Chapter 14 Eddie

14

Eddie

I sat in my office chair, feet on the desk beside a cup of cold coffee.

Kate had gone home with her copy of the Jackson files, taking the night to go over pre-trial motions. Harry stood at my office window, a glass of Scotch in his hand, bathed in neon green from the sign for the bubble-tea shop across the street.

‘What the hell is bubble tea, anyway?' asked Harry.

‘I have no idea. Denise likes it. Says they do all kinds of flavors.'

‘Do they have bourbon flavor?' asked Harry.

‘I don't think it's that kind of deal. There are little gel balls in the bottom of the cup. It's huge in Japan and they charge eight bucks for a cup.'

‘Eight dollars? It's almost one a.m. and there's still a line of people outside. Maybe we should quit the law, open up a tea shop.'

‘What do you know about selling bubble tea?' I asked.

‘About the same as you know about practicing law.'

‘Thanks, Your Honor. Is that NYPD patrol car still across the street?'

‘Been there for forty-five minutes now.'

‘The red Buick pick-up?'

‘Same spot. You want to tell me what's going on?'

‘Nope.'

Swirling the liquor in his glass, Harry said, ‘You know Lake already told me and Kate.'

I swept my feet off the desk, said, ‘I didn't want to worry you. And I trusted him to be discreet.'

‘Discreet? Lake?'

I nodded, said, ‘You wearing your old Colt?'

‘It's in my desk drawer. Going to wear it when we go home. When are we going home, by the way?'

I shook my head, finished the cold coffee in my mug.

‘I don't know, Harry. We need to wait for Bloch.'

‘She just pulled up outside.'

A few minutes later, Bloch and Lake came into the office.

‘There's a red pick-up outside with two guys in leather biker gear in the front. They look twitchy and they're watching this building. Getting ready to make a move when that patrol car moves off,' said Bloch.

‘It seems as though Harry and Kate know all about this,' I said.

‘I told them,' said Lake. ‘It kinda slipped out. What do you want to do?'

‘I don't know yet. Tell me what happened tonight,' I said.

Lake and Bloch exchanged a look.

‘Bloch found what looks like a secret cell phone in Margaret Blakemore's sock drawer. It's with our lab techs downtown. We should know more in a couple of days. They have to break into the phone. After we left the house there was a lady down the street, taking some interest in our visit. Nice lady, a real gossip. Her name is Petra Schwartzman. Been a resident for a long time,' said Lake.

He pulled out one of my office chairs, took off his messenger bag and dumped it on the table. Lake's suit looked as if someone else had worn it when they'd died in their sleep, and Lake had taken it from the corpse. His foot tapped on the floor and he scratched at his dark, curly hair. Bloch moved to the window, stood beside Harry so she could keep an eye on the street.

‘Lake said Petra said Margaret had a string of affairs. Her marriage has been open for many years. Her husband Alan knew all about Margaret's steady stream of gentlemen callers. None of them Jackson.'

‘Did she give you any names?' asked Harry.

‘Lake said two. She says one of them was a long-time affair. Guy named Todd Ellis. Margaret broke up with him about a year ago, but the guy wouldn't take no for an answer. Apparently, he has anger issues. Eventually Margaret called Ellis's wife and told her about the affair. Still this asshole wouldn't give up. He patched things up with the wife, let things settle and then Margaret took him back. Second guy is Brett Bale, single, filthy rich like Ellis. String of divorces and guess what?'

‘What?' I asked.

‘He is suspected of drowning one of his wives. The last one,' said Bloch.

I sat forward, grabbed a pen and began to tumble it across my knuckles. An old cannon's trick. It keeps the fingers supple, dexterous, light enough not to notice when they dip into someone's pocket.

‘If Jackson didn't kill Margaret, we need to be able to point to an alternative suspect,' I said. ‘A jury will need that. I wonder if the cops interviewed any of these guys about their relationship with the victim. If they did, they'll want to bury those interviews. It doesn't suit their case right now. They've got their man – our client. We need to take a look at these two.'

Lake nodded, ‘These men have serious money. Both are extremely wealthy and no doubt well protected. It won't be easy.'

I nodded, fell into silent thought.

‘We've got bigger problems right now. Those bikers in the truck outside aren't waiting for a pizza. Do we stay here all night hoping they leave?' asked Lake.

