Blood Money (9 page)

She dropped her eyes, drew on the cigarette, and blew smoke over Rosa’s head. “I don’t know yet. All I know is that Joe was worried about his partners activities. He didn’t tell me everything, just that he might need my help soon. Now will you help me?”

How could he refuse? “What do you need, Maria?”

“I need your investigators’ and detectives’ cooperation, your coroner’s report; and I need to know what you will do with any information that I turn over to you.”

Rosa exchanged a glance with Nick. “As Nick has probably told you, the case is still open, pending the attorney general’s report.

But I don’t see why I can’t receive information from you as long as it’s obtained legally—and I mean legally.” He emphasized the word
legally
. “With no hanky-panky, as we say here in America. The information leading to all evidence must be squeaky clean. Otherwise it will be thrown out —a waste of effort on your part and mine.” He took a sip of his almost cold coffee. “Joe was my friend, but friend or no friend, I’m the district attorney here. Do you understand that? Both of you. And I will decide how this information and evidence will be handled.”

A month to the day after the Christmas party, the firm was celebrating again. This time the occasion was its reopening for business. The new, brass door plate read
Silvio and Levin, P.C.
Maglio’s name was conspicuously absent. The champagne flowed freely, and the same honored guests clinked glasses with the staff—happy that the biggest partying firm in Philadelphia was still alive and kicking.

Marty Silvio grinned widely as he raised his glass to the Waterford chandelier in the conference room. He chewed on his unlit cigar between statements to the press. It would make the front page in tomorrow’s
Philadelphia Inquirer
and on the eleven o’clock news. “No Indictment” would be the paper’s headline.

Soon the clients would be back in droves and the referrals would come pouring in. He couldn’t wait to stick it to the competing law firms who had been ecstatic about the potential eradication of Maglio, Silvio and Levin, and the prospect of its clients and cases looking for new lawyers.
Fuck them
, he thought, as he gave Margo Griffin a hug. The cameras clicked away. He didn’t care since his frigid wife only read church bulletins and couldn’t give a flying fuck who he hugged—or slept with. As long as he kept her personal account flush and paid all her current charge card bills, Celeste was happy and left him to his own devices.

Margo slid from under Marty’s arm to catch up with Giorgio Santangelo, who was frantically overseeing the hors d’oeuvres and calling for a server to refill the crostini trays. Now that Margo was in charge of the firm’s social calendar, its parties and entertainment, she was in charge of Giorgio, too. She would make life miserable for him if her ignored her.

“Giorgio, we need more rock crab. It’s going fast.”

“I know. I’m holding more in the kitchen while the chef prepares a dill mayonnaise for it.”

She licked her lips. “Take me back so I can sample some.” She shook her long brown hair back over her shoulders and took a deep breath, straining the buttons of her herringbone jacket.

Margo’s obvious come-on made him nervous. He gestured toward the mayor, who was about to propose a toast and made his escape.

“Get rid of those orchids,” she angrily called after him. “They’re dead.”

“Putanna,”
he muttered as he nodded to her, making his way to the kitchen.

There was a hush over the filled room. Mayor Jack Filbert held out his glass, posing for the cameras.

“I’m sure you all know that Mr. Silvio and Mr. Levin have been cleared of any and all wrongdoing. Charges of unethical conduct or mishandling of client funds against them personally have been withdrawn. The attorney general has concluded that the firm’s former partner was the only person to whom such conduct could be attributed. And I want to say, although I already know that you’re fully aware of this, the firm of Silvio and Levin is by far one of the most talented law firms in Philadelphia. It has been a bulwark of legal accomplishment. It has been the common man’s sword against the injustice of large companies and government. We all were always confidant that the attorney general wouldn’t find any evidence of wrongdoing on the part of the firm’s current leaders. I’m also told by Mr. Levin that the firm’s professional liability carrier will stand by them and make any defrauded client whole—any client who was not fully compensated. No one will be deprived of any funds due them.”

Harry Levin, sweating slightly, stepped out of the mayor’s large shadow.

“I want to thank Mayor Filbert and all of you for your confidence in us, and my attorney, Christopher Henley, for his fine work and assistance to the attorney general in helping to determine where the responsibility actually lay.”

Levin was sorry that Henley wasn’t interested in the offer he had made him. If he would head the litigation division and take Maglio’s place as their premier litigator, Levin would make him a partner. But Henley had flatly refused, saying that he preferred crooks to the injured. They were more honest and they paid up front. Further, he didn’t want to share the limelight or the money, nor did he relish the civil justice system’s four year backlog of cases; nor did he like the contingent fee system—getting paid only if you won. He wanted his money on the spot, win or lose. Plus he didn’t know what land mines still lay out there ready to blow this firm to bits.

Staying in the background, as he had all evening, Nick Ceratto became physically ill listening to the self-serving speeches, and the overt disloyalty to his friend Joe. He wondered how they could tarnish the memory of one who had been nothing but good to them. One who had been directly responsible for their wealth and their elevated position in the legal community. He had almost walked out, but Maria Elena had tugged at his arm and coaxed him to stay.

No one at the party knew who she was. She was simply Nick’s guest, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Giorgio saw that Nick wasn’t drinking. He also saw the anger welling up in Nick. It was obvious to another Italian. He was angry, too. He sympathized because he, too, had to be silent. He walked over to Nick and handed him a single malt.

“Here, I think you need this,” he said, speaking in a low tone so that only Nick and Elena could hear.

“Thank you, my friend.” Nick raised the glass slightly in toast to the only other person loyal to Joe in the group.

“I would like one, too,” Maria said.

