Invincible: A Novel (9 page)

PURE EVIL

Phil was standing in front of the bathroom mirror preparing for trial. He was defending the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. If he came out on the winning end it could be the biggest case of his career, and he felt pretty good about a favorable outcome. And why shouldn’t he have high expectations? He was fucking the judge who was presiding over the case and the DA was a very close friend of his. After he pulled this one off, he envisioned himself making about forty mil a year, not including all the perks: vacations, usage of the company jets, yachts, five-star suites, call girls … the possibilities were endless.

Phil worked hard kissing ass and cutting throats to get to where he was. He had some of the most notorious crime bosses in the world eating out of the palm of his hand, but there was
one little chink in his armor, one skeleton in his closet, and he needed to get rid of it. That skeleton was Jake Billings.

Phil had just gotten the news this morning and he couldn’t believe what he had heard. There was no way Jake was still alive; he had heard of being lucky but this motherfucker had to have cat in his blood. Why was the man so hard to kill? “I should’ve finished him off while he was in that damn coma,” Phil screamed at his reflection in the mirror. It didn’t matter to him that deep down inside he knew he really owed Jake his life. And the funny thing was that Jake was the kind of guy Phil liked; the kind of guy he wouldn’t mind going to a ball game with or just shooting some hoops with. Sure, Phil was a Jew, and Jake was a nigga, Phil thought at times, but they had so much in common. But as quick as those thoughts would arise, they would be overshadowed by this: The nigga has to die.
People supposed to walk around life knowing that they owe me a favor, not vice versa. Who the fuck is he?
And then there was that thing about Jake fucking his lady. Some how Phil couldn’t get past that part. That and the daily nightmare he would have almost every morning—while he was awake.

The nightmares started the day after Jake saved Phil’s life, back when Phil was defending Don “Phat” Murphy, who in Phil’s mind had to be one of the sickest bastards God ever decided to put on earth. The best therapy money could buy couldn’t make him feel sane after the whole ordeal. He could barely sleep and felt haunted every time he took a shower or endured any idle time. Not even Phil’s eight-figure salary could ease his pain. He just wanted to forget the whole thing ever happened, and in order for that to happen, Jake had to die.
Phil convinced himself that that would be the only way to purge himself of the horrible memory. Jake was the link to a very deep, dark, and painful secret. If it got out, Phil felt it would ruin his career and his life.

A few years back, Phat Murphy and his ten-man organization were picked up on gun-running charges and distribution of heroin on school grounds. Everybody thought it was over for them, including Phat Murphy. Then a friend of his told him about a lawyer named Phil Rosenberg; one of the best Jewish attorneys in town. The friend said he cost a lot, but he gets charges dropped like weight from a fat man on crack. It didn’t take much more convincing than that for Phat Murphy to hire Phil, and sure as shit Phil got Murphy and eight of his boys completely off; the other two took the weight for the rest of the crew. The two that laid down had no priors, which made it easy for the judge to justify giving them only three to six with the possibility of being home in a year and a half with good behavior. The not-guilty verdict sent a sense of power to Phat Murphy’s head so great that only a bullet would stop it.

Phat began to think he could do anything and get away with it, and he did just that for about three years, with the help of Phil’s counsel. But one day he went too far by deciding to use public school buses to transport his drugs from one side of town to another. He had both students and bus drivers on his payroll. This low-life stunt lasted about two years before the feds deemed his run was up. When Phil managed to have him raised on a million dollar bail, Phat once again thought he would beat the rap. Phil tried to explain to Murphy the next day during a private meeting that he held no power with the feds.
“I’ve been trying to tell you for years that all my power lies with the state,” Phil said. “You’re going to have to serve some time on this one.”

“I spent over four million with you over the past five years, you better figure something out, bitch!” Phat Murphy was steaming hot by this point. “I gave your Jew ass five hundred gees of mine to put up in case something happened, right?”

“Yes, you have a retainer with me. And I’ve defended you and your friends relentlessly for years.”

“Right,” Phat Murphy yelled, ignoring Phil’s argument. “Something just happened you dumb fuck—so get to defending. As a matter of fact,” Phat Murphy spoke in a low, even tone, “I’m not an unreasonable man. I understand that I might have to pay a debt to society, and I’m willing to do that. But if I have to pay so do you. Being that I’ve given you around five mil up to this point, I figure you need to give me about half of that back. You can have the money sent to the same place you got the wire from. You can make the call now.”

Phil knew that Murphy wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. He was in Phat Murphy’s office; they could have him murdered and buried with no one ever being hip to what went down. Knowing he was in a tight spot Phil tried to talk his way out of death’s field of vision. “Before you try anything stupid with me, right, you should know that my secretary and about five other people know I came to see you. And forcing me to wire money is extortion—punishable by a lengthy prison sentence—trust me I’m your lawyer.” Phil managed to muster a slight smile as he haggled for his life. “I said you would have to do some time, but that doesn’t mean forever. I’m sure I can get you thirty-six months—forty-eight tops. I mean damn, Don, the charge you
got carries forty years and I’m telling you that you may have to do three or four. No lawyer can promise you better than that. Do you know what it takes to get a federal judge in your pocket?”—No answer—“About ten to fifteen mil, and that type of money isn’t easy to come by.”

“Speak for your fucking self,” Murphy said. “Stop fucking assuming shit you dumb Jew. I got the money to buy the judge so get to putting the bid in. And for the record,” Phat Murphy added, “I hadn’t planned on killing you or extorting you, I planned on blackmailing you, so make the call!”

Confused, Phil asked Murphy, “How do you plan on doing that?”

“I’m just kidding you now.” Murphy laughed. “Earlier I was serious but you have put me at ease so I’m good now. I’ll see you later. Here”—he pointed to a wooden box on his desk—“have a cigar and find your way out.”

