Running from the Law (27 page)

“I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“You don’t understand general principles, Mack? The first one is ‘Keep your word’—you said you were going to give me a raise, do it. Another general principle is ‘Don’t quit.’ The third is ‘Don’t fink on your friends.’ And there’s always my personal favorite, ‘Get up and get it yourself.’ Shall I go on?”

He rolled his eyes. “If I get you the raise, then will you do the interviews?”

“In a word?”

He laughed abruptly. “All right.”

“Then we understand each other.”

“Hold your horses. I have to clear it with the Committee. That’ll take time.”

“My Court-TV interview was at three o’clock today. I can reschedule it if you get right back to me. Otherwise who knows when my schedule will allow—”

“Enough already.” He scowled. “Then we have a deal?”

“If the number’s right. Why don’t you call me back with an offer? I don’t want to put you on the spot now.”

Mack turned toward the door, shaking his head. “I should’ve known you’d pull a stunt like this.”

“Funny, I thought the same thing when I saw my paycheck.”

“You’re learning, kid,” he said as he opened the door.

“Is that a good thing?”

“In a word?” He smirked, and I smirked back. The word I was thinking of was: Not on your life.

“And Mack?” I called after him. “I want a laptop, too.”

“Why?”

“For show. I want to put it on my desk and not use it, like the big boys.”

“No,” he said flatly.

I took it as a maybe.

32

A
lot happened in the next year. My father recovered from his injuries, although his eyesight worsened and he had to have an operation on his Cadillacs. His emotional state rebounded slowly, and he hated to see the shop finally sold. We spent Sunday mornings visiting LeVonne’s grave, but that wound would never heal. My father couldn’t bring himself to accept LeVonne’s death, and I didn’t fault him for this. The murder of a young man should never pass without notice, though it does, every day.

Uncle Sal and Betty got married and bought his-and-her Harleys. Cam sold the equipment from Lawns ’R Us, took the proceeds to the track, and made a bundle on the Trifecta. Herman amassed a respectable chip collection, and his daughter Mindy became my best friend and maid of honor. By the morning of my wedding day so much had happened I had forgotten about any alleged bet.

“You’re out of your mind,” I told my father. “What bet?”

“We made a bet, Rita,” he said. “You and me.” He squinted at the mirror through his new glasses and straightened his rented bow tie. We were getting ready to go into the private anteroom at the Horticultural Center in Fairmount Park.

“I didn’t make any bet with you.” I stood next to him, appraising myself in the mirror. An ivory sheath that fit only when I inhaled, more crow’s-feet than last year, and a horrified expression. I was ready to be married. “I wouldn’t bet about a thing like that.”

“My daughter?”

“All right, maybe I would.” And even though I was getting married, I hadn’t quit poker. With a great deal of prodding, my future husband decided he would at least try the game and join us on Tuesday nights. “But I still don’t remember any bet.”

“Fifty dollars sound familiar?”

“Fifty?” I was too jittery to think. Everyone was out there waiting. Fiske and Kate. Mack and half my firm, including Janine. Cam, Herman and Essie, Sal and Betty. David Moscow and his bread-baking lover. Only the press was excluded; I didn’t care if I never saw another reporter in my life. Just last week I had declined another offer for a TV movie. Based on a true story, my ass.

“We made the bet when I was in the hospital,” he said. “On who you’d marry, remember?”

The first strains of Purcell’s “Trumpet Voluntary” floated through the door, and my mouth went dry. “Dad, we have to go.” I grabbed his arm, tottering on stiff ivory pumps, and we hustled together out of the anteroom.

“We made it when I was sick, in the hospital. Not the eye operation, the time before.”

We stood arm in arm at the entrance to the main room, waiting for our cue. The room was actually a huge greenhouse, with white wooden chairs set in rows amid exotic hibiscus and fragrant gardenia. Rubber and palm trees grew all around, and tiny white lights twinkled from the tropical foliage. It was pretty, but hotter than I’d ever expected. Only Italians would rent humidity in a Philadelphia summer.

“Rita, remember? I bet you fifty dollars that you’d marry Paul.”

The music swelled, our cue came, and we stumbled forward onto the white paper runner. Guests turned around, craning their necks. I moistened my lips in an attempt to look virginal. “You put fifty on Paul?” I said, out of the side of my mouth.

“Yeah. Remember now?”

I looked at Paul, who smiled back at me nervously. My heart actually fluttered, he always looked so handsome in a tux. Tall and strong, with nice, long sideburns. “You actually bet I’d marry Paul, Dad?”

My father nodded as we passed the last row of guests. Heads turned when we walked by. Everyone I knew, everyone I loved, grinning. My heart felt light, giddy. I knew I’d made the right decision. I looked down the aisle at the best ponytail that ever happened to me, and Tobin, my husband-to-be, smiled back. I squeezed my father’s arm.

“Sucker,” I said.

And he laughed.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Rita Morrone was harder to contain than most Italian girls, so I needed a great deal of advice in writing this book. I relied heavily and shamelessly on Lieutenant Jerry Gregory of the Radnor Police Department, who gave me so much of his time and expertise. I can’t thank him enough, and hope he’ll forgive the liberties I’ve taken here with his lovely police station, which is cleaner than my house. Special thanks, too, to Detective John Moroney (no relation, merely excellent karma) and Detective Lennie Azzaroni of the Philadelphia police, who answered all of my questions with patience and humor. Thanks to Maureen Rowley, Esq., of the superb federal public defenders office in Philadelphia. Any errors or omissions are on me.

