The Vendetta Defense (34 page)

“No comment,” she said, suppressing her excitement as she hit the building, grabbed an elevator, and punched the button for her floor. She could hardly wait for the doors to open so she could jump out. “Is Bennie in?” she called when she hit the reception area, but the receptionist was leaving, bag in hand.

“Uh, Bennie?” the receptionist asked. She was apparently a temp, a tall, thin woman with a long, dark braid and too much makeup; but then to Judy, everybody but Marlene Bello wore too much makeup. “Bennie Rosato? She said she went on an emergency TRO, whatever that is. On a First Amendment case. She’s in court.”

Damn. No wonder Bennie hadn’t answered her cell phone. Judy had wanted to talk to her about the red truck before she got arrested, not after. “May I have my messages and mail? Also the newspapers.”

“Hold on a minute.” The receptionist turned reluctantly back to the desk, rooted through the papers to locate Judy’s phone messages, correspondence, and today’s newspapers, and handed them all to her. “Your name is Judy Carrier, right? Where’s the dog?”

“With a man named Feet. Thanks for the mail.” Preoccupied, Judy flipped through her phone messages. WCAU-TV, WPVI-TV, ABC, NBC, CNN, Court TV and an array of newspapers. “You a temp, by the way? Where’s Marshall?”

“Gotta go. Late lunch and all.”

“Have fun.” Judy grabbed the papers and her correspondence, chugged to her office, and ignored everything but the front page of
The Daily News.
IT’S OVER, JOHNNIE, read the tabloid headline, and Judy flipped the page to read the story.

In a major power grab, Marco Coluzzi, chief financial officer of Coluzzi Construction Company, this morning blocked his brother John’s entrance to the company offices. The surprise move almost caused a riot on this tiny block of South Philadelphia. Private security guards apparently employed by Marco Coluzzi were able to keep John Coluzzi, chief operating officer of Coluzzi Construction, and others from reporting to work without violence. Philadelphia police arrived quickly on the scene, and one highly placed company official commented that they had been called in advance to keep a lid on any potential disturbance.

Neither Coluzzi brother could be reached for comment, but Coluzzi Construction has issued a press release stating that, “Effective today, Marco Coluzzi has been named president and CEO of Coluzzi Construction. All previous contracts made under prior management will remain in force and be honored.”

My God. So Marco had made his move. What sort of king waited to be crowned, when he could crown himself? Judy read the tabloid’s account, then the next newspaper’s and the next, sinking into her desk chair in her sunny office, soaking it all in. It couldn’t have gone better if she’d planned it. She flipped the page to continue reading the story, and next to it was a sidebar that was even better.

Coluzzi Construction, considered a shoo-in for the construction contract for the new waterfront shopping complex, was today denied the nod. City officials state that the contract was offered to Melton Construction instead because of “their high quality of workmanship and price, of course,” but insiders say that the recent racketeering lawsuit against Coluzzi Construction over the nearby Philly Court Center was behind the upset. The contract was valued at $11 million.

Judy was stunned. She had cost the Coluzzis a fortune. The timing of Marco’s takeover was no coincidence. If John had been responsible for the Philly Court debacle, it had to have been the final blow against him. Judy changed her plans. She had come back to the office to press her lawsuit against the Coluzzis, to prepare and file the first wave of interrogatories and document requests, but the takeover became instant priority. Marco had declared war, and she could only guess how John would react. Judy had no way of knowing. Then she thought about it. Yes, she did.

The tapes, between Fat Jimmy and Angelo Coluzzi. They were her only way into the inner workings of the Coluzzis, and she hadn’t finished listening to them yet. They’d been a dry hole for the murder of Frank’s parents, except for the fact that Angelo and Fat Jimmy had been together that night. But what could the tapes tell her, if anything, about the warring brothers?

Judy considered it. John Coluzzi and Fat Jimmy were allies now, maybe they had been for a long time. Maybe there had been discussions of Marco on the tapes. It was likelier than not. She tossed the newspaper aside and hurried to the conference room, where she had left the box of tapes.

But when she got there, they were gone.

33

J
udy couldn’t believe what she was seeing. The conference room was the way she’d left it this morning, minus the lo mein cartons, the dog dish, and the big cardboard box of tapes.
“Who took my tapes?”
she shouted.

