Simple Intent (10 page)

“We were working together, if that’s what you mean.” 

Reilly said, “I know, I just thought.” He didn’t know what he thought. But from the way Sailor was looking at him, Reilly could figure out what she thought. That he was acting like a real jerk. 

Sailor shook her head. “Maybe he’s waiting for our meeting on Monday. Damn, I’m already working four. How many do you have?”

“Six.”

“Six? How the hell did you get six?”

Reilly shrugged, “Double duty, remember?”

Sailor looked at Reilly, noticed his red eyes. No wonder the guy’s beat. He must be putting in twelve hours a day at MDB&S, and with the studies and the gig at The Comedy Club, he’d hardly have time to eat, much less sleep. 

But if that’s what it took, she’d do the same. There were only so many slots to fill. Sometimes she felt guilty, knowing Dad had pulled a few strings to get her here. But she’d had the grades, and this was where she wanted to be—because of Mom. She wondered if Reilly’s family was supportive, then she stopped herself. That was his business. And besides, they were only here for the summer and they were here to work, not build a long-lasting friendship or anything else.

“What is it?” Reilly said.

Sailor looked away. “I was just thinking, it would be great if we knew more about the case, maybe had some background.” She flipped to a fresh page in the legal pad. “Do you remember the guy’s name?”

Reilly hopped up. “Oh, you are gonna love me for this. Wait here.” 

He disappeared down the hall. Sailor heard something crash, some cursing and then Reilly was back, holding a thick, worn file over his heaving chest. He stood there with his flushed cheeks and saucer-sized pupils, adorable in a friend-of-your-little-brother way. But there was something else. Something brewing just below the surface, something that touched her and it wasn’t just that he could make her laugh. 

He said, “I got it.”

“What?”

“The case. Commonwealth of Pennsylvania v. Raymond Moses Bentley.”

“How did you get the case out of the office? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

Reilly grinned. He sat down and opened the file. “That’s Ray.” 

Sailor took a long look at the skinny black man with the swollen eye, bruised cheekbone and overgrown Afro. His shirt was torn and there was dried blood under his nose, but he held his head high and in his one good eye, she could see determination. ”What the hell happened to him?”

“He confessed.”

“Well, there’s that, but I was talking about the hair, and that shirt!”

“Sailor. He’s been in prison since 1977.” 

“Oh.” She started flipping pages, then stopped and looked sideways at Reilly. He was too quiet. “There’s something more, isn’t there?”

Reilly smiled. Sailor liked him like this. Confident. Quiet. Still.

“Oh yeah, there’s more.” Reilly jumped up, began pacing and reciting the facts of the case. Names, dates, convictions and appeals. It had all the makings of a landmark case: coerced confession, prosecutorial misconduct, drugs, mafia, bad cops, bad laws and now a big, bad prison.

Sailor couldn’t believe it. She shook her head saying softly, “It’s Banning’s next Failson-Nough.”

“It’s better than that. It’s our Failson-Nough. We could be famous.” 

Sailor leaned over Ray’s picture and said, “We could make history.” Then softer, “What did they do to you?”

Reilly tapped the attorney’s name on the file. “I never liked Deluca, you know?”

“What do you mean?” Sailor asked.

“I don’t know, it was just a feeling, like he was always trying too hard, or hiding something.”

“He’s had it rough.”

“Rough?”

“Easy, there. I just meant, with him losing his family and all. It was a tragedy. Such a gifted man, cut down in his prime.”

Reilly snorted. “Cut down in his prime? Jesus. Listen to you. The guy’s only human. And a lousy human at that!

“Hey. Be nice.”

“Tell that to Ray.” Reilly finished his beer, set the empty next to Ray’s open file and looked at Sailor. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. Deluca was the prosecutor in Ray Bentley’s case, and look at all the stuff he missed. Don’t try to tell me he was gifted. More like he was the gift. Bought and paid for in full.”

“What are you saying?”

“What, Sailor, can’t you believe there are bad people on the right side of the law, too?’ 

