“And it’s someone higher than Charlie,” Joel said.
“I think so.”
“Okay,” he said, “so who’s higher than Charlie?”
That was the thing. I could only think of two people who outranked Charlie Cimino. One was the chief of staff, Madison Koehler. The other was Governor Carlton Snow.
Both of them made some sense, I guess. I didn’t know much about how the governor did business, but the chief of staff—Madison—was typically in the loop on everything. And it was hard to believe that the people who murdered one of the governor’s oldest friends, Greg Connolly, would have done so without the big guy’s consent.
Still, all of this was hard to believe. We weren’t talking about hardball politics here. We were talking about murder.
“Someone in the inner circle,” I said, keeping it vague.
“And now you’re going into that inner circle.”
“Now I am.”
“Knowing that someone in that group is a killer. Having narrowly escaped being killed once, already.”
“Well—”
“And if you aren’t taking enough risks,” Joel said, growing angry, “you also want to have a nice, friendly chat with the most hard-core assassin from the most hard-core street gang in the city.”
“Maybe he’s misunderstood, Joel. Maybe behind that assassin’s veneer there’s a sweet, cuddly kid just dying for a hug.”
“Yeah, maybe you two could go for ice cream.” The third round of drinks arrived. Joel took a healthy swallow of his scotch. I was on my third martini, and I’d been out of practice. My head and neck were beginning to feel pretty good.
We didn’t talk for a while. Joel, on some level, had to be feeling a little bad about all of this. He’d been the
Almundo
investigator and he’d missed some things. I couldn’t really blame him. It would have been very hard to catch this stuff with the information we had. But that would be little consolation to him. He prided himself on catching everything.
“So,” he said, “you’re doing all this—what—for Adalbert Wozniak?”
“No, I’m doing this for Ernesto Ramirez. He’s dead because I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I made someone nervous and he paid the price. A very sweet woman is now a widow, and two little kids are without their father, because I tried to force information out of him and made him a threat to someone.”
Joel shook his head.
“And maybe I’m doing this because whoever killed Greg Connolly should face the music. I mean, Greg knew about me. He knew I was a fellow informant. But he didn’t give me up. They tortured him, and he didn’t give me up. I owe him, Joel. And anyway, I’m not letting those assholes get away with it.”
Joel played around with this before reaching his conclusion. “You,” he pronounced, “are fucking nuts.”
“You aren’t the first to say that.”
“Kiko is the worst of the worst, J.”
“I worked gang crimes, Joel. I know all about the guy.”
He downed the remainder of his Maker’s Mark. “You’re just going to knock on his door and introduce yourself and tell him, ‘I know you killed two people, and I know Joey was a part of it, but could you please tell me who Joey’s partner was?’ Yeah, that’s a helluva plan you got there. You’ll be dead before you say hello.”
“Life is full of risk.”
“Life is full of risk? Life is full of risk,” Joel said to the waitress, who had noticed Joel’s empty glass and stopped by. “I think Riley and I are going to have to do an intervention on you.”
“You’re overreacting,” I said.
“Maybe I am,” he agreed. “But you know what I’m
not
doing? I’m not giving you Kiko’s fucking address.”
Not wanting Joel to feel awkward about outpacing me in the alcohol department, which would be rude of me, I made quick work of my martini.
“Joel, I have to make this right. This guy’s death is on me.”
“No, it’s not. You were just doing your job.”
“Give me Kiko’s address, Lightner. Don’t make me dance on your face.”
Lightner went quiet. His eyes narrowed, evidence of critical appraisal. I’d seen that look before. I didn’t like that look.
“Jason, I don’t know how else to say this.”
“How about you say it after I’ve left the bar? I just need an address, Joel. I don’t need a lecture.”
“Yes, you do, my friend. You’re not right. Okay? Take it from me. You are not right. It’s like you’re looking for trouble. Like you’re looking—” He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to.
“Oh, I’m suicidal now?”
“You know what? Maybe you are. I mean, this shit you’re doing—this is for law enforcement. This is for people with badges—”
“Still got my old one.”
“—and guns—”
“Got one of those, too.”
“—and bulletproof vests.”
“Two out of three ain’t bad.”
“Hey, shit for brains? I’m not joking.” Lightner looked like he was going to get up and leave. I think he was but changed his mind. “Be serious for a second,” he went on. “You know what I’m saying is right. You’re chasing down killers and you’re talking about strong-arming the most dangerous assassin in the most dangerous street gang in the city. Like you’re going to walk away from that unharmed? You’d—” He caught himself, then decided to continue. “You’d never do this if your wife and daughter were still alive. Sorry to bring that up, but you wouldn’t.”
“So maybe I wouldn’t.”
He threw up his hands. “So your life doesn’t mean anything anymore?”
“My life is different, that’s all. Yeah, I’d be more cautious if I had Tal and Emily. That doesn’t mean what I’m doing is wrong.”
“Yeah? And what
are
you doing?” he asked. “Say Kiko gives you a name. He won’t, but say he does. What are you going to do? Kill that guy? I mean, even if you get Kiko to talk, it’s not like he’s going to testify in court. You’re never going to have the evidence you need to convict whoever this is. So what’s the plan, J? When you figure out who killed Ernesto? You going to kill that person?”
I removed some money from my pocket and threw it on the table. This conversation was going nowhere.
“Just—all I’m saying, J—take a breath, cool down, and get yourself some help. You need some professional help.”
“Hey, you’re a professional. I’m seeking your help.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Give me the damn address, Lightner.”
