Dead Even Page 8

  During his half-hour run on the treadmill, Jared replayed yesterday’s conversations in his head. First Lubetsky’s, then Rose’s, then Wayne’s. When the odometer read three miles, he showered and went down to his office.

  “Feeling better today?” Kathleen asked as Jared walked past her desk.

  “Eh,” he shrugged. “Yourself?”

  “I’m great. I’m just worried about you.” Kathleen pulled a pencil from behind her ear and wagged it at her boss. “But if you want to put yourself in a better mood, why don’t you ask me what’s going on? It’ll be worth it.”

  Jared crossed his arms. “Fine. What’s going on?”

  “The usual,” she replied. “Lubetsky wants to see you, Rose wants to speak to you, and a brand-new client wants to hire you.”

  “Someone wants to hire me?”

  “He came in about ten minutes ago and asked specifically for you. He’s waiting in the conference room.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jared said. “Is this some kind of practical joke to make me feel better?”

  “No joke. You wanted new clients, you got ’em. He said you came recommended by a friend. If you’d like, I’ll bring him to your office.”

  “That’d be great,” Jared said, his pulse racing. “In fact, that’d be downright fantastic.”

  Two minutes later, Kathleen returned to Jared’s office with a tall, gaunt, dark-haired man in tow. “Jared, this is Mr. Kozlow,” she said as she stepped into the room.

  “Call me Tony,” the man said, extending a hand to Jared.

  “Like the cartoon tiger,” Jared joked.

  “Exactly,” Kozlow smiled. “Just like the tiger.”

  “You don’t think there’s anything fishy about Kozlow having such a high-paid attorney?” Sara asked Conrad when she stopped by his office in the early afternoon.

  “Not at all,” Conrad said. “It happens all the time. These mutts have money stashed in a sock drawer for just this occasion.”

  “And what about the fact that his lawyer was from my old law firm? I mean, there’re thousands of firms in this city. Don’t you think it’s a little more than a coincidence that they picked mine?”

  “Sara, it’s time for you to take a breath and calm down. I know you have a lot of emotion invested in this case, but when that happens, you run the risk of losing perspective. Trust me, I know exactly what you’re going through: When I started here, I wanted every single one of my cases to be front-page material. But sometimes you have to admit that all you have is a footnote that would barely make the high school newspaper.”

  “So you think I’m just imagining things?”

  “All I’m saying is you should stop worrying about Kozlow’s wallet and start worrying about his case. You have a grand jury coming up next Monday.”

  “Not to mention four other cases to deal with,” Sara added.

  “Speaking of which, how’d they go this morning?”

  “The arraignments? Like last night, but faster. The drug possession and one of the shoplifters were both first-time offenders, so they walked on their own recognizance. Then I got two thousand apiece for the pickpocket and the other shoplifter.”

  “I take it they had histories?”

  “Almost fifty arrests between them. And the pickpocket? If you can believe it, his name is Marion.”

  “Don’t make fun of ‘Marion.’ That’s John Wayne’s real name.”

  Tilting her head slightly, Sara studied Conrad. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Did you just make a joke?”

  “John Wayne’s never a joke, ma’am.”

  Sara laughed. “Okay, I’ll let you have one. That’s fair,” she said. “But according to his record, John Wayne the Pickpocket has twenty-three prior arrests, and he swears he didn’t do any of them—which I guess at least makes him consistent. The shoplifter’s not far behind.”

  “Okay, so it sounds like you can plead out the first two. As far as the others, you’re going to have to see what their lawyers say. Don’t get too caught up in them, though. Your time’s better spent preparing Kozlow’s indictment.”

  “Then can I ask you one last question? What’d the judge mean by a 180.80 day?”

  Conrad paused, his brow furrowed. “Didn’t they teach you anything in that law firm?”

  “All I did was civil work. Now cut me some slack.”

  “Here’s your slack. A 180.80 day is shorthand for the day by which you have to indict the defendant if he’s locked up. But since Kozlow posted bail, you only have to worry about the grand jury, where—”

  “I know what happens at a grand jury.”

  “You sure?”

  “You don’t let up, do you?” Sara asked with a grin. “At the grand jury, I’ll have to convince twelve average citizens to indict Kozlow on the burglary charge. If they indict, then the trial can take place. If they don’t—”

  “If they don’t, then you’re not going anywhere with this case.”

  Walking back to her office, Sara thought about Conrad’s advice. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was hoping too hard for front-page material. Maybe Kozlow had just stashed away some money. And maybe she was becoming a victim of her own imagination. But no matter how much she tried to downplay the facts, she kept coming back to one key piece of information: Kozlow’s case had originally been marked for Victor.

  Nearing her office, she noticed that Guff wasn’t at his desk. She also noticed that her office door was ajar, even though she knew she had left it closed. She remembered Conrad’s advice about ADA offices: Lock everything—confidentiality is paramount, and eyes have a tendency to wander. Through the translucent glass of her door, she could see the fuzzy figure of someone sitting at her desk. She quickly looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was around. Since it was close to lunch, the hallways were relatively empty. Hesitantly, she opened the door. Victor was waiting for her.