I let the pen fall to the desk. Leaned back in my chair, and spoke slowly, ‘I thought about that, but I'm not going to be a prisoner in my own office. The cop in the front passenger seat of the patrol car is Sergeant Ben Gray. He's part of New York's Finest. I recognized him when I first saw the car. When I set one foot outside the door his car is going to drive away. That's the signal for the bikers to come out shooting and I'll be dead in the street.'

‘Jesus,' said Harry.

I paused, said, ‘I never thought I'd say this, but I think the best thing to do is call the police.'

‘Ready?' I asked.

‘All set,' said Harry.

He was standing at my window, a pair of Bloch's tactical field binoculars in his hands. Raising them, Harry focused on the patrol car. Particularly, the small part of the interior visible through the windshield from our elevated position.

‘Make the call,' I said. Lake dialed 911 on his cell, and together with Bloch moved out of my office, down the stairs to the front door.

‘What do you see?' I asked Harry.

‘Nothing yet. Wait, there it is. The driver just switched off the radio.'

Lake had called 911, said his girlfriend had just been assaulted and her bag snatched one block over from my office. The two cops in the patrol car outside the bubble-tea shop were easily the closest police unit. They didn't flash their lights. Didn't turn on the sirens. Didn't even start their car. They just turned off the radio so they could pretend there was a malfunction, and they didn't hear the call. I guessed they had already turned off their bodycams and their personal radios. The dispatcher would have their vehicle location on GPS, and no doubt they'd given the call sign to say they were dealing with a problem before going dark. But really they were waiting for me to come out of my office, then they would drive off and let the bikers in the red pick-up gun me down.

‘Okay, Harry. Are you sure their radio is off?' I asked.

‘I watched the driver turn it off. What do think – I'm blind?'

‘Alright,' I said, getting up out of my chair. ‘Let's go. You want to make the call or shall I?'

‘Oh, leave this one to me,' he said, placing the binoculars on my desk and reaching for his phone.

Harry dialed 911 as I made my way downstairs.

I stood facing the closed front door. My heartbeat quickened. Harry finished the call, and I heard his footsteps descending the stairs behind me. I licked my lips. My mouth felt dry and I was suddenly aware that my hands were shaking.

‘Call is in,' said Harry. ‘Just answer me one thing. What happens if they turn their radio back on?'

‘Then we walk out this door and I get shot. Maybe you get shot too?'

‘Who would want to shoot me?'

‘How many ex-wives do you have?'

Harry stood beside me, facing the door.

I felt his presence, solid, real. Since my old man died, Harry had been like a father to me. A cranky, eccentric, alcoholic father – but a good one.

I felt my friend at my side and my hands weren't shaking any more.

‘Thank you,' I said.

‘For what?'

‘For putting your life on the line for me. I'm glad I'm walking out this door with you.'

Harry didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

I checked my watch.

Ninety seconds since Harry made the call. I'd estimated two, maybe two and a half minutes would be enough.

I checked my phone. No calls.

The little hallway that led directly to the street was just wide enough for Harry and I to stand shoulder to shoulder. Concrete painted walls and a faded charcoal carpet that we'd been meaning to replace for weeks.

I stared at the door. Looked at my phone. Breathed.

The most dangerous part of this was in the first few seconds of stepping out onto the street. One second after I opened that door, the patrol car would drive away, the doors on the Buick across the street would open and the two leather-clad, hairy-ass bikers would be on the street too, with weapons in their hands pointing straight at me.

I stared at the door.

Checked my phone.

Breathed.

Two minutes since the call.

We couldn't tell what weapons the bikers were carrying. Since they were in a truck, and not on their bikes, Bloch guessed it would be small semi-automatic rifles. The kind that spit two hundred rounds a minute and kill everything in their path.

I stared at the door.

Breathed.

My phone rang.

Caller display read – BLOCH.

‘That's the call,' I said, and reached out to open the door.

Only Harry had pushed in front.

‘Wait, Harry!'

But I was too late. He'd opened the door.

Stepped out on the street.

I bolted out after him and then a lot of things happened all at once. The hitmen bikers were in the Buick, two cars down from the cops in the patrol car across the street. Bloch and Lake were standing ten feet from me on our side of the street. They'd all stood still. Waiting. Like a spring that was coiling tighter and tighter with every passing second and now, suddenly, unleashed with tremendous speed and force.

