the prosecution seemed to think Serafina had intimidated their witness. I already knew, however, that Serafina hadn’t even been near Staten Island when the theft went down. I had fuel receipts and traffic cams to back up my information, whereas the prosecution had yet to show anything that would indicate she was a low-level liquor store thief.

  The bailiff brought my client into the courtroom to stand next to me, and her neon-orange jumpsuit stuck out like a sore thumb, but it enhanced the coppery tone of her skin and long auburn hair. Serafina was young, only twenty years old, but her uncle had been a longtime friend of the Febbo family, and she was well on her way to becoming an associate as well. She had already achieved a Bachelor’s degree in finance and was halfway through her MBA. She probably could have been out on bail since the state’s case was so thin, but she’d refused to use the family money on it. Even so, her case seemed to be the NYPD or DA’s office staking out another known Febbo associate, but still, the young Italian woman looked grim.

  “What’s wrong?” I whispered.

  “I look terrible in orange,” Serafina pouted. “Plus, I have a research paper to finish. How long until I’m out of this thing?”

  “Soon,” I chuckled before the bailiff stood in front of the judge’s bench.

  “All rise,” he called out.

  We stood in unison as the judge entered the courtroom. He was old and papery thin, but his eyes were sharp. They darted around the room and rested momentarily on each person as though he was memorizing who had attended the hearing.

  “You may be seated,” he announced as he sat down. “ADA Sloan, do you have the additional evidence prepared for the defense to examine?”

  “Ah, we need a short continuance, Your Honor,” Sloan replied. “The state needs a bit more time to finish gathering evidence.”

&n
bsp; The wiry lawyer was in his fifties, and he had a habit of constantly pushing his thick black glasses up his nose as he scrolled over the papers on the table in front of him. His ill-fitting gray suit looked uncomfortable as he avoided the judge’s imposing stare.

  “More time?” I looked at Sloan with wide eyes. “You’ve already had a continuance, not to mention the investigation prior to actually charging my client. At what point did your officers think arresting Ms. Davide without any evidence was a good idea? It seems they and you have forgotten how the legal system works.”

  “Mr. Morgan, I believe I’m the one assigned to do the judging here,” the judge admonished me gently. “Though the defense makes a valid point. Why did your office pursue charges without enough evidence in place?”

  “Uh, I’m sorry, Your Honor,” Sloan mumbled. “In this case, I’m merely the messenger.”

  “Then you need to run a tighter ship,” the judge grumbled. “At this point, have you gathered enough evidence to present to a jury regarding Ms. Davide?”

  “Not yet, Your Honor,” the ADA said as sweat began to bead on his forehead. “The investigation is still ongoing.”

  “Then I move for immediate dismissal,” I retorted. “My client has already spent three weeks in Rikers waiting for the state to come up with enough legitimate reasons to keep her there, and she’s missed valuable time in the college classroom. She’s a student, not a thief, and she should be allowed to return to her studies. She shouldn’t have to stay in jail while the DA gets his act together.”

  “We have the eyewitness statement that places Ms. Davide at the scene,” Sloan insisted. “As well as her fingerprint on the door handle.”

  “At a shop she frequents at least three times a month because it is less than a mile from her apartment,” I shot back. “She could have left fingerprints at any point in time. You have nothing definitive tying my client to this case.”

  “Is this fingerprint all you have in the way of physical evidence, Mr. Sloan?” the judge asked as he cocked his head to the side.

  “It is so far, Your Honor,” Sloan muttered.

  “And your office still chose to pursue charges, despite the noticeable lack of direct evidence,” the judge continued with a frown. “Do you have anything else to bring to the table today?”

  “I’m afraid not,” the ADA exhaled.

  “Then I will be granting the defense’s motion to dismiss the larceny charge,” the judge declared. “Ms. Davide, you are free to go.”

  “Thank God,” Serafina said with a grin. “Can I have my clothes back?”

  “We’ll have to get them back from booking,” I replied. “Let’s go.”

  As we turned to exit the buzzing courtroom, ADA Sloan gave me a heat-filled glare but kept his mouth shut. I offered a Cheshire cat grin before I guided my client through the gallery and back into the hall. Serafina’s case hadn’t been quite as sensationalized in the press, so no one attacked us with questions at our exit, and it was fairly easy to meander through the halls to the booking area.

  A few minutes later, my client was back in her street clothes with a dazzling smile on her face. She looked like a typical college student again, and she squeezed me into a hug before she stepped back and grinned again.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Now, you go get that paper done,” I answered easily. “And keep my number in case they try anything like that again.”

  “You got it, boss,” Serafina laughed as she tucked my business card into her jeans pocket. “See you around!”

  She practically danced down the hallway to the front doors, and I couldn’t help but smile as I took a slower pace toward the same exit.

  Then the smile faded when I saw the alley and remembered the two men who awaited my return. I’d kept my mind on Serafina’s case until she’d walked out of the courtroom, so I still had no clue what the feds could possibly want to talk to me about. As I reached the sidewalk, the familiar black Chrysler slowed to a stop and rolled down the passenger window.

  “Do you want me to take you back to your car?” Hank asked. “I couldn’t find a spot, so I’ve just been circling the block.”

