Chapter Ten: Andrei

It’s eleven fifteen on the Criminal Courthouse of California Avenue clock, and I’m only a bag of money away from freedom. Standing beside my lawyer in my best suit, I exercise restraint as I look towards the old, jaded Judge Petrov. A long-standing Chicagoan who’s served in the courtroom for over fifty years, according to what I’ve heard. His face is worn, his eyes keen and sharp behind his small round glasses. He’s staring straight ahead at the people entering. I turn my head to see Ryan’s estate walking in.

Ready to lose bitches? We stand behind our chosen sides, my lawyer, Bennett, leans over to whisper to me. “Don’t worry about a thing. We’ve got this in the bag.”

Smirking with my hands clasped in front of me, I nod. “I know we do.” Averting my gaze from my enemies, I take note of the woman. Wife. She’s too young to be the mother. Or maybe sister. I knew about the father contesting from the estate, but not about the others.

A sharp dagger is delivered in my direction from the woman, but all it does is make things all the sweeter for me. She doesn’t even know what’s about to hit.

As they slip in behind their side, I take the time to look behind and into the crowd. Makar’s the only one from the team sitting in the gallery. I didn’t want any of my other Bratva associates on deck in case of implications or last-minute changes from the other side.

A sea of faces I don’t know from Ryan’s family side stare back at me, and I feel nothing. If Ryan told me what I needed to know maybe we wouldn’t be in this situation.

Who am I kidding? I would have killed the mole anyway. He had the nerve to infiltrate the Bratva, so he had to pay the price. “Anything else you want to tell me before the judge asks me to approach the bench?” Bennett asks.

“No,” I whisper hoarsely, taking note of how voices carry throughout the drafty open space. If I wasn’t in the middle of a court case, I would probably take a little more time to admire the place. I can hear the frustrated whispers of accusations hanging in the air behind me, but I don’t give a flying fuck. You do dirt on the Bratva, then you have to be willing to sacrifice your life.

“Do I have to know about any witnesses crawling out of the woodwork?” I ask, covering all bases, in case I have to organize Makar to react accordingly.

“No. There are no witnesses I know about. They’ve got nothing. Only a CCTV tape that’s grainy at best. There’s so many holes in this case it’s not funny, and I plan on opening them all the way up.”

“Perfect. That’s what I like to hear.” It helps that the original CCTV surveillance tape was swapped out for a blurry version, and the real one destroyed by my associates. Money talks to the right people when it needs to. Bennett is as deceptive and cunning as I am, and the wicked glint in his eye has always led me to believe I hired the best of the best. He’s represented many criminals, including the Mafia and gotten them off. He would have been paid a handsome sum for his efforts, no doubt, but he’s exclusively enlisted as the Utkins’ lawyer at this point.

It helps to have somebody bury evidence, kill off witnesses, and find the necessary loopholes to crush the competition when needed. I look over at him as he adjusts his flashy red-and-white tie. He’s the clean-cut, all-American type with a Colgate smile, and if he were to ever cross me, he would end up under the jail himself.

I’m not a stupid boss. Hasty maybe, but never stupid. “Mr. Cleary, I’ll start with you. Please take your position with your opening statement. Thank you,” the judge requests cordially as Bennett approaches the jury. That’s the thing with a jury. You don’t need to pay off everyone, just enough people to sway the vote in your favor, and the one in front of me is no exception.

“Gladly, Your Honor.” I watch as Bennett stares at the floor as if he’s pondering something and stating his case. “It’s an easy thing to tarnish one person with the same brush because others around him have done the wrong thing. It can have a grave impact on your life.”

I watch as the jury listens to him paint a picture of fabrication, excited by his storytelling. Fuck, he’s good, and by the time he’s finished the statement even I’m hooked on the lie. By the time the defense starts their argument, they’re already on the back foot, and I feel sorry for them.

Time ticks by as the questions and witnesses start to roll on. All of them are weak and ones I know about from their side. “Darby how long have you been working at The burger joint behind the warehouse?”

The manager of the burger joint that I’ve passed so often shrugs. “About ten years.”

“And in those ten years have you ever seen anything untoward happening in the warehouse on Third Avenue?”

“I mean there’s been a lot of things happening there. Thugs shooting up. Fires started. I think the place has been burned down at least half a dozen times. It’s a hot spot. I’ve complained I don’t know how many times to the council about knocking it down or cleaning it up.”

Bennett paces as I watch how he craftily builds the story. “Right. Would you say you’ve seen all kinds of types coming and going from the warehouse over the years. Safe to assume, yes?”

“Absolutely.”

“And what have you done in the past when you’ve seen something suspicious going on at the warehouse?” Bennett asks smugly as I glance over to a nervous defense, a thought popping in my head about Sophia, wondering what type of lawyer she wants to be.

She didn’t have any qualms rejecting me after learning about me. I didn’t tell her outright, but she would have read the files for herself. I know for a fact they aren’t pretty. I’ve endorsed them, after all. She wouldn’t be defense. She would have to be a prosecutor.

“Ah….”

“Answer the question, Darby.”

“I would have done nothing, alright? Nothing,” he slams out, hushed whispers resounding around the courtroom.

“Exactly. Because to you, it’s not out of the norm, is it? Thugs, deals, the homeless, in and out of the building.” Bennett paces.

The judge interjects. “Is this going somewhere, Mr. Cleary?”

Bennett smirks, holding up a finger with confidence in his swagger. “Yes, Your Honor. I can promise you it is.”

“Good. Let’s hear it.”

