Primal Fear (3 page)

FOUR

The players surprised Vail. The room was bloated with old-time politicos—the muscle—instead of quick, clever, young hitmen eager to slice a deal. It threw him for a minute. There was the city attorney, Arnold Flederman, who had been around since Mrs. O’Leary’s cow kicked the oil lamp that started the city’s fire; Otis Burnside, the city councilman, the masterful puppeteer who pulled the strings of the downtown first ward; and Johnny Malloway, the malevolent ex–FBI agent, now police commissioner,
who knew just what pressure points to push if he wanted to stop blood from flowing to the brain.

And there was Roy Shaughnessey.

Jesus, Judge, what the hell’s going on here?
Vail wondered.

They all looked with disdain at his clothes. The big office was dressed out in mahogany and brass, with burly furniture and expensive appointments. Steam heat made the room oppressively warm. A single hard-back chair sat in front of the desk that dominated the room. In a semicircle behind it were Burnside, Flederman and Malloway. Roy Shaughnessey sat off to one side.

All they need to complete the third degree is a spotlight over the chair,
Vail thought.

“Mornin’, Mister Vail,” Flederman drawled, nodding toward the chair.

He let his gaze wander around the room, settling momentarily on each one before he sat without speaking.

“We’re all here to help you off the hook,” Malloway started. He was a lean, pale man who still dressed in the anonymous gray drab of the Bureau. “You’re on very thin ice, laddie.”

“There isn’t a judge in this town wouldn’t dance on your goddamn grave,” Flederman pitched in. He leaned over and let a dollop of tobacco juice gravitate into the gold spittoon beside his chair.

Vail just smiled a cockeyed Irish smile.

“You got a problem the size of Lake Michigan here,” Burnside offered, his eyes glittering momentarily under warty lids. “We just wanna make it easy on ya. You got a pretty good reputation hereabouts. Don’t push it under.”

Everybody was interested in his welfare. Vail said nothing.

Shaughnessey, the old-timer from the attorney general’s office, said nothing either. He rocked slowly in an oversized leather chair, a heavy man, his bulk wrapped in a fifteen-hundred-dollar three-piece suit, a splash of colored silk in its breast pocket. He had a fleshy face and his cholesterol lips were curled contemptuously in what the unsuspecting might have mistaken for a smile. His hooded eyes were keen and deadly and his massive fingers were locked and folded over his chest, the thumbs rubbing almost imperceptibly. He was a listener, Shaughnessey was, and he was also the state’s high priest who with a mere nod could bring pestilence and plague down on anyone who threatened to disquiet the political seas of the statehouse. Vail had
met him once, ten years ago. He knew Shaughnessey to be a masterful politician who had weathered thirty years and four administrations. Governors feared him and presidential aspirants sought his advice. Compared to him, the other three were gandy dancers.

What the hell is he doing here?

Vail considered the possibilities. He locked his gaze with Shaughnessey’s, ignoring Flederman, who droned on, dropping threats, hot air, and coarse slurs like sheep droppings, while Burnside and Malloway occasionally jumped in with veiled threats. Snow chattered against the window. The radiator hissed subtly in the comer. Neither man broke the staring contest.

“See what I mean?” Flederman concluded.

It was Shaughnessey who broke the staring contest first. He looked over at Flederman and Vail followed his lead.

“No,” Vail said.

“
No?
” Flederman said.

“Whadda ya mean, no?” Burnside asked.

“No, I don’t see what you mean,” Vail answered.

“Jesus,” Flederman said, and this time he spit into the spittoon. “Yer not fuckin’ stupid.”

“He wasn’t listening to you,” Shaughnessey said in a harsh voice so low it was barely audible in the room.

“Whadda ya mean, ‘wasn’t listening’?” Flederman stammered. “What the hell ’m I doin’, talkin’ t’ hear m’ self talk?”

“Probably,” Shaughnessey said. He turned toward Vail. “You have something in mind?”

“I thought I’d listen to their offer first,” Vail said quietly, separating Shaughnessey from the pack. He was taking a gamble that Shaughnessey had come to the meeting without offering any stand. Shaughnessey the listener.

Shaughnessey chuckled. Not much of a chuckle, but a chuckle nonetheless. “You learn well, Mr. Vail.”

“Thanks.”

“Learn? Learn what?” Flederman said.

Shaughnessey looked at Vail. “Play chess, do you?” he asked.

Vail nodded. “Used to. Not much anymore, too busy.”

“Old rule,” Shaughnessey said to Flederman. “He who moves first loses.”

