merits right now. Focus on the soft spot.
Shelly gathered her briefcase. “Here’s what I want from you. First of all, in exchange for our silence for now, I want these federal charges to disappear.”
Both of them moved on that one. They didn’t appear to be falling to their knees in compliance.
“Dropped,” she repeated. “Gone. Complete immunity. That’s for starters. And then you do whatever you need to do with the county attorney to make this murder case a little more manageable.”
Romero, still shaking his head, raised a hand. “Part of your client’s plea is that he keeps quiet. So don’t act like that’s some gift—”
“Oh, come now,” said Shelly. “My client has a constitutional right to present a defense in his murder case. If his defense relates to undercover work he was doing for you, you can’t stop him from talking about it. And you’d look bad trying to.”
She put down her briefcase. As she thought about it, the federal government was already looking bad. One of their undercover informants in a shoot-out with one of their suspect cops? They’d look out of control of their own investigation, to say nothing of having their entire sting halted prematurely. Yes, they had plenty of incentive to keep this quiet.
Romero stood and collected himself a moment. Shelly tried to see things from his perspective. He probably saw Shelly as somewhat reasonable—and sympathetic to his mission of ridding the streets of drugs—but also willing to stand up to the feds, and to dowhatever was necessary to promote Alex’s interests. She didn’t intimidate easily, and if Romero had done his homework about her, he probably knew there was only so far he could push.
He framed his hands. “Those kids you try to help, Shelly? Those are the same ones
we’re
trying to help. We’re talking about ten-year-old kids. Strung out. Addicted. Giving blow jobs in an alley at ten bucks a pop for drug money. Child porn? Teen prostitution? That’s all about drugs, Counselor. We’re fighting the scum of the earth here.”
“So keep fighting,” she urged. “Let’s call this thing what it was. Alex was fighting off a rogue cop. Get him out of jail. We’ll keep this whole thing silent. And your investigation keeps going.” She handed him her business card. “For now, we’re on the same team. We’ll keep mum. But you get us a deal. And get it fast.” She moved to the doorway and stopped. “And don’t you ever lump Alex in with those scumbags on the streets.”
She held her breath as she walked out, ignoring the audible reaction to that last comment. She was in the dark on so many things. She needed answers.
6
Home
“Y OUR FOLKS ARE
deceased,” she said to Alex. She had read it in his file. His father, Gerhard Baniewicz, died when Alex was ten years old. His mother, Patricia, had died of cancer when Alex was thirteen. Alex was taken in by Elaine Masters, the mother of Alex’s best friend, Ronnie Masters, three years ago.
Alex nodded. “My dad was a good man. Came over on a boat from Warsaw. Worked his butt off. Sold machine parts.” His eyes cast away as they walked along the lakefront. It was a quick walk from Shelly’s law school office and it was unseasonably pleasant for March. “Problem was, he didn’t have much by way of benefits. So he didn’t leave us much.”
“An independent contractor,” she said. Not an employee, and therefore without pensions and health insurance. An inexpensive way for a company to hire workers.
“Exactly. He dropped dead. Aneurysm. Just dropped dead at a sales call.”
“I’m sorry, Alex.”
“Mom was okay after a while. We got along okay there for a while.”
Two parents lost in three years. She couldn’t fathom the sense of abandonment. Or maybe she could, but not in such a cruel manner.
“Cancer of the pancreas,” he explained. “By the time they found it, it had spread to her lungs. They couldn’t even operate. She lasted about four
Shelly gathered her briefcase. “Here’s what I want from you. First of all, in exchange for our silence for now, I want these federal charges to disappear.”
Both of them moved on that one. They didn’t appear to be falling to their knees in compliance.
“Dropped,” she repeated. “Gone. Complete immunity. That’s for starters. And then you do whatever you need to do with the county attorney to make this murder case a little more manageable.”
Romero, still shaking his head, raised a hand. “Part of your client’s plea is that he keeps quiet. So don’t act like that’s some gift—”
“Oh, come now,” said Shelly. “My client has a constitutional right to present a defense in his murder case. If his defense relates to undercover work he was doing for you, you can’t stop him from talking about it. And you’d look bad trying to.”
She put down her briefcase. As she thought about it, the federal government was already looking bad. One of their undercover informants in a shoot-out with one of their suspect cops? They’d look out of control of their own investigation, to say nothing of having their entire sting halted prematurely. Yes, they had plenty of incentive to keep this quiet.
Romero stood and collected himself a moment. Shelly tried to see things from his perspective. He probably saw Shelly as somewhat reasonable—and sympathetic to his mission of ridding the streets of drugs—but also willing to stand up to the feds, and to dowhatever was necessary to promote Alex’s interests. She didn’t intimidate easily, and if Romero had done his homework about her, he probably knew there was only so far he could push.
He framed his hands. “Those kids you try to help, Shelly? Those are the same ones
we’re
trying to help. We’re talking about ten-year-old kids. Strung out. Addicted. Giving blow jobs in an alley at ten bucks a pop for drug money. Child porn? Teen prostitution? That’s all about drugs, Counselor. We’re fighting the scum of the earth here.”
“So keep fighting,” she urged. “Let’s call this thing what it was. Alex was fighting off a rogue cop. Get him out of jail. We’ll keep this whole thing silent. And your investigation keeps going.” She handed him her business card. “For now, we’re on the same team. We’ll keep mum. But you get us a deal. And get it fast.” She moved to the doorway and stopped. “And don’t you ever lump Alex in with those scumbags on the streets.”
She held her breath as she walked out, ignoring the audible reaction to that last comment. She was in the dark on so many things. She needed answers.
6
Home
“Y OUR FOLKS ARE
deceased,” she said to Alex. She had read it in his file. His father, Gerhard Baniewicz, died when Alex was ten years old. His mother, Patricia, had died of cancer when Alex was thirteen. Alex was taken in by Elaine Masters, the mother of Alex’s best friend, Ronnie Masters, three years ago.
Alex nodded. “My dad was a good man. Came over on a boat from Warsaw. Worked his butt off. Sold machine parts.” His eyes cast away as they walked along the lakefront. It was a quick walk from Shelly’s law school office and it was unseasonably pleasant for March. “Problem was, he didn’t have much by way of benefits. So he didn’t leave us much.”
“An independent contractor,” she said. Not an employee, and therefore without pensions and health insurance. An inexpensive way for a company to hire workers.
“Exactly. He dropped dead. Aneurysm. Just dropped dead at a sales call.”
“I’m sorry, Alex.”
“Mom was okay after a while. We got along okay there for a while.”
Two parents lost in three years. She couldn’t fathom the sense of abandonment. Or maybe she could, but not in such a cruel manner.
“Cancer of the pancreas,” he explained. “By the time they found it, it had spread to her lungs. They couldn’t even operate. She lasted about four