Soon as I set foot on the sidewalk, I heard the sirens. They were close.

I heard the engine starting on the patrol car. The wheels beginning to turn. They were ready to get the hell out of there before the shooting started.

The bikers were half out of the pick-up. The one closest to me, the driver, had a short-barreled AR-15 in his hand. He had a long gray beard over a black leather jacket. His eyes were red and wild. It was obvious that he'd passed the time in the pick-up smoking an eight-ball, or something equally dangerous, to get his blood up enough to kill me in the middle of a Manhattan street.

I couldn't see his pal. He was on the other side of their pick-up. But the driver stopped dead before he could raise the rifle.

He'd heard the sirens. He got back into the pick-up fast.

An NYPD car screeched round the corner one block away to my left, tires smoking. I heard the engine gun over the siren as it accelerated toward me. The car hit the brakes right in front of the pick-up.

Sergeant Gray's patrol car had pulled out, but then braked hard as another patrol car came down the street the wrong way, sirens blazing, blocking the entire road.

Cops poured out of the vehicles. Except the one that had been waiting for me.

Bloch ran over to the first cop out of the car. She pointed at the pick-up, cried, ‘Gun!'

The cops who were in front of me drew their sidearms, focused on the pick-up. I saw both bikers now, in the front. The passenger looked even more loaded than the driver. He still had the barrel of a riot gun sticking up in the air.

The cops who were blocking the road were out of their vehicles. They passed Gray's patrol car and ran to assist their colleagues who were zeroing in on the pick-up, guns drawn, barking instructions.

The driver's door of the pick-up opened an inch. The short barrel of an automatic machine gun stuck out.

The storm of gunfire from the police was deafening. Glass exploded from the windshield and driver's window. From the rapid fire, the glass looked like the surface of a still pond that was broken with a sudden, heavy downpour of rain, shards dancing in the air.

The firing stopped. The bikers were a bloody mess.

Sergeant Ben Gray stepped out of his patrol car and marched toward me, a look of undiluted fury on his face. Bloch looked at me over her shoulder. She could step in and stop him.

I shook my head, walked out onto the road to meet him.

His lips curled into a snarl as he got right into my face. He was trembling. Panting. Eyes fierce and lips drawn over his teeth. His nose almost touched mine.

I smiled and he put two hands on my chest and pushed me.

I stumbled back a couple of yards.

‘Look, I've been two steps ahead of you the whole time. Even in court I was four moves in front. Call this shit off, right now.'

He glanced to his left, the four cops who'd arrived were all focused on the pick-up. They wouldn't hear him.

‘I'm not calling anything off,' he said. ‘Now you've embarrassed me in front of my brothers. I'm gonna watch you die.'

‘Careful,' I said. ‘Everyone who has ever come after me made a bad decision.'

He laughed, said, ‘What? You sued them, lawyer man? You're gonna tell me they regretted it?'

‘Hard to tell. They're all dead.'

His expression changed, but just for a second. A flash of ice in his veins before the adrenalin and anger trampled it back down.

‘Next time you won't see them coming for you.'

‘I'm going to give you a choice. Call this off and walk away, and I'll forget about it. If you don't, I'm coming after you,' I said.

He turned his back on me, said over his shoulder, ‘And what you gonna do? You don't know me.'

I took his wallet from my jacket pocket. I'd lifted it when he came close, just half a second before he pushed me.

He had two hundred bucks in the wallet, give or take, a bunch of credit cards and loyalty cards, and something else.

‘212 North Baker,' I said.

He stopped, swiveled around on his heel. I put his driver's license back in his wallet and tossed it to him.

‘Here,' I said. ‘You dropped this.'

The wallet hit the street, and his partner grabbed a hold of him before he could take a run at me. He was still screaming at me when I got into the back of Bloch's car, beside Harry. Lake sat in front of Harry in the passenger seat, Bloch got in, turned on the engine and pulled away.

‘I don't think that was smart,' said Lake. ‘Goading him like that.'

‘Probably not,' I said. ‘But it felt good.'

‘What if he's right?' asked Harry.

‘Right about what?' asked Lake.

Harry said, ‘What if next time we don't see them coming?'

Lake looked at Bloch. Bloch said nothing.

I felt the weight of Harry's words on my chest. There was nothing else I could do.