Lisa Scottoline - Mistaken Identity

“Enough with the lecture,” Lou said, exasperated, in his chair, but Bennie wasn’t finished.

“Lou, the trial may be over, but the conspiracy isn’t. They have a business to run, a very lucrative business. You’re hitting them where it hurts, threatening not to let up even after the case is over. They’ll take you out, Lou. They will.”

“Let them try,” Lou scoffed, and winked at Mary, who sat off to the side, looking worried nonetheless.

“Bennie’s right, and not just because she’s the boss,” Mary said. “They tried to kill her. They’ll try to kill you.”

Lou sighed. “Is this what I came back for? To get nagged? At least men lawyers don’t nag you.”

“Fine.” Bennie stood up. “I’m not going to nag you about it. For the next couple of days, you take Ike.” She gestured to the opposite conference room, where the bodyguards thumbed through the newspapers. “I’ll keep Mike.”

Lou looked over his shoulder at the bodyguards. “Split up the kids? Bennie, we can’t do that.”

But Bennie wasn’t laughing.

They worked into the night preparing the death penalty phase of the case, transforming the conference room into a telethon headquarters. Bennie worked the phones and interviewed potential character witnesses, and the associates and Lou called any leads they could reach. No new witnesses could be raised, and the phones outside the conference room’s private lines rang until all hours. It was the press, but Bennie wasn’t answering. She had to focus on this last part of the trial. It was hard enough, working on the assumption that Connolly had already been convicted of capital murder.

“I’m whipped,” Mary said, brushing her hair from her eyes, and Judy looked tired.

Even Lou, previously battery-powered, had come down from his high. He hung up the phone from his last call, beat. “Let’s call it a night.”

“Agreed,” Bennie said. “You all go home. Come back tomorrow morning, around seven.”

“What about you?” Judy asked, picking up her bag.

“I’m staying for a while,” Bennie said. She was exhausted, but she had paperwork to prepare. “I have a few things to finish up. Lou, you and Ike take the girls home, and you keep Ike.”

Lou folded his arms. “No, I’ll put the girls in a cab with Ike, who will take the girls home and come back for you. I’ll take care of my own ass.”

“Lou, we’re not discussing this again.”

“You’re right, we’re not. You’re nagging, and I’m ignoring you. It’s my marriage all over again.” Lou stood up and gestured to the bodyguards across the way, who slipped into their sportjackets.

“Lou-”

“Oh, will you shut up? See you tomorrow. Let’s go, kids.” Lou left the conference room and met Mike and Ike in the hallway.

“Shit,” Bennie said, and went after him. She had hired the guards, she could direct them. “Ike,” she said, pointing, “you go with Lou. You follow him home whether he wants you to or not, and you sit outside his house if you have to. Keep him alive tonight, so I can kill him tomorrow. Understand?”

“No can do,” Ike said. “Lou’s not the client, you are.”

“What?”

“We can’t protect Lou. We have to stay with you. It’s in the contract.”

“What contract? I didn’t sign any contract.”

“Our contract with the security company, and the security company’s contract with the insurance company. We’re only insured to protect you. If something goes wrong, we have to be with you or our company gets sued.”

Bennie laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

Mike shrugged shoulders like the continental shelf. “That’s what they told us. Stay with the designated client.”

Lou smiled. “See? It’s lawyers, Rosato. They complicate everything. Can’t even jump off a diving board anymore because of lawyers. Lady lawyers, probably. They nag you, then they sue you.” Lou hit the elevator button in a jaunty way, and the doors opened. He stepped inside and took the associates in with him. “Come, ladies. I left my car at home, I’ll escort you home in a cab. See ya, Rosato,” he said as the doors shut.

“He’s so damn stubborn,” Bennie said, staring at the closed aluminum doors, and Mike nodded.

“They all are.”

“Who? Old people?”

“Men,” Mike answered, and Ike looked over.

Judy and Lou dropped Mary off in the cab, then continued down Pine Street in silence. Judy looked out the window, too sleepy to make conversation, which was fine with Lou. He unbuttoned his jacket and relaxed in the torn seat. His car would have been comfier but he’d left it at home in case it had been made at the cemetery or the police station.

Lou watched the cardboard tree swing from the rearview mirror. Funny. All the cabs had those trees, but none of them smelled like pine. The air in the cab stank of cigarettes regardless of the round NO SMOKING sticker, and in the light from the car behind, Lou could see greasy smudges on the plastic separating them from the young driver.

Lou looked idly out the window. Antique shops lined the narrow street, and it was too late for anyone to be on the sidewalks. The cab stopped at a traffic light, and Lou read the sign of one of the shops, MEYER amp; DAUGHTER. A skinny wood chair sat in the window. “That an antique, Judy?”

Judy nodded. “I bet it’s early American. That’s all they have in there, real Colonial pieces. The chair probably cost a thousand dollars.”

“Get out. Hardly wide enough for a tush.”

“Colonial tushes were smaller.”

“Ha!” Lou shook his head. “I love it. For old chairs, we pay through the nose. For old people, we can’t be bothered.” The cab lurched forward, its interior brighter than before from headlights behind. The car in back of them was tail-gating. But why, at this hour of night? With no other traffic? Lou stiffened instinctively and twisted around.

The sight shocked him. There was a patrol car on their bumper. The lights on its roof blazed to life, filling the cab with red, white, and blue. Patrol car number 98.

Fear jolted Lou to alertness. It was Citrone, alone. No siren to attract attention. A cop on a night stop could get away with anything. Lou had seen it happen.

The cab was slowing down, and Lou pounded on the plastic divider. “Keep driving!” he ordered. “Go, go, go!”

“You nuts?” the cabbie asked, recoiling. “It’s the cops.”

Judy looked back at the lights, the patrol car. “Lou?” she asked, panicky.

“Stay calm,” Lou ordered. He would’ve locked the doors but he wanted Judy out of the picture. The cabbie pulled to the curb and got out. A white spotlight seared through the back window. Beside it stood a tall silhouette whose arm ended in a gun. Citrone was coming at them. Lou’s heart fluttered. He was packing, but couldn’t chance anything until Judy was free.

“Get out of the car!” Citrone shouted. He pulled open the back door and yanked Lou out of the cab, jamming the revolver into his sternum.

“Relax, Citrone.” Lou flattened against the cab, momentarily breathless. The gun bored into his chest. In a second he could be dead. He’d had a good run, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. But there was Judy. “I’ll go with you. Leave the kid.” Lou took a step forward, but Citrone drilled him back with the gun barrel.

“Get out of the car, counselor!” Citrone called to Judy. “Make it fast!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Judy said, her heart in her throat. She slid from the backseat and gasped when she saw the gun. She edged away reflexively, her back bumping into the cab, staring openmouthed at Citrone. His face became angles and shadows in the blinding light. His eyes were merciless black slits. He would kill them both. Judy struggled to think through her terror.