Finding Gary (The Romanovsky Brothers Book 4) (24 page)

“He’s right, man,” Knox jumped in, still avoiding Tony’s eyes when he shot him a look.  “This ain’t right.”

Victor held a hand up, this time shooting Knox a look.  “Look at yourself.  How many hits did you take before your shift today?  You can’t even keep your tongue in your mouth right now.  You can barely keep your damn eyes open.  How quickly you forget the man who makes it so you can come to work stoned out of your mind every day.  How quickly you forget the man who lets you know a month in advance when the random drug tests are going to come knocking at your door.  I think I’ve been a pretty great boss to you, Knox.  I’d hate for you to give me a reason not to be.”

Knox searched his eyes and then broke contact, looking away while wringing his hands ferociously.

“And I think I’ve also been a pretty wonderful Chief to you, Tony,” Victor said, turning his attention back to him.  “When I decided to run for city council, it was never a question who would take my seat as Head Chief.  Didn’t even call a meeting to talk it through.  It was always you.  It was always you, Tony, that would sit right here, in the big chair.  Get the big respect.  Accept the big raise.  I know money’s tight at home.  That Roman just got accepted to Harvard.”

Tony’s jaw tightened.

Knox swung on his heel, his blue eyes going big.  “Harvard?”

Victor nodded, keeping his eyes on Tony.  “Smart kid.  Not quite smart enough, though, to land a full scholarship.”  Victor smacked his lips.  “What is it? $60,000 in tuition? Give or take?”  Victor whistled.  “Sounds like you’re a man who could use every dollar he can get.  Don’t squander it.”

“Are you really threatening me right now?” Tony whispered.  “Because I’m trying to protect my son?”

“I’m trying to protect your son!  Why can’t you see that?  I’m making this all disappear to protect both of our sons.”

Tony blazed across the room, circled Reggie’s chair and took Reggie’s jaw under his fingers from behind.

“Is this protecting your son?” Tony roared, wobbling Reggie’s rapidly swelling face gently.  “Look at his face.  If this is your idea of protecting your boy, then I don’t want you anywhere near mine.”

“I have no idea what happened to that imbecile’s face.  He’s always playing too roughly.”

Tony smirked.  “If you’re serious about claiming that city council seat, you’re going to have to become a much better liar than that.”

Victor held his breath.  “Watch it, Tony.”

Tony released his hold on Reggie’s face and stood tall.

Victor sighed.  “Are you really ready to take the risk of your son going to jail?”

“He won’t be convicted.  He’s a minor, and it was an accident.”

“Crazier things happen every day.   I know you think your son’s rosy white skin will save him from incarceration, but you, of all people, should know that everything in the legal arena is up to chance.  Just because the statistics say he won’t see the inside of a cell, doesn’t mean he won’t.”

Tony nibbled his bottom lip.

“Pop,” Gary said, his voice so weak and hoarse, it tore Tony out of his stupor.  They met eyes, and Gary’s face curled as he attempted to remain composed.  “Pop, I don’t want to go to jail.”

Tony held a hand out.  “Nobody’s going to jail.”

“If we stick to my plan, you’re right,” Victor jumped in, catching Tony’s heated eyes.  “Christ, Tony.  Are you really willing to risk it?  You’ll risk seeing your son behind bars with the same animals we’re at war with?  A cop's son in juvie?”

“Pop!” Gary cried, his voice having reached such ear-splitting level that both Val and Tony leaped for him at the same time, taking his shoulder under their strong holds.  Gary took the hem of Tony’s shirt in an anxious fist.

“Calm down, son.  Breathe…” Tony slammed his eyes closed, cradling Gary’s arm and pulling his head to his chest.  “It’s okay.  I’m going to take care of it, alright?  It’ll be like…” Tony’s voice broke.  “It’ll be like it never happened…  I promise…”

***

“It’ll be like it never happened,” Jack said, shooting the jury an amazed look as if he were just as shocked by the words Tony had spoken ten years earlier as they visibly were.  “Wow.”

“I was trying to protect my boy.” Tony defended himself without Jack’s prodding, looking at the jury, too.  He pointed at them.  “If it was any of your children, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t do the exact same thing.  You didn’t see the tears in my son’s eyes.  The terror on his face.  I’m his father.  If you had any idea what they do to cop’s kids in the pen…” Tony’s voice went hoarse and trailed off.  He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, dropping his head.

“Surely you could’ve tried harder to challenge Victor King that night,” Jack prodded.

Tony lifted his head, shooting Jack a heated look.  “Nobody challenges Victor King.  Do you think a man comes from nothing and skyrockets to Republican front-runner, in less than ten years, fairly?  Ethically?  You think there aren’t a million fat cats who’ve stood behind him the whole way, ready and willing to get rid of any and every threat?”