She turned on her heels, but the office looked empty, normal for lunchtime. Nobody would have gone into the war room and taken evidence from it. It was an unwritten rule, observed by everyone. Who was new on the scene? Then Judy remembered. There had been a temp at the front desk. The temp was the only possibility. And she had been on the way out when Judy came in.

One of the secretaries appeared behind her. “The temp was in there this morning,” she said. “She told me you told her to clean up the food and all—”

“Thanks, but I didn’t do that.” Alarmed, Judy sprinted from the conference room, past the astonished expressions of the lawyers, including Murphy, who was escorting clients to the reception area. Judy didn’t care. “Murphy, call Marshall’s house and check on her!”

“Why? What?”

“Our regular receptionist, Marshall. Just do it!” Judy called over her shoulder, and took off for the reception area. “Where’s that temp?” she shouted, but the reception desk was empty.

“You just missed her,” one of the associates said, waving a brief. “But don’t use her, she’s terrible. She’s been trying to go home all morning, but I needed her to type something for me. Look at it! She types worse than I do.”

But Judy was already hustling for the elevator. The steel doors were sealed closed but she heard the cab
ping
downstairs as it landed on the ground floor. She couldn’t wait for it to return. She ran for the staircase next to the elevator, banged open the fire door, and ran down the concrete steps, her clogs clumping on the steel tread of each step. She wound down the one flight, then hit the fire door and slammed into it, banging it open.

“Where’d that woman go, with the braid?” she called to the alarmed security guard, who pointed to the service entrance of the building.

“Out the back. Said she wanted to avoid the press. Is there a problem?”

Judy was off and running, down a short corridor, past a green time clock with white cards in slots underneath, and out the back exit, which dumped her into an alley. She looked down the street just in time to see the receptionist’s dark braid flying around the corner.

Judy darted up the alley after her and found herself on a hot sidewalk crowded with businesspeople coming back from lunch. She looked left. The dark braid wasn’t in sight. She looked right. Up ahead, running now against the current of the crowd, sprinted the woman with the dark braid. She was tall enough that her head bobbed above the crowd.

Judy barreled through the crowd, keeping a bead on her. The temp had on running shoes, but they were no match for clogs. Judy could do anything in clogs. She could leap tall buildings. Running down a fake temp was a no-brainer.

Her heart beat faster. She sweated through her days-old suit. Questions flew through her brain. How had they known about the tapes? Had they been watching her? Who had sent this woman? Judy kept her eye on the dark braid, who swerved around a corner toward Chestnut Street, heading into the heart of the business district, clearly hoping to lose Judy in the crowd.

Judy put on the afterburners, becoming breathless, and the dark braid picked up her pace, too, tearing down the street. Startled passersby jumped out of the way and looked on curiously. The distance between Judy and the woman was widening. The crowd thickened. Judy was losing her. Clogs were stupid. Then Judy got an idea. If the dark braid could use the crowd, so could she.

“Stop that woman, she took my purse!” Judy called out, dimly aware that Bennie had tried that trick once, with success. But nobody stopped. They just let the woman run by. Damn. Judy charged ahead and got another idea.

“Stop that woman, she took my baby!” Judy shouted, louder, but nobody stopped the woman with the dark braid, who tore down the street, slipped through traffic and made it to the next curb, and took off. So much for the City of Brotherly Love. Judy got another idea.

“Stop that woman—it’s
Cher
!” she screamed, but this time a ripple of excitement went through the passersby and they stopped and stared at the woman with too much makeup and a long black braid. One thrust a pen and paper at her for an autograph, and a young man started chasing after her. Bingo! “Hey, everybody!” Judy hollered at the top of her lungs, to anyone who would listen. “That’s CHER!”

In no time a small crowd was running after the tall woman with the dark braid, and Judy trailed them by a furlong. They chased the woman into an alley, where they cornered her and had her backed against the brick wall, panting like a dog. Judy peered over their heads, blocked the alley, and waited for the inevitable.

“That’s not Cher!” “She’s not Cher!” “You don’t even look like Cher!” “Wannabe!” “Poser!” called the crowd, and after some commotion they dispersed, filing disappointed out of the alley, leaving Judy and the temp alone.

