No Time To Run (Legal Thriller Featuring Michael Collins, Book 1) (12 page)

“
It’s all there. Profiles of Brenda Gadd, that Attorney General guy, and the other lawyers. Found it on the state bar association website and some newspaper archives.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I also found a couple of articles on the Johannson dude, mostly after his death, and then a whole bunch of stuff on Mario Deti, who seems like one mean son of a bitch, BTW.”

“
BTW?”

“
By the way.” Kermit rolled his eyes. Michael was so un-hip. “After about his fifteenth or sixteenth mob assassination and criminal indictment, I stopped printing the stuff off. It was getting repetitive and the café was charging ten cents a page.”

“
What about Green Earth Investment?”

Kermit shook his head, snapped his fingers three times, and put a finger to his temple. “Forgot that one.”

“
Forgot?”

“
I got a lot on my mind.” Kermit stood up from the chair. “It’s been awhile since I was in the urban jungle.” He walked over to the window and looked down at the street below, studying it. “You hungry?”

“
I am, but I got invited out to dinner by another associate. It’s some sort of recruitment dinner. I got invited to it on the first day I was back, but had forgotten about it.” Michael glanced at the small clock at the bottom of his computer screen. “Lowell Moore is going to be there. Since I missed coffee, I figured …”

“
So we’re not going to see Andie?”

“
You should go,” Michael said. “Tell her that I’ll come first thing tomorrow. I’m going to do this dinner, and then coming back here to finish up.”

“
Late night?”

“
I guess.”

“
Don’t get sucked back into the machine.” Kermit’s eyes went wide. “Its gears will grind you up, my man, take a lesson from me,
hombre
, I’ve resisted the lures of corporate entrapment my entire life.” He walked back over to the doorway, and turned. “Sure I can’t smoke up in here?”

“
I’m sure.”

“
What about that lady I walked past on my way to you? Think I could go fetch some grub with her?”

“
Patty Bernice?”

“
That might be it.” Kermit poked his head out the door and into the hallway. “Ms. Patty looks like she needs a good time.”

“
I don’t know if you two would exactly fit.”

“
B.S.-imo.” Kermit turned his attention back to Michael. “We'd fit perfectly. A ying and a yang, I can feel it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Recruitment dinners were a fundamental aspect of big firm life. Wabash, Kramer & Moore was no exception. There were always people leaving the firm and other people wanting to get in. The dinner was an elaborate dance rooted in creating and maintaining a perception, wherein nobody lied, but the truth was shaded, mixed signals sent, and people heard what they wanted to hear.

When Michael walked in the door to Frazier’s, he had to promise himself to bite his tongue and play along. He couldn’t tell the recruits to run away like he had, albeit six years too late. He had to pretend that lawyers hung out at hip restaurants and listened to euro-techno jazz all the time.

“
May I take your coat?”

Michael turned and saw a man in a black suit, baby-blue Geoffrey Beene shirt, and no tie. He was about 22, with slicked back hair and chiseled features. Model, thought Michael, or maybe an actor, or maybe both.

Michael slipped off his jacket. The model-actor handed him a numbered tag and took the jacket away.

Michael scanned the restaurant for his group. Beautiful people mingled by the under-lit bar, others spoke to one another over miniature versions of classic appetizers. Although the lighting was dim, his group in the far corner was unmistakable. In a restaurant full of young couples and singles on the prowl, Lowell Moore and his cadre of baby lawyers stood out.

“
Ladies and Gentleman, Mr. Michael John Collins.” Lowell raised his glass toward Michael as he approached. The recruits smiled and one actually clapped her hands.

“
Thanks for the welcome. Sorry I’m running a bit late.” Michael patted Lowell on the back, and then turned his attention to the two recruits. “And you two must be the guests of honor?”

The young lawyers grinned, and they told Michael their names, which he immediately forgot.

“
Well, nice to meet both of you.” Michael smiled and sat down. “And of course, I know you.” He put his arm around Rhonda Kirchner. “Sorry I haven’t dropped by sooner. Been a little crazy.”

“
Not a problem.” Rhonda smiled, and then leaned in. “We need to talk sometime.”

“
All right, you two.” Lowell tapped his butter knife against his glass. “No whispering at the table. Our bright, young dinner companions were just telling us why they are so interested in our little boutique firm.”

Michael smiled and nodded politely, and for the next forty minutes each person at the table dutifully recited their respective lines: Wabash, Kramer & Moore was not like other large law firms; numerous
pro bono
opportunities existed and were encouraged; the firm may not be as diverse as it would like to be, but substantial efforts were being made; and of course, the focus of the firm was on producing a quality product for its clients and not just billable hours.

It was a dinner and conversation that Andie Larone would have walked out on. She didn’t have time for small talk and pleasantries. Authenticity was the rule, which was why Michael could barely stand not telling her the truth. She deserved to know about Deti and the Professor.

Lowell took another sip of wine.

“
And then there are, of course, high profile cases. Anyone can chase an ambulance or sue a doctor for this trauma or that, but, if you actually want to blaze new legal trails, this is the only place with the resources to do it and do it well.”

Provided that you don’t lose, Michael thought. Wabash, Kramer & Moore was all about blazing new legal trails, but if one of those trails turned out to be a dead end or cost too much money, heads rolled.

“
I read about Mr. Collins’ case in the newspaper, today,” summer recruit #1 offered.

“
Sounds fascinating,” summer recruit #2 added.

“
You don’t really think she’s innocent, do you? Don’t get me wrong, I’m just not sure I could do it without knowing for sure.”

