Directed Verdict (Failed Justice Book 1) (10 page)

CHAPTER 17

“We lost him, Boss. We didn’t know he bought two tickets. One to Philly and one to New York City. At the very last minute he got off the bus to Philly and sprinted to the New York bus. We were too late getting off the first bus. By then he was gone. Sorry.”

Alexey had to give it to the kid. He was smarter than he thought. Or looked. Next time, and there would be a next time, he would send someone who fit in better. Not so noticeable. Someone with a neck.

“At least we know he’s in Manhattan. I’ll have someone begin checking second rate hotels near Grand Central. You did say that was where the second bus was going, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Mr. C.”

***

The only black man Judge Kolkolski could think of was the foreman of the jury. Johnson, a tall gangly young man, as he recalled. The man was obviously upset when he made the threats. It made no sense he would have made the call. He had no way of knowing Judge K was divorced and in fact had an ex-wife living in Miami.

Still, it would not hurt to look into the matter. Electronic records were kept of all inquiries to courthouse files. Maybe he would get lucky. Speaking of getting lucky, Bernice agreed it would be all right if Wally called back the next night.

Wally shocked himself when he blurted out, “I miss you.”

What the hell was I thinking?

Wally knew damn well what he was thinking. He was thinking he was getting old. He was thinking he had no girlfriend, no wife, and no grandchildren. He was thinking if he dropped dead the next day, who would miss him? Certainly not his fellow colleagues on the bench. Not the lawyers he screwed over the past fifteen years as a judge. He could think of absolutely no one who would care.

Bernice wasn’t perfect, far from it, but life with her had not been so bad. Life today sucked. With his accumulated sick days and vacation days, it had to come to better than two hundred fifty days, maybe more. He was already vested in his pension and could leave pretty much whenever he wanted to. The only questions was, to where.

Bernice seemed like the best solution. Actually Bernice was his only solution. The question was, could he live with her? Could she live with him? Could either of them forgive and forget? And then there was Teddy. Did he do enough? Could he have made a difference? Had he been punishing Teddy to hurt Bernice?

Judge K knew there would always be more questions than answers. Still, he was looking forward to tonight’s call to Bernice. He was feeling more than a bit anxious.

***

For the time being, there was nothing he could do about Anthony. He would be found; no question about that. Now would be a good time for Alexey to turn his attention to Judge Kolkolski, that arrogant little prick.

He had been reminded by both Boris and Viktor about the threats made by the outraged jury foreman. He sounded like a man with a long memory and a reasonably short fuse. Alexey had been told the man’s name was William Lincoln Johnson and he worked for IBM. He should not be too difficult to locate.

Let’s see if he was really serious about getting back at the judge. ‘You will rue the day you allowed this to happen.’

Those were the exact words Viktor had written in his report to Alexey. Boris confirmed it.

It was not difficult to obtain Bill Johnson’s email address.

The email was direct and to the point.

May I buy you dinner tomorrow night? It is in our mutual interest. Alexey Cummings, Victoria’s father.

Bill Johnson read the e-mail—twice.

How did he know I was the jury foreman and what is our mutual interest? Obviously Judge Kolkolski, but what can I do for him?

After a few hours of weighing the pros and cons, Bill responded.

Tell me time and place. Will be there. Bill J.

The rest of the day and a good part of the evening, all Bill could think about was why was he having dinner with Alexey Cummings. The newspapers implied he was Russian mafia.

Grill House, Clinton Place, 7 P.M.

Bill knew the place. It was quiet and out of the way. He knew it had good food and they could talk undisturbed. The question was, what could he add to the conversation?

In less than twenty-four hours he would have his answer.

***

Anthony sat in his dingy hotel room on Eighth Avenue and 37
th
Street. He needed to come up with a plan. He had none. He had close to ten grand in his pockets and had no idea how or where to spend it. He was lying in a dumpy bed watching TV when he saw a commercial for a Southwest Airlines special, $99 to Miami. Flights leaving twice a day. If nothing else, he knew it was warmer in Miami. With a name like Anthony Ricardo or Antonio Ricardi, he would blend right in.

I wonder if the police or anyone else is looking for me? I wonder if I can buy a one way ticket for cash? I wonder if I will get out of New York City alive?

Anthony fell asleep on a bed of broken dreams, all the while clutching a very large wad of bills. He was dreaming of sun and sand and freedom on the shores of Miami Beach.

