J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 03 - No Time To Hide (10 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

It was a solid three day drive from Texas to New York. While Michael and Andie drove Cheeto’s Jeep across the south and up to New York, Kermit had a long list of tasks to complete. 

He needed to find a place for them to sleep that wasn’t a hotel. If the price was right, Michael preferred a furnished brownstone that also had plenty of ways for Michael to get in and out. Kermit was further instructed to purchase a half-dozen disposable pay-as-you-go cell phones, and set up a home office for them to work. The office needed desks, computers, pens, paper, an internet connection, and a scanner. Finally and most importantly, Kermit needed to find Michael a lawyer.

The People’s Legal Center was located in a narrow, dilapidated, four-story brick house about a half-block off the intersection of Malcolm X and West 126th.

Built in 1880, the house had originally been the home of a prominent businessman who owned three garment factories on the lower East side. His wife died before him, and his only daughter inherited everything.

She promptly sold the factories, and turned the house into a meeting place for the local communist party. When she later died without heirs and the local communist pa
rty in hiding, her will decreed that all of her money “shall be used to provide free legal representation to the poor.” The house became a law office, although a very strange one, and the first legal aid office in the country.

Her financial endowment disappeared over time, the victim of poor investment choices. The house, however, continued to be a place where people could obtain a free lawyer. Operated on a shoestring budget, the People’s Legal Center was now loosely affiliated with the New York Public Defender’s Office.

Kermit got out of the cab and opened a black, wrought-iron gate in front of the house. He walked up the sidewalk to the entrance. Kermit looked for a buzzer or a doorbell, but there wasn’t one. So he just walked inside.

The house was chaos.

The front parlor, converted into a waiting area, overflowed with people of all shapes and colors and ages. Babies cried. Toddlers bounced on a torn, blue couch while their mothers pretended not to see. Others were talking on cell phones, a few were fighting imaginary devils, and some simply sat quietly with brown grocery bags filled with receipts and other papers that their attorneys needed to review. The veterans of the People’s Legal Center — knowing it would be an all-day wait — had brought coolers filled with food and various malt liquor beverages.

Kermit grinned, digging the vibe. He strolled toward a young woman with a clipboard
. She was in her early twenties. She wore black hipster glasses and a small nose ring.

“Hey pretty lady.” Kermit entered her personal space. “You look like the boss.”

She took a step back and looked Kermit over. She tried to figure out what legal box Kermit’s problems would likely fit into: criminal, civil, domestic, landlord-tenant or all of the above.

“Have an appointment?” She looked down at her list of people who were scheduled for morning meetings.

Kermit shook his head.

“It’s a personal matter,” he paused, “for a friend.”

She nodded. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard that.

“Well, you’re going to need to set up an appointment with intake and then they’ll determine whether you qualify for our services.”

“No.” Kermit shook his head, undeterred. “I need to talk with Quentin Robinson about a mutual friend.”

“Well, Mr. Robinson is already behind schedule, and he’s got several people waiting.”

Kermit took a few steps back, and he decided to turn on the K-Man charm. He closed his eyes, thinking about the twelve gauge bosons dangling from his head.

Kermit regrouped and came back at the young woman with a smile.

“What’s your name?” He winked. Kermit allowed his graying dreadlocks to sway back and forth.

The question took the young woman a little off-guard, but she recovered. Her job was to be a gatekeeper. She couldn’t just allow anybody back to see the attorneys or she’d be fired.

“Listen,” she said. “I know you have a legal emergency.” She pointed at the room. “But everybody’s got a legal emergency. So, I need you to call intake and set up an appointment.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Kermit put his hand on his heart and gave a little bow. “I am Mr. Kermit Guillardo, and I am introducing myself so that you may return the favor and elevate this perfunctory level of discourse to something more meaningful.”

“Listen.” She shook her head and put her hand on her hip. “I don’t want to call security.”

“Nor do I want you to take such a harsh action, senorita,” said Kermit. “But I do want to call you something. At least give me that.”

The young woman looked around, and then softly said, “Anna.”

“Anna.” Kermit closed his eyes and repeated her name. Then he opened them and continued with an offer. “Well Anna, I have a proposition for you. In my pocket is $100. All I ask you to
do is to go to Quentin Robinson. Inquire of him. And, ask whether he will talk to me about his old friend, Michael Collins.” Kermit paused. “Again, his friend’s name is Michael Collins and Michael’s in trouble. Ask him if he’ll talk with me. If he says no, then I will leave. If he says yes, then I will proceed. Either way, my dear Anna, this is yours.” Kermit stuck his hand in his jacket pocket. He removed a folded hundred-dollar bill and fastened it onto Anna’s clipboard.

Anna looked down at the money, and then up at Kermit. She scanned the waiting room, thinking. Then she looked back down at the money, took it off the clipboard, and placed it discreetly into her pocket.

“You said your friend’s name was Michael Collins?”

Kermit nodded.

“Yes, my love. Just ask if he’ll see me, and then maybe later we could grab a bite to eat since I’m new in town.”

She smiled. “I’ll think about that. Give me a few minutes.”

###

Quentin Robinson’s office occupied one quarter of a third floor bedroom. Sometime in the 1960s, the legal center divided the bedroom into four individual offices, each one slightly larger than a cubicle.  Since Robinson had been with the organization for ten years, he got the office with heat and a window. The other attorneys froze in the winter and baked in the summer.

Kermit sat down in a rickety wooden chair across from Quentin, and waited for Quentin to finish typing something on his computer.

