“With judges on his payroll? Not likely.”
Oddly, Brody laughed. “And crooked judges can’t be forced straight? Find a lever there, push the fuck out of it, and watch your old man circle the drain.”
I rubbed my chin, thinking. “But how do we find what lever to push?”
“Records, bro. Your old man has to keep records of all his illicit transactions, you know what I mean? Pictures of a judge with his pants down, get my drift?”
“Holy shit.” I stared at the kids without seeing them. “He’sblackmailingthem?”
“Some, sure. The rest he pays. Even then, a record of underhanded payments can get a judge kicked off the bench.”
My chin on my fist, I thought. “That must be the same for cops and lawyers.”
“Yep. Pay a prosecutor to ‘lose’ evidence, or even declare it’s notenoughevidence. With enough cops to back them up, no one can question it.”
“Holy shit.”
“And I’m sure there are records of those transactions, too.” Brody grinned and clapped me on my shoulder. “You’ve work to do, bro.”
“But the chick?” My stomach lurched at the thought of what I had to do. “I have to grab her, man. By week’s end.”
“That’s not enough time to get the goods on your pop and get him indicted.” Brody mimicked my elbows on my knees posture. “Can you do it and somehow protect her?”
“I don’t know. He has a place set aside, built just for her.”
“Shit. He can send you off on any old errand and start skinning her for entertainment.”
I scrubbed my face with my hands. “Gawd,” I moaned. “Why did I have to be born to a maniac?”
For answer, Brody smacked the back of my head.
“Ow. Dammit.”
“Listen here, dumb ass,” he growled. “No whining, you got it? You man up, man. You do what you gotta do. Clear?”
I rubbed the back of my head. “Yeah. I got it.”
“If you can’t get the girl out of your old man’s way, you protect her any way you can. Meanwhile, you work to bring him down. Then do it. Bring the mother fucker’s world crashing down on his head.”
***
Great advice. A little hard to put into action, however.
Arnaud made me report to him every day. Where was she? Where did she work? Where did she live? What were her patterns? Did she ride the bus? Drive a car? What make? What model? Did she visit her old man? If so, for how long?
I confessed all I knew about her. Should I try to fake it, Arnaud smelled a lie from a thousand yards. I dared not to fudge in my answers. Yes, I knew where she worked, but she’s always surrounded by people. At home, she’s behind two deadbolts and an alarm system. In between, she rode the bus.
Arnaud paced his elaborate study, his head down, his thick lips pursed. At times, I hardly believed I came from his loins.This was one of those times. He’d let the body I’d inherited go to fat, to lose any and all muscle tone. To become less than what he once was – strong, powerful, a force of such magnitude the skies wept at his coming.
Now – he had power, yes. But he no longer owned the power he needed.
“All right,” he said at last. “Friday night. When she walks home from the bar. I’ll get you a drug, jab her in the neck. She won’t know what hit her.”
“Will this shit kill her?”
He chuckled. “It’ll give her one hell of a headache when she wakes up. Otherwise, it won’t harm her at all.”
Thus, I waited in the shadows for her to walk past me, the syringe and the needle bared and ready. Around the corner from the bar, the only time she spent alone. The only time she was vulnerable.