Flederman looked confused. He stared back and forth between Shaughnessey and Vail, then turned to Burnside.

“Goddammit, say something, Otis,” he snapped.

“What the fuck d’ya mean, ‘offer’?” Burnside said to Vail. His face reddened and his voice rose almost to a scream. “We’re not offering, we’re
telling
.”

Shaughnessey flicked an imaginary speck of dust off his pants.

“Quiet down, Otis,” he said softly.

“Well, Jesus!”

“Does he think we’re here to compromise?” Commissioner Malloway said.

“Not compromise,” said Vail. “Negotiate. In a compromise everybody loses. In a negotiation, everybody wins.”

Shaughnessey chuckled again.

“What’s so goddamn funny, Roy?” Burnside asked.

“Education.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Shaughnessey stared at him for several seconds, then said, “Did you hear what he said?”

“ ’Bout what?” Flederman asked.

“About negotiating and compromise.” He turned back to Vail. “Why don’t you explain it to them, Mr. Vail?”

Vail nodded. “If you go in thinking compromise, you assume you’re going to give up something. If you go in thinking negotiation, you decide what you want and what you don’t give a damn about. That way, you get what you want and give up what doesn’t matter. Cuts through the bullshit.”

Malloway’s eyes narrowed. “Suppose we just tell you what’s going to happen?” he said harshly.

“I think that would be a mistake,” Vail told him.

“Oh you do, do you,” Malloway said.

“Yes, I do.”

“And why’s that?” Flederman said, adjusting the chew from one cheek to the other.

Shaughnessey answered the question.

“Because you’re going to end up in court, Arnold. And Mr. Vail knows nobody wants that.”

“Well …” Burnside hesitated. “Who the hell’s side are you on, anyways, Roy?”

“Just listening, Otis, just listening,” Shaughnessey answered. He looked across the room at Vail and said, “I really came to mediate this event since the state is involved. I would appreciate it, Mr. Vail, if you would analyze the situation as you see it. I think the first move has already been made here.”

Vail stood up. He always talked better on his feet, thinking of himself as addressing a jury. He opened the bag of peanuts and offered them around but got only glares. He ate a couple, lit a cigarette, walked to the far side of the room and leaned against the wall.

“This trial cost the taxpayers about… seven hundred thousand dollars so far, right?” Nobody answered. “The appeal will cost another seven, maybe more. People in the city are going to get a little pissed over that…”

“You think you got everybody in this town in your fuckin’ pocket,” Flederman yelled.

“Immaterial. You’re going to
hit
them in the pocket if you go back at it. You’ve already burned up Silverman, so you also need a new attorney.”

“I’ll take you on,” Flederman said, narrowing his eyes.

“Why? Pride? You don’t even have good grounds for appeal. If you get thrown out, you look foolish to the taxpayers. If you go into a new trial, it’s a gamble.”

“I’ll whip yer young ass,” Flederman said.

“Easy, Arnold,” Shaughnessey said. “Listen to the man. You’re wasting your time getting into a pissing match with him.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he doesn’t give a damn, do you, Mr. Vail?”

Vail smiled. A wise old owl. “No sir,” he said.

“I don’t get it,” Burnside said to Shaughnessey. “We can make life miserable for this little son-bitch and you know it.”

“I’m not so sure,” Shaughnessey said.

“I am,” Malloway said. “We’re gonna nail Pinero for a concealed weapon. That’s a felony and he’s gone down three times already. He’ll do twenty to life. By the time he gets out he’ll be too old to enjoy whatever he gets in the appeal.”

He leaned back in his chair and smiled. Shaughnessey raised his eyebrows and looked back at Vail.

“Okay,” Vail said, snuffing out his cigarette. “See you in court.”

The smile vanished from Malloway’s face. Flederman leaned forward and glared at Vail.

Shaughnessey looked down at the floor. “Tell them,” he said.

“You don’t have a concealed weapon case.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“It was an illegal arrest. My client was not DUI, therefore
the search was a violation of his rights. The court has already ruled that he didn’t provoke the attack by the officers. Even if you win a depressed judgment, say half, a new jury won’t reverse. So you end up owing Pinero four mil, it costs you another seven hundred to go through the process, and all you end up with is a lot of irate citizens. It’s a bad call, Mr. Malloway.”

Dead silence fell on the room. Shaughnessey leaned back in his chair and wrapped his fingers over his chest again.

“You have something in mind?” he asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Drop the appeal. The gun case is a dead issue. For the good of the community, we’ll take a reduced judgment of a million-six. City pays half, county and state cough up four hundred thou apiece. We all smile sweetly and Pinero agrees to leave the city forever. He wants to move to California anyway.”

