Bum Rap (15 page)

“The pit six hundred meters deep that Gorev talked about?”

“The Mirny mine. Officially closed. But a small part is working off the books. Benny gets the diamonds, and Putin reaps millions of dollars a year in kickbacks. It’s official US policy to shut off the gravy train to the Russian president. From day one, the Cohen case has been all about Russian bribes and kickbacks to Putin. Not some credit card scam of B-girl joints. The Attorney General himself gets weekly reports.”

“The Attorney General himself,” I repeated, without overdoing the sarcasm.

Scolino’s voice was now a whisper. “The president is also well aware of the investigation.”

“Unless it goes to hell,” I said. “Then the assistant secretary of the interior will take the fall.”

“You have a patriotic duty here,” Pincher said, as earnest as a TV preacher.

“To help your country,” Scolino added, in case I didn’t get it.

I looked at Barrios. I thought he might start whistling a John Philip Sousa march, but he kept quiet.

“
Benny Cohen ever kill someone or have them killed?” I asked.

“Other than Gorev, you mean?” Pincher said.

“Yeah, if that’s the picture you want to paint.”

“We have no intelligence on that,” Scolino said.

“
So you’re basically framing a nonviolent criminal with murder.”

“I’ll ignore that,” Scolino said.

“So what’ll it be, Jake?” Pincher said. “Solomon’s fate is in your hands. Life without parole. Or dancing in the streets in eight and a half years.”

“That’s still enough time for you to steal his girlfriend,” Barrios said, taking his shot at me.

“I’ll convey your offer to my client, as required by the rules,” I said.

“But will you recommend it?” Pincher pressed me.

“Chill, Ray. I’ll drive straight to the jail and call you later.”

“Tell you what we can throw in. Solomon can choose the facility. I hear Sumter up in Bushnell has decent food. Plus classes in auto mechanics and masonry.”

I hadn’t finished my meatballs and anchovies, but my hunger was gone. I remembered my first conversation with Victoria, expressing my frustration about the system. Well, after all these years, I just realized there’s not a damn thing wrong with the system. It’s just the flawed human beings who run it. People like Pincher. Scolino. Barrios. And me.

“Like I said, Ray, I’ll pass it along.”

“That’s my Jake, playing it close to the vest. Like a peekaboo boxer.”

I slid back my chair and stood. “Ray, if we do this deal, you’ll get some headlines for convicting an international criminal of murder. Scolino here dodges a bullet, and Barrios has solved yet another major crime.”

“Not just us, Jake,” Pincher said. “Word gets around that you and I have a close working relationship—it’ll be great for your business. Clients will ask, ‘How’d you get that great deal?’ And you’ll just smile that crooked smile of yours. They’ll be crawling all over each other to pay your fees.”

“Something for everybody,” I said, leaving without saying good-bye.

-38-

Jailhouse Lawyers

I
drove west across Biscayne Bay on the Julia Tuttle, headed for the jail. While waiting for the valet to deliver my car, I had called Victoria to meet me for our sit-down with Solomon. I left out all the details of my lunch date, wanting to tell the story only once.

Feeling cruddy. It’s my own damn fault they offered a dirty deal. Hell, I’d practically invited it when I taunted Scolino that day in my office.

“Feel free to give Pincher a preview of my closing argument. Maybe the two of you will come up with something that won’t cost you your job.”

I planned to keep the jailhouse meeting brief. I figured Solomon would turn down the deal, probably angrily, but I wasn’t going to push him one way or the other. If he didn’t take it, Victoria and I would pay a visit to Benny Cohen. International criminal and pal of Putin.

On the phone, Victoria had said she would take the Metrorail to the jail, so we could travel in one car to Benny’s place. Which would not have been a problem, except it started to rain.

Not
rain
, as in an afternoon shower.

Rain
, as in summer in Miami. Monsoon rain. Amazon rain. Noah, finish-the-damn-ark rain. Great gray sheets pouring from a black sky, pounding my windshield, disabling my wipers, and tattooing my roof like Max Weinberg on the drums. A lightning bolt zigzagged out of the death clouds and struck one of the little islands south of the causeway; the thunderclap rattled my windows. My old canvas top wasn’t exactly leaking, but little droplets appeared along one seam.

