Family Counsel (The Samuel Collins Series Book 2) (23 page)

I think that everyone has a scene from a movie that’s been
etched in their mind for eternity.  For some, it’s a love scene; for some, an
unforgettable stunt; maybe a really hot chick in a swim suit.  For me, it’s the
horse-head-in-the-bed scene from
The Godfather
.  I was 12 years old the
first time I saw the movie, and as many times as I’d seen it since then, there
wasn’t a whole lot that affected me the way that scene did.  I was thinking
about that movie in general and that scene in particular when my cell phone
rang.  My caller ID showed that it was my office.

“I understand we have a new client, sir,” Russ said.

“No, we don’t have a new client.  We are not representing
Rafael Mendoza. But you don’t have to repeat that at this point,” I added.

“Okay.”  I could hear skepticism in Russ’ voice.  “We’ve had
several reporters here asking questions.”

“Reporters?  From where?”

“All the locals, sir.”

“
All
of them?  What’d you tell them?”

“I told them that I was not authorized to divulge any
information and that they would have to speak to you directly.”

“Good.  If anyone else calls or comes by tell them I’m out of
town and I’m not expected back until the end of the week.”

Russ cleared his throat.  “With all due respect, sir, you do
know we’re in trial on Monday?”

“Of course I know we’re in trial,” I said mildly irritated. 
“What else is going on there?  Anything?” 

“Mrs. Mirabella has called three times this morning.”

I groaned.  Mrs. Mirabella had become a pain in the butt.  I’d
had Russ call her back with the name of a referral, but apparently the guy had
been too busy to take her case, so she was back in my ear bugging me. 

“Call her back and give her Rebecca what’s-her-name’s number.”

“Very good, sir.  Also, let’s see . . . ah, a Tiffany Stillens
called.”  He did his voice in a ditzy blond impersonation, “She said she saw
you on TV this morning and that you looked adorable!”    

“Tiffany Stillens?  No shit?” I’d dated Tiff for a very brief
stint before I realized that she only had two assets and those were store bought. 
“She said I looked adorable?”

“Toasted is the word I’d use, sir.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you, did I? Anything else?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.” 

“Call me if anything comes up.  Otherwise, I’ll see you when I
see you.”

“Yes, sir.”  

I snuck into my office building through a door that comes off
the rear alley.  There were two homeless guys sleeping in a make-shift
cardboard bed.  The alley stank of stale beer and urine, and it made me think
of Bourbon Street.   I’d never used the back door before and that alone made me
feel like a criminal.  I had Niki’s rain jacket on, with the collar pulled up
around my face.  The look alone was enough to make someone turn around and take
notice, but I didn’t care.  I wasn’t about to go out in public as myself; not
when my face was plastered all over the local channels. 

My mission was two-fold:  get in without being noticed; get out
without being noticed.  I figured if I made it to the sanctuary of my office
without the reporters seeing me, I could work uninterrupted in preparation for
the forthcoming trial.  Once the reporters realized that I wasn’t going to be
there, they’d find something more interesting to cover and they’d leave me
alone.   I silently hoped for some newsworthy disaster on the opposite side of
town, maybe a small explosion or something like that to divert the media’s
attention from Mendoza. 

No sooner had I settled into my office chair than Russ buzzed
me on the intercom.

“Your wife, line 1, sir.”

I took a deep breath before I picked up.  I’m convinced that my
wife has some kind of built in radar that alerts her to anything that’s amiss
where I’m concerned.  I could never cheat on her.  She would know immediately. 

“Hi,” I said, taking out any hint of bedlam from my voice.

“What’s wrong?”

 “Why would you say that?  All I said was ‘hi’.”

“It’s the
way
you said it,” Maddie asserted.

“It’s a one syllable word.  How many ways are there to say it?”
I asked, but then I gave up the pretense.  It was no use anyway.  “Mr. M has
your cousin,” I blurted out.