“I’ll be a son-bitch,” Flederman said, and spat the rest of his tobacco in the brass urn at his feet. Malloway and Burnside stared at Vail openmouthed. Shaughnessey continued to rub his thumbs together.

“Why don’t you think about it?” Vail said. “Get back to me.”

“Oh, why not just settle it right now,” Shaughnessey suggested softly. “Before anybody has a chance to screw it up. I’ll take one of those peanuts now, son.”

After Vail left, Arnold Flederman stood up, his face flushed, and slapped his hand on the desk.

“That arrogant little prick,” he snapped. “What was all that shit about goin’ first and losin’ and negotiating and compromising? What the fuck’s he talkin’ about?”

“He was quoting me,” Shaughnessey said with a wry smile. “A lecture I gave about ten years ago when he was a law student.”

“Yer kiddin’,” Flederman said.

Shaughnessey didn’t answer. He picked up the phone and punched out a number, waited for it to answer.

“This is Roy Shaughnessey for the judge … Well, tell him to take a recess, I need to talk to him
now.
I’ll hold.” He drummed his fingertips on the desk while he waited.

“What’s this about?” Burnside asked.

“Pay-up time,” said Shaughnessey. “Mr. Vail is about to
get a lesson in politics … Hello, Harry. Okay, he took us for a million-six … No, there wasn’t any argument, he could have gone for more … Look, he’s a smart kid, Harry, just needs some humility. It’s all yours. Kick his ass.”

FIVE

Butterfly Higdon’s; 10:30
A.M.

Most of the breakfast crowd had drifted out by now. At the circular bar in front, Burt Sheflin, who had long ago drowned a great singing career in rye whiskey, was having his first of the day, lifting a shot glass with both hands to trembling lips. The bartender, Pins, a baby-faced former professional wrestler, if wrestlers are ever professionals, nodded as Vail walked toward the rear.

Two paralegal types, stripped to their shirtsleeves, were shooting eight ball on the single table beside the bar. One of them knelt, sighted his shot, stood, aimed carefully, and dropped the two ball as Vail walked past.

“You’re late!” Butterfly Higdon, who was probably the best cook in the state—although at 250 pounds a butterfly she definitely was not—yelled over her shoulder as she scraped the grill with a spatula and Tad and Fana polished tables in the restaurant section.

“The usual,” Vail yelled back.

“I’m cleaning the grill.”

“So?”

“Jeez,” she said, “you’d think you own the goddamn place.”

In fact, Vail did own a small piece of the bar and grill, as did a dozen other lawyers, judges, cops and newsmen, all of whom had chipped in to buy it when a greedy developer had tried to squeeze her out a year or so back. Vail took his cup from among two dozen on hooks in the comer and poured himself a cup of coffee, then went to a large round booth in the back.

The Judge sat at his usual place in the booth reserved for the regulars. Half a dozen newspapers littered the table, as did two copies of
City Magazine,
one still open to the Vail story. He sipped his coffee and perused the morning paper through pincenez glasses, which he held in place with one hand while he held
the paper out with the other. A blueberry muffin lay forgotten on a plate in front of him, a pat of butter melting on the knife which lay across the plate. Vail shucked his jacket and threw it on a chair, sitting across from the elder statesman of the Higdon Gang.

“You’re late,” the Judge said without looking at him. “And I see you are now immortalized in ink.” He nodded toward the article.

Vail ignored the sarcastic compliment and laid four silver dollars in a tight row on the table. The Judge stared past the paper at them, finished the story he was reading, then put the paper carefully to one side.

“Four of them, eh?”

Vail nodded.

“Four on one. Hardly what I would call reasonable odds.”

“It worked out.”

The Judge leaned back in his chair and put his glasses in his jacket pocket. Jack Spalding was a tall, gaunt man, hollow-cheeked, his handsome face seamed with the battle scars of forty-five years in the courtroom. Wisps of brown and white hair were combed carefully back from an Alpine forehead; twinkling pale blue eyes were alert to any challenge. He was, as always, dressed to perfection in tweeds, red and blue striped tie, and pale blue shirt, with a fresh red carnation, picked from the nearby city park, carefully placed in his lapel.

Spalding was a man of rare distinction who had stepped down from the bench, disenchanted by courts that were degraded by millionaire drug dealers in their twenties, Uzi-wielding teenagers and lawyers who went through their daily litany with about as much passion as Division Street hookers. He now held court each morning for a handful of promising young lawyers who rehearsed their cases before him, quoting law, trying out lines, challenging his wisdom with tricks and chicanery. He always caught them, of course, although sometimes he let them get by on the theory that a good lacing in court was sometimes more educational than sage advice.