  “No, thanks.” I shook my head and grimaced. “There are some feds in the alley that want to talk to me. I’m not sure what it’s about yet, but I need to find out in case it’s something Anthony needs to know about.”

  “You really think you should go talk to them?” he asked with doubt written all over his face. “I could just take you to your car, and you could pretend you forgot they were there.”

  “They’d just show up somewhere else,” I replied. “They tracked me down today, and I imagine they’d do it again. I just need to know what it’s about, and then I can figure out what to do about them.”

  “And Tony doesn’t know they’re here?” Hank pressed.

  “Not yet,” I answered. “I didn’t have time to call him before court, and without knowing what they want, I don’t want to worry him. Just stay close, okay?”

  “I don’t like this, Mr. Morgan,” the bodyguard replied darkly. “If anything happens, I could be anywhere around the block.”

  “I don’t think they’re dumb enough to attack me,” I replied. “Just park next to my car with your hazard lights on and pop the hood. Maybe the cops won’t mess with you if you look broken down.”

  “Good idea,” Hank agreed with a nod. “That’s where I’ll be.”

  He drove off and looped around to park while I continued across the street toward the alley. A heavy feeling settled in the pit of my stomach as I made my way to the agents, but I knew I had to get some answers.

  My newest friends waited in the shadows until I was nearly on top of them, and Hisashi stepped out in front of me.

  “Jesus,” I muttered. “You don’t have to creep around back here.”

  “That didn’t take long,” he remarked. “You must be a very good attorney.”

  “I am,” I smirked. “Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

  “First, we want to know about the time you spent with Ms. Pizzano,” Monroe said and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just the G-rated version, if you don’t mind.”

  I rolled my eyes but wondered how everyone seemed to know or think they knew about my brief tryst with the new DA. It seemed I hadn’t stayed in the background as much as I’d hoped, but thankfully, it didn’t have a negative effect on her ability to win the position.

  “Alessia and I went to law school together,” I explained. “We were out to dinner when I suggested she run for DA, and after she thought about it, she agreed. I told her I’d support her in the background, got her a few sponsors, and tried to attend most of her events.”

  While I talked, Monroe had pulled a small notepad from his pocket and began to scribble notes feverishly. The rookie seemed intent on keeping track of whatever I said, but I already knew I wouldn’t be giving them anything worth his time. I just had to get to the bottom of why they wanted to talk to me.

  “Why did you and your client go to Mr. Chatel’s event if you were supporting Ms. Pizzano?” Hisashi asked.

  “Because he’s a clown,” I laughed. “Mr. Lamon wanted to make him look stupid, and he succeeded. Not that Chatel needed much help.”

  “So, were you aware of Mr. Chatel’s ties to the Serbian mob when you attended his event?” Monroe narrowed his eyes.

  Though we’d suspected something fishy was going on at the time of Chatel’s event, we hadn’t been certain how deep his connection to the Serbs went, so I could answer relatively honestly. But I’d still have to play it off casually to keep them from formulating some kind of mob war theory.

  “No,” I said and frowned. “Though now that you mention it, I think some of the security guys were Serbian, so it all makes sense.”

  “What about reports of a group of Serbian muscle who were left beaten a few blocks away from the party?” the rookie pressed.

  My memory shot back to the night of the party and my wa
rning call to Anthony about the Serbs who were following his car. He’d told me he would take care of it, and I hadn’t asked any more questions, which meant I didn’t have to lie about it now. And part of me was satisfied that Anthony had left them alive after they’d clearly meant to kill him. It made it even easier to deny any knowledge.

  “I never heard about that,” I replied. “Once I left, I walked home and went to bed.”

  I started to tell them about my encounter with Sergeant Nelson, a member of the NYPD who seemed to have a fondness for accosting me at every turn, but I decided to wait for the purpose of their investigation before I overshared. Nelson was one hell of a dirty cop, but if they weren’t going after him or the one who sent him, it didn’t do me any good to bring up the fight, his harassment, or any of the other crap I’d dealt with.

  “Traffic cam footage shows you in the alley by your apartment for quite some time before you finished your walk home,” Hisashi said with an arched eyebrow. “Actually, it’s odd to see you walk into the alley and then sprint out the other side about ten minutes later looking quite disheveled. Wouldn’t you say that’s odd?”

  “I would,” I agreed. “So, where are you going with this?”

  “We noticed an NYPD patrol car in the vicinity of that alley as well,” Monroe chimed in. “Do you know anything about that?”

  “I’m sure if you talk to Sergeant Nelson, he’d be happy to tell you why he was in that area,” I said mildly.

  The casual name drop had the agents looking at each other with unreadable expressions, and I crossed my arms as I waited for the shoe to drop. They were clearly holding something back, and all these questions had to lead somewhere, but I still wasn’t sure what they had to do with me.

  “We’re investigating citywide corruption within both city hall and the police department,” Hisashi finally revealed. “We think you might have some information that could help us with both.”

  “Why do you think that?” I stalled as I wasn’t sure how to react to the agents’ line of questioning.

  I’d expected the federal investigation to be about my job or my clients, but if Hisahi was telling me the truth, then the feds were having the same problems that my client was. I got the distinct feeling this could be used to our advantage, though I wasn’t sure yet exactly how.