The Vendetta Defense (24 page)

“You’re calling him?”

“Goddamn right I am. But I’ll get him, and he’ll give. Crooks are like that. Lean on any one of ’em and they’ll flip on Coluzzi. There really is no honor among thieves. They’ll eat each other alive.”

Judy set down her pen. Time to close the deal. Do or die, literally. “Well, Dan, I’ll be honest with you. I can think of several major causes of action you could bring against the Coluzzis based on these facts. The most effective would be a suit under RICO, the federal racketeering statute, for bribery, kickbacks, and other offenses. It carries major damages and penalties. I can represent you, and I’d love to. But I can’t bring the suit unless you give me the green light.”

Roser eased back in his cushy chair and tented thick fingers, then sighed and looked at Frank. “Sorry, pal,” he said after a moment. “I know this matters to you, and you almost convinced me on the phone. We’ve known each other a long time, but the Coluzzis are tough customers.”

“I can handle them,” Judy blurted out, and Roser looked over in surprise.

“You can.”

“I can.”

Roser smiled in a condescending way. “Why should I sue the Coluzzis? I took a bath, but I’ll write all of it off and I could use the deductions. What do I get out of suing?”

It was an excellent question. Judy scanned Roser’s leather-bound books, the brass fastenings on the classy chairs, the costly palette of an oil landscape on the paneled wall. Money damages wouldn’t motivate Dan Roser. “There is one thing,” she said, and the developer cocked his head.

“Which is?”

“Justice,” she answered, and Frank looked over.

“And if justice doesn’t do it for you,” he added, “how about revenge?”

Baccarat champagne flutes clinked expensively as they met in the center of a merry group that included Judy, Frank, Dan Roser, and his gorgeous trophy wife, Trish. Judy was pretty sure Trish was a recent Student Council member, but didn’t say so. She was in too good a mood to let it bother her anyway. Trish was old enough to be out of orthodonture, and love was a good thing wherever you found it. Even with a client’s grandson. She raised her flute. “To the law.”

Frank raised his. “To Judy.”

Roser laughed. “To Trish.”

Trish said, “Chugalug!”

Judy even managed a laugh, but didn’t take another sip of her champagne. She had to get to work on the complaint. Roser had a file of documents that would be exhibits attached to the complaint, and he had given her the phone numbers and addresses of the subcontractors. She had a sheaf of subpoenas to prepare, not including John and Marco Coluzzi’s. She glanced at the polished brass ship’s clock on the mantel of the gas-powered fireplace. Eleven o’clock.

“You have to get back?” Frank said to her, and Judy nodded.

“I have tons of work to do. Plus, my boss is working on the same case.” Judy thought of Bennie, but it felt different from before. She couldn’t leave Bennie in the lurch. “She’ll be there all night, too, if we want to file the complaints in the morning.”

“Oh, no.” Trish buckled her pouty lower lip. “It’s such a long drive back to the city. Dan and I hoped you’d stay over in our guest cottage. It’s out back, and so romantic. The bedroom ceiling is one big skylight. It’s just like sleeping under the stars. You two can have it all to yourself.”

Frank was smiling, and Judy thought Trish had been reading her fantasies. A night with Frank? In a romantic little guest cottage?

Dan Roser nodded in agreement. “Take it for a night, why don’t you? It’s a beautiful cottage. Trish and I go over there sometimes, just for the Jacuzzi.”

Judy’s lips parted. Jacuzzi? Did somebody say Jacuzzi?

Frank looked over, his dark eyes cautious. “It’s really up to Judy,” he said, and she knew she had a choice: love or work?

Judy considered it. Sigmund Freud had said that both love and work were necessary to human happiness, but he never specified the order of priority.

Nobody ever wants to answer the hard questions.

24

T
he conference room at Rosato & Associates had never been so full, especially on a Monday morning. Black microphones clustered under Judy’s chin and twenty-odd camera lenses were pointed at her face, focusing. Photographers loaded film, TV anchors yapped on cell phones, and reporters tested the batteries of black Dictaphones. Stringers hovered over the table of cheese Danish, bagels, and hot coffee at the back of the room. Judy waited at the podium in a crabby mood while the WCAU-TV reporter got something he needed.

