Rage Of Angels Part 38

Adam Warner had made love to her, but Michael Moretti possessed her. He filled every inch of her body with exquisite sensations. It was as though he were making love in bright, flashing colors, and the colors kept changing from one moment to the next, like some wonderful kaleidoscope. One moment he made love gently and sensitively, and the next moment he was cruel and pounding and demanding, and the changes made Jennifer frantic. He withdrew from her, teasing her, making her want more, and when she was on the verge of fulfillment he pulled away.

When she could stand it no longer, she begged, "Please take me! Take me!"

And his hard organ began to pound into her again until she screamed with pleasure. She was no longer a woman paying back a debt. She was a slave to something she had never known before. Michael stayed with her for four hours, and when he left, Jennifer knew that her life had changed.

She lay in her bed thinking about what had happened, trying to understand it. How could she be so much in love with Adam and still have been so overwhelmed by Michael Moretti? Thomas Aquinas had said that when you got to the heart of evil, there was nothing there. Jennifer wondered if it was also true of love. She was aware that part of what she had done was out of a deep loneliness. She had lived too long with a phantom, a man she could neither see nor have, yet she knew she would always love Adam. Or was it just a memory of that love?

Jennifer was not sure what she felt about Michael. Grat.i.tude, yes. But that was a small part of it. It was more. Much more. She knew who and what Michael Moretti was. He had killed for her, but he had killed for others, too. He had murdered men for money, for power, for vengeance. How could she feel as she did about a man like that? How could she have let him make love to her and have been so excited by him? She was filled with a sense of shame and she thought, What kind of person am I What kind of person am I?

She had no answer.

The afternoon newspapers reported the story of a fire in a Queens motel. The remains of an unidentified man were found in the ruins. Arson was suspected.

After Joshua's return, Jennifer had tried to make everything as normal for him as possible, fearful of the trauma the preceding night might have inflicted upon him. When Joshua woke up, Jennifer prepared a meal and brought it to him in bed. It was a ridiculous meal, consisting of all the junk foods he loved: a hot dog and a peanut b.u.t.ter sandwich and Fritos and Hostess Twinkies and root beer.

"You should have seen him, Mom," Joshua said between bites. "He was crazy!" He held up his bandaged hand. "Do you think he really thought I was Jesus Christ?"

Jennifer repressed a shudder. "I-I don't know, darling."

"Why do people want to kill other people?"

"Well-" and Jennifer's thoughts suddenly went back to Michael Moretti. Did she have the right to judge him? She did not know the terrible forces that had shaped his life, that had turned him into what he had become. She had to learn more about him, to get to know and understand him.

Joshua was saying, "Do I have to go to school tomorrow?"

Jennifer put her arms around him. "No, darling. We're both going to stay home and play hooky all week. We-"

The telephone rang.

It was Michael. "How's Joshua?"

"He's wonderful-thank you."

"And how are you feeling?"

Jennifer felt her throat thickening with embarra.s.sment. "I'm-I-I feel fine."

He chuckled. "Good. I'll see you for lunch tomorrow. Donato's on Mulberry Street. Twelve-thirty."

"All right, Michael. Twelve-thirty."

Jennifer spoke those words and there was no turning back.

The captain at Donato's knew Michael, and the best table in the restaurant had been reserved for him. People kept stopping by to say h.e.l.lo, and Jennifer was again amazed at the way everyone kowtowed to him. It was strange how much Michael Moretti reminded her of Adam Warner, for each, in his own way, was a man of power.

Jennifer started to question Michael about his background, wanting to learn how and why he had gotten trapped into the life he led.

He interrupted her. "You think I'm in this because of my family or because someone put pressure on me?"

"Well-yes, Michael. Of course."

He laughed. "I worked my b.u.t.t off to get where I am. I love it. I love the money. I love the power. I'm a king, baby, and I love being king."

