Notorious (8 page)

“The ‘clean nine' Atari refers to on the tape,” Melanie said.

“Yup. Plus, like you told me, I found a voice identification expert who can testify that it's Atari's voice on the other end of that phone call. Though honestly, I don't think we need him. Atari's got the most famous voice in America. Half the jury will recognize it with no help whatsoever.”

“Let's not get lazy. We want to give the jury more to go on for the voice ID than Vashon's word.”

“Whatever you say,” Papo said, leaning back, twining his hands behind his head. “That tape is so good, I don't see how we can lose.”

Melanie was tempted to point out the holes in their case, or at least the fact that half the population was crazy about their defendant, but she went easy. Why burst his bubble? It wouldn't last long in this environment anyway.

“Hand Vashon the phone and let's track down Vegas Bo,” she said instead. “Sounds like he was right in the middle of the hit. An extra witness never hurt.”

T
he Drayton Hotel in
Soho was a favorite hideout of anorexic starlets, billionaire moguls, and supermodels with substance-abuse problems. It didn't surprise Evan Diamond a bit that his new client had chosen to shelter himself from the paparazzi there. It didn't surprise anybody else, either, and the place was swarming with reporters when Diamond pulled up in his midnight-blue Mercedes.

“Motherfucker,” he said under his breath.

His redheaded driver, whose name was Alexei, caught Diamond's eye wordlessly in the rearview mirror. Alexei was a former client, and was possessed of many qualities that had proved useful to Diamond over the years. Chief among these was the fact that he almost never spoke.

“Go around the block, come back, and drop me in front,” Diamond said in response to Alexei's inquiring look.

As they turned on to Prince Street, Diamond snapped open his briefcase and studied himself in the small mirror affixed to its inside cover. By the time they'd finished their circuit, he'd combed his hair, straightened his tie, and taken the shine off his nose with a compact
he kept hidden in an inner compartment. He traveled with his own makeup for moments such as this, but he preferred to keep that fact private.

“Right here. Wait for me across the street.”

Diamond sprang from the backseat and headed straight for the cameras. There were so many of them in front of the old terra-cotta building that they spilled off the sidewalk onto the pavement, blocking traffic but otherwise suiting Diamond's purpose to perfection. The government was gonna have some nice pictures to prove he'd gone and met with his client just like he'd promised.

“Hey, that's Atari's new lawyer!”

The flashbulbs were so thick that the effect was of a continual strobe light. He blinked but he didn't flinch.

“Mr. Diamond! Mr. Diamond, over here. Channel Seven News.”

“New York One!”

“Mr. Diamond, Associated Press.”

“What's Atari's defense?”

“Channel Nine. Who killed the lawyer?”

“
Rolling Stone
. Is it true Atari's working on a new CD about this experience?”

“Is he going to trial?”

“Have you gotten any death threats?”

Diamond stepped onto the sidewalk and held up his hands for silence. “I'd like to make a brief statement.”

The shouting stopped, but the air was thick with braying car horns and the
pop-pop-pop
of the flashbulbs. Beneath his feet, the subway rumbled. The wind had picked up. It was whistling down from the north, carrying the sharp taste of cold. Diamond drew on all his skills to project his voice into the roar of the New York afternoon.

“My client, Mr. Briggs, is innocent. This is a vendetta by the government. Why? They don't like his message, so they attack his
legend. In doing so, they're willing to trample not only his civil liberties, but yours. Today it's music they're censoring. Tomorrow it'll be poetry or journalism or literature. We can't let them win. My partner refused to allow it, and I'm here to pick up the fallen sword.”

“Who killed Poe?” somebody shouted.

“I don't know, but I can tell you this much. Lester Poe was a great lawyer and a great American.”

Diamond let himself well up for the cameras. He rode the emotion for a dramatic moment, then swiped a knuckle at his eyes and switched over to an expression of solemn determination.

“His murder was an attempt to prevent Atari Briggs from mounting an aggressive defense. Lester Poe would not want us to falter for one second in defense of the innocent. This is how I will pay my respects to my partner. I will take Atari's story to the jury, and when they hear it, they will walk him out of that courtroom a free man, with his head held high and his name cleared! Bring it on!”

