Phillip Margolin - Ties That Bind

Frank cooked dinner while Amanda put away her clothes in her old room. Frank still kept her trophies on a shelf and framed clippings about her swimming triumphs on the walls. There was something reassuring about her old room but she doubted that she'd feel safe tonight.

Amanda still did not have much of an appetite, but she forced herself to eat the salmon and rice that Frank cooked for her. During the meal, neither Jaffe spoke much. Afterward, Frank went into his den and made a phone call.

"I've got to meet a client," Frank said when he came out. "Don't worry, I shouldn't be too long. Keep the doors locked and keep a gun with you while I'm gone."

"Okay," Amanda answered, certain that her father was keeping something from her. She didn't want to stay alone but she knew Frank wouldn't desert her if he didn't have a good reason.

The music pouring out of The Rebel Tavern was so loud that Frank Jaffe could hear it in the gravel parking lot of the biker bar. An obese, bearded man in a motorcycle jacket staggered out just as Frank reached the door. He was anchored to a heavily tattooed woman dressed in black leather and wearing a dog collar.

Frank watched the couple stumble toward a big Harley, then stepped inside, where he was greeted by smoke and noise. He squinted through the haze and found Martin Breach sitting alone in a back booth. Scattered around the bar near the booth were three of the gangster's bodyguards.

Breach was dressed in lime-green polyester pants, a loud plaid jacket, and a Hawaiian shirt. His sense of style hadn't improved since the last time Frank and Amanda had met him at one of his strip joints during the Cardoni case. Breach was squat and heavyset with thinning, sand-colored hair. His skin was pale as plaster, because he rarely went outside. He waved to the attorney who had represented several of his associates over the years.

"Hey, Frank!" Breach said, flashing a wide grin as Frank slid into the booth.

"Thanks for meeting me, Martin."

"Beer, some hard stuff? It's on the house," said Breach, who owned The Rebel.

"Beer's fine," Frank answered as he filled a glass from the pitcher that stood in the middle of the table.

Breach had a silly grin and often looked sleepy or stupid. The gaudy, ill-matched clothes helped create an image of incompetence that disguised a sharp intelligence and a truly psychotic personality. Many a rival had figured this out moments before suffering a violent death.

Frank had thought long and hard before setting up this meeting. He had been dealing with criminals for more than thirty years and had no illusions about Breach. Doing business with the man was as close as he would ever come to doing business with the devil. But Frank would trade his soul to Satan to protect Amanda.

"So, Frank, what can I do for you?"

"You remember my daughter, Amanda?"

"Sure. Great kid, gutsy, too."

"Amanda is representing Jon Dupre."

"So."

Frank leaned forward. "This has to stay between us, Martin, because Amanda . . . She could be hurt badly if . . ."

"Talk to me, Frank."

"Three men kidnapped Amanda last night. They . . . they made her strip. They threatened to kill me and torture her if she didn't throw Dupre's case."

Breach showed no emotion. "Why are you here, Frank?"

"Have you ever heard of The Vaughn Street Glee Club?"

Surprise flickered across Breach's features. "Keep talking," he answered.

"Amanda thinks they're behind her kidnapping. It has something to do with the Dupre case."

Breach leaned back against the booth. He did not look nervous or afraid, but he did look wary.

"She needs help, Martin."

"Kidnapping, that's something you usually report to the police."

"We think that these people have someone in the cops--maybe more than one person."

Breach waited for Frank to tell him what he wanted. Frank hesitated, knowing that this was his last chance to step back from the brink. He jumped.

"Can you get these people to lay off Amanda?"

"I can't help you directly, Frank. I want to. I like your daughter. But I can't get involved with these people. You're right about the cops, but it goes deeper than that. These people could make me very uncomfortable. I'm not even sure who's who. Wendell Hayes was one of them. Him I'm sure of. I heard rumors about Senator Travis, and I know for sure that Pedro Aragon's people are involved. We have a truce, Pedro and me. He does his thing and I do mine. If it was Aragon's people who snatched your daughter, I can't get involved."

Frank's shoulders sagged. Coming to Breach had been a long shot, anyway. He started to stand.

"Sit down. I said I couldn't help you. But I may be able to put you in touch with someone who can watch Amanda's back."

"A bodyguard?"

"Something like that. This guy is freelance, ex-Delta Force. He's not cheap, but he's the best."

"Give me the number."

Breach shook his head. "It doesn't work that way. You just go about your business. Wait for a guy named Anthony to make contact."

Frank held out his hand. Breach took it.

"I won't forget this," Frank said.

"What are friends for?" Breach answered. Frank wondered what he'd gotten himself into.

Chapter Forty-Two.

It took a moment or so for the flashing light in his rearview mirror to register, and a few more seconds for Tim to figure out that the police car wanted him to stop. He pulled to the side of a winding stretch of road in the West Hills where the lots were large and there was little traffic. Once the other car had parked behind him, Kerrigan saw that it was unmarked. Stan Gregaros got out. Kerrigan gripped the wheel and fought his panic. Was it possible that the detective knew about the plot to murder Ally Bennett? Was he going to be arrested?

Gregaros came around the passenger side and rapped on the window.

"Stan!" Kerrigan said a little too loudly after lowering the window. "Don't tell me I was speeding."

"No, Tim," the detective answered. "It's something bigger than that. Let me in."

Kerrigan unlocked the passenger door and Gregaros slid into the seat, propping a briefcase on his lap.

"So, what's up?" Kerrigan asked, trying to keep calm.

Gregaros grinned. "Welcome to the club."

"The club? I don't . . ."

Gregaros laughed. "It's okay, Tim. Didn't Harvey tell you that you'd have friends who would help you get through this problem with Ally Bennett? Well, I'm one of them."

Kerrigan closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, his relief palpable. Gregaros opened the briefcase and took out two sheets of paper, a clipboard, and a plastic bag containing a revolver. Kerrigan's eyes fell on the revolver. Something about it looked familiar. Then he realized that it had been evidence in one of his earlier cases.

"Is that the revolver from the Madigan case?"

"I took it from the property room. The case is closed, so no one will be looking for it, but the use of a gun that was an exhibit in one of your cases will add to the authenticity of your confession if we ever have to use it."

"What confession?"

Gregaros handed Tim one of the sheets of paper, which Tim read.

I'm sorry for any pain that my death causes, but I could not live with my guilt anymore. I had a relationship with Ally Bennett, one of Jon Dupre's escorts, while our office was prosecuting his case. She threatened to expose me if I didn't dismiss Dupre's murder charges. I killed her with this gun. God help me.

"What is this?" Tim asked.

"Our insurance policy. Not everyone knows you as well as Harvey and I do. And even the best person can become weak under stress, so every new member signs one of these."

"You . . . you'd kill me?"

"We've had an occasion or two where we misplaced our trust. Those people were dealt with, and so were their families and close friends, anyone they could have told about us."