suspected a homicide, I asked him to speak to his friends on the force to see what they could find out. He swore he’d clear all information with me before anything went to press. I thanked him. My treat at Mario’s next time.
Switching into arraignments for the next day was easier than I thought. Of the three lawyers scheduled, I picked the one who looked the weariest as he left the complex meeting. As I expected, my tired associate was thrilled to give me the following full day in court in exchange for one of my day arraignments two months hence.
I passed Tom Miller in the hallway and thanked him for securing a good mix of dates for me. In return he wanted to go another round of nerf ball.
I still had to knock off an investigation request on Sandra Chavez, and with the dead blonde on my mind and thoughts of the circus that awaited me at the Spiderman arraignment the next morning, I could barely keep my eyes open. The look on my face was all the answer Miller needed. He waved back and said, “tomorrow then,” and disappeared down the hall.
Tomorrow. Sure. I sat down in my office and cupped my eyes in my hands. And in the blackness I imagined a hurricane, stirring, picking up speed slowly, dangerously, with the Bronx Criminal Courts and Executive Towers directly in its path.
I called Eleanor at the Manhattan D.A.’s office and reminded her again to lock her apartment door no matter who she was expecting. My tone was patronizing—a result of the mood I was in. I realized this afterward, when she responded that she would, with no note of appreciation for my concern. Then again, it wasn’t concern I was speaking from. Eleanor was now something else I had to worry about. I was sure I sounded cold. And she responded in kind.
She mentioned that Carolyn would be spending a weekend with her sometime next month. Great. I started to cut the conversation short.
“By the way,” she said. “I put in for a transfer—to Rackets.”
I felt my stomach drop. “Rackets?”
“Yeah Rackets, organized crime. You know.”
“Why would you want to transfer to Rackets?”
“Don’t worry. The mob doesn’t kill assistant D.A.s. It’s bad for business.” She paused, then said sternly, “Lord knows I don’t tell you what cases to handle.”
“I’ll make a deal with you. After this week I promise I will not take another remotely sex related case, if you stay out of Rackets.”
“What is your problem with Rackets? It’s not like I’m going to take on Carmine Capezzi himself.” She thought again. “Oh, I get it. This is some Italian thing that I could never understand. Right?”
The thought of Eleanor discovering that my own mother’s brother and Carmine Capezzi’s most senior underboss were one and the same, terrified me. I was certain my uncle’s identity, which I had been concealing from her since law school, would end it for us, no matter how much she loved me.
I backed off a little. “It’s just that it’s a dirty business, El. One I hate to see you involved in. Just think it over, ok?”
“Fine. But if I do decide on Rackets, I don’t want any more guff from you, just support like you’re supposed to give.”
“All right,” I said weakly.
It could have been worse, I thought. But not much worse. She could have been an A.D.A in Brooklyn—Rocco’s stomping ground. What a cruel twist of fate that would have been. Rocco would have had to come first, if merely out of simple family loyalty, however perverse or misguided. It must be in the blood. Maybe Eleanor was right. Maybe it was an “Italian thing”. Or maybe it was just a sign we never belonged together from the start.
Chapter 23
B efore I left the office I slid an order marked RUSH under the door of Legal Aid Investigations on the third floor. On it was a request to interview Sandra Chavez, little Jose’s mother. I expected her to talk it up and good and wanted a full recitation of her version of the facts before and after Guevara’s
Switching into arraignments for the next day was easier than I thought. Of the three lawyers scheduled, I picked the one who looked the weariest as he left the complex meeting. As I expected, my tired associate was thrilled to give me the following full day in court in exchange for one of my day arraignments two months hence.
I passed Tom Miller in the hallway and thanked him for securing a good mix of dates for me. In return he wanted to go another round of nerf ball.
I still had to knock off an investigation request on Sandra Chavez, and with the dead blonde on my mind and thoughts of the circus that awaited me at the Spiderman arraignment the next morning, I could barely keep my eyes open. The look on my face was all the answer Miller needed. He waved back and said, “tomorrow then,” and disappeared down the hall.
Tomorrow. Sure. I sat down in my office and cupped my eyes in my hands. And in the blackness I imagined a hurricane, stirring, picking up speed slowly, dangerously, with the Bronx Criminal Courts and Executive Towers directly in its path.
I called Eleanor at the Manhattan D.A.’s office and reminded her again to lock her apartment door no matter who she was expecting. My tone was patronizing—a result of the mood I was in. I realized this afterward, when she responded that she would, with no note of appreciation for my concern. Then again, it wasn’t concern I was speaking from. Eleanor was now something else I had to worry about. I was sure I sounded cold. And she responded in kind.
She mentioned that Carolyn would be spending a weekend with her sometime next month. Great. I started to cut the conversation short.
“By the way,” she said. “I put in for a transfer—to Rackets.”
I felt my stomach drop. “Rackets?”
“Yeah Rackets, organized crime. You know.”
“Why would you want to transfer to Rackets?”
“Don’t worry. The mob doesn’t kill assistant D.A.s. It’s bad for business.” She paused, then said sternly, “Lord knows I don’t tell you what cases to handle.”
“I’ll make a deal with you. After this week I promise I will not take another remotely sex related case, if you stay out of Rackets.”
“What is your problem with Rackets? It’s not like I’m going to take on Carmine Capezzi himself.” She thought again. “Oh, I get it. This is some Italian thing that I could never understand. Right?”
The thought of Eleanor discovering that my own mother’s brother and Carmine Capezzi’s most senior underboss were one and the same, terrified me. I was certain my uncle’s identity, which I had been concealing from her since law school, would end it for us, no matter how much she loved me.
I backed off a little. “It’s just that it’s a dirty business, El. One I hate to see you involved in. Just think it over, ok?”
“Fine. But if I do decide on Rackets, I don’t want any more guff from you, just support like you’re supposed to give.”
“All right,” I said weakly.
It could have been worse, I thought. But not much worse. She could have been an A.D.A in Brooklyn—Rocco’s stomping ground. What a cruel twist of fate that would have been. Rocco would have had to come first, if merely out of simple family loyalty, however perverse or misguided. It must be in the blood. Maybe Eleanor was right. Maybe it was an “Italian thing”. Or maybe it was just a sign we never belonged together from the start.
Chapter 23
B efore I left the office I slid an order marked RUSH under the door of Legal Aid Investigations on the third floor. On it was a request to interview Sandra Chavez, little Jose’s mother. I expected her to talk it up and good and wanted a full recitation of her version of the facts before and after Guevara’s
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