Blood Money (18 page)

Nick was escorted past the spotless kitchen to a back room, a wine cellar where DiCicco held court every day, and took his meals. There were no windows, just racks of fine wine, a huge Italian provincial desk, a couple of heavily carved red velvet chairs, and a prominent picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus peering from between two old photos of his immigrant parents. Don DiCicco sat regally behind the desk, waving Joey Shoes and Little Al away. He was a large man in every respect. His face was heavily jowled. His black hair was slicked back, and his pencil-thin mustache was dyed to match. He was dressed in a starched white shirt, buttoned to the neck. He wore no tie. A tie got in the way of good food, he always said.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, Mr. Ceratto. What can I do for you?” DiCicco folded his chubby fingers leaving room for his two-carat pinky ring.

“
Con tuto respeto
,” Nick started with the expected formality, “I need a favor.”

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Nick asked, shocked to find Margo Griffin sitting at his desk going through one of the twelve accordion case folders in the Riley case.

“Oh. Hi, Nick,” she said nervously. “I was assigned to assist you—to sit as second chair at the trial,” she said, her legs crossed and her skirt purposely hiked up. “Aren’t you glad?”

“No, I’m
not
glad, and you’re
not
going to assist me,” he snapped closing the door behind him.

Still smiling, she moved her hands from the file and laid them on the desktop. “Nick, don’t panic. Relax. Silvio wants me to help you finalize the exhibits, to make sure the subpoenas went out, to help with the witnesses, to help you prep them.”

“That’s a paralegal’s job, not yours.” He dropped his heavy trial bag and approached his desk. “I’d appreciate it if you’d get out of my chair. I don’t want to be rude, Margo, but I don’t need you.”

Her smile quickly became a frown. “Excuse me,” she snapped defensively. “You can’t throw me off the case, you’re not a partner, you’re not …”

Nick took Margo’s arm and gently pulled her up out of his chair. He noticed that the center drawer of his desk was partly open. He was sure that she had been snooping. “Your boss is going to have to reassign you to some other case, not my cases, and certainly not the Riley case. This is my office, not yours, and I’d appreciate you’re respecting my space. “

Margo smoothed her skirt as she stood. “I’ve spent two days reviewing documents in this case, and you
do
need help. You’re going to need motions in limine to hold out damaging evidence. You know Asher’s a prick. He’s going to kill you with Sean Riley’s past alcohol addiction. He’s going to introduce past disciplinary actions against your dead guy to smear his character. Riley was
suspended once for shoving a suspect down the stairs and breaking his leg.”

Nick pointed his finger in her face. “You tell Silvio that I don’t want or need you. And I don’t want you in my office again.”

She cast her eyes down at the floor. “Nick, I’m not trying to step on your toes. I heard about Maria and I’m sorry. I know you’re grieving, and I just wanted to help, that’s all. Marty felt you could use some help now.”

“Tell Marty thanks, but I’d rather do it myself.” He walked to the door and held it open.

“What do you have against me?” she said, moving closer. Her eyes welled up with forced tears. “You hate me, don’t you?”

“No. I hate being spied on, having my work scrutinized while I’m away. My office broken into, my papers read and rearranged—” He pointed to the massive file and the documents scattered on his desk. “And being told by an associate that she’s going to sit second chair on a trial that’s about to start in a few days—that’s what I hate.”

Nick dialed Silvio’s extension while Margo dabbed her eyes. He felt bad about making her cry, but he was furious at her, at Silvio, at the world.

“Yeah, Nick.” Silvio saw Nick’s extension flash on his phone screen.

“Marty, what’s all this about Margo taking over my office and this file?”

“She’s only going to help you,” he laughed. “What’s all the paranoia?”

“I don’t
want
help
.
And I don’t need it. Thanks, but no thanks.”

“You
do
need it. You only have a few days to prepare, and there’s a ton of it to do. You haven’t outlined your case, your witness sequence, called your witnesses for prep. I don’t see any trial book—you should have had it put together by now. I just see an empty binder marked ‘Estate of Sean Riley’. There’s nothing in it.” He chewed on the end of his cigar, waiting for a response.

“Let me worry about what I have to do.” Nick glared at Margo, who reached into her purse for a tissue, continuing to dab at her eyes.

