Phillip Margolin - Fugitive

“What are they doing here?”

“We have to start selling Charlie’s side of the story if we want to get the public on our side,” Levy explained as if his betrayal was the only reasonable course of action.

Amanda shoved Levy back into the interior of the plane, forcing Charlie to take a few steps back.

“You idiot. Did it ever enter that thick skull of yours that one of the reporters might call the district attorney to get his take on the return of Oregon’s most wanted fugitive?”

“The DA?”

“Yes, Dennis. He’s the gentleman standing with the two policemen. Burdett’s probably here to arrest Charlie because he thinks I double-crossed him by calling a press conference to get our side in front of the public before he could.”

“I…It never…” Levy stuttered.

“If you pull something like this again I will have you on the next plane back to New York.”

“I don’t work for you,” Levy answered belligerently.

“That is correct. You work for World News. I work for Charlie Marsh and I don’t work for World News. If you go behind my back one more time I will advise Charlie to give Newsweek exclusive access to his story.”

Levy paled. “Look, don’t do anything rash. I just thought the publicity would put Charlie in a good light.”

“I don’t try my cases in the press, Dennis. I try them in court. And I know exactly why you stage-managed this media circus. You want to sell copies of World News and promote your book, so don’t go all Mother Teresa on me about how you called the media to help Charlie.”

“No, no, I really wanted to help Charlie. I mean I know this will help me too, but that wasn’t my main motivation.”

Amanda decided not to waste any more energy on Levy. She looked over his shoulder at her client.

“Not a word when the cameras start rolling, understood? If we’re lucky I’ll be able to talk Burdett out of arresting you.”

“I’m not talking to anyone,” Charlie assured her. “The DA can use anything I say to the press against me.”

Amanda stared angrily at Levy. “At least one of you was listening. Now, I’m going to lead us off. You two stay behind me and I’ll try to keep Charlie out of jail.”

The crowd had surged forward the first time Amanda stepped out of the plane, and they were waiting at the bottom of the stairs that connected the private jet to the tarmac. Amanda paused halfway down so she was above the reporters.

“Good morning. I’m Amanda Jaffe, Charlie Marsh’s attorney. I’m glad to see District Attorney Burdett here. I want to thank him for agreeing to let Mr. Marsh voluntarily surrender tomorrow at his bail hearing when he could have taken him into custody today. It’s always a pleasure when the defense and the prosecution can operate on a handshake.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Amanda saw Burdett’s face turn the color of severe sunburn.

“Why has Mr. Marsh waited twelve years to turn himself in?” a reporter called out.

“We’re all exhausted from our plane ride and we won’t be making any statements right now. I can say on Mr. Marsh’s behalf that he’s excited to be back in America and he is eager to have his day in court.”

“Why did he flee the country, Amanda?” another reporter shouted.

“This venue is an inappropriate place to try Mr. Marsh’s case. The district attorney and I will both be in court and we’ll have our say there. Thank you for being understanding.”

With that, Amanda led her brood down the rest of the stairs. Karl Burdett stepped in front of her.

“I had nothing to do with this, Karl,” Amanda said before he could get a word out. She threw a thumb over her shoulder. “That’s Dennis Levy. He’s a reporter for World News . He called the press without my knowledge.”

Burdett was furious but he knew he couldn’t arrest Charlie without looking bad. Amanda started walking, and Burdett hurried to stay by her side.

“Your client dodged a bullet today, Jaffe. You’d better not try anything like this again.”

“I’m as upset as you are, Karl.”

Amanda pushed through the shouting reporters, who obviously had not taken seriously her statement about not answering questions. Several of them followed her into the terminal. Amanda spotted Kate waiting at the front door. As soon as the investigator saw her boss, she left the terminal and started the car that she’d parked in front.

“I’ll see you at the bail hearing, tomorrow,” Amanda told Burdett as she left the terminal. “Thanks again for not arresting Marsh.”

Amanda held the rear door of Kate’s car open for Charlie and Dennis, then jumped in the front passenger seat. The reporters were still shouting questions when they drove away. As soon as she was out of camera range, Amanda leaned back against the headrest and exhaled.

Gary Hass sat on a metal folding chair and looked out the window of the abandoned loft at the Space Needle as he waited for Ivan Mikhailov to revive. It was a beautiful summer night, and the illuminated Seattle landmark stood out against the starry sky, but Gary was not thinking about the beauty of the moment. He was daydreaming about the carnage that would result if the Space Needle were toppled by a set of carefully placed explosives.

The Russian drug dealer groaned. Gary sighed, displeased that his reverie had been interrupted. Mikhailov was naked and secured to an uncomfortable wooden chair by duct tape in such a way that all of the places where Gary might wish to inflict pain were exposed. Gary waited patiently as Mikhailov became conscious and slowly figured out his predicament.

“Good evening,” Gary said. “How are you feeling?”

Mikhailov stared stupidly for a moment before his features hardened into an icy stare.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked in a voice that would have turned Gary’s blood cold if their positions had been reversed but which he found merely amusing considering that the Russian was naked and helpless.

“You’re Bob Smith of Omaha, Nebraska, aren’t you?”

Mikhailov gaped at Gary. Then he shouted, “No, you idiot. I am Ivan Mikhailov and you will set me free immediately or I will have you cut into pieces and fed to my dogs.”

“Oh, shit,” Gary said. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought you were Bob Smith of Omaha. Man, did I fuck up.”

“Yes, you did, but you can save yourself by setting me loose at once,” Mikhailov said imperiously.

Gary grinned. “Actually, Ivan, I’m just playing with you. I knew who you were when I killed your men and Tasered you in the parking garage. You’re Ivan the Terrible, the violent drug dealer who’s been poaching on Julio Dominguez’s territory and beating up his dealers. Do I have that right?”

“You won’t think you’re so funny when I skin you alive.”

“Will that be before or after you feed me to your dogs?”

The Russian began struggling against his bonds. Gary watched for a moment before walking over to his captive and slapping him across the face several times. The slaps only stung Mikhailov but they were humiliating, and the ease with which the strikes were delivered emphasized his helplessness.

“Stop that, Ivan. It’s unbecoming. Besides, you can’t pay attention to what I have to say if you’re twitching and jumping up and down.”

“Do you want money?”

“Well, duh, who doesn’t? But if you’re thinking ransom or a bribe, that’s not on my mind. Julio already paid me.”

“I’ll double what he gave you.”

“I’m sure you would, but I wouldn’t be able to torture you if I took your bribe, and I’m in this as much for the fun as for the money. I mean, if you don’t enjoy your work you should find some other type of employment, right?”