Rage of Angels (28 page)

Jennifer felt no sacrifice in spending so much time with Joshua; he was great fun. They played word games and Impressions and Twenty Questions, and Jennifer was delighted by the quickness of her son’s mind. He was at the head of his
class and an outstanding athlete, but he did not take himself seriously. He had a marvelous sense of humor.

When it did not interfere with his schoolwork, Jennifer would take Joshua on trips. During Joshua’s winter vacation, Jennifer took time off to go skiing with him in the Poconos. In the summer she took him to London on a business trip with her, and they spent two weeks exploring the countryside. Joshua adored England.

“Could I go to school here?” he asked.

Jennifer felt a pang. It would not be long before he left her to go away to school, to seek his fortune, to get married and have his own home and family. Was that not what she wanted for him? Of course it was. When Joshua was ready, she would let him go with open arms, and yet she knew how difficult it was going to be.

Joshua was looking at her, waiting for an answer. “Can I, Mom?” he asked. “Maybe Oxford?”

Jennifer held him close. “Of course. They’ll be lucky to get you.”

On a Sunday morning when Mrs. Mackey was off, Jennifer had to go into Manhattan to pick up a transcript of a deposition. Joshua was visiting some friends. When Jennifer returned home, she started to prepare dinner for the two of them. She opened the refrigerator—and stopped dead in her tracks. There was a note inside, propped up between two bottles of milk. Adam had left her notes like that. Jennifer stared at it, mesmerized, afraid to touch it. Slowly, she reached for the note and unfolded it. It said,
Surprise! Is it okay if Alan has dinner with us?

It took half an hour for Jennifer’s pulse to return to normal.

From time to time, Joshua asked Jennifer about his father.

“He was killed in Viet Nam, Joshua. He was a very brave man.”

“Don’t we have a picture of him anywhere?”

“No, I’m sorry, darling. We—we weren’t married very long before he died.”

She hated the lie, but she had no choice.

Michael Moretti had only asked once about Joshua’s father.

“I don’t care what happened before you belonged to me—I’m just curious.”

Jennifer thought about the power that Michael would have over Senator Adam Warner if Michael ever learned the truth.

“He was killed in Viet Nam. His name’s not important.”

In Washington, D.C., a Senate investigating committee headed by Adam Warner was in its final day of an intensive inquiry into the new XK-1 bomber that the Air Force was trying to get the Senate to approve. For weeks, expert witnesses had paraded up to Capitol Hill, half of them testifying that the new bomber would be an expensive albatross that would destroy the defense budget and ruin the country, and the other half testifying that unless the Air Force could get the bomber approved, America’s defenses would be so weakened that the Russians would invade the United States the following Sunday.

Adam had volunteered to test-fly a prototype of the new bomber, and his colleagues had eagerly seized on his offer. Adam was one of them, a member of the club, and he would give them the truth.

Adam had taken the bomber up early on a Sunday morning with a skeleton crew and had put the plane through a series of rigorous tests. The flight had been an unqualified
success, and he had reported back to the Senate committee that the new XK-1 bomber was an important advance in aviation. He recommended that the airplane go into production immediately. The Senate approved the funds.

The press enthusiastically played up the story. They described Adam as one of the new breed of investigative senators, a lawmaker who went out into the field to study the facts for himself instead of taking the word of lobbyists and others who were concerned with protecting their own interests.

Newsweek
and
Time
both did cover stories on Adam, and the
Newsweek
story ended with:

The Senate has found an honest and capable new guardian to investigate some of the vital problems that plague this country, and to bring to them light instead of heat. There is a growing feeling among the kingmakers that Adam Warner has the qualities that would grace the presidency.

Jennifer devoured the stories about Adam and she was filled with pride. And pain. She still loved Adam and she loved Michael Moretti, and she did not understand how it was possible, or what kind of woman she had become. Adam had created the loneliness in her life. Michael had erased it.

The smuggling of drugs from Mexico had increased enormously, and it was obvious that organized crime was behind it. Adam was asked to head an investigating committee. He coordinated the efforts of half a dozen United States law enforcement agencies, and flew to Mexico and obtained the cooperation of the Mexican government. Within three months, the drug traffic had slowed to a trickle.

In the farmhouse in New Jersey, Michael Moretti was saying, “We’ve got a problem.”

They were seated in the large, comfortable study. In the room were Jennifer, Antonio Granelli and Thomas Colfax. Antonio Granelli had suffered a stroke and it had aged him twenty years overnight. He looked like a shrunken caricature of a man. The paralysis had affected the right side of his face so that when he spoke, saliva drooled from the corners of his mouth. He was old and almost senile, and he leaned more and more on Michael’s judgment. He had even reluctantly come to accept Jennifer.