I knew he’d give it up. He was concerned for me, which was sugar-sweet of him, but the better part of him was as contrarian and stubborn as I. He pushed the piece of paper in front of me. “Let me go with you,” he said. “When you talk to this asshole.”
I made a show of considering it, but I wasn’t going to involve Joel. Better just the two of us, I thought, Kiko and me.
The more I thought about it, the surer I became: These murders were connected. Whoever had Adalbert Wozniak and Ernesto Ramirez killed was responsible for Greg Connolly’s murder, too. Solving one murder would solve them all.
I had two possible sources of information. I had Federico
Hurtado, the notorious Kiko. And I had the people surrounding the governor, if I could penetrate that inner circle.
I’d made an inroad on the first front: I now had Kiko’s address.
If things went as planned, I’d be good on the second front very soon.
62
TWO DAYS LATER, I CALLED CHARLIE AND TOLD HIM
we had to meet. We found a restaurant in between our offices and got an early lunch.
“I just got a call from the U.S. attorney’s office,” I said.
I couldn’t deny, on some level, a sense of satisfaction at watching Charlie’s face go bleach white. “And?” he asked.
“They want to talk to me about the Higgins Sanitation contract,” I said. “You remember that one? There were two lower bidders who I disqual—”
“I remember, I remember. And that’s it?” he asked. “That’s all they mentioned?”
“That’s all they mentioned.”
He fell back against the seat cushion. “Shit.”
“I can defend that,” I said. “I can.”
He was quiet for a long time. I’m sure all kinds of thoughts entered his head. I wasn’t sure if one of those thoughts included getting rid of me, a potential witness against him. A liability, like Tucker had said.
“You’re going to talk to them?” he asked.
“Sure. Why would I take Five? It would look wrong.”
“You need a lawyer.” Charlie opened his cell phone and worked it. “Norman Hudzik,” he said. “You know him?”
“Heard the name. Charlie, I can get my own—”
“You want Norm.”
It was what I expected. Charlie would want someone he could trust to handle my representation when the U.S. attorney interviewed me. He wanted eyes and ears in there.
“Don’t worry about his fee,” Charlie said. “Don’t worry about that.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Charlie Cimino for Norman,” he said into his cell phone. “Tell him to call as soon as possible. He has my number.” He closed his phone. “Don’t worry about this.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Maybe you should be,” he said.
“You’re not making any sense, Charlie.”
“Shit. Shit.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “We’ll get together and talk to Norm. We’ll put our heads together.”
“We’ll be fine,” I said.
“Norm’s good,” Charlie said. “Norm’s good.”
We skipped lunch. Charlie was in no mood to eat. I went back to my office.
But first, I stopped in at Suite 410.
“Norman Hudzik,” I said to Lee Tucker. “Now try not to fuck this up.”
63
NORMAN HUDZIK HAD SPENT THIRTY YEARS REPRESENTING
criminals, mostly of the white-collar and organized-crime variety. He was large in every way: Tall, heavy, with a baritone voice and a charismatic confidence. His hair was a mess of gray and black, a swooping part and too long in the back.
Circumstances notwithstanding, I liked him. I found myself more inclined toward the defense bar these days, probably because I was now a member. Something about standing up to power and being a contrarian found a safe harbor in my soul.
I’d told Norman that the prosecutor who had phoned me was Brian Ridgeway, someone with whom I wasn’t acquainted. Norm had lit up at the mention of the name. “I go back with Brian. We tried
Capparelli
together. Brian’s a dear friend. I can handle Brian.”
That’s why Chris Moody had picked Brian. We wanted someone Hudzik knew, someone with whom he would feel comfortable. The way I’d heard it, Brian Ridgeway did not exactly consider Norm a “dear” friend, but the relationship was cordial. Good enough. It made Hudzik happy and it made Charlie happy, as the three of us had sat in Norm’s office yesterday. We’d spent several hours, during which time Norm Hudzik had given me about twenty ways to say, “I don’t recall
.
”
Now we sat in the U.S. attorney’s reception area, Norm and I, waiting for the meeting with Assistant U.S. Attorney Brian Ridgeway.
“I think I know this guy!” Norm bellowed, as Ridgeway appeared from a doorway.
“Norm! Good to see you. Good morning, Mr. Kolarich. Brian Ridgeway.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said.
We went back to a conference room, where prosecutor and defense attorney spent ten minutes catching up, while I bided my time. Norm did most of the talking, which was good, because I wasn’t sure this guy Ridgeway was a very good bullshit artist.
“Jason and I were a little surprised by the call,” Norm said, settling in. “What does Jason Kolarich have to tell you?”
“Well, it’s just one of those things I gotta say I did.” Ridgeway waved a conciliatory hand. “Well, here.” He slid a document in front of me. It was the memo I had written for Charlie, disqualifying the two bidders who should have received the sanitation contract instead of Higgins. It was the final version, the one I rewrote to impress Charlie and gain his trust.
“Mr. Kolarich, did you write this memo?”
“Call me Jason.”
“I’d prefer to call you Mr. Kolarich.”
“I’d prefer you called me Jason.”
Ridgeway looked over at Hudzik, like
What the hell?
“The answer is yes,” I said. “I gave this to the chairman of the PCB, my client. That makes this privileged, last I checked.”
Ridgeway hemmed and hawed a moment for good measure. “Greg Connolly gave it to us. So don’t worry about a privilege.”
“Well, Brian, I’m a lawyer, so I’m going to worry about little things like attorney-client privilege, if it’s okay with you.”
Ridgeway paused, shooting another look at Hudzik.