“Okay, okay. So, Darby, if you saw a group of men walking into the building, you wouldn’t necessarily think it was out of the ordinary, now would you?”

“Objection! Leading the witness,” the defense calls out as the judge bangs his gavel.

“Objection overruled. It’s a legitimate question,” the judge clarifies evenly. I can feel the fumes skimming off the top of their heads, and I’m loving it. My eyes shift to the large wall clock.

Twelve thirty, and we’re on a roll as Darby comes through. “Yeah. It could be any one of the groups that hangs out there. Sometimes I give them food if they’re hungry. We have a lot of leftovers.”

“How sweet of you,” Bennett states in a patronizing tone. “Take a look at the screen. Can you tell me if you can clearly identify Mr. Utkin or any of the men you’ve seen on the witness stand here from the footage. Be honest.”

Darby, who’s a big guy, strains in his seat, leaning forward as a projected image of the CCTV is shown onscreen. After a long pause, Darby’s puzzled expression gives him away.

“No. It’s too hard and too dark to see. So, I can’t for sure say it’s him.”

“That’s not the footage! That’s not it!” a lady screams, lashing out in my direction. “He was there! This is the wrong tape.”

“Mrs. Randwick. Get ahold of yourself in my courtroom. I can understand you’re upset, but please conduct yourself with professionalism,” Judge Petrov bellows as Mrs. Randwick sobs, being consoled by the older man next to her. I watch as her legs buckle, feeling nothing.

Ryan Randwick. I didn’t even know the fucker’s last name. Now I do. RIP Randwick. You know, bitch. Don’t act like you didn’t fucking know about your sneaky mole of a husband. I send her a warning glance, thinking she should be added to the hit list, but tuck the idea behind me.

Sometimes husbands are good at living double lives. Maybe she isn’t pretending.

After a couple more witnesses from my side and weak questioning, the sword of death is swung in my favor as Judge Petrov’s poker face delivers the final swing.

“Bennett, your argument was compelling, and the lack of circumstantial evidence was overwhelming. I’m throwing out the case, and as such I’m ruling in the favor of Andrei Utkin, declaring him innocent. Mr. Utkin, you are free to go. Mrs. Randwick and team, I’m sorry for your tragic loss and may the state of Illinois continue their valiant search for the killer of your husband.”

The judge’s gavel bangs twice in finality, a rush of sheer relief and adrenaline threading through my veins. Oh yes, how sweet the victory is. I grin, remembering the exchange of a loaded briefcase in Addison. It was far enough away from prying eyes, and enough money to give the good judge a retirement option and the yacht investment he craved.

“Thanks. My daughter’s on the honor roll, and this is just the ticket I need to ride out my career on a high. Pleasure doing business.” He’d snuck out while I ate at the diner, satisfied with the deal. If he snitched, it would have been even easier—I would have killed him or exposed the dirty affair he’s been having with the prostitute from the strip club for the last ten years. What a way to kill an esteemed judge’s career.

That was the extra benefit the Omerta Files brought. More ammunition and tapes, photos, deeds done in the dark that would end most politicians’ careers in Chicago.

Bennett hugs me tight, whispering in my ear. “Told you. I’m too good at this.”

“Nice work.” Uproar and wails ring out from the other side as I perpetuate a face of sorrowful remorse, holding a hand to my chest, staring into the eyes of the petite blonde woman. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Fuck you!” she retaliates as one of the police officers rushes forward joining the fray of her team as they attempt to bring her under control. Makar joins me as I push the heavy courtroom doors open, a free man in record time.

“Excellent, Boss. She put on a good show,” he remarks, pulling the lapels of his suit jacket together.

“Why’s that?” I ask as we reach the outside of the courtroom without fanfare. Bennett congratulates me one last time, and I send him a hefty bonus on the spot for his underhanded tactics. I managed to have the court date changed several times to throw the media off the scent. The last thing I wanted was to have a media fanfare even if I did win the case.

“She shared a bank account with Ryan, and there were large deposits made in the days before his death.” My eyebrows shoot up as I stand on the stairs of the criminal courthouse, nodding my head.

“Another woman who’s not so innocent,” I mumble, my mind heavily focused on Sophia now that I’ve won the case.

Makar frowns, not understanding the reference, but continues. “No. She knew about Ryan’s dealings. She’s the one who spoke to Harvey. She gave him the introduction in the club near the Southside.”

“Hmm. Do we have a problem with her?” I keep my eyes trained on the Chicago traffic.

“No. She’s already taken care of.”

“Don’t kill her. It’s too close to the case,” I remind Makar as he sucks in air between his teeth.

“I wish. She might have been the one who showed up in court, but she’s not the one who laid the charges.”

I’m surprised. Makar and I walk down the stairs, and I keep my hand on my gun, just in case. “Oh. So, it’s not that easy?”

“No. She’s only a front, I’m guessing. Whoever did it is behind her.”

“How do you know?” I ask as Makar and I keep an eye out.

“The court documents. A few insiders, but I don’t have the details yet.”

“What you’re telling me is she was put up to this?”

“Exactly. Now you got it, Boss.” Reaching my car, I sigh, chuckling and slapping a hand on Makar’s shoulder.

“And you’re going to find out who it is, right?”

“Yeah. Already on it.”

“Who the fuck would dare mess with us. Especially now?” I ask in confusion.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. You going back home?”

Grinning, I shake my head. “No. You hunt your prey, and I’ll hunt mine.” I snicker, the courtroom victory amping me up enough to track down Sophia.