Brothers and Bones (14 page)

“That’s right, Mr. Siracuse. If, of course, you’re guilty of a federal crime, that is. If that’s the case, we
will
put you in jail. That’s a promise.”

Siracuse smiled. “See, Charlie,” he said, “
that’s
the way to slander someone. You add that ‘if you’re guilty’ shit and you keep from getting in trouble. Right, Mr. Lippincott? You could learn a lot from this guy, you know that, Charlie?”

Lippincott took my elbow again, authoritatively. “Why don’t we head back to the table now, Charlie?”

I nodded, but before we could leave, Siracuse said, “Hang on a second, okay, Counselor?”

He was looking at Lippincott. Lippincott hesitated, then said to me, “I’ll be back over shortly. I’m just going to have a brief word with Mr. Siracuse.”

“Uncle Carmen,” the mob boss corrected.

I turned away. When I’d walked ten feet I heard Siracuse say, “Enjoy the rest of the evening, Charlie.” It sounded to me like his mouth was full again. A moment later, I paused and turned to see the Massachusetts U.S Attorney speaking with the head of the Italian mob. Siracuse smiled most of the time. Lippincott looked angry and intense to me, but controlled. They looked my way and I quickly resumed my long trek back to the table.

As I neared it, I saw Jessica standing, looking worried. Norm Balzer and the other two AUSAs who’d dined with us sat open-mouthed. Among my fellow AUSAs I was going to be branded either a legend or a fool for that little stunt, and I feared I knew which. The AUSAs’ wives and Mrs. Kidder couldn’t have fully comprehended the enormity of the mistake I’d just made, practically and professionally speaking, but they nonetheless looked concerned for me. When I reached the table, Michael Kidder shook his head and said, “That was a monumental mistake on so many levels, Charlie.”

Tell me something I don’t know, Michael
.

FIFTEEN

“What possible reason could you have for talking to Carmen Siracuse like that?”

Lippincott and I were sitting alone at his table. Jessica and the others were waiting at ours. Kidder was over there, too, though he was watching us intently, looking like he desperately wanted to be a part of this conversation.

“I don’t really have an explanation, Mr. Lippincott.”

He regarded me for a moment in silence. “Was it about your brother?”

I nodded. I’d shared my suspicions with Lippincott shortly after I began working for him. I promised I’d remain objective. The state of my promise wasn’t looking so good at the moment. Lippincott’s face softened, though, as it did on the very rare occasions when Jake was mentioned. This didn’t surprise me terribly. As I said, I think as a man who’d lost what he’d lost in his life, he could sympathize with me.

“Charlie, I know a little of what you’re going through. You know I do. I understand how hard it can be to lose someone you love. To accept that loss.”

“I know you understand, sir.”

“But you need to understand why speaking with that fat troll was such a bad idea.”

Lippincott surprised me with his choice of words. It was an emotional choice. But I did understand. First of all, it wasn’t going to get me anywhere. He wasn’t going to confess to having Jake killed. Second, it made me look like a fool and, by extension, my position, our office. Third, it put me on Siracuse’s radar, which was never a good place to be.

“I do, Mr. Lippincott. Really, I do. Just a momentary lapse. That’s all.”

He sighed and shook his head. He seemed almost sad. I must have really disappointed him. Finally, he said, “As you know, Charlie, I already had misgivings about letting you keep the Redekov trial. You haven’t been…well, your best lately. I’m wondering if everything is all right with you.”

“I’m okay, Mr. Lippincott. Really.”

“Are you sure you aren’t in over your head?”

“Not at all,” I said with far more conviction than I felt. “I’ve got a strong handle on it. My performance on Thursday was a blip, sir, an aberration. I was just a little flustered about being late and all. But I know this case cold, sir, and, despite my rocky start, I’m ready to kick the hell out of Redekov and his lawyers.” I hoped I was right. I thought I might have been.

He said, “It’s just that…well, you know how important this trial is. I need to know you can handle it. There’s no shame in asking for help here. We’re all on the same team.”

