“Okay, Donovan. What brings you here? I somehow doubt you're here to partake in the pleasure of my client as well.”
“Your client, Ms. Walsh?”
Ms. Walsh nodded to the blonde girl still being screwed by the four men and seemingly thoroughly enjoying herself. “I do her PR. Clean her mess up amongst other things. And it's Naomh.”
“Then we're in the same line of work, Naomh. I'm her attorney. Though looking at this mess, I might not be her attorney for much longer.”
Naomh sighed. “Tried to break this thing up since I got here, but it's no use.” She inclined her head to the door. “She's got a good espresso machine in the kitchen. Might as well enjoy a cup of coffee while we wait for her to be done with this.”
They went down to the kitchen where Naomh set about making them each a latté.
“You've done this before,” Donovan remarked from his vantage point at the end of the big breakfast bar in the kitchen. He had sat himself down on a stool and just watched Naomh make the espressos and foam up the milk.
“Got to do something when mademoiselle is entertaining.”
“That's what it's called now, is it?”
“Afraid so. She entertains more men, and women, than a cheap whore on an aircraft carrier.”
Donovan grinned. “Eloquently spoken.”
“Thanks,” Naomh said as she placed two mugs on the marble of the breakfast bar. She grabbed a pot of sugar from a shelf and sat down. She scooped a single spoon of sugar into her cup and stirred it gently. “So how long have you been her attorney?”
“Actually, I'm the attorney of her agent. My firm has represented her agency since she started. And since last year, we represent her record label as well. So we were the obvious choice to deal with this.”
“Who do you work for?”
“I founded the firm, so I guess I'm working for myself.” Donovan took a sip of the coffee. “You really have done this before!”
Naomh smiled and then winced as she heard a scream from upstairs. “Fuck, yeah!” the voice of Justine Lavoie squealed. Naomh muttered, “And to think she was this innocent young kid from Québec five years ago.”
“Yeah, I remember.” Donovan thought on it for a moment. “Strange how so many of them end up like this. Not that I often get to see it this up close and personal... but I do have my eyes and ears open.”
“It's insane. It's the industry – and the pressures of all these bastards around them – that does it. Including people like me telling them how to look and how to behave for the sake of their image.”
“Since when have you been her PR agent?”
“Since last year. Her previous PR reps walked out. She's been like this since I’ve known her. Apparently this shit started when she turned eighteen. She was one of the first big clients we pulled in.”
“Out of curiosity, is it your company?”
Naomh smiled brightly. “Yup. Started it with a friend when we were just out of college. Took a while, but we managed to build up quite a business.”
“And you kept your maiden name?” Donovan guessed, taking another sip of coffee to hide any possible betraying signs of ulterior motives.
“Yes. Well, we already had the business registered. Would only be confusing.”
“What's your husband do?”
“He's a producer. He just joined a film crew in South America; they're doing some stupid film about El Dorado and aliens! So I'm here keeping myself busy by going out with friends and by working. Otherwise, I'd just be traipsing around a big empty house all by myself.”
Donovan nodded. “I do hate an empty house. I tend to block that out with a good cigar, a drink and by playing some music.”
“That sounds like a great plan too.” Her smile was dazzling. “Perhaps I can join you for an evening of that sometime?”
Donovan was slightly taken aback by the proposal. “Sure.” He silenced the conversation by focusing on finishing his latté; buying himself more time to think. He paused, “How about tonight?”
“Sounds great. I have nothing else to do.”
Donovan looked at his Audemars watch and got up. “Well, Ms. Walsh, I think I will have to get going. I have another appointment as well and that one I do not wish to be late for. I certainly can't wait until mademoiselle is done entertaining.”
“Can't blame you for that.”
“Tell her she can drop by my office up until six this evening, if she wants our help to sort out this little spat with the law.” He pulled his jacket straight and made a light bow. “And thank you for the coffee. I'll see you tonight?”
“No worries. And I'll be there... as long as you tell me where.”
Donovan grinned. He could be an idiot sometimes, but that, it seemed, was part of the charm that made him so attractive. Never be too smooth. He took a pen and a business card out of his pocket and wrote down his address. “See you tonight.”
Chapter Four
Gregoris Sedakis himself greeted Donovan when he got back to his office in Midtown East. “I'm desperate for your services!” Sedakis still spoke with a thick Greek accent, even after thirty years in the US. Donovan reckoned it was something of a badge to the man. A mark of pride in his heritage and in the way he had come up in society in the US. He had left Greece when he was just twenty and had found a job at American Maritime Trucking as a dock worker. Through slow and careful investment and planning, he eventually rose from a dock worker and a welder to an owner of ships and harbors. He was the embodiment of the American Dream: rags to riches. Donovan liked him for that very reason. There had always been two ways to be someone in America. You had to be born to it, or you had to make yourself into someone.
Donovan had been born to it. Even if all the money he now had came from his own hard work, he had been born into money and privilege. He could only admire the man he now shook hands with and who pulled him into a big bear hug. He felt the man kiss him on the cheek. Another Greek thing, he knew. Himself, he slapped Sedakis on the back as heartily as he could.
“How are you, Gregoris?” He smiled brightly. “Hoping it's nothing serious you require my help with?”
“Not at all, not at all. There's just someone who claims some of the land the Red Hook container port stands on is his. Didn't challenge it previously, but since I have taken over, it's become a nuisance.”
“Who would be idiotic enough to make a fuss over land you own?” Donovan laughed. He was saying it with a bravado that he knew suited the man he was talking to.
“I know! This Denny Lang is just a louse!”
“Denny Lang?” Donovan froze. He was stunned. “You did not hear?”
“Hear what?”
“Denny Lang was found dead this morning.”
They went into his office and sat down. Sedakis gave him a curious look. “What the fuck happened?”
Donovan repressed a shudder as he recalled the impressions of this morning. “He was found in a warehouse on the docks north of the container port. Seems someone tortured him to death.”
Sedakis' face suddenly went blank. “What warehouse?”
Donovan had to think. “Pier 9B? Right off the northern ramp.”
He saw Sedakis swear. “That's on the land he's filed a lawsuit over?”
Sedakis nodded. “Since it's the harbor, I take it the FBI are taking this case?”
“Yeah.”
“You have a buddy there, right? Can you make sure he doesn't come after me over this? I was not involved.”
“I believe you. After all, why would you ask my legal advice on that if the problem was already taken care of?”
“Exactly.”
“Can't get Albert, my old partner, to stop investigating you though. But I'll tell him I reckon you're innocent in this.”
“Thanks.” Sedakis sat silent for a few moments, looking at his fingernails. “Well, I suppose the problem is indeed taken care of though. If he's dead, that lawsuit is goneburger.”