With the last comment, Lowell Moore, Rhonda Kirchner, and the other recruit shifted in their chairs. The conversation had veered dangerously close to an actual discussion rooted in real life, ethics, and values. Such conversations were never to occur at a recruitment dinner.

“
You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to.” Lowell’s tone now far darker. “He’s actually only been back at the firm a few days after some time off.”

“
Time off?” Summer recruit #2’s eyebrows rose. “Like a sabbatical?”

“
Kind of,” Michael said, “A few years ago a client of ours was –”

“
But he’s back now.” Lowell lifted his glass with a broad smile. He pretended to clink with an imaginary glass in front of him. “I believe it’s time to look at a dessert menu.” He took a sip, set the glass down, and shouted for the waiter.

###

The dinner wore on for an additional forty minutes. Michael and Rhonda had to suffer through another telling of Lowell Moore’s favorite anecdote related to his first billing client. It was “back before the light bulb was invented. … He had never seen a check as pretty as that one. … Still have the client’s check and the original billing statement framed in my home office, too important to keep unsecured at work.” 

They all laughed out of obligation. Then the waiter provided their bill, which Michael thought was the prettiest check that
he
had ever seen.

The bill was paid. Coats were collected, and the recruits were hustled into cabs and sent on their way.

Lowell, Rhonda, and Michael watched from the curb and waved. Then Lowell handed his ticket to the valet.

Rhonda looked at Michael, and then back at the restaurant.

“
Lowell,” she said, “I think I may have left my purse inside. It’s a dark leather purse, medium size. Can you see if the host found it when they were clearing our table?”

Lowell grimaced at being requested to do anything by an associate, but the traditional roles of man and woman mitigated what would have otherwise been a flat rejection of her request.

“
I guess.” Lowell looked at the restaurant and calculated how much time he was going to waste on this endeavor. “Brown leather?”

“
That’s right.” Rhonda attempted to look demure. “Sorry to ask, but you'll probably be taken a bit more seriously than me.”

Lowell nodded in agreement with that assessment and turned. He walked back into Frazier’s, leaving Rhonda and Michael alone for the first time that evening.

“
I need to talk to you about Maltow.”

“
Maltow?” He hadn’t thought about that case in years. Maltow was one of the last pieces of litigation Michael worked on before the incident. It was Maltow and Krane, with the Joshua Krane litigation being the more high-profile of the two cases that managed to dominate 97% of every one of Michael’s monthly billing statements.

“
We can’t talk too much about it here.” Rhonda’s voice was hushed. “But I really need to –”

Lowell came through the door, shaking his head and looking even more irritated than when he went in.

“
They don’t have it. Are you sure you brought it? I don’t remember you having a purse.”

“
I’m sure I did.” Rhonda shrugged, trying to play it off. “Maybe you are right. Maybe it’s still at the office.”

Lowell looked at both of them, and turned his attention to the street.

“
Where’s my damn car? I don’t have time for this.” He rubbed his hands together, and then removed a pair of leather gloves out of his pocket.

He stepped a few feet closer to the curb, leaving Rhonda and Michael behind him, and looked down the street.

“
There it is.”

A black Suburban approached. It came to a stop in front of him, and the valet got out.

“
You coming with us, Michael? I’m giving Rhonda a lift home,” Lowell said. “I can do the same for you.”

“
No, you two go ahead.”

Rhonda leaned in.

“
I’ll stop by sometime.” Then she walked toward the SUV as Lowell opened the door.

Lowell looked at Michael, putting his hand on the vehicle.

“
Sure?”

“
I need to finish some things at the office,” Michael said.

With that, Lowell looked at his watch and smiled. “Good boy. Stop by in the morning, and let’s see if we can get you some files that actually pay the bills.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Vatch opened the front door of his two bedroom apartment in Hoboken, playing back the events of that evening in his head like a movie, careful that nothing got lost. He thought about Michael Collins, and then he thought about Frazier’s and all the sleek-looking people who walked in and out of the restaurant while he watched from across the street, people that would never speak to him unless they had to, eating at a restaurant that he could never afford.

He shut the front door, turned the deadbolt, hung the latch, and then rolled his wheelchair across the small, spare living room to the second bedroom, a bedroom that he had converted into a study. Vatch turned on his desk light, and then flipped open a notebook.

He dated the top of the page, and meticulously wrote notes regarding everything that he had seen that day. Most of it was insignificant, but there might be something. He was coming close. For over two years he had tracked Michael Collins, and it was finally going to end.

Vatch looked at the framed picture of his dead partner, Agent Brenda Pastoura, on the corner of his desk. She was killed the same night that Joshua Krane, Michael’s client, was murdered. The FBI had placed Krane under 24-hour surveillance, fearing that the corporate executive would run.

Late at night, they followed Krane to the Bank of America building, watched him go inside and then get back into the car with Michael. A few blocks later a man on foot fired on the car, and Agent Pastoura chased after him. There was no way he could help. Vatch’s wheelchair was in the trunk, and there wasn’t time. He radioed for back-up, but it was too late.

In an alley two blocks away, both Agent Pastoura and the man who shot Joshua Krane were dead. Ballistics indicated that they had each shot the other, simultaneously, but Vatch wasn’t so sure.

He looked from the framed photograph to the bulletin board above his desk. It was covered with photographs of Michael Collins as well as pictures of Michael’s mother, his priest, his high school girlfriends. There were copies of key documents, and then there were bank account statements, wire transfers, maps, and letters. He knew that Michael was responsible for Krane’s death, and Vatch was going to hold him responsible for Agent Pastoura’s death as well.