Five seconds of silence followed, then she asked calmly, “What
are we doing?” 

I’d seen Maddie in a crisis before we were married, and her
reaction had blown me away.  She had always seemed like one of those women that
would be useless in an emergency, probably because she cried all the time.  Instead,
she’d reacted with a cool head and, much to my surprise, no tears whatsoever. 
The way she’d handled that incident, and the impact her reaction had had on me,
was unsettling.  Thinking back, I’d have to say that it was the catalyst that
landed me in my current position of having a wife and three kids, and her response
to the existing crisis only served to confirm that I’d made the right
decision.  It felt like a weight had been lifted just knowing that I wasn’t in
it alone.  I felt guilty for not telling her sooner.

“I was going to call you,” I started to say, but she cut me
off.

“What do we know?”

I filled her in on what had transpired since we’d received her
cousin’s hair, and she listened without interrupting until I was finished with
the part about Mendoza fingering me as his mouthpiece. 

“If they think you’re his lawyer, that means Fee could still be
useful to them. Mr. M. can use her to get to you.”

“I guess.  Assuming he hasn’t already gotten rid of her.”

“But Niki says he knows where she is and he’ll get her
tonight?” she said hopefully. 

“He thinks so.”

“Then we’ll just hold on to that.  That’s all we can do.  But
I’m coming home.”

I didn’t argue.  If Niki said he could keep my family safe, I
believed him. Besides, I knew Maddie’s mindset and if she said she was coming
home, she was coming home.

When I was around 5 years old, I had a bad experience in a
swimming pool.  For lack of a better description, I almost drowned.  There I
was, surrounded by all of my brothers and sisters, when I somehow got separated
from my steadfast position on the stairs.  I was in water over my head and even
though I’d had several sets of swimming lessons, all instruction eluded me as I
started to sink to the bottom of the pool.  My first thought was one of relief
that my siblings were around to save me, but I soon realized that I was the
last thing on any of their respective minds.  My second thought was purely
selfish.  It was about a candy bar I had stolen from my big sister, and I was
lamenting the fact that I hadn’t gotten to eat the thing before what I assumed
would be my untimely demise.  By the time I got to the third thought, I was
well and truly drowning, when I realized that my feet were on the bottom of the
pool and all I had to do was push off to get back to the top. 

Thinking back, that was a significant moment in my life.  Aside
from almost  drowning, it hit me that, in life, you don’t count on someone else
to pull you to safety.  That burden rests solely on your own shoulders.  I
learned right then and there that the only one I could count on was me.

I kicked off from the bottom of the pool and my head bobbed out
of the water just enough to gasp a breath of air before I swallowed a mouthful
of water and went back under.  Two more push-offs got me back to the side of
the pool where I dragged myself out of the pool, coughing and sputtering.  I lay
on the concrete and threw up, and it was at that point that I drew my siblings’
attention.  In our family, throw-up always drew a reaction.  If I’d thrown-up
in the pool while I was drowning, that would have gotten their attention. 
Anyway, I lived through the experience and I was probably a better person for
it.  It was a lesson in life that I carry with me still, and I hark back to
that event more often than I care to admit, whenever I need to remind myself
that my life depends on me, and no one else when the chips are down. 

I kept thinking of that experience as I sat in my office that
day trying to relate it to my current predicament.  It kept coming back to one
thing, and maybe it was my ego getting the best of me, but I couldn’t shake the
thought that I should be the one to rescue Felicia.  That was the bottom line. 
I wanted to be there.  On the other hand, my wife was on her way home and I
knew she would not be pleased  if she got there and I was gone. 

I put in a call to Niki before I left my office, thinking that
I’d just go on over to his hotel, but my call went straight to voicemail and he
didn’t return my call.  I decided to go home instead, but when I walked out to
the reception area, Mrs. Mirabella was there.  I groaned.  Where the hell was
Russ? 

“Hello, Mrs. Mirabella.”