Victoria had planned to walk from the Civic Center Metrorail station to the jail. It’s only a couple of blocks, but today a person could drown. I tried calling her cell. Under the low-hanging ceiling of otherworldly clouds, no service.

My big, fat Caddy tires were hydroplaning, so I slowed down. Either that, or risk flying over the guardrail and turning the old Eldo into a boat. Years ago, I’d had a CD player installed, so now I slipped my favorite Leonard Cohen into the device. In his distinctive gravelly voice, Leonard was half singing, half talking:

“Everybody knows that the dice are loaded,

Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed.”

Well, I knew that, but thanks for reminding me.

Once on the mainland, I took I-95 south, then west on 836, exiting on Northwest Twelfth Avenue. Instead of going to the jail, I headed toward the Metrorail station, next to Jackson Memorial Hospital. I found Victoria huddled under an overhang, waiting for me. Somehow she knew I’d come get her, knew I wouldn’t let her walk through the storm. So far today, that was the only thing that I felt good about.

Solomon had lost more weight, appeared even paler, and seemed depressed. Well, he wasn’t staying at the Four Seasons. Victoria looked away, maybe thinking she might cry if she kept her eyes on the man she loved.

“Can you make another run at getting bail?” Solomon asked. “This damn place is getting to me.”

“It won’t work,” I said. “Judge has ruled.”

Solomon didn’t curse at me or tell me what a lousy lawyer I was. I would have preferred that. Instead, he seemed to just shrink into himself. He’d lost the spark that defined him.

We have some mutual friends from the courthouse. One is Marvin the Maven, a retired guy in his eighties who drifts from courtroom to courtroom, looking for the best action and dispensing advice on picking juries. A few months ago, I ran into Marvin in the corridor. He’d just left a courtroom where Solomon was defending a pair of six-foot-two-inch South Beach models, identical twins named Lexy and Rexy, who were fighting several thousand dollars in fines for parking in handicapped spaces.

“You know how the son of a gun won?” Marvin asked me.

“Bribed the jury,” I guessed.

“Claimed the girls had anorexia, so they get to park in the handicapped spots. Now, that’s chutzpah. Solomon’s like Barnum and Bailey. Whenever he tries a case, there’s always a dozen clowns crawling out of a little car.”

But Solomon didn’t look like a ringmaster now. More like one of the circus cats, gone mangy and lazy from being kept too long in a cage.

I shot a look at Victoria, who nodded, her signal for me to start talking. Then I told them about my meeting with our dedicated public servants who wanted Solomon to lie to make their case against Benny Cohen. A case that was part criminal and part political.

“That’s despicable,” Victoria said.

“Did Pincher tell you how long the offer was open?” Solomon said.

“No, but I promised to call him today. If you want, I can ask for more time.”

“What!” Victoria’s eyes flashed from me to Solomon and back again. “You two aren’t seriously considering this.”

“Not my call,” I said. “I wouldn’t take it, and I wouldn’t advise a client to take it. But your partner is sophisticated. If he determines it’s in his best interest to plead, you won’t hear me yelling about truth, justice, and the American way.”

Her head whipped toward her lover. “Steve! What are you thinking?”

“Life without parole. Losing you forever. There’d be nothing to live for.” He looked at me. “Is there any play in the numbers?”

“Pincher would never open with his best deal, so I’m thinking there’s some. They want Benny Cohen so badly, they might give you the key to the city and a ticker-tape parade to rat him out.”

“Realistically, Lassiter. What can you get me?”

“Pincher offered ten. I can counter with eight. With gain time, that’s six years and . . .”

I was still doing the math when Solomon said, “Nine months. Six years and nine months. I can do that.”

“Steve!” Victoria gestured with both hands, palms turned upward. “What the hell?”

He didn’t respond.

“Jake!”

I didn’t respond. Communication with her two men wasn’t going well today.

Solomon was clear-eyed and focused as he said, “Lassiter, the only way I can make this decision is for you to give me an accurate assessment of my chances at trial.”

Unlike most clients, he was taking an analytical approach. I admired that.