If I asked for help I might as well admit that I wasn’t cut out for bigger and better things with the U.S. Attorney’s office, something I’d worked toward for too long. I thought for a moment. Maybe I was being selfish. Maybe I was risking losing this case and seeing that dirtbag Redekov walk free, but I really thought I could handle it. I thought I could find Bonz again, get the answers I needed, and keep the trial moving along at the same time. I really did know the case well. I could do what I had to do in court during the day and use the evenings to find Bonz. If I could resolve things with him fairly quickly, the government’s case against Redekov wouldn’t suffer at all. I believed I could pull it off. I really did.

“I’m okay, sir,” I said. “Really. Just hit a bump in the road there. I’m going to walk into court tomorrow morning and show the judge and jury a very different lawyer than the one they saw the other day.”

He studied me, my bruised face, and, after a long moment, nodded. “Okay. And things are going well with my daughter?”

I could have put his mind at ease by telling him how recently Jess and I had made love, but I don’t think that was what he wanted to hear. “Yes, sir. Things are great with her. She’s really something special.”

He nodded. “And Siracuse?”

I shook my head. “One drink too many, Mr. Lippincott. Nothing like that will ever happen again. I promise you.”

He nodded, thinking. At that moment, Kidder stepped up to our table. Apparently, he’d been unable to stay away.

“Everything okay here?” he asked.

Lippincott looked up at him with just a hint of displeasure.

“We’re fine, Michael.”

Kidder stood there a moment, unsure what to do. “Charlie, that was a very foolish—”

Lippincott cut him off. “I’m handling this.”

Kidder looked almost like he’d been slapped. He recovered and said, “I just wanted to see if you wanted my two cents.”

Lippincott shook his head and said, “Not this time, Michael. I’ve got it.”

Kidder frowned very slightly, then nodded and walked back to the other table. Lippincott watched him go for a second, then turned to me.

“Okay, Charlie. I’ll take your word that you’re comfortable handling this trial. But surely there’s something bothering you. You haven’t been yourself since, it seems to me, Thursday. If it’s not work, and it’s not Jessica, then what?”

“Mr. Lippincott—”

“Of course,” he said quickly, “I don’t mean to pry, but if you need help with something else…say, oh, I don’t know, alcohol or other substance abuse, or maybe—”

“My, God, no,” I said. “Trust me on this. I don’t do drugs. And I don’t drink too much, at least not usually. Really, Mr. Lippincott. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

He studied me a moment longer and I felt like a paramecium on a microscope slide. “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “But please, if your feelings change at all and you need more help on the trial, or if you feel the need to step down as lead counsel, let me know right away. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

“Of course, sir.”

“And you’re sure there’s nothing else bothering you? Nothing you want to talk about?”

I shook my head.

“There’s a good man,” he said, as his tuxedo jacket began to play a little melody. The beginning notes of Beethoven’s Ninth, I think it was. Lippincott pulled a cell phone from his inside pocket, looked at the screen, and said, “I’ve got to take this, Charlie.” I nodded and stood. Lippincott didn’t speak until I’d moved out of earshot.

As I walked away I looked over toward Siracuse’s table, but the big man wasn’t there. Neither was his muscle. I scanned the room but they seemed to have left.

Back at our table Kidder watched me with what appeared to me to be very mild hostility. He didn’t hate me or anything, but he seemed to be, what? Jealous of me? Did he think Lippincott and I had a special relationship because I was dating his daughter? I wasn’t worried about it. Kidder was a professional. Any such feelings, if they existed, wouldn’t touch our workplace.

Over the next half hour, Jessica alternated between sitting beside me holding my hand and schmoozing with big-shot Boston attorneys. I knew she was dying to mingle even more, to make the contacts that are so important to an attorney on the verge of partnership, but, to her credit, she stayed by me a lot of the evening, until I found myself telling her time and again that I was okay, that she should go back out there and network. Personally, I’d thought about leaving right after my encounter with Siracuse, but I didn’t want it to appear to Lippincott, Kidder, or the other AUSAs like I was slinking away. I could have used a drink, but alcohol had helped me get into enough trouble as it was. Eventually, I decided that a Coke wouldn’t make me do anything stupid, so, with Jessica off somewhere, I headed toward the bar.

I was halfway across the room when I saw Angel Medina step between two clusters of monkey suits. He was coming my way. He had a drink in his hand and his steps were a little unsteady. I stopped.

“Angel, good to see you. You got here late, huh?”

“Looks like it.”

I frowned.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I could use a friend. It’s been quite an evening so far. You wouldn’t believe the stupid thing I did tonight.”

