“A Coca-Cola bottle?”
“Right. There are billions of them in the world and you can’t tell one from another. He was a shoemaker. He worked his fingers to the bone, trying to put food on the table. We had nothing. Being poor is only romantic in books. In real life, it’s smelly rooms with rats and cockroaches and bad food that you can never get enough of. When I was a young punk, I did anything I could to make a buck. I ran errands for the big shots, I brought them coffee and cigars, I found them girls—anything to stay alive. Well, one summer I went down to Mexico City. I had no money, nothing. My ass was hanging out. One night a girl I met invited me to a large dinner party at a fancy restaurant. For dessert they served a special Mexican cake with a little clay doll baked inside it. Someone at the table explained that the custom was that whoever got the clay doll had to pay for the dinner. I got the clay doll.” He paused. “I swallowed it.”
Jennifer put her hand over his. “Michael, other people have grown up poor and—”
“Don’t confuse me with other people.” His tone was hard and uncompromising. “I’m me. I know who I am, baby. I wonder if you know who you are.”
“I think I do.”
“Why did you go to bed with me?”
Jennifer hesitated. “Well, I—I was grateful and—”
“Bullshit! You wanted me.”
“Michael, I—”
“I don’t have to buy my women. Not with money and not with gratitude.”
Jennifer admitted to herself that he was right. She had wanted him, just as he had wanted her. And yet, Jennifer thought, this man deliberately tried to destroy me once. How can I forget that?
Michael leaned forward and took Jennifer’s hand, palm up. Slowly, he caressed each finger, each mound, never taking his eyes from her.
“Don’t play games with me. Not ever, Jennifer.”
She felt powerless. Whatever there was between them transcended the past.
It was when they were having dessert that Michael said, “By the way, I have a case for you.”
It was as though he had slapped her in the face.
Jennifer stared at him. “What kind of case?”
“One of my boys, Vasco Gambutti, has been arrested for killing a cop. I want you to defend him.”
Jennifer sat there filled with hurt and anger that he was still trying to use her.
She said evenly, “I’m sorry, Michael. I told you before. I can’t get involved with—with your…friends.”
He gave her a lazy grin. “Did you ever hear the story about the little lion cub in Africa? He leaves his mother for the first time to go down to the river to get a drink, and a gorilla knocks him down. While he’s picking himself up, a big leopard shoves him out of the way. A herd of elephants comes along and almost tramples him to death. The little cub returns home all shaken up and he says, ‘You know something, Ma—it’s a jungle out there!’”
There was a long silence between them. It was a jungle out there, Jennifer thought, but she had always stood at the edge of it, outside it, free to flee whenever she wanted to. She had made the rules and her clients had had to live by them. But now, Michael Moretti had changed all that. This was his jungle. Jennifer was afraid of it, afraid to get caught up in it. Yet, when she thought about what Michael had done for her, she decided it was a small thing he was asking.
She would do Michael this one favor.
38
“We’re going to handle the Vasco Gambutti case,” Jennifer informed Ken Bailey.
Ken looked at Jennifer in disbelief. “He’s Mafia! One of Michael Moretti’s hit men. That’s not the kind of client we take.”
“We’re taking this one.”
“Jennifer, we can’t afford to get mixed up with the mob.”
“Gambutti’s entitled to a fair trial, just like anyone else.” The words sounded hollow, even to her.
“I can’t let you—”
“As long as this is my office, I’ll make the decisions.” She could see the surprise and hurt that came into his eyes.
Ken nodded, turned and walked out of the office. Jennifer was tempted to call him back and try to explain. But how could she? She was not sure she could even explain it to herself.
When Jennifer had her first meeting with Vasco Gambutti, she tried to regard him as just another client. She had handled clients before who were accused of murder, but somehow, this was different. This man was a member of a vast network of organized crime, a group that bled the country of untold billions of dollars, an arcane cabal that would kill when necessary to protect itself.
The evidence against Gambutti was overwhelming. He had been caught during the holdup of a fur shop and had killed an off-duty policeman who had tried to stop him. The morning newspapers announced that Jennifer Parker was going to be the defense attorney.
Judge Lawrence Waldman telephoned. “Is it true, Jennie?”
Jennifer knew instantly what he meant. “Yes, Lawrence.”
A pause. “I’m surprised. You know who he is, of course.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You’re getting into dangerous territory.”
“Not really. I’m just doing a friend a favor.”
“I see. Be careful.”
“I will,” Jennifer promised.
It was only afterward that Jennifer realized he had said nothing about their having dinner together.
After looking over the material her staff had assembled, Jennifer decided that she had no case at all.
Vasco Gambutti had been caught red-handed in a robberymurder, and there were no extenuating circumstances. Furthermore, there was always a strong emotional pull in the minds of the jurors when the victim was a policeman.