She was wearing a pink tailored suit with matching jewelry; her
hair and perfume were the same as the first time we’d met.  I guessed she was
one of those women that has her hair done once a week in the same style, and
that she’d probably done so for the last 20 years. She was looking around like
she’d lost something. 

“Are you alone?” she asked. 

“Russ is here somewhere. Probably making copies,” I added.

I was about to ask her about the attorney I’d referred her to
when she went into her purse and pulled out a handgun that I sized up to be a .357
Magnum.  It looked incredibly large in her dainty hand.  I couldn’t have been
more surprised if Penny had pulled out a Bazooka.  My hands automatically shot
up in surrender as my mind raced to make sense of what was happening.  I’d
pissed off  clients before but no one had ever pulled a gun on me in my own
office.

“Mrs. Mirabella . . .” I stammered.  “You don’t want to . . .
put the gun away . . . there’s no need . . .”  I finally got my shit together. 
“For God’s sake, if it means that much to you, I’ll represent you!  I was doing
you a favor by referring you out.” 

Mrs. Mirabella laughed.  “You stupid man.  I’m not here for a
lawyer.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I won’t let you destroy my family.”

“Mrs. Mirabella, how, or why for that matter, would I destroy
your family?  I don’t even know you.” 

“My name is Lovena Mirabella Mendoza.” 

The words rolled off her tongue and hit me in the guts.  My
eyes shot down the hall looking for Russ, as it occurred to me that his absence
was suddenly very conspicuous. 

“Where’s Felicia Armstrong?” I demanded angrily.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be asking questions of
me, Mr. Collins.  Please be so kind as to walk in front of me out that door,”
she said, motioning with the gun.

The phone rang and I could see by the Caller ID that it was
Earl Jefferson.  Russ didn’t answer the phone from anywhere else in the office
and it was still ringing as I walked out the door with Mrs. M.

“This is all a huge mistake,” I said, as she led me to a black
sedan with tinted windows sitting out by the curb.  “I’m not your son’s
lawyer.”

“Then why did you help him escape from the hospital?  You
expect me to believe that your involvement with him is purely coincidental?”

A man got out from the front seat and opened the back door for
us.  I looked around hoping the press was witnessing my abduction, but
apparently my earlier wish had been granted; the media had moved on to a more
interesting story, and the adage,
be careful what you wish for
, popped
into my head. 

There was a big, ugly guy sitting in the back seat and he
grabbed my arm roughly and pulled me into the car.  Mrs. M climbed in primly
after me, straightening her skirt and tucking it neatly underneath her before Bouncer
#1 closed the door and got back into the front seat. 

Things had happened so fast that I hadn’t really had time to
think, but I was quickly realizing that I was in big time trouble.  Between the
driver and the two henchmen, and Dirty Harry with her gun, I wasn’t feeling
confident that I could take them physically and get away with my scalp in
tact.  This was one situation that would require brains not brawn, and on that
count, I was fairly certain that my brain was better than the other four
combined.  I was determined to stay cool and not panic, and was thinking of the
best way to tackle my predicament, when the guy next to me pulled out a huge
syringe and plunged it into my leg before I even knew what was happening. 
Things started swirling almost immediately and the last thing I remember was
the smile on Mrs. M’s face before I passed out in her lap.

The first thing that I was aware of was not being able to open
my eyes.  My body ached all over, and I lay there in the darkness trying to
figure out which part of me hurt most.  My lungs and chest were constricted; my
head and left shoulder were throbbing; the fingers on my right hand were so
thick I couldn’t bend them; my jaw was sore; my ears hurt.  But what scared me
most were my legs.  I couldn’t feel anything from my waist down. I tried to
bring my hand up to my face to feel why I couldn’t open my eyes, but I couldn’t
move my arm. 

“Sam,” said a voice from right beside me. 

“Felicia?”  My tongue was swollen and my voice sounded like
someone else’s.  I tried to turn my head but it was too much effort.

