“Maybe they don’t tell him,” I said.
“Bullshit,” said Chris Moody.
Tucker raised his hands higher, keeping the fragile detente. “Okay, okay-but let’s see then. Maybe today’s our last shot, Jason. Let’s assume it is. Will you see what you can get from Snow? Tonight’s the night Antwain Otis dies, right? You’re going to be having discussions with him? You’ll have some time with him. Will you at least try?”
I wasn’t sure where my head was at this point. Having finally fulfilled my own personal mission, and feeling sure that the governor knew nothing about the murders, I was really doing nothing more than being a classic snitch in an undercover operation. It felt different. It felt like something that wasn’t me.
“Lee,” said Moody, “we’re talking to Jason like it’s a friendly request. I think he forgot that he’s got criminal liability hanging over him. He’s working for our gratitude and mercy.”
Judging from Tucker’s face, he wasn’t pleased with this turn of events. Tucker was a guy who always liked to use honey to catch the bee.
“And the fact that I almost got killed while helping you isn’t enough?” I said. “And that I continued to risk my life for you? We forget all that, I guess?”
Chris Moody shrugged. “You’re the one who didn’t want a deal. I offered you immunity more than once.”
He was right. I’d rejected a plea bargain because I didn’t want even a tacit admission of criminal wrongdoing. I didn’t want the word immunity attached to my name, because no matter how you sliced it, it meant you were a criminal who caught a break.
And I’d wanted my freedom. I wanted to be able to stop working for them whenever I pleased. Like now. But I’d known the risks, and now they were staring at me square in the face.
“So I take one more shot at the governor, you spare me an indictment? And you move in before Ippolito gets appointed? I got that pretty much correct, Chris?”
“Hey, look.” Now he was playing the slippery one. “I’m just saying, we’ll take all of your cooperation, and lack thereof, under advisement. I never promised differently.” He raised a finger, then reached for a folder behind him. He held up a thick document that was stamped DRAFT. It was an application for an arrest warrant, along with several affidavits to be signed by FBI agents.
I took it in my hands. The draft application requested arrest warrants for Governor Carlton Snow, Madison Koehler, Brady MacAleer, and Ciriaco “Charlie” Cimino.
“Is this the document we file?” he asked.
Then he removed a second document from his folder. “Or is this the one?” he said.
He handed me the second document. It looked largely the same as the first, but with one addition. The document requested a warrant to arrest Jason Kolarich.
I put my hand out. Lee Tucker handed me the F-Bird.
“I guess we’ll find out,” I said.
86
I was ten minutes late to Apple Jacks, a popular breakfast spot just north of the commercial district. A lot of lawyers have their pretrial eggs here before heading down for a day in court. It felt like ages since I’d been one of those people.
Hector already had a booth for us. He looked fresh and eager, his wardrobe matching his attitude-olive suit with olive shirt and brownish-red tie and that fucking tie clip.
“I ordered you some eggs,” he told me, which was his way of reminding me I was late. I wanted to reach across the table and shove the tie clip into his windpipe, but instead I just acknowledged his power move and let it go.
“Today’s the endorsements, don’t forget,” he said, as if I’d given him some reason to think I’d forgotten. “With SLEU and the Laborers, we’re golden. It’s our fucking election.”
He was reminding me that Governor Snow was going to win, and that was all that was supposed to matter.
“So like I said last night, Carl feels terrible about what happened.”
Our food arrived. Mine was eggs over easy with toast and bacon. My stomach was growling but the way I was feeling about Hector right now, I wouldn’t hold down the meal if I ate it.
“He’s very grateful that you can be discreet, Jason. And what you should be doing, right now, is thinking about what you want when Carl is elected to a full term. I was serious, what I said last night. The sky’s the limit for a talented lawyer like you. You want to be on the bench? You want a boat full of legal work sent your way? You just need-”
“Hector, stop,” I said reflexively, when I couldn’t stand hearing his voice any longer. I took a breath, because this was the last thing I wanted to do, but I had to get through it.
“I want to clear the air here, Hector. You and I need to be square on a few things.”
Hector didn’t particularly enjoy being interrupted, but his curiosity was trumping his pride. Plus, his number one goal here was protecting the governor, so he was proceeding with caution.
“I got into this thing because of you. Not Charlie Cimino and not Carlton Snow. Charlie’s a good guy and the governor’s okay, but I’m loyal to you. You understand?”
I made a point of not looking at my food as I spoke, because I wasn’t sure how much more of this crap I could spew without becoming physically ill. But Hector? Talk about my words finding a soft landing. I’d hit his sweet spot.
“Good,” he said.
“I think you’re going to be governor someday, and I want to be there with you. I think you’re twenty times the person Carlton Snow is, and all the rest of them. But if I’m with you, if we’re a team, then we have to be on the same page. You have to talk to me. You have to be more careful. We have to be more careful. Okay? Or I’m out. I’m out, as of now.”
Hector shook his head. “What do you mean?”
“I mean-and listen, I’m not your lawyer anymore, okay? You understand that.”
“Right,” he said, more as a question. Didn’t matter-he’d acknowledged my point. He’d just eviscerated any possible contention that this conversation was protected by attorney-client privilege.
“But that doesn’t mean you can’t trust me. For some reason, you think you can’t. Why is that?” I leaned forward over the table. “You, of all people, wonder whether I can keep a secret? You? How many secrets of yours have I kept? How many? Adalbert Wozniak? Ernesto Ramirez? Greg fucking Connolly? Did I ever say a word?”
It was a risk, I knew, throwing out all these names at him, but it was the only way I knew how to work this conversation.
Hector watched me intently, his face coloring. He was thinking things over now and wasn’t sure how he felt about the progression of this talk. His eyes darted toward the other tables to ensure maximum privacy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said cautiously.
“See, if that’s the way you play it, then I’m out,” I said. “You’re taking way too many risks and if you don’t start talking to me before you do things, you’re going to get into trouble. And I’ll walk away before I get jammed up. Life’s too short.”
Hector was still debating this, but his instinct was to default to a denial. “I don’t know what secrets you’re talking about.”
I looked around, as if I were concerned that others might be listening, and then leaned inward and spoke in a quiet but harsh voice. “You think I don’t know why you came to me, after Talia died, and offered me a contract in state government? That lunch we had? You think I don’t know it was because of Ernesto Ramirez?”
He squinted his eyes. “Ernesto. .?”
“Oh, like you don’t know who he is.” I threw my napkin on the table. “I’m done, Hector. I’m done with this.”
Hector reached out toward me, all but grabbing my arm across the table. “Just hold on a second. Just-say what you’re going to say.”
I pretended to stew, which was easy because it wasn’t hard to feign hostility toward Hector at this point.