“I don’t know yet. Everything’s fluid and changing daily. I want to meet with Benny Cohen.”

“He’ll talk to you?”

“He’s had me followed. I think he’ll want to have a few words.”

“About what?” Solomon said.

“He’s wondering if we know where Nadia is. I’m wondering if he knows anything that can help our defense. We’ll play some cat and mouse with him. I’d sit down with the devil himself to keep you from getting convicted of murder.”

“Or copping to a phony plea,” Victoria said.

“That, too,” I agreed. “And right now, Benny Cohen is the only avenue we’ve got.”

-39-

All You Need Is Love

I
made two phone calls from the jail parking lot. First I danced with Ray Pincher to buy more time.

A counteroffer of eight years in the can was “within the realm of possibility,” he allowed. And sure, Solomon could take a couple of days to think it over. Big decision, after all.

Then my cold call to the cell number Manuel Dominguez gave me. Benny Cohen answered with a languid, “Mr. Lassiter, I’ve been expecting to hear from you.”

With Victoria riding shotgun, we took I-95 to the end where it dumped us onto South Dixie Highway. Also called US 1. Or Useless 1, if you prefer. Turned left at LeJeune, rounded the circle where Granny did her fishing in the Gables Waterway, and continued south along Old Cutler Road under its canopy of Japanese banyans.

The rain had stopped, and by the time we hung a left on Arvida Parkway, the sun was blazing, steam rising from the pavement. It’s an everyday occurrence in Miami and possibly in hell, if that’s not redundant.

The rent-a-cop in the guardhouse waved us through. We took a left onto Leucadendra and found Benny Cohen’s place on 450 feet of waterfront. You could have docked a cruise ship behind the house.

The place was your typical two-story Miami mansion. Orange barrel-tile roof. Towering royal palms framing a circular tile driveway that could handle parking for a hundred of your closest friends. Pillars out front to either hold up the second floor or just make the place look more stately than it was.

Also out front were two large men in dark suits on this scorching-hot day. They stood in the shade of a portico, waiting for us to get out of the Eldo.

“Let’s do this,” I said to Victoria.

“What’s our game plan?”

“Not sure I have one. Just play it by ear.”

“I knew it!” She leveled me with that Victoria Lord glare. “I just knew it.”

“Sorry I don’t have all my questions typed on color-coded cards.”

“Men!” she said, opening the car door and stepping out.

Apparently, Solomon and I had similar failings, I figured.

Once we were on the portico, the two men frisked us for weapons, then used a magic wand to check for wires. One of them ushered us into a two-story foyer. Spiral staircases peeled off from either side to the second floor.

“Mr. C is on the patio.” The Dark Suit led us through a room the size of a football field toward a set of French doors. The floor tiles were beige. The walls were a muted neutral color in the same family. The crystal chandeliers were large but without all the doodads you often see in these houses. Despite its size, the house tended toward the understated. You might even call it boring.

The French doors had a splendid view of the infinity pool, a tanning ledge, and the wide expanse of waterway that led to the Bay. The Dark Suit politely held the door, and we exited the house onto a covered patio with ceiling fans and a long granite table.

“I’m Benjamin Cohen.” The little man got up from the table, bowed toward Victoria, and extended a soft, pudgy hand for me to shake. “People call me Benny the Jeweler.”

“Jake Lassiter,” I said. “And this is Victoria Lord.”

He smiled as if we were old friends overdue for a visit. He wore a cream-colored silk guayabera with buttons that looked like gray pearls. His dressy slacks had a houndstooth pattern, black with that same cream color as his shirt. His shoes were loafers in a soft black leather with those silver buckles that resemble a horse’s bit. I’d guess Ferragamo or Gucci. If he stood on his tippy-toes, he might be about five feet five.

He looked to be somewhere between fifty and eighty. It was impossible to tell. Smooth, tight skin. Not a wrinkle on the forehead and the eyes with just a bit more slant than you might expect. He’d had some work done. Lots of work.

“May I offer you anything?” A lot of New York in his voice. “Lemonade. Something stronger? A little bite to
nosh
on?”

We both declined.

“So. How do you like my house?”

“To tell you the truth, the colors are a little bland,” I said.