“It’s me,” she acknowledged.

“I can’t move.”

“You’re in a straitjacket,” she informed me. 

“I can’t open my eyes.”

I felt her fingers touch my eyelids.  “They’re caked shut.  They’re
real swollen. You look terrible.”  She started picking crap off my eyelashes.

“Ouch!  You’re pulling my eyelashes out!” I whined.

“Oh, quit being a baby.  Do you want to see or not?” 

“Get me out of this straitjacket and I’ll do it myself,” I said
grumpily. 

With considerable effort, Felicia rolled me over on my side and
after what seemed like an eternity, I got free from the straitjacket.  My lungs
and chest had immediate relief but it only made my other aches and pains more
apparent.  There was a sharp, shooting pain through my jaw and any movement
made my head pound and spin.  I knew I had one hell of a concussion, but at
that point, I was just thankful to be alive.  I had a little feeling coming
back to my legs; not much, but I could move my toes, so I hoped the numbness
was an after effect from whatever drug they’d used to knock me out.  Still, it
would be a problem in our getaway if feeling didn’t come back soon.  I wondered
where my shoes were.

With my hands free, I tried to work on ungluing my eyes but it
wasn’t working; I needed water.  I tried spit, but I didn’t have any.  I
thought of my mom, and how, when I was little, in a pinch, she’d lick her
finger and use spit to clean my face.  I’d seen Maddie do the same thing with
our kids and it always grossed me out.  So what I was about to ask Felicia
mortified me; and it made me realize how desperate my situation was.

“I need some spit,” I announced, and no sooner had the words
come out of my mouth did a big blob of saliva plop down on my closed eyelid. 
“I didn’t mean for you to do it like
that
,” I said irritably, but I
began rubbing Felicia’s slobber along my eyelid, nonetheless.  “Don’t you tell
anyone about this,” I threatened.

“Oh, shut-up Sam.  It’s just a little spit. Here, give me the
other eye,” she said, and she promptly spat on the other one, then started
rubbing her thumb across my lashes.  I got the distinct impression that she
enjoyed abusing me in my compromised state. 

I swatted her hand away.  “I can do it!” I said. Why I was
being so nasty, I don’t know.  I was actually extremely relieved to have
Felicia at my side, but for some perverse reason, I couldn’t let her know
that. 

I picked at my cruddy eyes, scraping off what I determined to be
dried blood, and I managed to get my left eye open.  My right eye was so
swollen it was just a slit.  I blinked a couple of times and Felicia came into
focus, and there was that hair, red as ever, except a big hunk was cut to her
scalp on one side. 

“Hi,” I said stupidly.

She smiled and it reminded me of Maddie.  I looked around as
best I could.  The slightest movement killed my head. “Where are we?” I asked.

“I don’t know, but it smells medicinal.”

I realized for the first time that I couldn’t smell a thing. 
My nose was compacted with dried blood.  I could only imagine what I looked
like, but if it was even a fraction of how crappy I felt, it would be scary.  As
a kid, I used to get my assed kicked on a regular basis.  Picking on bigger
kids was never very smart, but it seemed more sporting than going after the
runts.  I didn’t mind a good fight, but having someone kick my butt when I was
unconscious pissed me off.  Even in my debilitated condition, I was plotting
revenge should I ever come face-to-face with Mrs. M’s henchmen again. 

I lay there thinking for I don’t know how long, but my thoughts
were hard to process. I decided we were probably at Serenity, and if we
weren’t, I had no idea where we were.

“Help me up,” I finally told Felicia.

She put her arm under my neck and did what she could to help me
to a sitting position.  I waited for the head spin and when it came it was a
whopper. My head felt as big as a pumpkin and it made me think of my boys. I
wondered if I’d live to see Halloween. 

I looked around with my one open eye, and Felicia came and
stood in my line of vision.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” she asked, sticking her
hand right in my face.