He had no idea flyers with his photo were being passed out to front desk clerks at more than a few dozen local hotels. There was a quiet thousand dollars in it to whoever made a phone call to Brighton Beach and identified Anthony. Payment would be made only after verification and personal contact.

Miami Beach was still a long ways away.

CHAPTER 18

They obviously had no trouble recognizing each other.

One was a tall black man in his early to mid-twenties. He was wearing pressed tan chinos, a blue, open collar button down shirt and wingtip shoes. He could have had a sign around his neck, IBM, and no one would have been surprised.

The other gentleman wore a two to three thousand dollar, custom-made soft gray silk suit, Italian loafers, black silk shirt, a two hundred dollar hair-cut, manicured nails, and still looked like a hoodlum.

Alexey was big and broad and carried an attitude that would fill a small room. He knew he was in charge wherever he went, and let no one forget it. He was a Russian. He was Russian mafia.

“Good evening, Mr. Johnson. Thank you for accepting my invitation.

Bill Johnson extended his hand. “Mr. Cummings, I presume. May I extend my personal regrets as to how the trial ended. I can tell you not one member of the jury believed the accused. We were all positive your daughter was telling the truth and was raped. On behalf of the entire jury, we wish to apologize to you for the absolute miscarriage of justice. None of us had even heard of a directed verdict before.”

Alexey returned the hand shake. “Thank you for your kind words. The past is the past. Now we must concentrate on the future to make sure this never happens to a poor innocent child again. We must find out why the judge did what he did.”

Alexey extended his arm to the rear of the room. “Please.”

Bill followed his lead and followed him to a quiet corner table.

“May I call you Bill or would you prefer Mr. Johnson?”

“Bill would be fine.”

“Do you drink vodka, Bill?”

“Thanks, but no thanks. A glass of water would be just fine.”

“Do you mind if I do? It helps relax me. A bad habit from the mother country.”

Bill nodded. He wanted to get right to the reason for the invitation. “What can I do for you, Mr. Cummings?”

“Please, call me Alexey.”

“What can I do for you, Alexey? Surely you have far more connections, far more influence in finding out things than I do.”

Alexey liked his direct approach. He liked the fact Johnson was not intimidated and apparently wanted to find out why, for whatever his own reasons were.

“May we order first? The prime rib is excellent. Then we can talk.”

They were now having coffee. Each refused dessert. The dinner was excellent. The prime rib more than lived up to their expectations. The wait staff did not hover but a quick look by Alexey was understood and his glass was refreshed, fresh rolls were brought, and they were left alone to talk. Alexey did most of the talking, really asking questions, and Bill did most of the listening, at times being noncommittal.

By the time the check was presented, and there was no question who invited who, the two of them had a mutual understanding. A mutually beneficial understanding.

“Thank you, Alexey. I thoroughly enjoyed the dinner and conversation. Yes, I have some more work to do, but I promise, I will call you as soon as I have something to report.”

Bill looked down at the business card with the personal cell phone number.

“I will call this number, leave a message, and you can call me back.”

Both parties shook hands. The meeting had been more successful than either had anticipated.

“May I offer you a ride home?”

“No thanks, I have my own car.”

Bill noticed a rather large black town car waiting at the curb. He thought he recognized No Neck One and No Neck Two in the front seats.

“Good night, Bill.”

“Good night, and thanks, Alexey.”

CHAPTER 19

Anthony was becoming totally paranoid, or he had been watching far too many cop shows on TV.

He put on a Mets baseball cap purchased at the drug store, dark sunglasses, checked out of the roach motel, walked to Penn Station, and took Amtrak to Washington, D.C. He decided to spend the day just wandering around. From there he boarded an overnight train to outside of Orlando. Finally he made his way to Greyhound for a three hour ride to Miami. No ID needed. He paid for everything with cash.

There are still ways to beat the system.

Now he needed a place to stay. A hotel was out of the question. He found bungalows for lease listed in the
Miami Herald
. No reference required, all they wanted was cash. Anthony paid for three months in advance. For the first time in months, he felt safe and sound.

“Ma, it’s me, Anthony. Yes, I’m fine. I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately and need a vacation; a break. I said I was fine. I’ll call you every week to let you know I’m okay. Yes. I love you too. Bye.”

