Judge & Jury Page 16

  I followed Frank into his office. There was a cheap hardwood desk cluttered with pictures of his family. On the walls there were some cheesy prints of Italy and a signed photo of Derek Jeter eating at one of Frankie’s restaurants. A few tubes containing rolled-up architectural plans were leaning against the wall. I smiled. I wasn’t sure if Frankie Delsavio had ever been near a construction site in his life.

  “So you have to excuse me.” He motioned me to sit. “I’ve been out of touch the past few days. Down in Atlantic City, checking out a big site. So tell me”—he grinned, smirking—“how goes the trial?”

  “Fuck you, you cockroach,” I said, grabbing him by the collar and taking him right out of his leather chair and pushing him against the wall. “I want to know where he is.”

  A few books and artifacts fell to the floor. The grin on Frank Delsavio’s face disappeared. This was not a small man, and no one, not even the cops, pushed him around.

  “I invited you in here as a friend, Nicky Smiles. There’s about two dozen people out there who don’t have much to do in their life. They can blow off your head. You’re not even on active duty, Pellisante. You sure you wanna do this now?”

  “I asked about Cavello,” I said, pushing him harder against the wall.

  “How would I know, Nicky? I told you, I’ve been out of touch. Besides, the Boss doesn’t clue me in on every little decision he makes.”

  “Every little decision.” I smiled, the rancor boiling over inside. “You know, Frankie, the only reason I never closed you down was because I thought you had the only sense of humor in this shitbag outfit. Otherwise, you’d be waiting for your trial, same as him. But I’ll bring you in, Frankie. I could do it tomorrow. There’s enough on you, I swear. We’ll close this whole operation down. You’ll all lose the Beamers, your fat-cat jobs.”

  “You know what I think, Nicky?” Frankie stared as he spoke. He shook his head at me with a little smile. “I don’t think you have the clout to do that right now. I don’t even think you’re on this case. The only reason I let you in here was out of respect to your past position. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d let go of my shirt—before I call in our lawyer down the hall and he slaps you and the Bureau with a harassment suit. That wouldn’t go over well in the classroom, would it, Nicky?”

  “We’re not talking business as usual, Frankie.” I tightened my grip. “This isn’t going away. This is like Bin Laden. You don’t want to step anywhere near this shit. I’ll give you a week, then I’ll do what I promised. I’ll shut the whole operation down.” I let go of his collar. But I still stared at him. “That was a one-year-old kid your boss burned up, Frankie. Coulda been your granddaughter.”

  Delsavio straightened his shirt collar. “I don’t know where Dominic Cavello is. And that’s the truth. And just for the record, Nicky, no way that could ever be my grandkid. ’Cause I’d never rat him out.” Then Delsavio grinned, flexing his shoulders. “But if he happens to call in or send me a postcard, I promise, you’ll be the first to know. Even before his own wife and kids, Nicky Smiles.” He grinned. “Anything you want me to tell him, you know, if he should write in?”

  “Just this.” I smoothed out the mobster’s jacket. “Tell him I keep my promises, too.”

  Chapter 79

  AN HOUR LATER, I was in front of Assistant Director in Charge Michael Cioffi, who ran the FBI’s New York office. “I want back in,” I said.

  Cioffi was my boss. He was the one who had placed me on administrative leave after I beat Cavello. Outside of the politicos down in DC, he was one of the most senior people in the FBI.

  “Nick.” He leaned back in his chair. “No one holds you responsible for what happened yesterday.”

  “That’s not what it’s about, Mike. Cavello is. And I know more about him than anyone in the Bureau. Besides, we both know I’m a little too late in the game to ever qualify for tenure.”

  The ADIC smiled. He stood up, stepped over to his office window. You could see Ground Zero from there, the vast, empty space. Beyond it, the Statue of Liberty. “So how’re the ribs?”

  “No harm, no foul.” I raised my arms. “I get a big fat commendation for being wounded in the line of duty, and I didn’t even have to stay overnight.”

