What distinguished this gang was the violence they were quite willing to use in running their business. Led by a young hood named Cesar Quintana, they became the area’s primary source of cheap drugs and ruthless violence, and they were limited only by their inherent lack of intelligence. They were not businessmen, and business acumen is needed to sell all products, including illegal drugs.
Enter Pablo Moreno, born in Mexico to a family of very significant wealth, said to be dubiously earned. Moreno was educated in this country, graduated from the Wharton School of Business, after which Pablo Moreno became Paul Moreno. He returned to Mexico for a while and then settled in North Jersey two years ago to apply his business expertise in earnest.
It seems as if he conducted an analysis and determined that the best opportunity for success in this country was to become a part of the still-fledgling, unsophisticated operation Quintana was running. Moreno’s style, reputation, and money overwhelmed him, and they soon became partners. They allegedly split the profits, but Quintana has allowed Moreno to call the shots, perhaps the first sign of intelligence he has ever shown.
In the eyes of law enforcement their operation now represents the worst of both worlds. Moreno provides the smarts and the capital, and Quintana supplies the muscle and willingness to use it. In the process they’ve branched out to higher-end drugs and higher-level clientele.
“Which is why they’ve become a major pain in the ass of Dominic Petrone,” Pete says.
“And he hasn’t taken them on?” I ask. Rumor has it that both end zones in Giants Stadium are built on a foundation of people who became pains in the ass of Dominic Petrone.
Pete shakes his head. “Not yet. Drugs have never been the main part of Petrone’s operation, so he’s let it go so far. There’s no telling how long that will last. It’s a war he’d win, but it would be ugly.”
“So where does my client fit into this?”
Larry answers. “He probably doesn’t, but Troy Preston does. Moreno loves football, and he took a liking to Preston. Preston in turn took a liking to Moreno and his lifestyle. The word is, they were really close.”
“So Preston was dealing for him?” Laurie asks.
“Not in a serious way at first. More to his friends, certain other players… that kind of thing. People tell me it made him feel like a big shot. Then he started liking the fact that it was supplementing his income, so he branched out some. The bigger problem is, he started using what he was selling, which is not the best thing for a pro football career. And as his career went down, his need for money outside football went up.”
My mind of course is focused on finding a killer other than Kenny Schilling. I start thinking out loud. “So Petrone could have killed Preston to send a message to Moreno. Or maybe Preston pissed Quintana off, and he killed him.”
“Or maybe your client is guilty,” Pete says, ever the cop. “The victim’s blood was in his car, and his body was in his house. Not exactly your classic whodunit.”
“More like your classic frame-up,” I say.
Pete laughs. “And exactly why would they pick Schilling to frame? It’s not like they would have left evidence for the police to track them down. Petrone’s been murdering people since he was four years old. You think we could have tied him to this?”
“You? No. The state cops? Maybe.” I don’t really believe what I’m saying; it’s my pathetic attempt to get back at Pete for the birthday bash.
If Pete is wounded by my attack, he hides it well. He shakes his head. “Nope. Petrone didn’t do Preston, and the job was too classy for Quintana. He would have sliced him up and dumped him in front of City Hall.”
He’s probably right, but at the very least this opens up a huge area for a defense attorney to explore and exploit. I’m already working out strategies in my mind; the money for this evening’s fiasco may actually turn out to be well spent.
We pull up at Pete’s car, and as he and Larry get out, Pete pats my arm. “Thanks, man. This is the nicest thing anybody’s ever done for me, even if I was the one that did it. But you didn’t get too pissed, and I appreciate it. You’re a good friend.”
“Happy birthday,” I say. That’ll teach him.
* * * * *
THERE ARE A FEW things I don’t like about my job. One is that it doesn’t involve playing professional sports, though my placekicking brainstorm should take care of that. Two is that it gives me the creeps to have to call anyone “Your Honor.” Three, and most important, I don’t like to mislead people.
But misleading people is something a good defense attorney does, and this case is about to become a textbook example. I do not believe that Troy Preston was murdered by Dominic Petrone, Paul Moreno, Cesar Quintana, or anyone else involved with illegal drugs. Those are not people who would have gone to such lengths to frame Kenny Schilling. They would have put a bullet in Preston’s head and dumped him in the river, or buried him where he’d never be found. And, as Pete was quick to point out, they would not have left a trail so they could be caught. And if they weren’t in legal danger, there would be no reason to frame somebody else.
But these bad guys present perfect targets for me, people who I might get the jury to believe could have done it. It helps me create reasonable doubt that my client is guilty, so I must pursue it vigorously, even though I don’t believe it. I’m not lying, but it still makes me uncomfortable. I’ll go forward with it, though, since our justice system makes no allowances for lawyer discomfort.
Adam Strickland is with Kevin and Edna when I arrive at the office. He takes notes as Edna regales him with more of her ideas for the crossword puzzle film, and I hear Kevin ask if Adam can use the actual name of Kevin’s privately owned business in the Willie Miller movie. It’s called the Law-dromat, and the gimmick is that Kevin gives free legal advice to his customers. Of course, he can only be there to do that when we are not busy on a case. The way the Schilling case is shaping up, there are going to be a whole lot of poorly advised launderers running around North Jersey for a while.
Adam tells Kevin that he’ll definitely put the Law-dromat in the script and refers to Kevin’s idea as My Beautiful Laundrette meets The Verdict. Unfortunately, Adam forgets to mention that the script will ultimately travel through the pipe and into the sewer.
I haven’t thought about Adam since I discussed him with Kenny, but I make a decision in the moment to let him hang out with us. Kenny didn’t mind, and I made a commitment to the studio, so I might as well. I have Edna type up a standard agreement, and within minutes Adam is an employee of my firm, bound by the same confidentiality guarantees as the rest of us.
I explain to Kevin what we’ve learned about Troy Preston’s relationship to Paul Moreno and the drugs he distributes. I find myself feeling self-conscious with Adam listening in, especially since he is staring at me so intently as I speak that it feels like he’s literally inhaling my words.
Because of Adam’s presence, I don’t mention to Kevin my feeling that, while we now have some people to point the finger at, I don’t really believe they are guilty. This is not a good start to this relationship; I’m going to have to either trust Adam or renege on our agreement and remove him from our team.
Kevin and I kick things around for about a half hour, until Laurie shows up with Marcus Clark. I had told her to bring in Marcus once I learned that we were going to be dealing with people as dangerous as Cesar Quintana and Paul Moreno. It makes me feel secure to have Marcus in our camp, in the same fashion that Don Corleone felt secure having Luca Brazi on his side. Having only seen Luca in the movie, and never meeting him in person, my view is that Marcus is far scarier. To me, Marcus makes Luca look like Mary Lou Retton.