Phil took the cigar, thanked his client, and left the office feeling a little shook up but not scared. He knew big-time gangster types always went around trying to scare people shitless. A few of them were the real deal, but most of them were blowing smoke out their ass, and Don “Phat” Murphy didn’t fit the description of someone who was intimidating or vicious. He wasn’t believable in Phil’s book. Phil had seen too many real gangsters in his time to believe this guy. To reassure himself, Phil thought of some of the reasons he felt made Murphy not so tough. One was the nickname “Phat” when the man was skinny as a rail. And the other? Well, why did all his friends call him Don like he was some kind of boss when his real name was Donald? “What an asshole that kid is,” Phil said to himself as he rode down the highway. “I’m gonna make sure he gets every
bit of time that he deserves. Then I’m going to blow that five hundred gees on a new Porsche and a couple of Franck Muller watches.” Phil then wondered what Murphy’s parents looked like; what their nationality was. Murphy was definitely mixed with something or other—a fucking mutt. How dare he fuck with me?

What Phil didn’t know then was that Donald “Phat” Murphy was probably the most malicious man he would meet in this lifetime. His father was Italian and black, and his mother was Cuban and Polish. Somehow this fusion of nationalities afforded him the opportunity to connect with gangsters of all races. It was said that he personally liked to rape men that crossed him. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he would videotape it and make his victims watch themselves being violated before he killed them. That was the exact plan he had for Phil. So when Phil’s car pulled off the highway, so did the car that Murphy was in. Murphy wanted to keep up with Phil’s whereabouts but he wasn’t aware of the fact that he was being followed, too.

Phat Murphy either followed Phil or had someone keep tabs on him around the clock for the next two weeks. Doing so he learned that Phil had a thing for some black chick who owned a condo in the good part of town. Phil made it his business to get there at least four days out of the week. Murphy had the location of where he could snatch Phil from but maybe he would do this one a little different.
I’ma do this cracker dirty right inside his bitch’s crib
, Murphy thought.
Then I’ll do her right in front of him
. The thought made him feel that this may be one of the best tapes in his collection.

Murphy made the call to his crew and let them know tonight was the night it would go down. He had three dudes and a chick to play the condo and wait for the lawyer to return. “When he get there I want Betty to ring the bell holding a handful of flowers, like a delivery person. Once she gets that door opened you guys know what to do. I’ll be on my way.”

Phat Murphy’s crew did as they were instructed and it went easier than they expected; they didn’t even have to use the flowers stunt. When they went to the door the chick they had posing as the flower girl turned the doorknob to see if it was open first. It was, so she and her three accomplices ran up in the joint with their pistols out and totally caught Phil and Mary-beth off guard. They pistol-whipped Phil until he passed out, then stripped him and the girl of all their clothes and hogtied them.

Phil woke up shaken and confused. “What’s this all about?” He attempted to get some answers for the madness that was taking place.

“Shut the fuck up,” one of his captors said. “You’ll find out soon enough.” Phil did as he was told. Mary-beth laid there wondering what the fuck was happening. What had Phil gotten them into?

It took a little more than an hour for Murphy to show up; to Phil and Mary-beth it felt like an eternity. When he walked through the door he was all business. In a strange way Phil was happy to see his client. Maybe he could at least talk to the man; his goons were having none of it. “What the fuck, man?” He tried his hand. “What are you doing? What is this all about?”

“This is about me fucking you and your bitch up the ass,
recording it on my camera, and playing it back for you to watch. Afterward, I’m going to kill you both and watch the whole thing later on.”

Hearing what these people had planned for them Mary-beth started to scream, which only got her knocked out cold from a right hand to the left side of her jaw.

“Let’s get this party started,” Phat said, setting the camera up.

“Listen, man, this ain’t necessary, you don’t have to do this.”

“I know it isn’t,” Murphy said, “but I want to do it. I want you to feel pain.”

Feeling he had nothing to lose, Phil yelled, “You fucking faggot … I’m gonna kill you!”

Murphy laughed. “And how do you plan to do that?” he asked.

“Please don’t do this,” Phil begged. “Please don’t do this …” His voice trailed off into a whimper.

All this was amusing to his antagonist. “Take him into the bedroom.” A few members of his crew did as they were instructed. After Phil was removed from the living room the camera was set up in the other room. Murphy casually walked in behind his men. “I think you’re gonna like this.” He punctuated his statement with a series of punches, knees, and kicks until he was at the point of exhaustion. “Pick ’im up off the floor and put ’im in the bed,” the boss ordered. Phil was hoisted off the floor, then the camera lens was adjusted, making sure the positioning was right. Then the unthinkable began. Murphy actually shoved himself up Phil’s ass.

Phil let out an ungodly scream.

Murphy was about two minutes into the rape when he and Phil heard four gunshots. Startled, Murphy hopped off the
bed, but he wasn’t strapped. The door to the bedroom flew open and Jake walked in with a smoking gun in hand. Jake had been selling weed to Phil and Mary-beth ever since he’d met her at the mall.

Phat Murphy couldn’t believe what was going on. “What the fuck are you doing here, J.B.?”

“I’m just visiting a couple of friends of mine.”

“Mind your business and let me out of here and there won’t be any problems,” Phat Murphy said, causing Jake to bust out in hysterical laughter.

“You got some nerve telling me what to do right now you bitch-ass motherfucker. You’re in no position to give out orders, especially to a man with a gun in his hand who just murdered four of your peoples downstairs. As a matter of fact, I got a few orders for you. First of all, untie that fucking man you nasty, perverted son of a bitch. You’re a sick fuck and so is—well, I mean so
was
—them motherfuckers downstairs. Who the fuck do y’all think y’all are doing this kind of shit to people?”