As she took out a cigarette, Giorgio looked at her in surprise. This was a non-smoking suite. But he quickly lit it with the lighter that
he always carried in his jacket pocket—and then he poured her a double.

“
Da quale parta d’Italia viene?
” he asked. From what part of Italy do you come?

“Sorrento,” she lied as she drew on her cigarette and then took a long, slow sip of the strong, unwatered whiskey without wincing.

“Beautiful.” His eyes lit up with pleasure as he began to reminisce about his last visit to Sorrento. He was familiar with the small coastal city.

“It’s very close to…San Lorenzo,” Maria quickly said. She leaned closer to Nick, shifting her hip slightly. The slit in the side of the clinging black cashmere dress opened just enough to reveal a leg to mid-thigh. “Yes. I heard about the unfortunate death of one of the partners,” she said nonchalantly.

Giorgio didn’t comment. His focus was on her leg.

All eyes were on them, including Levin’s and Silvio’s. Nick knew what they were thinking:
There’s no smoking in this suite, and who the hell is this bitch?

“Yo, Giorgio. You still up for the hockey game?” he asked trying to change the subject. “She won’t go with me. She only likes soccer.”

Maria shrugged. “I don’t like the cold, and I hate watching barbarians beat each other with sticks. “
E vero
?” Isn’t it true?

“Yes. But these barbarians are the same as ours. The difference is that they use sticks instead of kicks,” laughed Giorgio.

Maria admired his sense of humor, and his good looks. She wondered briefly how he might be in bed but then dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come.

Grace Monahan watched from the reception desk forty feet away. She had become completely distracted from training Carmelita Delgado, Celia Lopez’s replacement. Carmelita was aware of what was going on. She, too, was a woman. She was also smart, bilingual, and a night school law student. She wanted to move up in the ranks; out of the barrio and into a white middle
class, professional neighborhood. She was losing patience with Grace.

“Grace,” she said, “why don’t you just go over there and tell her to go outside to smoke? This is a non-smoking building. Right?”

“Yes.” Grace was surprised at the new employee’s chutzpah.

“Then, when she goes outside, you follow her and smack her in the face. That’s what we do where I come from.” Carmelita laughed, trying to defuse the situation. She winked and then pulled her long, black hair through a barrette signaling that she was ready to get serious about the training session.

Silvio and Levin walked toward Nick, placing themselves directly in front of him. They purposely intruded into the conversation, which was simultaneously going on in English and Italian.

“So, Nick. Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Marty Silvio asked as he inhaled the smoke from Maria’s cigarette.

“Ah, Maria…this is Marty Silvio.”

“A pleasure,” she said, gripping his hand firmly after switching her cigarette to her left hand.

“And this is Harry Levin…”

Maria held out her hand, but Levin simply nodded. “You know you’re not supposed to smoke in this building,” he said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Where can I put this out?” She wanted to snuff it out on his head.

Levin looked around but couldn’t find anything that would serve as an ashtray.

“Oh, look—here.” Maria picked up a small blue and white Canton bowl and stubbed her cigarette out in it. “See how useful beautiful antiques can be.”

Levin instantly hated her. And she returned the feeling.

Silvio was already plotting how he was going to get her into bed. She, on the other hand, wondered how she could take advantage of him—without actually sleeping with the fat pig.

“Maria…do you have a last name?” Silvio asked in a patronizing tone.

“Nardo,” Nick quickly responded for her.

“Yes, Nardo,” she said. “I can speak for myself,” she said coyly, sexily shifting her eyes to Nick and then back to Silvio.

Margo Griffin walked directly into the group. She wouldn’t be ignored.

“Giorgio, why haven’t you moved those dead orchids?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Griffin,” he said. “They are not dead. I was going to…”

“They’re dead and I want them out of here.”

“Oh, can I have them?” Maria asked, remembering Joe’s fondness for orchids and suspecting that they had been his.

Margo opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“I love orchids. I can revive them. Please, give them to me,” Maria said smiling—happy that she had caught Margo in her own trap.

“Sure,” Silvio said. He took the pots and moved them onto a table near Maria.

“Knock yourself out.” Margo spun on one heel to quickly walk away. Then she stopped, turned, and signaled with a crooked index finger for Giorgio to come.

Putanna
, he thought as he marched toward her.

The food was almost gone, and the trays looked bedraggled with limp lettuce and spatters of sauce. The suite was emptying quickly. Darkness was beginning to cover the windows, and the lights from surrounding buildings could be seen. Nick had finished his third single malt and was about to leave when Harry Levin called to him.

“Nick, can I see you? I need to talk to you about something.” He looked toward Maria and, deliberately not using her name, said, “Young lady, you can go. We’ll be awhile. No sense in your waiting. We can get you a taxi.”

“No, no. I have plenty of time. I’ll wait,” she said, tapping her fingernails against one of the orchid pots.

“Sure?” Nick asked. “I’ll give you my car keys.”

“No, no I’ll wait.” She smiled at Levin, who turned and walked away followed by Nick.

She took a seat in the reception room, crossed her legs, and opened as copy of
Vogue.
Waiting was not easy for her. In fact, she was impatient, but she couldn’t give that bastard Levin the pleasure of dismissing her. And she wondered what was so important that he needed Nick now.

As soon as the last guest had left, boxes containing the firm’s files began to be brought up from the lobby below. There were hundreds of cartons being returned from the attorney general’s office. The freight elevators had been ready and waiting—as well as fifty law students hired to receive the files.

Maria watched as the files were wheeled in on dollies. Enough of
Vogue
and
Cosmopolitan.
She had been waiting for over an hour. She decided to follow the cartons and the law students to the file rooms in the rear of the suite. Maybe she could learn something.