Judy went to the back of the alley and faced the woman, who didn’t even try to run past her but looked plainly exhausted, her head to one side, as if she were nodding out. She didn’t even move as Judy approached, and up close Judy could see that the woman was just a girl, with heavy black eyeliner, greasy from exertion, and her hair dyed black as midnight. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen or weighed more than a hundred pounds in tight Guess jeans and a thin white sweater. Her skin was pale, her cheekbones too prominent to be healthy, and her pupils pinpoints. It wasn’t because of the sun.

Judy grabbed the girl’s skinny arm and pinned her against the wall with ease. “Where are my tapes?”

“Don’t hurt me. I put them in the incinerator, in the basement. They’re gone.” The girl’s eyelids fluttered and her green eyes filled with tears of fear, which disarmed Judy. She had never acted this way before. Nobody was afraid of her. She could barely housebreak a golden. Nevertheless she tightened her grip. Her tapes, gone.

“Why’d you burn the tapes?”

“Because they made me. They said they’d beat me up if I didn’t. Please don’t turn me in. Please lemme go.”

“Who said they’d beat you up? One of the Coluzzis?”

The girl pursed her lips, as if to resist Judy’s prying out the answer, so Judy tried hardball.

“You destroyed critical evidence in a murder case. That’s obstruction of justice. If I call the cops to arrest you right now, that’s federal time. Who made you do it? Was it Coluzzi? Jimmy Bello?”

“I can’t say.” The girl shook her head, jittery against the rough brick. “I’d rather do the time than end up dead.”

“You think they’d kill you?”

“I know they would.”

Judy shuddered, thinking about Marshall. “Did they hurt our receptionist?”

“No, they said they’d
detain
her is all.”

“Did they hurt Marlene Bello?”

“Nobody hurts Marlene.” The girl grinned crookedly. “Lemme go, please. I didn’t have a choice.”

Judy considered it. There weren’t a lot of alternatives. She felt too sorry for the girl to turn her in. If the girl told the police who’d sent her, she’d be in danger herself. Judy flashed on Theresa McRea, who had to flee the country in fear. Judy was suddenly tired of causing so much pain, even in the name of justice. She was becoming her enemy and that she couldn’t stand. Let the bad guys do the bad things from now on. If Judy was a good guy, she had to do the good things. Her karma reserves were already in the red zone, from the scrapyard.

Judy released the girl’s arm. “Go. Run. Get clean. Learn to type. But do me one favor. Tell them you think I copied the tapes.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed with street savvy. “You didn’t make copies.”

“You’re not Cher, but those people thought you were. And look what happened.”

The girl giggled, and then the laughter disappeared as quickly as it had come. “They’re trying to kill you, whoever you are. Lawyer with a dog.”

“I know, the car bomb gave them away,” Judy said, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. The threat by the Coluzzis was a constant now, gnawing at her stomach. “But why didn’t they send you to do it? You could have killed me as easily as burned my tapes.”

“Me?” The girl put up her palms. “Oh no, I don’t go
there
. Not me. No. Besides, they do that themselves.”

Even Judy’s fraudulent smile vanished. “Better go now. Before I change my mind.”

The girl broke free and ran off, without looking back.

“Hey, kids,” Judy said, rushing into the reception area at the office, worrying about Marshall and Marlene Bello. Murphy and the secretaries were standing around the front desk talking. Judy gauged the scene instantly and relaxed. They wouldn’t have been loafing if the receptionist were in trouble. “I gather Marshall is okay?”

Murphy nodded. “She got stuck in an elevator. It broke, they think. She’s on her way in.”

“Great.” Judy smiled with relief. The Coluzzis were killing only when necessary. They must have been off their game. “I gotta go make some calls. Thanks for your help.”

“You didn’t catch the temp?” Murphy asked, surprised, but Judy shook her head.

“Bennie woulda caught her, but I couldn’t.”

“Damn!” Murphy turned to Letisha, one of the secretaries. “I owe you a tenner.”

Judy laughed, on her way to her office. She was liking Murphy more and more. She reached her office, shut the door, and punched in Marlene Bello’s number, holding her breath while the phone rang one, two, three, and finally four times before Marlene picked up. “You’re alive!” Judy said.