“I don’t know about that.”

I frowned. What had he just implied? Was he saying that whatever I’d done probably wasn’t stupid as I thought? Or that I was wrong and he certainly could believe I’d done something really dumb? I looked down at the drink in his hand. How many had he had tonight? “Angel, what’s the matter with you?”

He stepped closer to me and practically hissed, “Me? You wanna know what’s the matter with me? Fuck you, Charlie. Fuck you.” I could smell scotch on his breath.

He’d raised his voice just slightly at the end there. A few people looked over at us.

“Angel, keep your voice down. What’s wrong?”

“As if you don’t know. How could you stab me in the back like that?”

He drained what was left of his scotch and dropped the empty glass hard on the nearest table, harder than he needed to. I was aware of more stares drifting our way.

I said, as calmly as I could, “What’s the matter with you, buddy? What’s happened? Are you all right?”

“What’s the matter with me?” He practically yelled it. “Nothing’s the matter with me. But if you think there is, why don’t you find someone else to do your shit work for you?” I could feel more eyes on me then, and I
knew
I wasn’t imagining them this time. “I’m as good a lawyer as you, Charlie, maybe better. But I’ve been doing your slop work for months now. And how do you thank me? Betrayal, man. Fucking betrayal.”

I stole a glance around the room. We were the floor show. Several hundred eyes were looking at the two men arguing, one drunk, the other sporting a thuggish, bruised face. Lippincott was standing with a small group of people, watching us and shaking his head. Michael Kidder was watching with something bordering on amusement. The other AUSAs were watching in shock. Then I saw Jessica by herself, watching, horror-stricken. I wanted to end this and get out of the spotlight. I spoke in a quiet voice, practically a whisper.

“Angel, I don’t have the slightest idea what betrayal you’re talking about, but you’d better keep your voice—”

I took his elbow to guide him toward a chair. He yanked his arm away and stumbled slightly.

“Or what?” he yelled loud enough for the busboys smoking in the alley out back to hear. “Don’t fucking threaten me!” He shoved me hard and I toppled backward over a chair, landing gracelessly on my ass. I wanted to cry from my bruised ribs.

Threaten him? I half expected Rod Serling to step out from behind a curtain somewhere. I watched people clear a path for Angel as he stormed out of the room.

The place was silent. You could have heard a hundred-dollar-bill drop. Finally, a couple of people nearby moved to help me up. They didn’t know about my ribs, of course, so they couldn’t have known that they were making me want to die the way they were yanking me around as they struggled to untangle me from the chair and get me to my feet. Once I was upright, they moved off quickly. I couldn’t blame them.

This was one of those moments when you really want to be near the exit. Sadly, I was on the opposite side of the room, so I had to make my way through hundreds of people who had just witnessed one of the most embarrassing—and most puzzling—moments of my life.

As I passed through the room, conversation slowly filled it again. I avoided Lippincott’s glare but noticed that Jessica had drifted to his side, and that her father had slipped a paternal, protective arm around her shoulders. Something about that bothered me for some reason. I caught her eye. I wanted to go to her, tell her that I didn’t understand what had just happened, let her comfort me, but I didn’t want to embarrass her, taint her any further with my presence. I tried to convey all this with my eyes, which was a lot to expect from them, as I headed for the doors to the lobby.

I left, wondering how things could get any worse, or any weirder, knowing that they probably would.

SIXTEEN

I walked across the spacious lobby of the Copley Plaza in a very different mood than I was in the last time I crossed it. Before, I’d had a beautiful woman on my arm, which makes one’s problems seem smaller than they really are, at least for a while. As I crossed it this time, I was thinking about damage control. My personal and professional lives had taken direct hits, though both would probably survive. I’d embarrassed Jessica, but I knew she would listen to my story, that she’d believe me, and we’d be okay. Maybe even laugh about it. Lippincott was a different matter. I’d have to make him believe that that this incident wouldn’t affect my work in general and the Redekov trial in particular. I’d have to convince him all over again that I was in control, that everything was fine, which might not be very easy. And I had to make him believe that I’d had nothing to do with Angel’s tirade, which might be even more difficult. I knew Angel had simply flipped out, but anyone who witnessed our altercation would have thought I threatened him, provoking his physical attack.