Not so Thomas Colfax. The conflict between Michael and Colfax had grown stronger. Colfax knew it was Michael’s intention to replace him with this woman. Colfax admitted to himself that Jennifer Parker was a clever lawyer, but what could she possibly know of the traditions of the
borgata?
Of what had made the brotherhood work so smoothly all these years? How could Michael bring in a stranger—worse, a woman!—and trust her with their life-and-death secrets? It was an untenable situation. Colfax had talked to the
caporegimi
—the squad lieutenants—and the
soldati
—the soldiers—one by one, voicing his fears, trying to win them over to his side, but they were afraid to go against Michael. If he trusted this woman, then they felt they must trust her also.

Thomas Colfax decided he would have to bide his time. But he would find a way to get rid of her.

Jennifer was well aware of his feelings. She had replaced him, and his pride would never let him forgive her for that. His loyalty to the Syndicate would keep him in line and protect her, but if his hatred for her should become stronger than that loyalty…

Michael turned to Jennifer. “Have you ever heard of Adam Warner?”

Jennifer’s heart stopped for an instant. It was suddenly hard for her to breathe. Michael was watching her, waiting for an answer.

“You—you mean the senator?” Jennifer managed to say.

“Uh-huh. We’re going to have to cool the son of a bitch.”

Jennifer could feel the blood drain from her face. “Why, Michael?”

“He’s hurting our operation. Because of him, the Mexican government is closing down factories belonging to friends of ours. Everything’s starting to come apart. I want the bastard out of our hair. He’s got to go.”

Jennifer’s mind was racing. “If you touch Senator Warner,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “you’ll destroy yourself.”

“I’m not going to let—”

“Listen to me, Michael. Get rid of him, and they’ll send ten men to take his place. A hundred. Every newspaper in the country will be after you. The investigation that’s going on now will be nothing compared to what will happen if Senator Warner is harmed.”

Michael said angrily, “I’m telling you we’re
hurting
!”

Jennifer changed her tone. “Michael, use your head. You’ve seen these investigations before. How long do they last? Five minutes after the senator is finished, he’ll be investigating something else and all this will be over. The factories that are closed down will open up again and you’ll be back in business. That way there won’t be any repercussions. You try to do it your way and you’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I disagree,” Thomas Colfax said. “In my opinion—”

Michael Moretti growled, “No one asked for your opinion.”

Thomas Colfax jerked as though he had been slapped. Michael paid no attention. Colfax turned to Antonio Granelli for support. The old man was asleep.

Michael said to Jennifer, “Okay, counselor, we’ll leave Warner alone for now.”

Jennifer realized she had been holding her breath. She exhaled slowly. “Is there anything else?”

“Yeah.” Michael picked up a heavy gold lighter and lit a cigarette. “A friend of ours, Marco Lorenzo, has been convicted of extortion and robbery.”

Jennifer had read about the case. According to the newspapers, Lorenzo was a congenital criminal with a long string of arrests for crimes of violence.

“Do you want me to file an appeal?”

“No, I want you to see that he goes to jail.”

Jennifer looked at him in surprise.

Michael put the cigarette lighter back on his desk. “I got word that Di Silva wants to ship him back to Sicily. Marco’s got enemies there. If they send him back he won’t live twenty-four hours. The safest place for him is Sing Sing. When the heat’s off in a year or two we’ll get him out. Can you swing it?”

Jennifer hesitated. “If we were in another jurisdiction I could probably do it. But Di Silva won’t plea-bargain with me.”

Thomas Colfax said quickly, “Perhaps we should let someone else take care of this.”

“If I had wanted someone else to take care of it,” Michael snapped, “I would have said so.” He turned back to Jennifer. “I want you to handle it.”

Michael Moretti and Nick Vito watched from the window as Thomas Colfax climbed into his sedan and drove off.

Michael said, “Nick, I want you to get rid of him.”

“Colfax?”

“I can’t trust him anymore. He’s living in the past with the old man.”

“Whatever you say, Mike. When do you want me to do it?”

“Soon. I’ll let you know.”

Jennifer was seated in Judge Lawrence Waldman’s chambers. It was the first time she had seen him in more than a
year. The friendly telephone calls and dinner invitations had stopped. Well, that could not be helped, Jennifer thought. She liked Lawrence Waldman and she regretted losing his friendship, but she had made her choice.

They were waiting for Robert Di Silva and they sat there in an uncomfortable silence, neither bothering to make small talk. When the District Attorney walked in and took a seat, the meeting began.