“Jake! That’s impolite,” Victoria admonished me.

“Better resale value,” Benny explained.

“Me, I like to live in the present,” I said.

“Understandable. Who knows when tragedy will befall any of us?”

Maybe it was a threat. Maybe just chitchat.

“Do you know how I got into my business, Mr. Lassiter?”

I shook my head.

“Started as a diamond polisher in New York. For old man Slutsk. An orthodox Jew, of course. Do you know why the Jews got into the diamond business?”

I said I did not.

“
Let’s say you were a Jew in Lisbon in the fifteenth century. You could be in the cattle business or the diamond business. But if there came a time when Portugal decided to expel the Jews, as they did in 1497, it’s a helluva lot easier to travel with diamonds than with cows.”

“Makes sense,” I agreed.

“Those were the same Jews that Spain expelled in 1492,” Victoria added. “Just when they thought they had sanctuary, boom, it happened again in Portugal.”

“Smart
maidel
you got there, Mr. Lassiter.”

“Princeton and Yale,” I told him.

“Anyway, from old man Slutsk I learned everything about diamonds and how to treat people.”

“So he was a good boss,” I said.

“Diamonds, he knew. But good boss, my
tuches
! He was the worst
momzer
in midtown. He read Talmud all morning and screamed at his workers the rest of the day. I learned to do everything the opposite. I treat my workers like family. Pay them well. Send doctors when their kids get sick, presents when they get married. I could never tolerate a person who mistreated his underlings.”

“That’s a good trait,” Victoria said.

“Take Nicolai Gorev, for example. Greedy and stupid. I told him not to charge so much, he’d get in trouble with the credit card companies. Plus he cheated the girls, withheld their wages, forced them to have sex. I shed no tears for him.” He turned toward me. “So, Mr. Lassiter, what is it you want?”

“Top of my list. Evidence my client is innocent.”

“No, no, no. That’s what Solomon wants. But you,
boychik
! In life, I mean.”

“You want to chat about life?”

“These days, I don’t get a lot of visitors. And the ones who come are either Russian goons or beautiful young women who cannot carry on a conversation.” He gave a sly little smile. “With the exception of one
shayna maidel
named Nadia, but we’ll talk about her in a moment.”

I’d dated a couple of Jewish women, along with virtually every other ethnic group, including Seminole Indian, so I knew he’d just said “pretty girl” in Yiddish.

“Okay,” I said. “I just want to be happy. Like everyone else.”

“And what will make you happy? Money?”

I shook my head. “Money’s never been the goal.”

“Prestige then? Chamber of Commerce Man of the Year. Honors in the community.”

“I don’t give a crap about that stuff.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Since we’ve ruled out those things, what brings you happiness?”

“Mr. Cohen . . .”

“Benny.”

“Benny, I don’t really think much about it. I just go about my life day to day. Stuff happens. Some good. Some bad. I don’t know what’s at the end of the rainbow, or even if there is a rainbow.”

He smiled, but a bit sadly. “An honest self-appraisal from a decent man. Now, may I tell you what would bring you happiness?”

“I’m not sure you can. You can speak for yourself, but you don’t know me.”

“
Feh!
We’re just alike.”

“You and me? Doubt it.”

“You! Me! Ms. Lord! Mr. Solomon! Even Nadia Delova. All of us, good people. We want the same thing. Love!”

He sang it then, with a nasal twang, not sounding a bit like the Beatles. “All you need is love, love. Love is all you need.”

“Benny, I know you’re trying to tell me something, but subtlety sometimes eludes me. Why not just hit the nail on the head?”

Victoria stepped in. “What he’s saying, Jake, is that he’s in love with Nadia.”

“She’s got an ass like a ripe fig,” Cohen said.

“How sweet.” Victoria turned to me. “Mr. Cohen is also saying he would never hurt Nadia.”

“Bingo!” Benny said. “A
yiddishe kop
you’ve got, Ms. Lord. A Jewish brain.”

“I’m Episcopalian,” she said. “So you would like Nadia to come back to you?”