Marty Vail represented his proudest moment. This was the son he had never had. The protégé who had surpassed the master. And he accepted the young man’s arrogance and conceit as the flaws of a mind so focused and disciplined that losing a court case was simply incomprehensible to him.

The Judge squinted his eyes and stared at the four silver cartwheels.

“Four on one,” he mused. “I would have to conclude that they threw the heavyweights at you, consequently I will rule out negotiation, which therefore rules out the young sharpies. Had to be a power play.”

“Okay so far.”

“City, county and state?”

“I’ll give you that, too. No more clues.”

The judge squinted his eyes at the ceiling for a few minutes, then said, “Two from the city, since they got the bill, one each from county and state. So … I make it City Attorney Flederman, it’s basically his problem.”

Vail slid one of the dollars across the table and the Judge trapped it with a slap of the hand.

“Otis. He’d be the city whip.”

Vail slid a second dollar toward him.

The Judge stared hard at Vail, who put on his best poker face.

“For the county … guessing, I’d say the meanest man they’ve got. That would have to be Johnny Malloway.”

“Brilliant,” Vail said, sliding him another dollar piece. “One to go.”

“Now who would they throw at you from the state? Someone from the governor’s staff maybe? Or the attorney general’s office … or even the House. Probably somebody with a greased tongue, one of those oily bastards to balance Flederman, Burnside and Malloway, since they’re all steamrollers. Uh huh … uh huh. And who’s the greasiest one in the bunch?” He chuckled. “Have to be Mr. Slick himself. Woodrow P. Carlisle.”

Vail smiled and slowly shook his head. The Judge looked surprised. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said, and slid one dollar back to Vail. “Okay, I capitulate, sir. Who was the state’s mystery man?”

“Roy Shaughnessey.”

Spalding was obviously shocked. “You’re kidding!”

“Not on your life.” Tad brought him his usual breakfast—two soft poached eggs on white toast, home fries and sausage. He attacked the meal hungrily, talking as he ate. “Now here’s the kicker—he was playing my game.”

“What do you mean?”

“My offer was a million-six and Pinero leaves the state forever.
Shaughnessey told them to take it, no arguments. The whole thing didn’t last thirty minutes.”

“They rolled over, just like that?”

“Just like that. I didn’t even give ’em the options. I never had to put a card on the table.”

“Seems to me you may have a little problem with your client. How’s he going to feel when you tell him he just had to eat six and a half million dollars?”

“He gets a million-one. I take five hundred thou.”

“How’re you going to explain that? Pinero has the scruples of a hyena. I remind you, he’s buried at least four people … that we know about.”

“I’ll scare him to death,” Vail said.

“Hah! With what?”

“Ten to life upstate.”

The Judge thought for a moment and nodded. “Well, that’s a pretty good scare card.”

“Hell, Pinero’s never seen a million dollars; he can barely count to ten. With any luck at all, he’ll end up in a bridge somewhere before he sorts it all out. I just hope the little hothead doesn’t get his brains blown out before we get the check.”

The Judge redressed the morning meeting. “Getting back to the subject at hand,” he said. “There is something definitely not kosher here, my friend.”

“Hey, it’s a very reasonable deal. The city will probably pick up eight hundred thou and the state and county each kick in four hundred. Nobody gets hurt too badly and the whole thing goes away.”

“Yes, but this wasn’t litigation, Martin m’ boy, it was politics, and politics is never logical. What’s their agenda? What are they really after?”

“I think you’re being a little paranoid.”

“Oh yes, absolutely. I agree it was a reasonable deal for them, but to agree hands down? Something doesn’t smell just right here. And you say Roy was on
your
side?”

“He told them to take it, in so many words. Do the deal, he said.”

“Then you owe him one, Marty. That’s the way that game plays. He’s going to call in a favor on you.”

“Aw c’mon. Besides, what can I do for Roy Shaughnessey?”

“Oh,” said the Judge, “I’m sure he’s got something in mind.
When it’s payoff time, you’ll know. And there won’t be any argument. That’s the way it’s done, Shaughnessey style.”

Martin Vail turned back to his breakfast and ate quietly for a minute or two. Then the Judge tapped on the table with his finger.

“Here comes another problem, Counselor.”