  “That’s sort of the problem, Nick.” Cioffi smiled again, but this time tightly, his hands against the sill. “You weren’t exactly in the line of duty. And Ray’s been handling this for months now. And right now, the shit’s hitting the fan a little.”

  I stood up, too. “This isn’t about Ray, Mike. I’ll report to him, I don’t care. Just put me back on assignment. You need me.” I looked at the boss I had served under for eight years. “I need it, Mike.”

  The ADIC looked closely at me. I couldn’t quite read him. He stepped back to his desk and picked up a file. It looked like a field report. “I heard you paid a visit this morning to a certain union headquarters in New Jersey. You’re not on active duty, Nick. You can’t go wild, on a whim. We’ve got our people on this, Nick. They can’t be looking over their shoulder.”

  “I understand that, Mike. That’s why I want back in.”

  Cioffi sat back. I was just waiting for the nod. He let out a long, deliberating breath. “I can’t.”

  “You what?” If the ADIC had pulled out a gun right there and popped a couple of hollow-point rounds into my chest, I don’t think I would have looked at him with more surprise. “Mike?”

  “You’re one of the best I have, Nick. But you’re too close to this case. Way too close. Too emotional. This isn’t a witch hunt, Nick, it’s an FBI investigation. The answer’s no.”

  I sat there, jaw hanging, the words digging their way into my brain, one by one.

  “I’ll give you another assignment if you want back in. Wall Street. Antiterrorism. Name it, Nick. But not this.”

  Not this. I stood there absorbing the blows. I’d tracked this bastard for years. I’d lost two men bringing him in. I didn’t want another assignment. All I could do was stare back blankly. “Please, Mike . . .”

  “No.” The ADIC shook his head again. “I’m sorry, Nick, you’re out. And I won’t change my mind.”

  Chapter 80

  RICHARD NORDESHENKO HAD flown back out of Washington, DC. Right under the almighty U.S. government’s nose. Through London, then on to Tel Aviv. Then he drove along the coast back to Haifa.

  The acacias were blooming as he piloted his custom Audi S6 up the heights of Mount Carmel to his home high above the Mediterranean. He had burned his extra passports before he left the States; he would never need them again.

  “Father!” Pavel gleefully shouted as Nordeshenko stepped through the door. He was two days early. His wife, Mira, ran out of the kitchen. “Richard! Is that you?”

  “It’s me,” Nordeshenko answered. He hugged both of them tightly, each in an arm. Three days before he didn’t know if he would ever see them again. “It’s good to be home.”

  And it was. Through the glass doors, the deep turquoise of the Mediterranean was like a welcome, mood-lifting tonic to him. And the tender embrace of his family. He would never deceive them again. He had all the money he needed; his career was over. This was a young man’s game, after all.

  “Father, come see.” Pavel pulled him by the hand. “I’ve found a defense against Kasparov’s Spanish opening. I’ve solved it!”

  “What an Einstein we’ve raised,” he joked to Mira.

  “No, what a Kasparov,” said Pavel.

  The boy tugged him into his room. Nordeshenko was exhausted. And not just from the flight. He had dropped Cavello off at a safe house they had arranged near Baltimore. The bastard was to be crated up and put on a freighter. And to where? Nordeshenko found some amusement in his destination. Even Interpol would not go there.

  He was happy to part ways. The malicious animal killed for sport, not for business or necessity. It was his nature. Back in Russia they would spit and call him a devil. Well, he had done his job. He hoped he would never see that
piece of garbage again in his life.

  “Look, Father.” Pavel dragged him over to the chess set. The boy held up a queenside bishop. “You see?”

  Nordeshenko nodded, but in truth, he didn’t. He was so incredibly weary. The board was a jumble to him. Chess was a young man’s game, too. But he smiled, tousling the young child’s hair. “Look in the bag. I’ve got something for you,” he said.

  The boy hurriedly undid the wrapping. His eyes grew wide.

  World Championship Poker. Pavel’s face erupted in joy. “Come,” he said, pushing the chessboard aside. “Let’s play.”