She tried to suppress her crankiness. She had never held a press conference before but knew it would have gone more smoothly if she had had sex with an Italian last night. Sex with an Italian would have made everything perfect, especially the next morning, when its magic hadn’t worn off. The residual pixie dust would have unlocked Judy’s inner power and unblocked her nasal passages. Given its obvious benefits, some of which were possibly permanent if not everlasting, who would pass up sex with an Italian in favor of a night of hard work? Only an idiot. Or a lawyer. The cameraman gave Judy a quick thumbs-up, so she tried to stop thinking about almost-sex and cleared her throat.

“Good morning, everyone. Thank you for coming,” she said, and tugged her navy suit into place. She wore it with a white silk shirt and Bennie’s brown pumps, which had been repaired with packing tape from the mailroom. Her pantyhose fit like a chastity belt, which, Judy reflected, was redundant on her anyway. She couldn’t be more chaste if she had wrapped
herself
in packing tape. Damn! What had she been thinking?
No, Frank, I have to work?
She couldn’t stop thinking about her stupidity, even with all the freshly shaved and made-up faces staring back at her. They must all have had sex with Italians the night before, accounting for their excellent color, mental alertness, and overall happiness. But she digressed.

“We called you here to announce that this morning, this office filed three separate lawsuits against Coluzzi Construction Company and against John and Marco Coluzzi individually. The first suit is a federal case brought against the Coluzzis for violations of RICO, the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act of 1970, 18 U.S.C. Sections 1961 through 1968.” Judy let the legalese sink in, and it sobered even her up, chasing images of bulging muscles and V-shaped backs from her brain. Law could kill anyone’s mood.

“The lawsuit will be brought by Dan Roser, who developed the Philly Court strip mall located on the waterfront, and who alleges that John and Marco Coluzzi and other officials of Coluzzi Construction, McRea Paving and Excavation, and an array of other subcontractors engaged in a complex scheme of fraud, bribery, kickbacks, intimidation, and other unlawful and corrupt practices in connection with the construction of the shopping center.”

Judy took a breath, to let the reporters catch up. “Also named as defendants are the City of Philadelphia and several of its agencies, including but not limited to Licenses and Inspections officials, as well as the two lending institutions on the shopping center, Marshallton Bank and ConstruBank. Subpoenas will be filed and served today against all defendants. In case you missed any of this, you should all have picked up a courtesy copy of the complaints on the back table. They are all public record. Please let me know if you need another.”

The reporters started raising their hands and shouting questions, but Judy held up a palm like a traffic cop. She had to stay on message, since she wanted the Coluzzis to get every word of what she was saying.

“We’ll take questions after the statement, please,” she said, and noticed Bennie slip into the back of the crowded room. They had agreed Judy would run the show, with Bennie joining her to answer questions. Judy welcomed Bennie’s confidence in her, as much as she was surprised by it. It was Bennie’s drawing power that got the crowd this morning. In a way, Bennie was putting her life on the line, too.

“I am also filing, on my behalf, a lawsuit in state court against John and Marco Coluzzi, as well as members of their family, for torts against me, including but not limited to attempted murder by incendiary device . . .”

Judy went on to describe briefly the particulars of the state law claims, holding her head high. She felt less and less afraid of the Coluzzis the more she went on, empowered by the law itself. She was upping the ante, she could almost feel it, and as risky as it felt, it was exciting. When Judy finished her statement, Bennie came and stood beside her, and they faced the press, the TV cameras, and the Coluzzis, in identical brown pumps.

“Any questions?” Judy asked, and the barrage commenced. One tall reporter in the front was waving wildly. “Yes?” Judy said, since that’s the way they did it on TV.

“Ms. Carrier, isn’t this really some kind of retaliation, or revenge?”

Judy gritted her teeth. “The suits are valid and are being brought to vindicate legal wrongs, under both federal and state law. This office will continue to vindicate any and all legal wrongs which may be perpetrated against me in the future.”

The reporter scribbled quickly. “Aren’t you trying to send a message to the Coluzzis?”

Judy hesitated only a minute. “You’re damn right I am.”

After the reporters had gone, empty Styrofoam coffee cups dotted the conference room table, and spare copies of the federal and state court complaints were scattered about. A leftover newspaper lay on the table, next to Judy’s bare feet, propped up there. The show was over, so she had kicked off her pumps and molted her pantyhose like a garden snake.