  “Can I help you?” she asked, unnerved.

  “No,” Victor said. “Just wanted to see how your case was going.”

  “How’d you get into my office?”

  “It was open. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Actually, I do.”

  “I’ll be more considerate next time. Now tell me how it’s going.”

  “Why?” she asked defensively. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, Sara.”

  “Then why’re you sneaking in here and trying your best to intimidate me?” She hoped her bluntness would catch him off guard. It didn’t.

  “That’s a pretty impressive imagination. You should be careful it doesn’t get the best of you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Sara asked.

  “It means exactly what I said: Be careful. At this rate, you can’t afford any more mistakes.”

  “Is that what you came to tell me?”

  “Sara, the only reason I’m here is because you took a case while I was supervising. Now I don’t care how desperate you were, or how you got Conrad to kiss your ass, but if you ever do that again, I guarantee one thing: I’ll be all over you.”

  She didn’t want to admit it, but of course he was right. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Save the crying. I don’t care.” Victor got up from his seat and walked to the door. “But if I were you, I’d watch my back. You never know when the ax will fall.”

  As Victor left, Guff entered Sara’s office. “What was that about?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “He didn’t sound too happy on the way out.”

  “He was thrilled. I could tell by the way he threatened me. Now, any other bad news before I head out to lunch?”

  “Actually, yes,” Guff said, waving a two-page fax. “This just came through. It’s a notice of attorney. Apparently, Kozlow has retained a new lawyer.”

  “So?”

  “So, look at the new lawyer’s name and tell me if it’s familiar.”

  She skimmed the memo, then jumped to the signature at the bottom. When she read her husb
and’s name, she sank into her chair. “I can’t believe it. Can he even do this?”

  “I don’t know,” Guff said. “I’ve certainly never seen it before.”

  “He has to drop the case,” Sara said. She picked up her phone and dialed Jared’s number. When Kathleen answered, Sara asked to speak to her husband.

  “You just missed him. He said he was meeting you for lunch. Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine.” Sara hung up the phone and bolted out of the office.

  Guff tailed behind, following her down the hall. “What do you want me to do while you’re gone?”

  “Find out if this kind of thing is even allowed. The last person I want to face in this case is my husband.”

  Twenty minutes later, Jared’s cab dropped him off in front of Forlini’s, which was not only the closest Italian restaurant to the courthouse, but also the most popular. He stuffed a ten-dollar bill in the driver’s hand and strode into the restaurant. “Hey, beautiful,” he said to Sara, excited to share the good news with his wife.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Sara asked.

  “Stuck in traffic.” Jared sat down at the table. “Is everything okay?”

  “No, everything’s not okay.”

  Jared touched Sara’s arm. “Tell me what’s—”

  “I just don’t understand why you agreed to take the case—especially when you know my job is riding on it. I mean, you’re the one with the big firm job, and all I have is this—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jared interrupted. “Slow down a second. What case are you talking about?”

  “My burglary case. Why’d you agree to take the other side?”

  “Take the other side? I don’t know what you’re—”

  “The Kozlow case. I just got your counsel notice.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jared said. “That’s your case? You have Tony Kozlow’s case?”

  “I told you that last night.”

  “You never told me his name. You just said it was a burglary.”

  “Well, didn’t you think it was odd when you got your own burglary today?”

  “He didn’t say it was a burglary—all he said was it was a minor felony. And that they’d send me the file later.”

  “What about the notice-of-counsel memo?”

  “All we had was the docket number of the case. Kathleen typed up the memo and faxed it over to the DA’s office. They match up the number and forward it to the prosecutor. I swear, honey, I’d never do that to you on purpose.”

  “So you’ll drop the case.”

  “What?” Jared asked.

  “I’m serious. Are you going to drop the case?”

  “Why should I drop it?” Jared moaned. “This is a new client. It’s a big deal for me.”

  “Jared, for you, it’s a client. For me—”

  “No—you’re right. This is your job. You were there first. I’ll step down.”

  “You will?” Sara asked.

  He paused. “Of course I will.” Growing more confident, he added, “For you.”

  Sara put her hand on one of his. “You’re a good man, Charlie Brown. I know how much—”

  “Sara, you don’t have to say anything.”

  “Yes, I do. And I want you to know that I’m sorry for putting you in this position. It’s just that this whole new job thing is reminding me of the—”

  “The law firm was an isolated incident, and you shouldn’t judge yourself by it. No one’s supposed to make partner in a New York firm. It’s not expected.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “I’m trying my best to beat the odds. And to cheer up my wife.”

  “Well, you’re doing a pretty good job,” Sara said. Circling the top of her water glass with a finger, she added, “Let me ask you this: If we did have to face off against each other, who do you think would win?”

  “You would,” Jared said with a smug smile.

  Sara laughed. “You’re so full of yourself, y’know that?”

  “What’d I say?”

  “You don’t have to say anything. I can read you like a—”

  “Like a coloring book?”

  “Don’t play games, Lynch. I’m warning you.”