Diamond raised his fist in a black power salute. All hell broke loose. He turned and strode into the lobby.

“Keep those bloodsuckers out on the street where they belong,” he said, thrusting a hundred-dollar bill at the doorman.

 

A
lone in the elevator, Diamond allowed himself a small smile.

When the elevator reached the penthouse and the doors slid open, he found himself staring at two massive bodyguards, both white. They appeared to be in their thirties, and they wore conservative business suits and neutral expressions. If not for the fact that they were built like bouncers, he might have taken them for accountants or software engineers.

Diamond stepped off the elevator, and the bodyguard on the right stopped him in his tracks with an iron fist against his chest.

“Your name, sir?”

“Evan Diamond. What do you think you're doing? I'm Atari's lawyer. He's expecting me.”

“I'm going to have to ask you to step up against the wall and spread your arms and legs so I can check you for weapons.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? The guy's my client.”

“Nothing personal, sir. Routine precaution. We do this with everybody.”

“I don't like another man touching me. What if I tell you where it is?”

“We can't take your word for it. We still need to pat you down.”

Diamond rolled his eyes but turned and did as requested. In truth, he was no stranger to the pat-down. He did too many jail visits, and had too many clients with prices on their heads.

This bodyguard was swift and professional. Within a second, he'd come up with the .32-caliber revolver that Diamond wore strapped to his right ankle.

“I'll need to safeguard your weapon for the duration of your visit, sir.”

“All right. But I want a receipt.”

“I'm sorry, we're not equipped to do that. But I assure you there won't be any problem. This is the only weapon we have in custody at the moment.”

“I better get it back. It has sentimental value.”

“You will. Don't worry, sir. This way, please.”

The bodyguard led Diamond to the large double door across the hall. He opened it with a card key and stepped aside to let Diamond enter. Light spilled from two walls of enormous windows into a spectacular corner living room, bouncing off gleaming hardwood floors and reflecting back on shimmering golden drapes. To his right was a small kitchen; to his left, a closed door that presumably led to a bedroom. The furniture was mod and groovy and mostly white, and
the room was so clean and perfect—and empty—that it seemed impossible that any human had ever set foot in it.

“Mr. Briggs is occupied at the moment,” the bodyguard said. “He asks that you please enjoy the refreshments he's provided, and he'll join you shortly.”

The bodyguard retreated and closed the door behind him, and Diamond looked around for the source of the oniony smell he'd noticed when he entered. A tiered tray with a complete caviar service had been placed on a beautiful black lacquered dining table. Beside it stood a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice. Diamond crossed to the table, keeping his eyes on the bedroom door. Behind it, a woman was moaning.

Not bad,
he thought as he glanced down at the label on the champagne bottle. 'Ninety-two Dom Pérignon, and the caviar was Osetra, five ounces of the stuff. He sat down in a black leather chair and fixed himself a blini with all the trimmings.

Behind the closed bedroom door, things were getting rowdier. Jesus, the life this guy had, and what the fuck had he done to deserve it? Sold dope and wrote a few songs about it? Diamond had listened to enough of Atari's so-called music to have concluded that it was nothing more than a thug bitching and moaning about the hardships of the life while making a mint off it. He wouldn't mind watching the guy take a fall, but then he felt that way about most of his clients. At least with Atari, he could expect a big payday.

The girl behind the door was moaning like crazy, so Diamond got up and walked over to the window, which looked out onto Prince Street. He couldn't tell from this angle whether the reporters were still there. He picked up a clicker and turned on the flat-screen TV, flipping channels for a while. When he didn't find anything about himself or the case, he settled for a Knicks game on ESPN, ate some more caviar, and waited. He was just starting
to get pissed off enough to think about walking out when the bedroom door opened.

The girl came out first. She was spectacular to look at—a leggy blonde with a perfect body and an angelic face who couldn't have been more than eighteen or nineteen, wearing the tiniest minidress. Atari followed close behind her. He hustled her toward the door, shoved a wad of cash into her hand, and pushed her out.