“Ceratto,” Silvio shouted, “this is a multimillion dollar case! You got a lot a work to do. Don’t tell me not to worry about it. It’s our money out there—over a hundred thousand out of pocket is riding on this case—with a potential three or four million dollar recovery.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Nick wanted to say, “You murdering fuck, I know what you’re up to.” Instead he insisted, “I just don’t want anyone snooping around my desk while I’m away. She’s in my face, telling me what to do, and I don’t like it.”

“She was doing what I told her to do—and if you don’t like it…” There was a pause, and Harry Levin’s voice could be heard telling Silvio to cool it. He had heard the shouting next door and had come to see what it was all about.

Nick stayed on the line as the two argued, and then it went dead. Margo left his office, still dabbing her eyes. He closed the door and put his phone on do not disturb. Contrary to Margo’s story, all the subpoenas
had
gone out except for one. He dialed Grace Monahan’s extension. She had all the documents that Margo hadn’t seen. Nick was grateful that he had listened to Grace’s suggestion that she keep all trial preparation documents in
her
office.

“Grace, has Donna Price been served yet?”

Grace was still pissed at him for his liaison with another woman, even though that woman was dead. She answered coolly, “No. She’s moved. We can’t find her.”

Nick ignored the tone. “It looks like she was an operating room nurse. She was there during Riley’s surgery, right? It’s important that we get to her. She should have been deposed. It’s too late for that now, but at least we can send an investigator out to find out what she knows.” Nick rubbed his forehead. This could be a bomb he didn’t need. He couldn’t believe that Joe hadn’t tracked this
witness more carefully. Joe was meticulous. Joe would surely have deposed her. She was on his witness list, but there was no deposition transcript in the file. In fact, she wasn’t even subpoenaed. Maybe Asher had gotten to her? Maybe he was going to try to spring her on him without prior notice. “Grace. I don’t want to hear ‘can’t find her.’ I want her found!”

“We put an investigator on her over two months ago and came up with nothing. Mr. Maglio was concerned about it. He was frustrated about not finding her and wanted to postpone the trial. But Judge Barnes ruled against him. Look at the petition to postpone the trial. You’ll see it all in there,” she said defensively. “The judge ruled against us, so we have to go on without her.” There was an audible sigh of frustration from Grace.

“Fuck.”

“My sentiments exactly, Mr. Ceratto.”

“You can dispense with the
Mr. Ceratto
, Grace.” He wanted to keep his distance from her but couldn’t stand feigned formality, nor her bitchiness.

He saw that Donna Price was also on Asher’s pretrial witness list.

Her address was the same as the one he had on his list. He dialed Asher’s firm and asked for John Asher; who pleasantly told him that he had no further information on Donna Rice’s whereabouts. And no, they were not going to spring her on him, and yes, they should file motions in limine on this issue just to be sure that the other wasn’t lying.

Nick knew that the “great and wonderful” Judge Joseph Barnes would permit her to testify if she was found, even at the last minute. So he
had
to find her first. Something leading to her whereabouts had to be somewhere in the massive file. He rang the receptionist.

“Carmelita, please tell the two gentleman waiting for me to come to my office.”

“Yes, Mr. Ceratto, I’ll get them. They’re out in the hall. They said they don’t like sitting in lawyers’ offices. It makes them nervous.” she laughed. “What are their names, sir? They wouldn’t give their names to me.”

“Never mind, Carmelita. They don’t like giving their names out. Just call them and tell them to come in.”

“Yes, Mr. Ceratto.”

In less than a minute Little Al and Joey Shoes were removing twelve file boxes from Nick’s office. As they walked past Harry Levin’s open door he yelled, “What the hell are you doing?” Harry chased the two men down the hall past the conference room into the reception area. “Stop! That’s the firm’s property. You can’t take that. Stop before I call the police.”

Two more men, similarly dressed in black trench coats, stood by the reception desk, waiting. Their faces were expressionless and they said nothing. They took the boxes from Little Al and Joey Shoes, loaded them on carts, and began wheeling them out the front door. All four men ignored Levin’s threats. Little Al and Joey Shoes waited for Nick. They didn’t have to wait long.