“Well, that was about as good as it gets,” Judy said, and Bennie crossed to the small white Sony television on the credenza near the telephone. “Lotsa questions, huh?”

“Plenty, and we handled them well. We’re making noise with this thing, I promise you. If we don’t make the twelve o’clock news, I’m losing my touch.” Bennie switched on the TV, and the Action News logo popped onto the screen. “Here we go.” Bennie sat on the edge of the table as a pretty African-American anchorwoman appeared on the screen, her foundation sculpting her face into beautiful curves and her mouth glossy with blackberry-colored lipstick.

The anchor said, “The top story on Action News is the continuing vendetta between South Philadelphia’s Lucia and Coluzzi families. The police have charged no suspects in the attempted murder of criminal lawyer Judy Carrier and her client, defendant Anthony Lucia, and so it seems the attorney has taken the law into her own hands, filing a series of powerhouse complaints in retaliation.”

“Retaliation?” Judy groaned as the footage from the conference began to roll, with her looking fairly stiff in her navy suit, but Bennie waved her into quiet. In the next second, the screen had changed, and a reporter was interviewing an assistant city solicitor, a bright-looking young man with short hair, who appeared on the screen with an expression of official concern.

He was saying, “We will be investigating the allegations of the complaints immediately, beginning with the Bureau of Licenses and Inspections. Any wrongdoing there will be met with termination and possible suits for damages. The city wants to reassure the citizens of Philadelphia and our friends in the business community of the integrity and fairness of its construction contracts.”

Judy grinned. “They’re worried.”

Bennie nodded. “They should be. They’re exposed, big-time.”

Next on the screen was a well-dressed businessman, wearing a three-piece suit and sitting behind a huge glass desk. Crystal awards were reflected in its gleaming surface. Judy clicked up the audio and heard the businessman saying, “As one of the city’s largest construction lenders, we at ConstruBank are reacting to these allegations with a great deal of concern, and we will investigate them fully.”

Bennie smiled. “Now they’ll begin to separate themselves from Coluzzi. The deniability defense is about to begin. The shit is hitting the fan.” She raised her hand for a high-five, and Judy slapped it decisively.

“We did it!” she said, her crabbiness lifting. Maybe litigation was better than sex? Nah.

“Way to go. You worked hard and it paid off.”

“You too, Coach.”

“Hey, look,” Bennie said, pointing happily at the TV. “Enemy territory.”

Judy watched. The last shot was of the anchorwoman, standing on the sidewalk outside a modest brick building squeezed behind a sandwich shop and a bakery in South Philly. An old painted sign read COLUZZI CONSTRUCTION, but it was draped in black crepe. The anchorwoman held the bubble mike to her glossy mouth. “We tried to reach officials of Coluzzi Construction for comment, but they did not return our calls. Their offices were closed today, in observance of the services in the death of their founder, Angelo Coluzzi.”

Bennie’s eyes widened an incredulous blue. “No! What services? Is there a funeral today? I didn’t know about that, did you?”

“No, but we couldn’t have delayed anything. We had to react fast, like you said.”

“Goddamn it!” Bennie tossed her empty Styrofoam cup at the wastebasket so hard it had to miss. “They’re at their father’s viewing at the same time we file suit?”

Judy didn’t understand Bennie’s reaction. “Okay, so it doesn’t look that good—”

“It’s not about how it looks!”

“We didn’t have a lot of choice, Bennie. The Coluzzis were shooting at me when they should have been picking out caskets.”

Bennie stood up. “You know, you’re right. We had to file first thing Monday, but I don’t feel good about it. And, God forbid, when you bury your parents, you won’t either.” She walked to the discarded coffee cup and tossed it into the waste can. “Did you call them, by the way?”

“My parents? Not yet.”

“Do it,” Bennie said, and strode unhappily from the conference room.

Judy watched the remainder of the broadcast, distracted as the news segued into labor strikes and warehouse fires and an early-summer boating accident. She felt they’d done right in filing the lawsuits. Did it really make a difference that the service was today? These people were killers. They had put a bomb under her car. Judy sighed. Her gaze fell on the newspaper near her bare toes, which had been squeezed unfortunately into little flesh blocks by being shoved into wooden shoes all the time.