Jack lifted his eyebrows, but he didn’t stop Tony.  Amazingly, the defense didn’t either.

“He’s the most powerful man in Manhattan,” Tony said.  “It’s a miracle he hasn’t had my family killed, and please make no mistake about it, if we hadn’t gone along with him ten years ago, he’d have had us all killed back then too.  And he would’ve never paid the price.  Everyone knows he owns the police.  He paid Knox Jefferson to disappear, but still murdered him once he was done with him.  And the NYPD dressed it up as a suicide.  You think he’d treat my family any differently?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” the defense finally jumped in.  “Facts not in evidence.”

When the judge sustained that objection, Jack put both hands in his pockets and paced.

“Marcus and Pansy Black had a daughter,” Jack said.  “Zoey Black.  What happened to Zoey after they died?”

Tony’s eyes went to the back of the courtroom, and when he locked eyes with Zoey, his aura visibly shifted.  “We became her legal guardians.  My wife and I.”

Jack stopped pacing, poking his lips out.  “Isn’t that a little… I don’t know…” He tried to think about it.  “Perverted?”

Tony frowned at his choice of words, and judging by the whispers that picked up around the courtroom; he wasn’t the only one offended.

“I mean.” Jack smiled.  “Your son murdered her parents, and then you took her into your home and never told her?  You allowed her to fall in love, not just with your family, but with your son…” Jack motioned to Val.  “Val.  Was taking Zoey in just a perverse way of easing your own guilt?”

“Objection, Your Honor, relevance.”

Tony jumped in before the judge could sustain or overrule, his voice going high. “If I hadn’t been granted guardianship over Zoey she would’ve been put into the foster system.  I know what that system is like because I lived it, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I took her in because I loved her father with all my heart, and she is her father.  Just like my sons are me, and their sons will be them.  I took Zoey in because I loved her.  Even though I didn’t know her…” Tony looked at Zoey again, and when he saw her crying, he could hardly finish.  “I loved her.”

Jack let those words linger, still as a statue.  Then, he looked at the judge.  “I have no further questions.”

20

“Your Honor, I’d like to call Mitch Gallagher to the stand.”

It had been the longest day in court, by far, and Gary found himself dozing off at the prosecution table before he’d heard that name.  He frowned, turning toward the double doors of the courtroom just as they swung open.  A heavyset man with graying black hair swept in.  He moved with a slight limp.  Gary couldn’t tell if it was the remnant of an injury or a stylistic choice.  Whatever it was, it gave Mitch a swagger that was hard for most men to pull off, prompting everyone around him to sit tall and take notice.

Once Mitch was seated at the witness stand, he met eyes with Gary for the first time.

Gary squinted and looked at Jack, wondering who this man was.  Jack didn’t notice Gary’s inquisitive eyes as he flipped through the binder full of notes.

“Your Honor,” the defense attorney’s voice was hoarse from the flurry of objections she’d been spouting all day.  “Are we going to do this sometime today?”

Jack slammed his folder closed and, after sending her a sour look, pushed his hands into his pockets and made his way to the witness stand.

“Good morning, Mitch,” Jack said.

“Morning,” Mitch spat, his blue eyes darting to Victor King, who was scowling at him from the defense table.  When Jack let the silence fall in and linger a little longer than normal, Mitch moved his lazy gaze to him.

“Where were you?” Jack asked once he had Mitch’s eyes.  “On the night the Blacks were killed, August 21, 2004?”

Mitch chuckled.  “I don’t know where I was a ten days ago, let alone ten years ago.”

Jack nodded, pacing as a soft laughter floated through the courtroom.  He waited for it to die down.  “Fair enough.  Please, allow me to rephrase the question.”  Jack stopped pacing, giving Mitch a heated look.  “Did you tamper with the breaks of the Cadillac sedan that killed Marcus and Pansy Black on August 21, 2004?”

The air visibly left Mitch’s lungs, something not even his cool demeanor could hide.

A cold chill raced down Gary’s spine.  The gasps expelled all across the room sent a second chill zooming right on the heels of the first.  Then a third.  For a moment, Gary wondered if the awful feeling would ever die down.  He turned in his seat and met eyes with Reggie, who looked equally stunned.  Spine straight and eyes wide, Reggie shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.  Gary turned farther in his seat and caught sight of Val.  He looked horrified too, leaning forward in the pews, gripping the wall.  He and Gary shared a look.  Gary’s eyes moved to Zoey, and she was on high alert, too, looking bewildered, blinking eyes that seemed to grow wider every second.

Gary’s heartbeat had picked up to dangerous levels before he turned back to the witness stand. Mitch was still collecting himself.  The dots of sweat collecting on Mitch’s forehead were visible to Gary from across the room.