  “Then what do you want me to say? You asked me who would win. Do you want the truth or do you want to be lied to? I’ll do whatever makes you feel better.”

  Sara laughed again. “Do you even realize how conceited you are sometimes?”

  “Wait a minute. Are you calling me conceited?”

  “No, I’m calling you deaf.” Raising her voice, she announced, “You are so conceited!”

  Jared tried to avoid the stares of the restaurant customers. “You know I hate it when you do that.”

  “That’s why you wouldn’t stand a chance. You’ve got too many buttons to push.”

  “So that’s what you’d do? You’d bring the jury to a restaurant and yell like a maniac?”

  “Whatever it takes. That’s my motto.”

  “It’s a great motto, but it’s not going to get you far in court. Don’t forget, you’ve never even handled a criminal trial.”

  “Sure, if you want to be formalistic. But we’re not talking about who knows more about the law. We’re talking about who would win the case. And if you’ve been paying attention, you’d know you wouldn’t have a chance against me.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t?”

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because while you may be Mr. Book-Smart Sophisticate, you have no idea how to fight.”

  “And you do?”

  “Boy, I’ve been whipping your ass for the past six years.”

  Jared laughed out loud. “Is that another come-on?”

  “I’m serious,” Sara said. “To win a fight, you have to know your opponent’s weaknesses. And I know all of yours”

  “Name one.”

  “You hate it when people say that everything’s been handed to you in life.”

  Jared paused a moment. “Name another.”

  “Oh, you’re so predictable.”

  “Don’t pat yourself on the back so hard,” Jared said. “Now name another.”

  “You don’t like seeing me hurt—which means you wouldn’t be effective in a fight against me.”

  “Trust me, if I needed to, the kid gloves would come off.”

  “You can’t stand it when everything isn’t perfect.”

  “And you’re terrified of failure,” Jared countered. “Now let’s hear a real weakness.”

  “You’re afraid of cats.”

  “I’m not afraid of them. I just think they’re plotting against me.”

  “When you were little, you read through an entire volume of encyclopedias.”

  “Just the volumes J and Li to Lz. My initials.”

  “You have a favorite columnist.”

  “Most people do.”

  Leaning into the table, Sara held up her pinkie and whispered, “Your penis—it’s teeny.”

  “That is not funny,” Jared said, laughing. “Take it back.”

  “Fine, fine, I take it back. But don’t tell me I don’t know how to push your buttons.”

  “You definitely know how to push my buttons. But I can push yours just as well.”

  “That’s why I don’t want to face you in court,” Sara said. “It’d be a bloodbath.”

  “Well, lucky for both of us it’s not coming to that. I’m dropping the case as soon as I get back.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Sara said. She reached across the table and took both of Jared’s hands in her own. “I just want you to know, I appreciate you looking out for me.”

  “Sara, you don’t need me to look out for you. I only do it because I love the view.” He pulled her hands close and lightly kissed them. “I’d never do anything to hurt you,” he said. “Now let’s stop stressing about the case. For once, we’ve got the problem solved.”

  When lunch was finished, Jared an
d Sara got up and stepped outside. The day was still pale gray and the clouds were again starting to hover. “More rain,” Sara said.

  Jared nodded. “Do you want me to drop you off?”

  “No, that’s the opposite direction for you. I can walk from here.”

  He gave his wife a kiss good-bye and watched her head up the block. Sara had a slight bounce in her walk, and even though Jared loved to tease her about it, he also loved to watch her in motion. When she turned the corner, he stepped toward the cab that was stopped in front of the restaurant. As soon as he opened the door, he realized someone was already in the backseat. It was Kozlow.

  “How’re you doing there, doc?” Kozlow asked. “Come on in.”

  Jared hesitated a moment.

  “Don’t worry,” Kozlow said. “It’s safe.”

  Cautiously getting into the cab, Jared sat next to Kozlow. “What’s going on?” Jared asked. “What’re you doing here?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Jared asked as the driver pulled into traffic. “What do you—”

  “Shut up already. We’ll be there soon enough.”

  The cab pulled up to a landmark town house on East Fifty-eighth Street whose polished brass doorknobs and handrails sparkled even in the absence of sunlight. A uniformed attendant opened the door for Jared, who slowly stepped out of the cab. Kozlow didn’t follow. “You’re not coming?” Jared asked.

  “Not my kind of place,” Kozlow said. “You’re on your own.” He slammed the door shut and the cab sped away.

  “Mr. Lynch,” the attendant said. “This way, please.”

  Jared hesitantly followed.

  The attendant ushered Jared through a paneled hall with a magnificent antique mirror along one wall and down a broad, curving, carpeted stairway. Jared nervously ran his hand against the grain of his two o’clock shadow. Craning his neck in every direction, he tried his best to scout ahead. There were no other people in sight, but he was clearly in a club. At the foot of the stairs, a beautifully appointed bar stretched off to the left. Straight ahead was a large lounge decorated in an unusual mix of French antiques and African artifacts. Dark and intimidating, the room had wooden hand-painted tribal masks along the walls and clusters of wing chairs and Louis XV end tables. African music played softly from hidden speakers.