This was the first time I was published between hardcovers, and for that I want to thank Geoff Hannell, my wonderful publisher, and Jack McKeown. Thanks to Gene Mydlowski, associate publisher and art director, for the best covers on legal thrillers anywhere and for his improvements to this manuscript. Special thanks to Carolyn Marino, my editor, who has been so supportive of me and my career from the outset. Carolyn is solely responsible for my content (when it’s good, that is), and her suggestions for improving this manuscript were, as always, right on the money. She is, quite simply, invaluable.

Permit me a kind word to the staff at HarperCollins, who have worked so hard on my behalf, including Laura Baker, publicist extraordinaire, her assistant, Marshall Trow, and the sales representatives. No author ever acknowledges the sales reps, but they should, because their efforts, though unseen, are the reason this book gets from me to you. Thank you, all of you. And for the Krispy Kremes, Bruce Unck.

Heartfelt thanks to my agent, Linda Hayes of Columbia Literary Associates, who made it all happen and who looks out for me and my work every day, and to Maggie Field of the Maggie Field Agency.

Thank you to the Giuntas in the Italian Market, and to Gene and Arlene Grossblatt, who taught me about gambling chip collecting. Many thanks to author, nurse, and friend Eileen Dreyer, as well as Pat Isenberg and Helene Tulsky, all for medical advice given at a most inconvenient time. Judge Hamilton’s favorite chess book, and mine, too, is Chess in Literature (Avon, 1974), edited by Marcello Truzzi.

All my love to my father and Fayne, and to my mother. To Rachel Kull, Franca Palumbo, and Sandy Steingard. To Kiki, a gem. And to Peter Tobey, who changed everything.

Finally, to the memory of Uncle Mikey, Uncle Domenic, and Uncle Rocky. All of them are very much with me, and each deserves a book to himself. Someday they’ll get it.

About the Author

Lisa Scottoline is a New York Times best-selling author and former trial lawyer. She has won the Edgar Award, the highest prize in suspense fiction, and the Distinguished Author Award, from the Weinberg Library of the University of Scranton. She has served as the Leo Goodwin Senior Professor of Law and Popular Culture at Nova Southeastern Law School, and her novels are used by bar associations for the ethical issues they present. Her books are published in over twenty languages. She lives with her family in the Philadelphia area and welcomes reader email at www.scottoline.com.

Also By Lisa Scottoline

The Vendetta Defense
Moment of Truth
Mistaken Identity
Rough Justice
Legal Tender
Final Appeal
Everywhere That Mary Went

Acclaim and Praise

CRITICAL ACCLAIM FOR
LISA SCOTTOLINE
AND
RUNNING
FROM THE LAW

“A fast-paced, funny courtroom thriller. It was a delight to follow Rita Morrone, Lisa Scottoline’s smart-mouthed, tough-as-nails heroine, along the twists and turns of this cleverly plotted mystery.”

—
Phillip Margolin
Author of
After Dark

“Quick, witty, flavorful and absorbing. Ms. Scottoline’s distinctive voice makes this book a pleasure to read, and I did so at warp speed.”

—
Richard North Patterson
Author of
Degree of Guilt
and
Eyes of a Child

“Scottoline’s latest has it all
—
surefooted suspense, a smart and sexy heroine, and humor to make you laugh out loud.”

—
Barbara Parker
Author of
Blood Relations
and
Suspicion of Innocence

“Lisa Scottoline supplies a … female perspective and a sense of humor … with immensely pleasurable results.”

—
Houston Chronicle

“A riveting read with attitude. Rita Morrone is a tough, sassy heroine you will want to adopt.
Running from the Law
will keep you on the edge of your seat.”

—Lynn Hightower
Author of
Flashpoint

“Lisa Scottoline has been added to my short list for must-read authors. Her stories are filled with teeth gnashing suspense, her characters are compelling, and her humor cuts to the heart of the issue with laser-like accuracy.”

—Janet Evanovich
Author of
One for the Money
and
Two for the Dough

“What fun! Lisa Scottoline brings something new to the lawyer-mystery—a brillant sense of humor.”

—Susan Isaacs

“[A] fast-paced and witty crime thriller [that] features a smart-mouthed, poker playing attorney … Scottoline has produced a royal flush in
Running from the Law.
”

—San Francisco Examiner

“Filled with fast-paced action, tantalizing plot twists and the unforgettable Rita,
Running from the Law
is a completely satisfying novel of suspense and human drama.”

—
Philadelphia Inquirer

“A fresh, fast-paced, irreverent writing style.”

—
Tallahassee Democrat

“Solid gold. Scottoline’s hardcover debut is a keeper, with a heroine who’s almost as funny as she thinks she is—which puts her miles ahead of most other lawyers you know.”

—
Kirkus Reviews
(starred review)

“Rita is an engaging character, funny and not against a little ‘creativity in the courtroom.’”

—
San Antonio Express News

“A fast-paced, fast-talking legal thriller … through Scottoline’s expert design, the window dressing counts for much, turning this novel into something more than a thriller from a female point of view. There’s an intelligent sense of irony at work.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“Fresh, fast, and furious … excellent.”

—
Poisoned Pen

“Scottoline draws on her own experience as a former corporate lawyer and federal court clerk, giving a feel of authenticity to the courtroom scenes and accurate descriptions of law firm politics. Her characters are blessed with the believable personalities, carrying qualities both likable and not.”

—
USA Today

“This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, in entirely coincidental, and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.”

“RUNNING FROM THE LAW. Copyright © 2001 by Lisa Scottoline. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBound ”

ISBN: 0-0607-6869-X

First HarperPaperbacks printing: November 1996

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