No Time To Run (Legal Thriller Featuring Michael Collins, Book 1) (18 page)

The Professor, Michael thought. 

“
That was when Mr. Deti revealed himself, although I figured it was him all along.” Lowell took another bite of chicken, but his movements were slow. “I knew he was involved with Joshua Krane, you hear rumors and such. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared though, just means that I figured it was Deti.”

“
When I got my first card I tried to tell myself that it was some sort of joke,” Michael said, “but as soon as Andie was arrested, I knew.”

“
She’s leverage.” Lowell pointed his fork at Michael, and he could see the wheels spinning inside Lowell’s head. “Deti set her up.”

Michael nodded, although it wasn’t a question.

“
Have you told her?”

Michael shook his head.

“
I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“
What about your friend out there?”

“
Kermit?” Michael glanced beyond Lowell toward the pool area. “No.”

Lowell nodded, and took another sip of wine, holding the glass to his lips.

When he set it down, Lowell looked up at Michael.

“
I’ve been at a loss.” He filled his wine glass again. “To be honest, even if I wanted to tell someone, there really isn’t anybody.”

Lowell sighed, surveyed his ridiculously large dining room, and took another bite of chicken, washing it down with a healthy dose of wine. At that moment, Michael couldn’t tell whether he was being played or if Lowell was one of the saddest men he had ever seen. Maybe it was a combination of both.

Lowell held Michael in his stare. It was clear that Lowell was forming a question. He had seen Lowell do it countless times during depositions and trials.

Then, it came.

“
I don’t want to offend you, because I’m certainly no saint, and if I went through what you did, well, maybe I would be tempted as well,” Lowell said, setting up the question. “But I need to ask, because the question needs to be asked – ”

“
So ask.”

“
Did you take Krane’s money?”

Michael stared at Lowell, and, without blinking, said, “No.”

Lowell paused, taking the answer in, nodded, and then started the “soft cross.” Although in the movies and on television, lawyers were always filled with bluster and intimidation, the soft cross was the opposite and often more effective, taking every answer, appearing to accept it as true, and then pecking away until the original answer was revealed as a lie.

“
Then what have you been living on?”

“
I sold my BMW. I cashed out my retirement, stocks, 401(k), sold everything else. It adds up and goes a long way when converted to pesos.” Michael took a drink of wine, and then set his glass down. “Besides, you’d be surprised at how little you need.” A subtle jab back at a man whose monthly restaurant bills were more than most people paid each month in rent.

Lowell started to ask another question and then let it go.

“
I guess that’s it for us, then.” He raised his wine glass, just as Kermit and Val walked into the dining room in their underwear. They were both dripping wet.

“
I’m famished,” Kermit said. “What are we having?”

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

He woke up with a splitting headache from too much red wine and too little water. Michael and Lowell had polished off two more bottles, while Kermit and Val had decided to play water volleyball and partake in an illicit substance or two. Then everybody had decided that the guest house was, in fact, the best place for them.

Michael picked up the phone and arranged for a cab, but didn’t move after he had hung up. He just sat on the edge of the large bed, staring at the floor in front of him and trying to muster the will to stand.

It wasn’t just the headache that was keeping him down. He could feel every muscle in his body crying for a cold glass of water or anything that wasn’t fermented in oak barrels.

Michael promised himself that he would never drink that much again. It was a promise he had made before, and it was a promise that never took too long for him to break.

“
One, two, three.” Michael stood up as quickly as possible, as if getting out of bed was the same thing as tearing off a Band-Aid. Once vertical, Michael steadied himself. He located a small bag of toiletries in a brass bowl near the bed, and then carried the bag across the room to the bath. His lists, sub-lists and sub-sub-lists scrolled through his head. He tried to figure out how to save himself, Andie, and now Lowell, but nothing came.

###

The flagstone path was ice, and Michael tried to keep his feet underneath him. He rounded a corner, and then walked into Lowell’s large indoor pool area. When the glass door slid open, Michael was hit by a cloud of chlorine and the sound of Val Moore’s voice.

“
Quite a party last night,” she said.

Kermit and Val Moore sat on two yoga mats with their legs pretzeled around their heads. Val Moore was in a very expensive red yoga outfit and Kermit was still in his underwear.

Val Moore smiled, unraveled herself, and stood.

“
Too bad you didn’t join us for a little swim last night.”

“
Too bad,” Michael said. “Maybe next time.”

“
You mind if Kermie plays with me a little today?”

Kermit unraveled himself, and then stood next to Lowell Moore’s wife.

“
Just an hour or two,” he said, “and then I’ll get to work.”

“
Fine.” Michael looked at the two, standing in front of him like two teenagers asking for permission to skip school. “Give me a call at the office. We can talk. I still need that research on Green Earth. Andie said they have a website, and I want to know who it’s registered to. That’s a priority.”

“
Consider it done.” Then Kermit leaned into Michael. “If you could keep this one on the down-low, I’d appreciate it.” He glanced back at Val Moore. “No need upsetting Ms. Patty.”

“
Patty Bernice?”

“
That’s right.” Kermit winked. “You know how that goes.”

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Tammy Duckstein’s supervisor stood in the doorway of her office. “You’re going to have to turn over the
Maltow
file.” He placed his hands on his hips while his belly made a concerted effort to be free. “This is way above us.”