Mitch shifted in his seat.  “Tamper with the brakes?  Absolutely not.  That’s ludicrous.”

“Ludicrous.”  Jack poked his lips out, nodding before he turned and approached the prosecution table.

Gary watched Jack flip open his binder and yank out a piece of paper.  He held it up as he turned back to Mitch, re-approaching the witness stand.  He slammed the paper down on the stand.

“Mitch, what is this?” Jack asked.

With a sigh, Mitch leaned forward and inspected the paper.  “Looks like a phone bill.”

“Smart man.”  Jack smiled at the judge.  “Whose phone bill?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” the defense leaped in.  “Relevance?”

“Overruled,” the judge instantly said.  He looked at Mitch.  “Mr. Ghallager, answer the question.”

Every head in the room flew to Mitch.

Mitch pushed his tongue into the corner of his mouth.  “It’s mine.”

Jack tapped his finger on the paper.  “And the date on this phone bill?”

“August 21, 2004,” Mitch grumbled.

Jack flipped the paper over.  “According to your phone bill, you accepted one phone call on the night of August 21st, 2004. Just one.”  Jack tapped the paper again.  “According to the timestamp listed here, what time did that phone call occur, Mitch?”

“8:05 p.m.”

“Less than two hours before the Blacks were killed,” Jack frowned.  “Who called you?”

Mitch’s jaw tightened.  “I don’t remember.”

Jack nodded and snatched the paper away, going back to the prosecution table.  “I had a feeling your memory might escape you, so I took the liberty of acquiring the defendant, Victor King’s, phone records from that night, as well.”

The defense attorney nearly left her seat, looking like she was nipping at the bud to object, but had no idea what to object to.

Yanking another piece of paper from his binder, Jack re-approached the witness stand, holding both papers up. 

He slapped them both down on the stand, pressing his nail into the paper on the left.

“This is the one number that called you the night the Blacks were murdered,” Jack said, moving his finger to the other paper.  “This was Victor King’s home phone number on the night the Blacks were murdered.  Are these two numbers the same, Mitch?”

Mitch faltered.

Jack’s voice rose.  “Are they or are they not the exact same phone numbers?”

Mitch looked at Victor.  “Yes,” he growled.  “They’re the same.”

Jack nodded, collecting the papers before approaching the judge and handing them over.

The judge took them from Jack, pushing on his reading glasses with a scowl as he studied the phone records.

Jack re-approached the stand.  “So you spoke to Victor King that night, less than two hours before the Blacks were murdered?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” the defense cried.  “Leading.”

“I’ll rephrase,” Jack smiled.  “Mitch, I’ll ask you again, who is the one person that called you that night?”

Mitch gave Jack a disgusted look.  “I suppose it was Victor King.”

The courtroom went so silent that all that was audible were the deep breaths of every inhabitant, itching to know where Jack was going.

“I’m so happy to have jogged your memory,” Jack smiled.  “And what did you and Victor talk about?”

“I don’t remember,” Mitch spat.

“Perhaps Victor was so overcome with fury, after learning his son was a gay man, that he asked you to cut the breaks on the Cadillac he knew Reggie King and Gary Romanovsky planned on taking for a joyride that night?”

“Objection!” the defense roared.

“Sustained,” the judge said, in much the same tone, shooting a warning look at Jack.  “Mr. Almeida…”

Jack gave the judge a wave of apology before turning to Gary.  As he approached the prosecution table, Jack gave Gary a tiny smile before yanking something else from his binder.

Visibly taken off guard, Mitch grumbled something, having learned that nothing in that binder spelled good things. 

Jack produced a tiny remote control the size of his thumb, turned to the corner of the room, and pushed a button.

An overhead projector buzzed to life before descending from the ceiling.  Jack waited until the entire screen was visible before clicking another button on his remote.

“I’d like to direct the courtroom’s attention to Exhibit A,” Jack said, motioning to the photo of the Cadillac’s underside.  A photo Jessica Borgia had taken weeks earlier.  “This is the hydraulic system on the Cadillac sedan that struck Pansy and Marcus Black.”  Jack pressed another button, triggering a red laser pointer, which he directed to a specific part of the photo.  “And this…” Jack said.  “Is where the brakes were cut, with the intent to generate a failure.”

Tears burned Gary’s eyes, and when he turned in his seat and met eyes with Reggie, he saw redness in his gaze too.  Cringing, Reggie shook his head, his eyes going to the photo on the projector in disbelief.

Jack blinked calmly, meeting Mitch’s eyes.  “And it seems the fingerprints our forensics team pulled from this Cadillac are a perfect match to yours, Mitch.”

Mitch shot Victor a wide-eyed look.