Up close, her hair looked so ridiculous that even in my
compromised condition I had to laugh. I pushed her hand away.  “Four.  Go
away.”

“That’s good.  It was four,” she said, ignoring my rudeness.
She looked around the empty room.  “Let’s think like MacGyver,” she said.

It was as good an idea as I could come up with, so I joined her
in scanning the room.  There was a stainless countertop running the length of
one wall, with a set of drawers at each end, void of any contents. I couldn’t
turn my neck, and I had no peripheral vision whatsoever so I had to physically
turn my body.  I slid my legs off the side of the gurney and tested to see if
they would hold me up.  My feet started tingling like there were ants biting
me; I tried to do the mind-over-matter thing, but I’ve never been good at that.
 I put some weight on my right foot and it held.  I tried the left.  My feet were
fine but my knees buckled and I ended up sprawled on the floor.

“Hey look, there’s a vent up there,” Felicia said. “If I can
stand on your shoulders, I could probably get in there and see where it goes. 
Think you can stand up?”

“Yeah. Help me.”

I basically crawled over to the wall below the vent and Felicia
helped me to a standing position, then kind of propped me up against the wall. 
She patted me on the chest for good measure, and just when I was thinking that
she might have the wherewithal to get us out of there, she burst into tears.

“God, Sam, you look so awful!” she exclaimed.

“Cut that shit out, Felicia.  Crying isn’t going to solve
anything.  Now climb up me before I pass out.”

She gave me a feeble smile and patted my chest again, then
blinked back her tears and  started to climb.  She made it to my shoulders, but
I could feel my legs going out beneath me.

 And at that moment we heard a key in the door. Felicia jumped
down.

“If there’s just one, kick the fucker in the nuts as hard as
you can,” I told Felicia.  “Once he’s disabled, grab the keys.  If there’s more
than one . . .”

I didn’t get to finish the sentence. The door swung open, and
before we could even see how many there were, Felicia made a Kung Fu sound and
did some kind of karate chop to the guy’s throat, followed by a firmly planted
knee to the crotch, and when he doubled over, an elbow to the back of the
neck.  He hit the ground with a thud.   Felicia looked both ways out in the
hall.  “All clear.”

I crawled over and tried to drag the guy inside so we could
close the door, but the motion sent me into a spin and I ended up back on the
ground beside him. Felicia folded up his legs enough to close the door and then
we started going through his pockets.

“Where the hell did you learn to do that?” I asked. 

“Just something I picked up along the way,” she said casually.

“Along the way to
where
?”  I pulled out the guy’s ID
tag.  “Anyway, you just beat up the janitor,” I told her. 

“Seriously?  Let me see that.”  She grabbed the tag out of my
hand, which pissed me off to no end. I snatched it back.  Felicia raised her
eyebrows and said something under her breath, and it reminded me that at that
moment, I needed her a lot more than she needed me.

“Sorry.  Here,” I said, and I handed back the guy’s ID card.

The good news was that we now had a  master key.  The bad news
was that I wasn’t sure I could make it 10 feet past the door. I managed to get
on my feet and I limped my way down the hall, leaning heavily on Felicia as we
made our slow-motion getaway.  Something happened and my scalp started
prickling, then the hall became a house of mirrors, and I started stumbling
backwards. I remember projectile vomiting and thinking of Max, and then my body
melting down the wall until I was crumpled on the floor. Felicia was saying
something about vomiting blood, but her voice sounded like it was coming from
down in a well. Then Felicia was dragging me as I tried to get my legs under
control.  I remember being hoisted from behind, and being picked up and carried
like a baby, then making a soft landing on something padded.  I tried to focus
with my one eye, and in my compromised state, I would have sworn it was David Robinson garbed in green scrubs that were multiple sizes too small for that huge body. It
was the jumble of teeth that caught me.

“Earl?” It came out a squeak. 

“Thasright, Mr. Collins.  It’s me.  I’m here to getcha outa
this place.”