“
It’s my file.” Tammy looked at the stack of papers on her desk and moved them a little closer, a hen guarding her chicks. “It’s the best case I’ve got; I’ve put hundreds of hours into it.”

“
And we appreciate that,” the boss said, “but you are at a dead end, Tammy.”

“
Michael Collins will call me before he ever goes to Vatch.”

“
You don’t know that.”

“
It’s a mistake.” Tammy’s voice was a little too loud, and her supervisor looked down the hallway in both directions to see if anyone had heard. Then he took a step inside the office.

“
It’s a personal request from the U.S. Attorney for New York and we’re going to comply.”

“
They’re going to indict the wrong man,” Tammy said.

“
You don’t know that.”

“
Lowell Moore is hiding something.” Every muscle in Tammy’s back tightened as she began to explain her reasoning, again. “After the
Maltow
case settled, the firm’s CFO was fired and nobody has been hired since then. Two years have gone by and Moore won’t produce certified escrow statements or financials for the firm.”

“
He doesn’t have to.”

“
Then we should get a warrant,” Tammy said. “Get them to produce it under seal.”

Her supervisor took a step toward her. He put both hands down on Tammy’s desk.

“
This conversation is done.” He waited, making sure that Tammy was looking at him and listening. “This is Wabash, Kramer & Moore. You don’t subpoena that firm, unless there’s something solid. You don’t have anything solid.” He turned and started walking away. “Put the file on my desk by tomorrow along with a summary report for U.S. Attorney Gadd and Agent Vatch.”

“
It’s a mistake,” she said, but he had already left.

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

The cab idled in front of Nicolias restaurant. Michael examined every aspect of the building, from the peeling paint to the faded sign to the bars on the windows. Although he didn’t like Lowell Moore, Michael felt guilty about bringing him into this. The swath of collateral damage was becoming wider, and Michael knew the confrontation with Deti was going to come sooner rather than later.

How could he trust Mario Deti? It wouldn’t end there, thought Michael. It couldn’t end there. Getting rid of Mario Deti wouldn’t get rid of Vatch. Vatch wouldn’t be satisfied until Michael was in an orange jumpsuit and chains. Then there was Andie.

Michael watched as two men emerged from the alley behind Nicolias, and walk around front. They huddled in close to one another, talking and smoking, occasionally looking across the street at Michael’s cab.

“
How long you gonna be?” The driver tapped the top of the dusty meter box.

“
I’m good.” Michael took a final look at the restaurant. “You can go.”

The cab driver signaled, and then turned around. “You know, if you want a good one, there’s a restaurant down the street.”

“
Arturo?”

“
Arturo, yeah that’s right.” The cab driver accelerated into traffic. “He’ll sing all the big songs. Great place to bring the family.”

“
I’ve heard that,” Michael said, wondering how much that restaurant bribed New York City cab drivers every year for the unsolicited recommendations.

###

Michael worked on Lowell’s two-person Jumpin’ Jack project, and then researched the statute of limitations for a personal injury case that Lowell had down in Florida against a petting zoo. At eleven-thirty, he picked up the phone, called Father Stiles, and confirmed that they were still good for lunch.

Then he opened his electronic timesheet on his computer and entered his billable hours for the morning. When he finished tracking and justifying every breath he had taken that morning, Michael shut the computer down. He had just enough time to stop by Rhonda’s office to talk about
Maltow
.

Michael walked past the inner offices, and ducked into a staircase. Down four flights of steps, Michael ran his security card through a black magnetic card reader, opened the door and stepped out.

He found Rhonda Kirchner’s office in the middle of the floor, near the bathrooms. He knocked on the closed door, and then went inside.

The office was dark. Rhonda wasn’t there.

He looked out the window, and then at the walls and bookshelves. On the top of Rhonda’s bookcase there was a picture of her husband and two kids. It was from a ski vacation. They were standing on the top of a mountain, somewhere out West.

He and Rhonda had gone to Columbia Law School together, started at the firm together, and had gone to countless firm functions. He never knew she was a mother, much less a mother of two.

“
Rhonda went home.”

Michael turned and saw Patty Bernice in the doorway.

“
Didn’t know Lowell let you out of his sight.”

“
Sometimes.” Patty held up a stack of papers in her hand. “Had some deliveries to make.”

“
Guess I’ll just leave her a note then.” Michael took an orange post-it note from the office supplies neatly arranged at the corner of Rhonda’s desk, jotted down a message, and placed the note on her chair. “That should do it.”

“
I’m not sure when she’ll be back.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
Had her annual review today.” Patty shook her head. “Didn’t go well.”

###

Regardless of when you went to the Belican, there was always an odd smell – a mixture of mold and chili. The mold was visible on a half-dozen ceiling tiles near the southeast corner of the room, presumably water damage. The chili smell wafted from a large pot in the back kitchen, a pot that was never emptied and never cleaned, just filled with more chili ingredients whenever it got to be about three-quarters empty.

Michael found a corner booth and sat down.

He hadn’t waited more than a minute before Father Stiles, dressed as his alter-ego Father Elvis, came through the door. He wore a full white jumpsuit and bell bottoms studded with a thousand silver rhinestones. The back of his jacket boldly proclaimed in emerald green glitter: “Jesus Saves Souls From ROCKIN’ In Hell.”