Silvio was running behind Nick, his face red and menacing. “Ceratto, you’re off this case if you move those boxes one more inch.” Nick kept walking. “OK. You’re fucking fired.” Silvio moved threateningly close as Nick stopped and turned to face him.

“Yeah. Tell that to His Honor, Joseph Barnes. See if you can get a competent trial attorney to try this case in twenty four hours or less. Or maybe tell him that Margo Griffin will be trying the case. She’d do a better job than you, you fuck.”

Silvio threw his cigar on the floor and reached for Nick.

But Little Al smoothly stepped between them. “I wouldn’t waste a good cigar like that,” he said as he stooped to pick up the cigar. He straightened up and hit Silvio hard in the stomach, doubling him over, then pushed him onto the floor with his hand on his bald head.

“Call the police!” Levin yelled as he moved away from the fracas, afraid that he might be next.

Joey Shoes quickly moved behind the receptionist’s desk and took the receiver from Carmelita before she could dial 911.

“I wouldn’t do that, hon, if I were you,” he said, glaring stonily at her.

She quickly put her hands down in her lap. She tried to smile at him, but her fear was all too apparent. Her legs were shaking.

Joey Shoes nodded. “That’s right. Wise move, lady.”

Nick and the four men were out the door and into a down elevator in a split second.

Judge Joseph Barnes was adamant. He wanted everyone in his chambers: Nick Ceratto, Marty Silvio or Harry Levin, and John Asher. He wasn’t about to make a procedural error in
this
case, or ruin his reputation as an administrative genius who got cases to settle or go to trial in record time. And he wasn’t about to have a mistrial on his hands either.

He had gotten phone calls from Nick and Silvio and Levin. He had received an emergency petition from Nick to postpone the trial date; and from Silvio and Levin to not only postpone the trial but also to substitute a new attorney for Nick Ceratto as plaintiff’s counsel. John Asher had followed with his own petition to postpone the trial to allow him to browbeat a settlement out of Manin. Judge Barnes now had three opposing parties to deal with besides presiding over the trial: Silvio and Levin versus Nick Ceratto, Nick Ceratto versus Silvio and Levin, and John Asher versus everybody. And all of them versus the Honorable Joseph Barnes. He wasn’t going to have any of it. There would be a formal hearing on the petitions, on the record, in court.

All the attorneys showed up on time. Nick Ceratto sat on one side of the dingy courtroom, its magnificent Victorian paneling and ornate plaster work overlaid with generations of dirt, neglect, slovenly repairs, and botched modernizations. Marty Silvio and Harry Levin sat on the other side. John Asher preferred to stand. He didn’t want to wrinkle his freshly pressed Ralph Lauren jacket. Besides, he knew what Barnes was going to say.

Preceded by his court reporter and tipstaff, Barnes strode briskly to the bench from the robing room. The red silk lining of his tailored black robe flashed momentarily with each stride. He sat down behind the bench with an authoritative air. The knot of his red silk tie peeked above the tiny gap at the top of his robe.

He was a regal sight. He reeked control as he took his seat behind the bench.

“Counsel, I’ve called you here today to rule on various petitions filed by each of you—Mr. Ceratto, Mr. Silvio, and Mr. Asher have all requested continuances.” He paused, looking down at them over the top of his horn-rimmed half glasses. “I will not continue this trial to a later date. This case has been on my docket far too long. It was continued on two prior occasions at the request of Mr. Maglio. It is now a ‘must try’ and will move up on the trial list accordingly. You will be given twenty-four hours prior notice at which time you will be prepared to pick a jury and give your opening statements. You will all receive my signed order denying your petitions. As to the need for another settlement conference—Mr. Asher, if you cannot convince Dr. Manin of the prudence of agreeing to a fair settlement offer, no settlement master, and certainly not I, will be able to do so. Perhaps he will be more inclined to entertain settling this case after the plaintiff has put on his case. Therefore, gentlemen, we’re back where we started. Please do not waste the Court’s time with Petitions for Extraordinary Relief in the way of a postponement because none will be granted. I don’t care what the reasons are. Even
death
won’t do it. It appears that you will be getting a call from my secretary within a few days—and by that I mean less than a week—to begin this trial. This hearing is concluded.”