  “My little Einstein wants to play poker? Okay. We’ll go best out of three. Then I get to sleep for about a week!” Nordeshenko pulled up a seat, recalling his great bluff back in New York, which seemed a lifetime ago. “And I’ve got quite a poker story for you, Pavel.”

  His feet felt like twice their normal size. “Just let me take off these shoes.”

  Chapter 81

  FOR A WEEK straight I never left my apartment. I kept replaying the tape from Cavello’s escape. The scene in the elevator. I even timed it—exactly forty-seven seconds. I’d watch it over and over. Then I’d rewind it and play it again. And again. And again.

  The phone would ring. My doctor checking up on me. My department head from school. The Bureau—there was still an inquiry going on. And Andie—she called my cell phone a couple of times.

  Finally, I stopped picking up, even my cell. All I did was watch the tape. Each time it was the same. Cavello lunges out, hits the button. The two marshals try to rein him in. The doors open. In steps the guy with the beard, surprising them. No time to react. He takes out the marshals, flips Cavello the disguise. In a moment they’re gone.

  I focused on the guy with the beard. Zoomed in on his face. I tried to memorize every line, every feature. I kept running through the Homeland Security photo books I’d been given. I didn’t know what I was looking for. But something. There had to be something.

  Cavello was gone. Probably already out of the country by now. You could get aboard a freighter out of Newark or Baltimore; you could hop a private jet to some landing strip in Mexico, without filing a flight plan. Passports could be doctored.

  I kept reminding myself I’d been an FBI officer for thirteen years. It had been my world, my life. The vows I took, to uphold the law—these were sacred vows.

  But something Andie said had got me thinking.

  You can’t make the world come out right just because you want it that way, she had whispered to me through the door.

  Outside, darkness had fallen again. I took another swig of beer. I rewound the tape.

  I remembered what I’d said back to her, through the door.

  I can try.

  Chapter 82

  THE BUZZER RANG, startling me. I thought about just letting it go. Don’t even move. Whoever it is, they’ll go away. They always do. I took another sip of beer and let it go down slow.

  The ringing continued. Insistent. Irritating. Then maddening.

  “Nick. Come to the door. Don’t be a poop.” It was Andie.

  Maybe I was ashamed to see her because I’d made promises that now seemed empty. Maybe I was afraid to cause her more pain, or drag her in, now that I’d made up my mind what I wanted to do.

  The buzzing continued. “Nick, please. You’re being a jerk.”

  Maybe because I knew if I opened that door, I wouldn’t be able to close her out again. And maybe that scared me a little. Maybe it scared me a lot.

  But she was sitting on that damn buzzer.

  I paused the tape. Then I walked into the hallway. I stood for a moment in front of the door, still not sure what I was going to do. She buzzed again.

  “Hey!” I called out, finally opening the latch. “I’m coming.”

  She was dressed in a green cowl-necked sweater over jeans. “You look awful,” she said, staring at me.

  “Thanks.” I let her in. “How . . .” I started, but she cut me off.

  “You look like you’ve been wearing the same clothes for a week, and a shave sure wouldn’t hurt.”

  “How did you find me?”

  She stepped into the apartment, her eyes surveying the place. “You think there’s another Nicholas Pellisante who was shot and taken to Bellevue Hospital? You didn’t return my calls.”

  “You’d make a good cop,” I said, shuffling into the living room.

  “You make a lousy friend.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology not accepted. This could be a nice apartment.”

  Andie took off her coat and scarf and draped them over a chair. I sat down against the padded arm of the couch.

  “I went to the Bureau after I left the other day. I tried to put myself back on the case.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “They told me I was out. Off the case. No way in hell I’d ever get back on.”

  Andie looked shocked. “Why?”

  “Too emotional, they said. Too close. They’ll hook me up with any case I want. Just not this one.”

  “That seems totally unfair. What are you going to do now?”

  I looked up at her. Her molten eyes. The sweater, contracting and expanding with her breaths. “I don’t really know, Andie.”

  “You know what?” She came over and stood in front of me. She cupped my face in her hands. “You are too emotional, Pellisante. You are too close.”