“Such a smart question. What you are really asking in a gentle way is whether I know Nadia has found a young man. Of course I know. And despite my feelings for her, I understand. Why would she want an
alter kocker
like me, anyway? I wish her the best. You see, Ms. Lord, that is true love. The same feeling that Mr. Lassiter has for you.”

“We’re not lovers,” Victoria fired back, a bit quicker than necessary.

Benny waved his hand. “Not yet! But I watched on the security monitor as you two sat in the car. I saw your body language, how close your heads were when you spoke to each other. Then I saw a little spat, as lovers do. I know about your nighttime travels. The Russian church. The beach. The meals you’ve shared. Your common purpose.”

“Our common purpose is to keep Steve Solomon out of prison,” she said. “Steve is my lover.”

“For now, yes. When he is in prison, what then?”

“It’s my job to keep him out of prison,” I broke in.

“Then you would have to be both a magician and a mensch. A magician to accomplish the task, a mensch for wanting to.”

“Benny, I was hoping you could help us.”

“I doubt it, but tell me what you know, and we’ll take it from there.”

“The feds want you for smuggling stolen diamonds, but they need someone to draw them a road map. An eyewitness who can place the diamonds in your hands. They thought Nicolai Gorev was their guy. They’d charge him, and he’d flip on you. But now that he’s dead, maybe Nadia can do it, if she knows enough.”

“That sweet child will never tell the government a thing.”

His statement gobsmacked me. I had expected him to say that Nadia doesn’t know anything. But instead he said she wouldn’t talk, inadvertently conceding that she
could
nail him. But so far, she hadn’t. I remembered Deborah Scolino telling me that she didn’t trust Nadia’s denials when it came to Benny’s business:

“Nadia said a lot of things about Nicolai Gorev that were surely true. But when it came to Benny the Jeweler, she was evasive.”

Now I wondered just how deep was Benny’s professed love for the Russian Bar girl? Was he really comfortable with her on the loose? I needed to poke around a bit to find out.

“I would be remiss if I didn’t ask you a question, Benny,” I said. “How do the diamonds get to Miami?”

He coughed up a laugh, delighted that anyone could ask such a foolish question. “What is the expression I’m looking for?”

“Maybe it’s ‘Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies,’ ” I ventured.

“No, another one. From the movies. ‘I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’ Yes, that’s it!” Another chuckle. “What else do you have for me?”

“I know you gave Nadia the gun that killed Nicolai Gorev, and that could be a problem for you.”

Benny thought a moment before replying. “If you know that, it means the federal stooges told you. Which also means they want something from you. Oh, Mr. Lassiter, I hope you don’t let your client do anything stupid. Or perjurious.”

Benny the Jeweler was no fool. He’d figured out the government’s play.

“
I’m trying, Benny. But I need a reasonable chance to win his trial.”

“The damned Glock.” He made a tsk-tsk-tsk-ing sound. “My mistake, entirely. Personally, I hate guns. I gave it to Nadia because she felt she needed it for protection.”

“So you didn’t hire Nadia to kill Gorev?”

“Of course not. He was a useful idiot. But I was foolish to give her the gun, which I suppose she gave to Solomon, who used it to kill Gorev. Or maybe she killed him. Who knows? I wasn’t there.”

“Why would she do that? And why would Solomon?”

“Nadia was in an impossible position. The federal government forced her to wear a wire to get immunity.”

“She told you this?”

“Until the shooting, she told me everything. Every time she walked into the US Attorney’s office, she would call me afterward. Loyalty. Add that to love, Mr. Lassiter. That’s what we all need. Love and loyalty.”

“So she told you she was going to have a meeting with Gorev.”

“I wish she had. If she’d told me about her passport, I’d have ordered Gorev to give it to her. Same for the back pay.”

“She had to know you would do that for her,” I said. “Meaning she didn’t go for the passport at all. Or to get Gorev on tape for the feds. She went there to kill him.”

“It’s possible,” he agreed. “She could have thought that with Gorev gone, I would no longer be at risk, and she wouldn’t have to testify. Run away, yes. But testify, no.”

“So your theory is she did it for you,” I said.

“I was kind to Nadia. Generous. She was not used to men treating her well. So, yes,
boychik
, I think she might have killed Gorev so he couldn’t incriminate me.”