Judge Waldman said to Jennifer, “Bobby says that you want to discuss a plea bargain before I pass sentence on Lorenzo.”

“That’s right.” Jennifer turned to District Attorney Di Silva. “I think it would be a mistake to send Marco Lorenzo to Sing Sing. He doesn’t belong here. He’s an illegal alien. I feel he should be shipped back to Sicily where he came from.”

Di Silva looked at her in surprise. He had been going to recommend deportation, but if that was what Jennifer Parker wanted, then he would have to reevaluate his decision.

“Why do you recommend that?” Di Silva asked.

“For several reasons. First of all, it will keep him from committing any more crimes here, and—”

“So will being in a cell in Sing Sing.”

“Lorenzo is an old man. He can’t stand being confined. He’ll go crazy if you put him in jail. All his friends are in Sicily. He can live there in the sun and die in peace with his family.”

Di Silva’s mouth tightened with anger. “We’re talking about a hoodlum who’s spent his life robbing and raping and killing, and you’re worried about whether he’s with his friends in the sun?” He turned to Judge Waldman. “She’s unreal!”

“Marco Lorenzo has a right to—”

Di Silva pounded his fist on the desk. “He has no rights at all! He’s been convicted of extortion and armed robbery.”

“In Sicily, when a man—”

“He’s not in Sicily, goddamn it!” Di Silva yelled. “He’s
here! He committed the crimes here and he’s going to pay for them here.” He stood up. “Your Honor, we’re wasting your time. The state refuses any plea bargaining in this case. We’re asking that Marco Lorenzo be sentenced to Sing Sing.”

Judge Waldman turned to Jennifer. “Do you have anything more to say?”

She looked at Robert Di Silva angrily. “No, Your Honor.”

Judge Waldman said, “Sentencing will be tomorrow morning. You are both excused.”

Di Silva and Jennifer rose and left the office.

In the corridor outside, the District Attorney turned to Jennifer and smiled. “You’ve lost your touch, counselor.”

Jennifer shrugged. “You can’t win them all.”

Five minutes later, Jennifer was in a telephone booth talking to Michael Moretti.

“You can stop worrying. Marco Lorenzo will be going to Sing Sing.”

Time was a swiftly flowing river that had no shores, no boundaries. Its seasons were not winter, spring, fall or summer, but birthdays and joys and troubles and pain. They were court battles won, and cases lost; the reality of Michael, the memories of Adam. But mainly, it was Joshua who was time’s calendar, a reminder of how quickly the years were passing.

He was, incredibly, seven years old. Overnight, it seemed, he had gone from crayons and picture books to airplane models and sports. Joshua had grown tall and he resembled his father more every day, and not merely in his physical appearance. He was sensitive and polite, and he had a strong sense of fair play. When Jennifer punished him for something he had done, Joshua said stubbornly, “I’m only four feet tall, but I’ve got my rights.”

He was a miniature Adam. Joshua was athletic, as Adam was. His heroes were the Bebble brothers and Carl Stotz.

“I never heard of them,” Jennifer said.

“Where have you
been
, Mom? They invented Little League.”

“Oh.
That
Bebble brothers and Carl Stotz.”

On weekends, Joshua watched every sports event on television—football, baseball, basketball—it did not matter. In the beginning, Jennifer had let Joshua watch the games alone, but when he tried to discuss the plays with her afterward and Jennifer was completely at sea, she decided she had better watch with him. And so the two of them would sit in front of the television set, munching popcorn and cheering the players.

One day Joshua came in from playing ball, a worried expression on his face, and said, “Mom, can we have a man-to-man talk?”

“Certainly, Joshua.”

They sat down at the kitchen table and Jennifer made him a peanut butter sandwich and poured a glass of milk.

“What’s the problem?”

His voice was sober and filled with concern. “Well, I heard the guys talkin’ and I was just wonderin’—do you think there’ll still be sex when I grow up?”

Jennifer had bought a small Newport sailboat, and on weekends she and Joshua would go out on the sound for a sail. Jennifer liked to watch his face when he was at the helm. He wore an excited little smile, which she called his “Eric the Red” smile. Joshua was a natural sailor, like his father. The thought brought Jennifer up sharply. She wondered whether she was trying to live her life with Adam vicariously through Joshua. All the things she was doing with her son—the sailing, the sporting events—were things she had done with his father. Jennifer told herself she was doing them because Joshua liked doing them, but she was not sure she was being completely honest. She watched Joshua sheet in the jib, his cheeks tanned from the wind and the sun, his
face beaming, and Jennifer realized that the reasons did not matter. The important thing was that her son loved his life with her. He was not a surrogate for his father. He was his own person and Jennifer loved him more than anyone on earth.