Blind Man's Alley (20 page)

23

I
T’S NOT
a terrible deal,” Duncan said, though he made no effort to show enthusiasm for it. He was alone with his client in a Rikers interview room. The room was small, Duncan’s knees almost touching Rafael’s as they sat across from each other. One wall was reinforced fiberglass, allowing the guards to keep an eye on them.

Duncan knew he was supposed to be trying to get Rafael to take the plea, but his heart wasn’t in it. While he wasn’t going to discourage Rafael from taking it, he wasn’t going to do a hard sell either.

“Twenty-five years?” Rafael said incredulously. “You saying twenty-five years?”

“That’s the offer,” Duncan said. “Doesn’t mean you’d actually serve all of that, with good behavior and parole.”

“What’s a bad deal look like? They gonna drag me on out to the yard and shoot me in the head?”

“It’s a murder charge, Rafael. Any plea on this is going to be serious time.”

Rafael was still incredulous at the thought of agreeing to spend twenty-five years in jail. “Serious time for what? Tell me what I’ve done that I’m going to do time for.”

“I’ve got an obligation to let you know when the DA makes you an offer. I’ve got to tell you too how it looks compared to what could happen if you get convicted at trial. It doesn’t mean you have to take it; it doesn’t mean we can’t keep going with the case. But you have to understand that most murder prosecutions don’t have happy endings for the guy on the hook.”

“But you said you can tell the judge how I hadn’t shot a gun, right?”

Duncan was well aware that Rafael placed too much confidence in the idea that the case was some sort of misunderstanding that could just be straightened out. “I hope so, but it’s far from a lock. You can’t believe that I’m just going to be able to get you out of this. I mean, I’m going to do everything I can, but you need to know that there’s nothing that I’m promising you in terms of a result.”

Rafael shook his head, leaning back in his seat, his anger making the tiny interview room feel even smaller. “So you telling me I should spend twenty-five years in the hole for something I didn’t even do?”

Duncan knew what his marching orders from Blake were, but he also believed that his primary duty was to his client. And on some level, he didn’t want Rafael to plead out so easily. “Listen, you don’t want to take the deal, then don’t take the deal. Just remember I’m not Superman. Even if I get the gunshot residue thrown out, the DA’s still got a witness; they’ve still got a motive. The reason they’re not offering very much is because losing the gunshot evidence doesn’t scare them that much. I can’t promise this will reach a moment where it’s better than it is right now.”

Rafael looked at Duncan carefully, studying him. “I say fight,” he said after a moment. “You gonna fight?”

Duncan held Rafael’s gaze. “Fight, yes,” he said. “That I can promise.”

“And it don’t matter that I can’t pay?”

Duncan felt offended by the question, but quickly realized he couldn’t blame Rafael for wondering that. “That’s not what this is about. I get paid to do my job, Rafael. Defending you is part of my job. I’m doing what I’d do, saying what I would say, whether you were paying or not.”

“Then let’s go to war,” Rafael said.

DUNCAN HAD
rented a car for the trip out to Rikers. As he drove back to Manhattan he thought about how he was going to spin this to Blake, who was doubtless going to be displeased.

It also meant figuring out how to go forward with the case. The obvious thing was the hearing on the gunshot residue, see if he could get that thrown out. Despite what Castelluccio had said, doing so would likely get a much better deal offer, which could potentially end it.

But it was also time to make a real effort to establish Rafael’s innocence. Duncan wouldn’t necessarily communicate that part of the plan to Blake, but he didn’t see how he could avoid at least making some effort in this direction. It was a one-witness case; the obvious thing was to take a hard look at Chris Driscoll.

Duncan couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling he’d had ever since Blake had told him he’d be keeping the case. There was something going on he didn’t understand, a hidden agenda. Duncan had a lingering suspicion that he was being used in some way, but why and by whom he couldn’t tell. Then again, Blake was never exactly forthcoming, and the last couple of weeks had been generally disorienting, particularly with Leah Roth’s entrance into his life. He didn’t see his way to figuring it out, so Duncan resolved to just do what was in front of him to do. If something else was going on, it would reveal itself eventually. With any luck he would see it coming in time.

24

W
ELCOME TO
our cave,” Jeremy said to Mattar Al-Falasi. They were at the Buddha Lounge, a subterranean nightclub in the Meatpacking District, tucked into a private VIP room that was indeed styled as a cave.

Alena, after some protest, had furnished a friend, Ivy, to be Mattar’s date. Ivy was Asian, still modeling, although not as much as she used to. She was beautiful and aloof; Jeremy was unsure if her blankness was a form of superiority, or just the expression of her essential dullness.

