NEW YORK CITY, 1991

“It’s a family business, see?” Tony hadn’t really understood that when his father told him at age ten, but at the time he’d still thought his father was a garbage man, and that Salerno Sanitation Consulting was a different kind of business.

“Sure, of course,” said the woman he was talking to. She’d heard it before, and knew exactly what kind of consulting was required. She was one of his top consultants – a specialist in plumbing and other wetwork. “So when you gonna tell him?” Around them, the ...

He couldn’t remember how he’d gotten outside, where the kids had gone, how he’d come to have a small, broken body in his arms. It was as if he’d just woken up, already saying, “Mark… Mark… Mark…” as if the repetition were some kind of magic spell. So far, all it had done was turn his grey shirt red.

“Put him down, boss. Put him down.” The noise was meaningless, the voice from a familiar face and short, fake-blonde hair. He knew this woman, respected her.  But none of it would mean anything until...

Scott picked his at his nails until they had almost vanished. He looked down at the with great focus at each nail that had been torn back by his own fingers, right to the bone. He frowned and continued to pick his thumb nail when he heard a hammer knock his senses back into the room.

“Please could everyone rise, the court is now in session.” Scott stood up and hidden his shameful hands in his pockets. He waited for the judge to walk in and take his place at the front of the courtroom. He gulped,...

The official car pulled up in front of 100 Centre Street. As, Otis Johnson got out he said to the driver, "You'd better find somewhere to park. I'm not sure how long I'll be."

"O.K., I'll get that seen to a.s.a.p." Andrew Clinton hung up the phone, sighed and stroked the top of his head to make sure his hair was smooth and neat. He was proud of his appearance, always making an effort to stay trim.

For a few moments, he looked round his office, at the mahogany partner's desk behind which he was sitting; at the bookshelves on the right with their neat rows of boxes bound with red ribbons containing the notes for all the cases he had judged over the last ten years; at th...

Otis Johnson walked along the corridor in 100 Centre Street. He was thinking how best to get the message across to Judge Clinton. It wasn't going to be easy. At the door to the judge's chambers, he paused for a moment before knocking and entering.

A young woman, who was busy xeroxing some documents, turned round and looked at the visitor for a brief moment and then said, "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Judge Clinton."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but he'll see me, I'm sure."

"Who should...

"Ah, Kirsty, have you got those xeroxes for me?"

"No, I haven't quite finished, but there's someone here who wants to see you."

"Who is it?"

"He just said he's here from Mayor Broderick?"

"From Mayor Broderick? Is he tall, black … very fit-looking?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Sounds like Otis Johnson. I guess I'd better see him. If Broderick's sent Johnson, it means there's something afoot! I suppose you'd better show him in."

Clinton stood up as Kirsty walked over to the door, opened it and said, "Come in pl...

Kirsty was sitting at her desk in front of a pile of xeroxes when Johnson came out. He gave her a smile and waved goodbye. She stared at him briefly. He went out, closed the door and set off down the corridor — job done, I think; I think he got the message. 

 Kirsty looked at the closing door then turned and looked at the closed door to Clinton's office — I wonder if I should take him these xeroxes? No, perhaps wait until he calls me.

“In God we trust.”

Judge Clinton could still see the words of gold on the wall behind him as he turned away and closed his eyes. The guiding wisdom clung to the insides of his lids like a solar glare. The words began to soften then fade as he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. From inside his self-prescribed darkness he listened to the rhythm of his breathing. He tried to calm himself as he’d been shown. 

“Stress? Is that all?” Judge Clinton had said when his wife begged hi...

Judge Clinton slumped into the chair behind his desk suddenly exhausted from the anger he’d tried so hard to breath away. 

“Yes,” he called out at three gentle knocks on his door. His voice was edged with a sharpness he hadn’t intended.

“I’m sorry to trouble you sir,” said Miss Anderson. She stopped at the doorway and squinted through the gloom.

“Would you like me to turn the light on, sir?” she said.

“Leave it off please, Miss Anderson,” said the judge. She nodded and scampered silently across ...

The door shut with a click as she left. The judge was grateful for Kirsty’s openness and honesty. It was what he needed to remind him of why he had set out on the same journey nearly twenty years before. 