Reilly went to the file boxes, slipped out a folder and said, “Listen to this. ‘Commonwealth v. Hix, July 1981. Detective Hiram Berger, investigator. Edward John Deluca, defense counsel.’”

Sailor started to say something, but Reilly hushed her with a hand as he skimmed the page. 

“Hix, arrested on a murder/robbery charge in 1975, charges are dropped for lack of evidence then he’s re-arrested and taken to trial in 1981 where Deluca, as defense attorney, goes on record about a known drug dealer, James King.”

Sailor had to say something now. “Hold on. The same Detective Berger that beat the confession out of Ray?”

“The same Deluca who said there were no drugs in King’s Variety store, even put that woman, Maria on the stand to say so.”

“Maria Conchetta? Let me see that.” Sailor reached for the file, began flipping through the pages. “This is huge, Reilly. You realize that, don’t you? Where’s Hix now?”

“Died 1998, in Alabama.”

“Well there goes that depo.” She picked up her pad. “You’ve got everyone in here but—”

“The mayor?” offered Reilly.

“Yeah, really,” Sailor said.

Reilly held up his hand, ticking off his fingers, “We’ve got Gallo working for King.”

“Dead,” Sailor said.

“We’ve got LeChance buying drugs from King.”

“Dead and dead.”

“And,” Reilly continued, “Ray Bentley mentions Moreno.”

“Great, add one convict and a Mob Kingpin.”

“Don’t forget our pal Deluca and the cop, Berger.”

“Alive and kicking.” 

Reilly drummed his fingers on a leg, “Maybe I should go.”

“What? Go where?” Sailor asked.

Reilly smiled. “To a party.”

“What are you talking about? One minute we’re discussing a case, now you want to go to a party? Are you serious, Reilly?”

“Dead serious. This is for the case.”

“What does a party have to do with Ray Bentley?”

“It’s Detective Berger’s retirement party. And MDB&S is helping to foot the bill. Apparently Hiram Berger did a few favors for the big guns in the past, and this is their way of showing appreciation for one of Philly’s finest. Everyone who’s anyone will be at The Ritz tonight.”

“And we’ll just walk right in?” Sailor scoffed.

“Well, sort of.”

Sailor looked cautious. “Sort of, Reilly?”

“All you have to do is call Deluca and have him invite you.”

“Call Deluca? Me. Uh, no.” Sailor fell back onto the couch cushions, shaking her head.

Reilly leaned in. “Just tell him you have to talk to him. He’s sweet on you and he’ll want you to go with him. I know for a fact he got dumped today, and the last thing Fast Eddie wants is his picture in tomorrow’s social pages without a beautiful girl on his arm. So, here.” Reilly pulled a tiny silver phone from his pocket and tossed it to Sailor. 

She caught the phone.

Reilly grinned, knowing he had her. “Worse case scenario, counselor?”

Sailor gave him her best why-I-oughta look, then punched in the number to the MDB&S message service. 

A few clicks later she was connected to Deluca’s cellular.

“Deluca? Sailor Beaumont. I have some information on the Witherspoon case. I could send it to Mimi, but I think you’re going to want to see this yourself.”

Deluca pulled his eyes from the jiggling breasts of the manicurist, tried to concentrate on what Sailor was saying. He’d been wondering what the rest of the girl’s tattoo looked like and wasn’t happy about the interruption. But he switched hands and let the girl buff and file as he spoke into the phone. “Why don’t you bring it with you tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“There’s an MDB&S function. Didn’t you get the memo?” he quipped. They didn’t call him Fast Eddie for nothing.

“I guess I missed that.”

“That’s okay. It’s at the Ritz at eight. I’ll have a car pick you up.”

“No,” she said, “ I mean, why don’t we meet you there? Mr. Reilly and I, that is.”

Deluca scoffed. “Sure, Reilly’s welcome to tag along. And Sailor?”

“Yes?”

“You might want to help him dress.”

Sailor closed the cell phone, tossed it to Reilly. “We’re in.”

Reilly whooped, raising his palms to the ceiling. “Party. Party. We goin’ to a party.”