Mattar was dressed in a suit, though without a tie. Jeremy had yet to see the guy without a suit jacket on. Jeremy was dressed more casually, though no less expensively, in a long-sleeved Armani polo shirt, not wanting to look like he’d just stepped out of a business meeting when hitting a club. Both Alena and Ivy looked great, of course: Ivy in the standard little black dress, a sleeveless number with slits to midthigh, Alena in a scoop-necked turquoise dress that was one of Jeremy’s favorites.

Private rooms at the Buddha required bottle service, Jeremy shelling out $350 for a fifth of Grey Goose that he could buy at a liquor store for less than forty bucks. Not that he gave a shit: being out with Mattar made tonight a business expense; his bar tab would be on the company. His father still kept him on what Jeremy considered a tight financial leash, essentially forcing him to live on his salary while all the real money was tied up in long-term trusts and property he wasn’t allowed to touch.

Jeremy had never been able to live within his means, going all the way back to high school. It wasn’t his fault: everyone knew how rich his family was, so people had certain assumptions about his lifestyle. It wasn’t like he could explain that his father had him on an allowance that made his wealth a fraction of what people assumed.

The blond bartender had made them all martinis, showing off her cleavage as she did so. She left the bottle chilling in a gold-plated ice tray. It was Jeremy’s first drink of the night: this was a business outing, after all, and Jeremy wanted to stay at least somewhat on his toes around Mattar. “Cheers,” he said. “To new friends.”

They all clinked glasses, but the moment felt forced, nobody but Jeremy even bothering to try to act happy about being there. Jeremy did not understand why Mattar seemed so distracted; the whole evening had been constructed for him, Jeremy thinking he’d put together exactly what Mattar had requested.

“Is your family back in the city?” he asked Mattar.

“My father is in Dubai; my brother has gone to Los Angeles,” Mattar said.

Jeremy knew better than to explicitly bring up business, but without that he was at a loss as to what to talk about. “Ivy just got back from Paris,” he said, the first thing that popped into his head.

Mattar turned to her, his expression blankly polite. “Is that so? It is a beautiful city, of course, but for me I find the relationship between the French and the Arabs too difficult.”

“More than with Americans?” Alena asked, Jeremy not at all liking where this was going.

“It can be difficult with the Americans as well, of course. Iraq, the support for Israel.”

“I was actually thinking 9/11,” Alena replied.

Mattar paused and nodded his head slightly in concession. “Yes, of course. But some Americans seem to think that 9/11 was the first time that America encountered the Arab world.”

“Encountered?”
Alena said.

This was heading off the rails, Jeremy thought. “Let’s not,” he said.

“It was of course a completely horrible tragedy,” Mattar said, ignoring Jeremy’s interjection. “But my point was that, even so, the Americans, the New Yorkers especially, they still see me as a person when I am here, not as an Arab terrorist. In Paris I’m simply an Arab, nothing else.”

“We’re the new world,” Jeremy said, talking just so that Alena was not.

Alena stood abruptly, saying she wanted to dance. Ivy stood up immediately. “Not for me,” Mattar said. “But please go; it’s fine.”

“I’ll keep Mattar company,” Jeremy said. “You two have fun.”

Alena and Ivy made their way out to the dance floor. Jeremy smiled at Mattar, then took a sip of his drink. “I hope this place is okay?”

“It’s nice,” Mattar said, glancing around as if he’d neglected to actually notice his surroundings.

“And the company is satisfactory?”

Mattar hesitated, but it seemed to be more out of politesse than actual uncertainty. “Actually, if you want to know the truth, I prefer the other one.”

Jeremy made no effort to hide his surprise. “You mean Alena?”

“If you will forgive my being blunt, it is the white girls I prefer,” Mattar said with a slight smile. “And perhaps it is also true that I like the difficult women also.”

“I didn’t realize,” Jeremy said, laughing because he didn’t know what else to do.

“If the Asian one is attractive to you, then perhaps …” Mattar trailed off.

Jeremy’s smile was straining, but he held it. “No, but … Alena’s with me.”

Mattar flushed. “She’s your girlfriend?”

“Maybe that’s not quite the right word, but we’re seeing each other, yes.”

“I thought—Please excuse me,” Mattar said.

“A simple misunderstanding,” Jeremy said quickly, finishing off his martini. “Don’t think twice.”

“You must think me a crude man. Where I am from, it’s very different with men and women. When I see women advertising their bodies, perhaps I make assumptions I should not make. But that is no excuse for offending you.”

“It’s fine. No big deal,” Jeremy said. He told himself that was true. Jeremy decided to find the whole thing funny. Hell, it
was
funny, when you looked at it from a certain angle. Not that Alena would think so. She just wouldn’t have the right point of view.