Anthony then decided he needed some new clothes. Warm weather clothes. Shorts, t-shirts, and sandals. He also decided he needed a new look. Just in case. He used his safety razor and twenty minutes later was completely bald. He sorta liked the new look. No one, not even his best friend, not that he ever had one, would recognize him.

After a week of hanging out at the beach for at least three hours a day, Anthony made several discoveries. First, he was getting bored just doing nothing. It wasn’t his style. Second, while he still had more than sixty-five hundred left of his stash, it wouldn’t last forever.

I need a job. Where can I work where I need no references? What am I qualified to do?

He had no clue.

It occurred to Anthony that although he had never been much of a stud, certainly not a ladies’ man, he had not had sex since the “incident,” the one that got him in all this trouble in the first place.

I need a girlfriend.

Anthony also realized he didn’t have a Florida driver’s license. He couldn’t even get a job as a pizza delivery boy if he wanted to.

Where can I get a job, any job, without proper identification? Social security and all that kinda crap. I’m screwed forever.

Anthony decided he needed a drink. Now.

It was only three in the afternoon.

***

The bar on Collins and 17
th
was not much to look at. It was not what you would expect in Miami Beach but this was the older section. The much older section. What could be called seedy or rundown or at times downright unfriendly. That was where Anthony ended up. He knew damn well he wouldn’t be proofed. All he had to do was lay a twenty on the bar and he could drink beer all afternoon.

The place was virtually empty except for one older woman sitting at the other end nursing her beer and keeping to herself. Anthony thought she could have been attractive, at least presentable, say twenty-five, thirty years ago. He heard the bartender ask if she needed a refill.

“Another one, hon?”

“Maybe just one more. I’ve got to be home by six. Important phone call. You’ll never guess from whom?”

Anthony never heard the answer as he passed her going to the men’s room. He nodded and smiled as he quickly checked her out.
I must be getting really horny
, he thought.

She stuck out her chest and smiled back politely.

She’s old enough to be my mother. Maybe my grandmother.

When he came out a few minutes later, she was gone.

Anthony had one more and then headed back to his bungalow.

I’ll begin looking for a job in the morning.

Now all he wanted to do was get off his feet and lay down. He wasn’t used to drinking in the middle of the afternoon.

By the time he fell asleep, the woman at the bar was sitting in her own place, waiting for the phone to ring. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was getting anxious.

***

The relationship between Bob Sugarman and Judge Kolkolski had decidedly taken a turn for the worse. The judge was now assigned to strictly civil cases, probably for the rest of his judicial career.

I hate it. I God damn hate it.

Sugarman had not tried a civil case in the past twenty years. This was what he lived for. Getting a guilty man off through the powers of persuasion. Conning the judge and jury. It was the ultimate high.

Neither was now in a position to help each other, even if they wanted to.

Robert was sure his very lucrative criminal law practice was now deep in the crapper because of Judge K. Had he not granted that stupid motion, he would be trying high profile felony cases instead of plea bargaining simple misdemeanor matters. He was also spending time in traffic court, the armpit of the system. Not only was it humiliating, but his attitude was foul, his wife avoided him when he came home, and he was getting retainers for $500, not five to twenty-five thousand.

Whatever possessed me to make that damn motion for a directed verdict?
Sugarman constantly asked himself.

How could I have been naïve enough to think I could get away with granting his stupid request?
Judge K kept wondering.

It’s his fault I am where I am.

It’s his fault this is all happening to me.

Two separate minds, one common thought.

Wally now sat at his kitchen table and lit up another cigarette, his third in the last half hour. His stomach was filled with acid from all the coffee he had consumed. He looked in the refrigerator. There wasn’t much to look at. A half loaf of white bread, a jar of peanut butter, vegetables that should have been thrown out days ago, condiments, and four cans of Bud Lite beer.

He opened the can and looked at the wall clock. It was six thirty. He picked up the phone.

“Hi, it’s me.”

Close to an hour and a half later he hung up. All four empty beer cans sat on the table. Wally was not quite sure what he had just agreed to.

I really have nothing to lose. My life’s in the crapper already.

After four beers, three more than he was used to, Wally wasn’t hungry. At least not for food. It was about time he took charge of his life again. He would meet with the Chief Justice just as soon as he could.

They sure as hell won’t have ol’ Wally Kolkolski to kick around anymore.