Quentin pressed return on his keyboard, and then he swiveled around in his chair. He was a short, pudgy guy with a ponytail, beard, and round tortoiseshell glasses. He didn’t look like a lawyer, but then, neither did Michael Collins. 

Quentin brushed some cookie crumbs off of his 1998 Green Day concert T-shirt, and then he picked up his cup of coffee.

“Michael Collins.” Quentin took a sip of coffee. “I hadn’t heard that name for quite awhile.”

“Well, he sent me here,” Kermit said. “Told me you’d help.”

Quentin rolled his eyes.

“Michael and I were in the same study group back in law school, but I can’t say I ever expected him to ask me for help.” Quentin took another sip of coffee and put the cup back down on his cluttered desk. “Michael was on the big-firm track from Day One.” Quentin paused and looked around his humble office. “Me …” he shrugged, “A little different track.”

“Well,” Kermit inched forward onto the edge of his seat. He tapped twice on Quentin’s desk and then pointed at the puffy lawyer. “He wants to hire you.”

Quentin shook his head.

“I’m not in private practice. Nobody gets to hire me.”

“No?” Kermit smirked. “Maybe you don’t understand.” Kermit bent over and opened up his backpack. He removed a black leather case and put it on Quentin’s desk. “He really needs to hire you.”

Quentin looked down at the case that had been placed in front of him. Curious, Quentin took off the top and saw a roll of coins. “What the hell are these?”

“Gold coins, counselor.” Kermit’s head bobbled.

Quentin laughed. “Does Michael think I’m a pirate?” He pushed the coins away. “What am I supposed to do with gold coins?”

“I got a place in Chinatown that will gladly an
d discretely convert these coins into any currency you desire.” Kermit touched one of his dreadlocks, spinning it around his finger. “So that problem is solved.”

Quentin shook his head. “
Sorry, but this isn’t my thing. I work for poor people, and frankly Michael could hire somebody better suited for whatever he wants me to do.”

Kermit nodded. “Collins thought you’d say that.” He nodded toward the box. “There’s probably a h
undred thousand dollars worth of coins in there. Just take a leave of absence, pay off some student loans, and then come back to fight the good fight.”

Quentin looked away
. “I don’t make career decisions based on money,” he shrugged. “That’s never been who I am.”

“Fair,” Kermit said. “But how about a career decision based on money
and
an old friendship. Philosophically, I think you’d agree, that presents a different scenario.”

Quentin looked
back at the roll of coins, then looked at his pathetic office, and sighed.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

The query rattled around in Michael’s brain, and he couldn’t quite kick it. Long drives always lent themselves to unanswerable questions. For him, the question was always, “Why? Why did he love Andie Larone?” Michael could never answer that question, and in the end, he wondered if he was just being a chump. Do people in love actually ask such a thing, thought Michael.

It was dark as they approached the city. Michael looked over at the passenger seat. Andie was asleep. She had rolled her jacket into a ball. Her head rested on it.

Michael drove, glanced over at her, drove some more, and then glanced again. The question circled. If he was objective, he never should have risked his own life to save her. If he was rational, he would have never let her back into his life after she ended their brief engagement. And if he was smart, he wouldn’t trust her now.

But here he was, entering the city and preparing to end it all with Andie Larone as his partner. Why? Why was he so committed to her?

She was attractive, but there were a lot of attractive women. She was smart, but there were a lot of smart women. She was fun to be with, but fun is pretty easy to come by when you’re living on the beach in Mexico.

Michael rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted after being on the road for more than thirty hours.

Michael turned on the blinker. He changed lanes, passing a tractor-trailer and a minivan. Then he returned to the far right lane, still thinking as they entered the Holland Tunnel.

Michael stole another glance, and then looked back at the road. Perhaps it was just a matter of timing, he thought.

There were moments when individuals were simply available to love and be loved, and maybe he had met Andie at just such a moment. She had managed to get through that secret door in his heart for the brief second that it had been open, and now she couldn’t leave and Michael couldn’t get her out. She offered him comfort when he had most needed it and a home when he was lost. Perhaps he was still repaying a debt.

Michael saw the sign for Varick Street and moved over to the left lane. The sound of the tires on the road deepened as they slowed and came to a stop. Andie started to stir, but she didn’t wake up. Maybe that was for the best, Michael thought. He reached over and put his hand on her leg. Don’t wake up until we’re through this, Michael thought, because I can’t let you break my heart again.

###

Kermit was proud. He and Michael stood on the sidewalk under a streetlight. They admired the brownstone that Kermit had found. The rental was located in the Carroll Gardens neighborhood of Brooklyn. It was marketed as a vacation rental for large families looking for an adventure away from Times Square: four furnished bedrooms, kitchen and an office.

Michael put his hand on Kermit’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“You did good, Kermit.”

Kermit puffed out his chest. “Just a block to the subway, six blocks to the highway, and a half-mile to the warehouses and barges in the bay.”

Michael nodded, already planning an escape if necessary.

“Perfect.” He turned back to the truck. “In the morning, I’ll need you to drive the truck to a long-term parking lot near the airport. I don’t want Cheeto getting in trouble.” Michael looked at Andie. She was still asleep in the front seat. “Let’s unload, and once everything is out, I’ll wake Andie. I
‘m looking forward to us sleeping in an actual bed.”

“The upstairs queen is mine,” Kermit said. “I already did a little jelly roll in it, if you know what I mean.”

Michael shook his head.

“No, I don’t know what you mean.” He turned and started walking
back toward the truck. “And please don’t share.”