“Call me again sometime,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, and closed the door in her face.

Atari came over to the table and shook Diamond's hand. He had a bodybuilder's physique, not overly tall, but powerful and thickly muscled, and his hands were strong. In exquisite pin-striped pajamas, his flawless skin gleaming with sweat, he was an amazing specimen, and Diamond saw the physical charisma that had made the man a star.

“Well, well, Atari,” Diamond said. “You're looking very prosperous.”

“Yo, sorry for the wait, son,” Atari said. “A little tension relief. I been real stressed with everything going on.”

“I don't blame you. That girl was something.”

“You want some on the way out, say the word. I got a roomful of pussy on the fourth floor ready to party.”

Diamond had learned the hard way not to accept offers like that from clients, especially clients with a known fondness for hidden cameras. He tapped his wedding band against the table and shook his head no.

“True to your woman?” Atari asked, eyebrow cocked. “That's a new one from you.”

“It's been a long time since you and I worked together. Maybe I've changed.”

Atari laughed, popping the champagne cork with practiced ease.

“I doubt that. Gangstas like you and me, we never change. But circumstances change, and I'm willing to truce if you are. Some a this?”

“Sure, what the hell. We'll truce, seal it with a drink.”

They clinked glasses. Atari sat down across from him, and they took a minute to size each other up.

“A shame about Lester,” Briggs said.

“Crying shame.”

At the same moment they both broke out into big grins.

“I didn't body him,” Atari said, shaking his head.

“That sounds like a confession to me, kid.”

“Naw. Why I body my own lawyer? That's the man who protects me. But you? Wouldn't surprise me one bit if you were the guilty party.”

“I've thought about it once or twice. That much I'll admit. But I'm innocent, too, on this one. I didn't kill him.”

Atari laughed. “I'm glad to see you again, Diamond. You always were good for a laugh, and I never was happy with how Lester handled shit.”

Diamond paused for a sip of champagne. “Lester could be pigheaded. It's no surprise that somebody took him out. Casualty of war.”

“You should know.”

There was a venomous pause.

“I thought we said truce,” Diamond said, thinking about the holster strapped to his ankle, and how empty it felt.

Atari spread his hands in a gesture of conciliation. “You're right. Let bygones be bygones. Let the dead rest, and do our necessary business.”

“Exactly.”

They drank some champagne.

“You know, Atari,” Diamond said, “if I'm gonna be in your corner, we need to take care of the damage to your reputation that's been done recently. I can't be associated with it.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“I had an interesting visit from one of the U.S. Attorneys on the case this morning, Melanie Vargas. She seemed to think you wanted to cooperate with the government and make cases.”

“Cases? Against who?”

“She wouldn't come right out and say, but I have some ideas. Perhaps a mutual friend of ours.”

“Oh. Him. Look, that's bullshit. You know I ain't no rat, and you can tell him I said so,” Atari said.

“I hope that's true. Because we've both seen what happens to guys who snitch, and it's not pretty.”

“You
hope
it's true? Suck my dick, Diamond. You go back to that little prosecutor and tell her she better stop spreading rumors or she'll regret it. I ain't never ratted before in my life, and I never will. Besides, I got nothing to give up, since I'm innocent of all charges. Lester was lying to her.”

“Why would Lester lie?”

Atari shrugged. “You know the man. Moves within moves.”

Diamond nodded slowly, his eyes on his client's face. “True.”

“Diamond, I know who you are and where you come from. I'm the same as you. I obey the code. This is all a big misunderstanding. So you go back and tell that to our friend, since I know he's the one pulling your strings, understand?”

“Atari, please, I work for you.”

“Oh, right. Just like back in the day.”

“What happened to trucing, baby?”

“You gonna take care of my problems the way you did back in the day, too? Because then maybe I would find it in my heart to forgive you.”

“You know I am.”

“Nice,” Atari said, laughing. “Then I am truly blessed. You get me out of this, man, and the sky's the limit. Politics is next. I want my face on money. I can't have no felony conviction if I'm gonna get my face on money, can I?”