Jennifer looked at him, trying to understand. "But you can't enjoy-"

"Listen!" His silence had suddenly turned into words and sentences and confidences, pouring out as though they had been stored inside him for years, waiting for someone to come along to share them with. "My old man was a Coca-Cola bottle."

"A Coca-Cola bottle?"

"Right. There are billions of them in the world and you can't tell one from another. He was a shoemaker. He worked his fingers to the bone, trying to put food on the table. We had nothing. Being poor is only romantic in books. In real life, it's smelly rooms with rats and c.o.c.kroaches and bad food that you can never get enough of. When I was a young punk, I did anything I could to make a buck. I ran errands for the big shots, I brought them coffee and cigars, I found them girls-anything to stay alive. Well, one summer I went down to Mexico City. I had no money, nothing. My a.s.s was hanging out. One night a girl I met invited me to a large dinner party at a fancy restaurant. For dessert they served a special Mexican cake with a little clay doll baked inside it. Someone at the table explained that the custom was that whoever got the clay doll had to pay for the dinner. I got the clay doll." He paused. "I swallowed it."

Jennifer put her hand over his. "Michael, other people have grown up poor and-"

"Don't confuse me with other people." His tone was hard and uncompromising. "I'm me. I know who I am, baby. I wonder if you know who you are."

"I think I do."

"Why did you go to bed with me?"

Jennifer hesitated. "Well, I-I was grateful and-"

"Bulls.h.i.t! You wanted me."

"Michael, I-"

"I don't have to buy my women. Not with money and not with grat.i.tude."

Jennifer admitted to herself that he was right. She had had wanted him, just as he had wanted her. wanted him, just as he had wanted her. And yet, And yet, Jennifer thought, Jennifer thought, this man deliberately tried to destroy me once. How can I forget that? this man deliberately tried to destroy me once. How can I forget that?

Michael leaned forward and took Jennifer's hand, palm up. Slowly, he caressed each finger, each mound, never taking his eyes from her.

"Don't play games with me. Not ever, Jennifer."

She felt powerless. Whatever there was between them transcended the past.

It was when they were having dessert that Michael said, "By the way, I have a case for you."

It was as though he had slapped her in the face.

Jennifer stared at him. "What kind of case?"

"One of my boys, Vasco Gamb.u.t.ti, has been arrested for killing a cop. I want you to defend him."

Jennifer sat there filled with hurt and anger that he was still trying to use her.

She said evenly, "I'm sorry, Michael. I told you before. I can't get involved with-with your...friends."

He gave her a lazy grin. "Did you ever hear the story about the little lion cub in Africa? He leaves his mother for the first time to go down to the river to get a drink, and a gorilla knocks him down. While he's picking himself up, a big leopard shoves him out of the way. A herd of elephants comes along and almost tramples him to death. The little cub returns home all shaken up and he says, 'You know something, Ma-it's a jungle out there!'"

There was a long silence between them. It was was a jungle out there, Jennifer thought, but she had always stood at the edge of it, outside it, free to flee whenever she wanted to. She had made the rules and her clients had had to live by them. But now, Michael Moretti had changed all that. This was a jungle out there, Jennifer thought, but she had always stood at the edge of it, outside it, free to flee whenever she wanted to. She had made the rules and her clients had had to live by them. But now, Michael Moretti had changed all that. This was his his jungle. Jennifer was afraid of it, afraid to get caught up in it. Yet, when she thought about what Michael had done for her, she decided it was a small thing he was asking. jungle. Jennifer was afraid of it, afraid to get caught up in it. Yet, when she thought about what Michael had done for her, she decided it was a small thing he was asking.

She would do Michael this one favor.

38.

"We're going to handle the Vasco Gamb.u.t.ti case," Jennifer informed Ken Bailey.

Ken looked at Jennifer in disbelief. "He's Mafia! One of Michael Moretti's. .h.i.t men. That's not the kind of client we take."

"We're taking this one."

"Jennifer, we can't afford to get mixed up with the mob."