“Mitch, how tall are you?” Jack asked.

Mitch’s stunned gaze met Jack’s, and he faltered.  “I’m…” It seemed to hit him right then, his undeniable fate.  His shoulder’s collapsed; he seemed downright beaten.  “I’m six feet two inches.”

Jack clicked another button, pulling up streetlight footage from just outside the Romanovsky’s old home. The Cadillac sat parked at the curb.

“This streetlight footage is time stamped August 21, 2004, at approximately 8:23 p.m.,” Jack said.  “Ten minutes after you spoke to Victor King on the phone, and two hours before Pansy and Marcus Black were killed.  Victor King was so preoccupied wiping the accident footage, he failed to get rid of the most damning footage of all…” Jack struck another button that put the streetlight footage into motion.  Seconds later, a man appeared in the footage, wearing all black, with a hoodie pulled low on his head. The man approached the white Cadillac, circled around to the hood, and looked both ways down the street to make sure the coast was clear.  Then, he lay on the ground and wiggled under the hood.  For several minutes he stayed there, the lower half of his body shimmying as he tampered under the hood.  Finally, he squirmed back out and stood, looked both ways once more, and then raced away from the car.  Jack froze the footage.  “Our forensics team paid a little visit to the street this footage was captured on, took the appropriate measurements using the old oak tree in the yard, brought them to scale, and concluded that the man in this video… the man under the hood of this car was approximately…”  Jack brought his hands together, meeting Mitch’s eyes.  “Six feet two inches.”

Mitch looked at Victor, again.

“Now, is it a coincidence, Mitch…” Jack approached the stand, frowning at the ground.  “That, ten minutes after you spoke to Victor King that night, a man of your exact height and build…” Jack motioned to the screen.  “Wiggled under the hood of this car?  Is it a coincidence that, when forensics dusted the brakes for prints, yours were all over it?”

Mitch wiped the back of his hand over his forehead, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Jack let the question sink in, standing statue still in the middle of the courtroom as he glowered at Mitch.  “Did you tamper with the brakes of the Cadillac sedan that killed Pansy and Marcus Black?”

Bone chilling silence fell in. 

After drawing in a strangled breath, Mitch went to answer.

Jack jumped in.  “And please allow me to remind you, Mitch, that lying under oath is a federal…” Jack shot him a dazzling smile.  “Offense.”

Mitch clapped his mouth shut, clenched his teeth, straightened his spine, and after giving Victor one last desperate look, he forced his eyes closed and spoke.

***

10 Years Earlier

The ringing phone jolted Mitch out of his sleep.  The shock left his heart beating so fast; he was sure he was choking on it.  His sleepy eyes shot to the phone on his bedside table, and he nearly knocked it over as he slammed his hand down on the receiver.  Still half asleep, he pushed the phone to his ear, grumbling a hello.

“I’m done,” a deep voice came through the phone.

Mitch shot up in bed, now wide-awake, sweat pooling on the bridge of his nose.  “Vic.  Everything good?”

“I need something done,” Victor said.  “And I need it done fast.”

Mitch took a deep breath, covering his forehead with his hand.  “Name it.”

“There’s a white Cadillac sedan parked on the corner of 15th Avenue and MLK.  I need it handled.”

Mitch didn’t have to ask a single question.  Having been Victor’s right-hand man for years, he knew what those words meant.  “I’m right around the corner.  Give me ten minutes.”

***

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Gary said, staring up at the ceiling from under the bed sheets in Reggie’s master bedroom.  The proceedings that day had been adjourned until the following week.  “I knew your father was a monster but… To listen in on our phone call, and have the brakes sliced, knowing we were going to be in it?  Having the brakes sliced
because
we were going to be in it?  My stomach is sick.”

“Only problem is; Jack can’t prove my father listened in on our phone call.  He can’t prove he actually knew we were planning on taking the car racing that night.”

“Of course he listened in.  Of course he overheard.  Of course he knew.  He’s a narcissistic psychopath, and that is what they do.  It’s how they operate.” Gary’s voice rose.  “Just a psychotic, savage, homophobic animal that would rather see his son dead than in love with another man.  Swear to god; I’m about to throw the fuck up.”

“Are you?” Reggie cradled his cheek in his hand on the pillow next to Gary, running his knuckle down the side of his face.  “Because I’ve never felt better.”  He waited for Gary’s horrified eyes to meet his, laughing at just how horrified they actually were.  “Don’t you see?  It’s on Mitch now.  Not us.  You called it that night.  The brakes weren’t mushy because the car was a piece of shit.  Those brakes never stood a chance.  If Mitch hadn’t sliced them, you would’ve had time to stop before you hit the Blacks.  Jack says he has an expert witness who’s ready to testify to that next week.”