Vail looked toward the entrance. Joey Pinero had just entered Butterfly’s. Pinero, who was also known in some circles as Heyhey because of a peculiar speech pattern, was a mass of tics. He snapped his fingers when he talked, as if to hurry himself along. And he shrugged his right shoulder, like he was shucking off a fly. He came across the room very fast. Pinero always walked very fast.

“Heyhey, Counse,” he said, snapping his fingers, “did we fuckin’ have that sit-down? How we fuckin’ do?”

He slid into the booth beside the judge.

“We had the sit-down, Joey, and we did just fine,” Vail said, wiping his mouth and tossing his napkin beside his plate.

“Heyhey, what we fuckin’ end up with? How fuckin’ much they fuckin’ nick us for anyways? Half a mil? A fuckin’
mil
maybe?” He was talking himself into a panic.

“You get a million-one, and you have to leave the state the day we get the check.”

“Heyhey, what! What the fuck are you saying, Counse? Am I fuckin’ believin’ these two fuckin’ ears? You fuckin’ caved in for all that loot?”

“No appeal, no problem, just take the money and run.”

“Heyhey, whadda fuck, man,” he whined angrily, snapping his fingers and hitching his shoulder as he spoke. “You tellin’ me I gotta fuckin’
eat
uh …uh … whatever fuckin’ million goddamn dollars that is? That what you fuckin’ telling me?”

“I’m telling you you’re walking out with a million-one, Joey. Count your blessings.”

Pinero slammed his hand on the table, spilling Vail’s coffee.

“Heyhey, count my fuckin’ blessings my ass. That’s your fuckin’ story, Counse; it was my fuckin’ head they danced on, y’know. I come off with the fuckin’ black and blues, you take home a half a fuckin’ million tomatoes, I’m supposed to be fuckin’ grateful, hey?”

Vail stood up suddenly. He walked slowly around the booth, refilled his coffee cup and came back. He stood over Joey Pinero and gave him the toughest look he had, the one he saved for
when he could tell a witness was about to lose it. The killer stare he saved for expert witnesses. Pinero looked at him quizzically. Something was happening but he wasn’t sure what. He just knew Vail had all of a sudden done a one-eighty on him.

Vail said softly, “Play the other side of the record, Joey. Without me, you’d be up upstate doing ten to life. You’d be rubbing nickels together hoping they’d mate so you could buy cigarettes.”

“Heyhey, there’s other fuckin’ lawyers, y’know, other fuckin’ lawyers. I gotta fuckin’ take this? I can’t fuckin’ tell that scumbag D.A. it’s no fuckin’ dice, hey, we see you in fuckin’ court?”

“No.”

“Heyhey, no?
No!
Just like that? Fuckin’
no
!”

“Heyhey, my ass. The deal’s a wrap. Now you take your million and one and head to California. You don’t? They’ll make life so miserable for you, you’ll
wish
you were in Rock Island State. Hey fuckin’ hey.”

“Heyhey, shit, a fuckin’ fuckin’ from my own goddamn counse, I’m suppose to do a little fuckin’ dance here, hey? What a-fuckin’-bout that, Judge?”

“I’m retired,” Spalding said diplomatically.

“Joey, before you have a conniption, listen to me. We go back in on appeal, the state, county and city are all going to be so far up your ass they’ll see daylight. You’re looking at a felony rap for the gun, a depressed judgment from the appeals court, and shit city for the duration. Understand what I’m telling you? Now we’ve got a check coming for one million, six hundred thousand dollars. I’m taking half a mil for my work, you’re dancing out of state with the rest and that’s the bottom line. Do you even
know
how many zeros there are in a million dollars?”

“Zeros?” Pinero stared at him and thought about that, hitching his shoulder a couple of times.

“Heyhey, who the fuck cares?” he said defensively, then suddenly he started to laugh. “A fuckin’ million dollars,” he said. “That’s more fuckin’ pussy and horses than I can count either, hey. Whadda fuck, I got a little fuckin’ bent outta shape there, Counse, okay? Okay?”

“Okay, Joey.”

He smiled at the Judge. “Heyhey, pretty fuckin’ good counse, right, Y’ Honor?”

“Oh yes,” the Judge said. “Excellent fucking counse.”

“Heyhey. Fuckin’ L.A., huh? Fuckin’ La La Land, maybe I’ll even get in the fuckin’ movies, right? Maybe I’ll fuckin’
buy
myself a fuckin’ movie.”

He jerked his shoulder a couple of times and leaned back and looked important, snapped his fingers, then leaned over to Vail and said very confidentially, “Heyhey, Counse, how many fuckin’ zeros
are
there in a million bucks?”