"Gamb.u.t.ti's ent.i.tled to a fair trial, just like anyone else." The words sounded hollow, even to her.

"I can't let you-"

"As long as this is my office, I'll make the decisions." She could see the surprise and hurt that came into his eyes.

Ken nodded, turned and walked out of the office. Jennifer was tempted to call him back and try to explain. But how could she? She was not sure she could even explain it to herself.

When Jennifer had her first meeting with Vasco Gamb.u.t.ti, she tried to regard him as just another client. She had handled clients before who were accused of murder, but somehow, this was different. This man was a member of a vast network of organized crime, a group that bled the country of untold billions of dollars, an arcane cabal that would kill when necessary to protect itself.

The evidence against Gamb.u.t.ti was overwhelming. He had been caught during the holdup of a fur shop and had killed an off-duty policeman who had tried to stop him. The morning newspapers announced that Jennifer Parker was going to be the defense attorney.

Judge Lawrence Waldman telephoned. "Is it true, Jennie?"

Jennifer knew instantly what he meant. "Yes, Lawrence."

A pause. "I'm surprised. You know who he is, of course."

"Yes, I know."

"You're getting into dangerous territory."

"Not really. I'm just doing a friend a favor."

"I see. Be careful."

"I will," Jennifer promised.

It was only afterward that Jennifer realized he had said nothing about their having dinner together.

After looking over the material her staff had a.s.sembled, Jennifer decided that she had no case at all.

Vasco Gamb.u.t.ti had been caught red-handed in a robberymurder, and there were no extenuating circ.u.mstances. Furthermore, there was always a strong emotional pull in the minds of the jurors when the victim was a policeman.

She called Ken Bailey in and gave him his instructions.

He said nothing, but Jennifer could feel his disapproval and was saddened. She promised herself that this was the last time she would work for Michael.

Her private phone rang and she picked it up. Michael said, "h.e.l.lo, baby. I'm hungry for you. Meet me in half an hour."

She sat there, listening, already feeling his arms around her, his body pressing against hers.

"I'll be there," Jennifer said.

The promise to herself was forgotten.

The Gamb.u.t.ti trial lasted ten days. The press was there in full force, eager to watch District Attorney Di Silva and Jennifer Parker in open combat again. Di Silva had done his homework thoroughly, and he deliberately understated his case, letting the jurors take the suggestions he dropped and build on them, creating horrors in their minds even greater than the ones he depicted.

Jennifer sat quietly through the testimony, seldom bothering to raise objections.

On the last day of the trial, she made her move.

There is an adage in law that when you have a weak defense, you put your opponent on trial. Because Jennifer had no defense for Vasco Gamb.u.t.ti, she had made a decision to put Scott Norman, the slain policeman, on trial. Ken Bailey had dug up everything there was to know about Scott Norman. His record was not good, but before Jennifer was through she made it seem ten times worse than it was. Norman had been on the police force for twenty years, and in that period had been suspended three times on charges of unnecessary violence. He had shot and almost killed an unarmed suspect, he had beaten up a drunk in a bar and he had sent to the hospital a man involved in a domestic quarrel. Although these incidents had taken place over a period of twenty years, Jennifer made it seem as though the deceased had committed an unbroken series of despicable acts. Jennifer had a parade of witnesses on the stand giving testimony against the dead police officer, and there was not one thing Robert Di Silva could do about it.

In his summation, Di Silva said, "Remember, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that Officer Scott Norman is not the one on trial here. Officer Scott Norman was the victim. He was killed by"-pointing-"the defendant, Vasco Gamb.u.t.ti."

But even as the District Attorney spoke, he knew it was no use. Jennifer had made Officer Scott Norman appear to be as worthless a human being as Vasco Gamb.u.t.ti. He was no longer the n.o.ble policeman who had given his life to apprehend a criminal. Jennifer Parker had distorted the picture so that the victim was no better than the accused slayer.