Sailor watched him dance around. He was undeniably cute and with that body... She looked away, gathered her things. “Yeah, Ry. We going, all right. Listen.” She glanced at her watch. “We’ve got less than four hours and I’ve got to do some shopping.”

“Me, too.”

“Please, don’t say Wal-Mart.”

“Hell, no. Radio Shack.”

“Radio Shack? I don’t want to know. Do I?”

Reilly smiled, held a finger to his lips, shaking his head. 

Sailor hesitated at the door, not wanting to leave. It was so quiet in her apartment, so empty. She looked back at Reilly standing at the stereo, CD in hand. “Wear a suit, Reilly. And a clean shirt. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

“Works for me.” Reilly turned up the volume as she left, then danced to his bedroom, making another pit stop in the bathroom.

A man in a black suit and small cap stood near the open door of the Lincoln Town car parked on the tarmac. Maria looked through the plane’s tiny window. She could see Philadelphia’s high rises in the distance and wished Mama was still alive to see her baby coming home in a private plane on the arm of a doctor. She would love him.

Doc finished signing paperwork with the pilot. “Great flight, James. See you tomorrow.” He waved off any assistance, grabbed two bags from the underbelly of the plane and tossed them in the trunk of the waiting car. 

Traffic was worse than Maria remembered. Unhappy memories came rushing back with every mile. There was no ocean to gaze into, no gardening to demand her attention, no distractions, except the one sitting next to her. She raised the driver’s partition and distracted herself all the way to the hotel.

The penthouse suite was fairytale perfect, lace and satin, glass and silver. Maria sipped the complimentary Chardonnay and took her time getting dressed while Doc napped on the large bed. She watched him sleep, glad she hadn’t come alone. She allowed herself to believe, if only for a minute, that everything would be okay. Maybe she would go to the party, deliver the message and that would be the end of it. Maybe she could go back to Cape Cod and start her new life with Doc, putting her past behind her once and for all. Maybe she wouldn’t have the dreams here—the ones where she stood on a street corner talking to strangers and calling them by name. The dreams that ended like nightmares, with shouting, guns and blood.

“You’re beautiful.”

Maria turned around. Doc stared at her from the bed. How long had he been awake? 

She went to the bed and kissed him then asked, “Could you?” She turned her back so that he could pull up the long zipper on the satin gown. The deep navy dress complimented the sapphire earrings perfectly and a large opal brooch winked from her cleavage.

Doc whistled. “I’ll be the envy of every man at that party.”

Maria’s smile disappeared. “Well, let’s not make them wait any longer then.” 

It was hot and humid in Philly. Hair stuck to the pimply foreheads of the valet runners. Their starched white shirts bunched up under snug red vests and escaped waistbands of black Dockers. Ties hung loosened and askew. Their mandatory black sneakers served them well as they sprinted from parking garages three and five blocks away. They drove Bentleys and Porsches, Mercedes and Lexus SUVs. They fought over Ferraris and made themselves scarce when a minivan was next in line. The tips were good, the hours great. But it was the driving they loved.

Maria and Doc arrived in a white stretch limousine. Cameras flashed, reporters scribbled as security men spoke into shoulder mics. The party was in full swing.

Sailor drove while Reilly went over the plan. Her purse was now a fully automatic camera and Reilly was wired with a mini-recorder. Sailor declined the hardware, claiming she had her own secret weapon. One look at her dress, and Reilly had to agree. They pulled up to the stoplight. 

Reilly fumbled with wires attached to a gold angel-shaped pin. “Why do I feel like I’m in a bad Scooby-Doo episode?” 

Sailor giggled. “Here. Let me help you.” She tucked the wires inside his shirt, straightened the lapel pin and tightened his tie before the light changed.

Constructed in 1908 as a bank, the neoclassical building that now housed the Ritz-Carlton had been modeled after the Pantheon. Sitting at the right hand of City Hall, the world class hotel with its adjoining thirty story tower was an impressive sight, even to Sailor who’d seen the ruins of the real thing.