  She brushed a kiss against my cheek. Then my eyes, my lips. I pulled her in to me. Her mouth was soft and warm, and tasted delicious. This time she kissed me hard. My hand traveled under her sweater. Over her bra. Every nerve in my body was excited, on edge. The hairs on my neck were standing. Andie had very soft skin, very nice breasts.

  She kissed me again, unbuttoning my shirt, popping a button. She ran her tongue across my shoulders and chest, licking along the edge of my wound. Then she yanked her sweater over her head. Was this a good idea? Did it matter? Not anymore it didn’t.

  I pulled her to the couch, undoing her pants. She grappled with my trousers, kissing me again, her thick hair falling all over my face.

  “I think we need each other, Nick,” she whispered, touching her lips to my cheek. “Whatever the reasons, it’s just the way it is.”

  I slid out of my pants and back onto the couch, and I pulled her soft body onto mine. I was finally inside her, and it felt right. We started to move against each other, into each other, whatever.

  “I’m not arguing. I’m glad you came.”

  “Not yet . . . but very soon.”

  Chapter 83

  THE FIRST TIME, we made love like two starved people who couldn’t get enough of each other, who hadn’t been with anyone for a long time. Which happened to be the truth. It was sweaty and frantic, and at that slapping, breakneck pace, we couldn’t hold back, and didn’t. I think we both came at about the same time, locking hands, locking on each other’s eyes, maybe already falling in love.

  “Oh, Jeez.” Andie collapsed into me, her hair damp with perspiration, her body drenched and spent. “That was long overdue, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I said exhaling, agreeing, rolling onto my back. “Overdue.”

  The second time it was a lot more tender. We moved into the bedroom, with a bottle of Italian Prosecco on the night table, Tori Amos on the CD player. This time it was slow and much more romantic, at least my idea of romance. It was like slow dancing. We found this nearly perfect rhythm. Both of our bodies were slick with sweat. I loved it.

  The third time, we went back at it like numero uno. Couldn’t control ourselves. The hottest yet. Probably the best. I guess it was something we were dying to do for a long time.

  The fourth . . .

  All right, there was no fourth. We were too empty, too spent. We just lay there, coiled together in each other’s arms. Andie’s heart was racing against my chest. I loved that too.

  “Don’t get the wrong impression,” she whispered. “I’m not that easy.
I usually don’t give it up until the second trial.”

  “Me either,” I said, breathing heavily. “Unless we’re unable to reach a conviction.”

  We stayed like that for a while, entwined and exhausted. It took all my remaining strength just to caress the curls of her hair with one finger.

  “I meant what I said before, Nick,” she whispered. “I know how much you want Cavello. And I know how much it hurts after what happened the other day. I know what it feels like having the thing you want most in the world taken from you.”

  “I know you do,” I said, squeezing her tight.

  “What I’m trying to say is, I want whatever happens between us to be in spite of that, Nick. Okay?”

  “Andie, I’m not going back to some bullshit job at the Bureau policing corporate tax returns. I can’t. I’m gonna get Cavello. With their help or without. For you, for me . . . it doesn’t matter. I can’t be right until it’s done, until it’s over.”

  “And me?” She shrugged. “Am I wrapped up in that, too?”

  “You?” I leaned on my elbow and smiled. “I think we’re sort of wrapped up in each other right now.”

  “I’m serious,” she said. “What happens now?”

  “Now?” I didn’t have an answer. I was a little scared by this incredible magnetism between us. In fact, I felt myself come alive again. All of a sudden we were at it again—my hands massaging her, Andie making ever-descending circles with her nails just above my crotch.

  “Now”—I rolled on top of her again—“I guess we go for four.”

  Chapter 84

  ANDIE AND I MADE LOVE a lot over the next couple of days. Four turned into seven, seven into ten, but neither of us was really counting, nothing as rational as that. A couple of times we even got dressed and went out in the neighborhood for a meal or some coffee. But all it took was a look. That look. And we’d rush back.