He hadn’t had to endure the torture of learning that his mother was a victim of his father’s abuse, thank heaven for that, but he did share with Kirsty the same desire he saw glowing in her eyes. He knew what she meant when she’d told him, “I want to ensure justice in the world, the ‘right’ way...

“All rise,” called the bailiff. 

Judge Clinton settled himself back into his courtroom seat. He’d signed the small pile of papers Miss Anderson had given  him and laid them neatly on his desk. 

“Sit,” he grumbled to the attorneys. In unison they dropped into their seats as if they’d been sucked through the broken window of an aeroplane.

“Stay standing, Mr Saunders, ” he snapped at the defendant without looking at him as he flicked through the documents. He pulled out a piece of paper, separated ...

It was late in the evening, sometime after eight pm. Judge Clinton didn’t know. He didn’t like looking at the clock after six pm when the majority of his coworkers had gone home. It made him feel guilty to know he had worked past dinner time again. His wife Amy didn’t like it when he worked late, but she didn’t call him when he did because they both knew it didn’t make things better. He was in his office sitting in his dark maroon leather chair and his eyes ached from staring at his computer scr...

Judge Andrew Clinton sat in his chambers perusing a huge pile of files of criminal cases on his desk.

The room was extremely plush with oak panelled walls lined with books and an exotic violet rug. Plants and portraits were tastefully displayed. The judge had worked hard to attain such salubrious working conditions, after many years of damp, cold, antiquated rooms. However, the comfortable setting had not prevented him getting a peptic ulcer from the stresses of the job. Ulcers prevailed amongst...

Back in the office, Kirsty seated herself at the cramped desk she had been allocated between the door to the women’s rest room and the fire exit. There was no natural light in her corner so she switched on a metal angle-lamp. It was cold and draughty here, with frequent interruptions from the secretaries passing by to use the rest room, or the post boy bringing the mail into the office.

“Asthma, huh!” she laughed to herself, although she coughed some more. She retrieved a packet of honey-and-lem...

Later that afternoon, Kirsty showed the Judge the police report and the details of the 911 call that was made on the day of the accident.

“Have you verified this with the police?” he asked.

“No…but…”

He sighed. “Don’t worry. I’ll get one of my team to phone the New York City Police Commissioner. His name’s Joseph P Thompson, for your future reference. I’d like to see what his handle is on this.”

Kirsty waited for an accolade of praise for a job well done. Instead, the Judge handed her a couple m...

Daniel Lawrence, Esquire carefully adjusted the picture in the bookcase behind his desk. Although they'd been divorsed for 2 years now, the image of Annabeth still graced his shelves. Her photo added a certain gravitas to his office, pictures made him look more like a people person than he actually was. 

Working for Frank Albert Cole, III, and his family enterprises had been lucrative, but success had come with a cost. People did not trust him. 

Looking at the boss's case file, he understood why...

Thirty minutes later he was seated at the bar, a glass of Bowmore 15 in his hand. He drank, savoring the flavor as he tried to avoid everyone's gaze. The last thing he wanted was to answer inane questions. He wanted to sit at the bar and enjoy his drink. He definitely didn’t want to think about was the case being built against his boss and his holdings. 

He focused on his whiskey. He loved the way the Bowmore 15's less smoky flavor allowed the other, subtle flavors to reveal themselves as he sip...

Frank watched the city through the tinted windows of his limousine and smiled. He had been responsible for more than a few of the edges that defined the skyline. This was going to be a good night. He knew it.

He gave the folder his lawyer had given him with a sidelong glance and thought about the younger man. He’d been so insistent that he read it— but he knew it by heart. He’d been the one who had set things in motion and as much as he trusted Daniel Lawrence, there were things he never shared ...

Espresso machines steamed and hissed, the clinking of ceramic mugs competing in volume with the cacophony of voices in the busy coffee shop. The morning rush was at its peak, the mayhem of post-dawn New York City swirling around an unperturbed Danny Lawrence. He sat at his usual small high top table in the eye of the storm, calmly sipping his cappuccino and reading the Times. 

No matter what else was on his docket, Danny’s mornings always began with this ritual. The frantic bustle was oddly calm...

The alley was filled with debris. One day of shit ejected from the assholes of buildings. Office workers. Tradesmen. Restaurants. Bodegas. They eat the raw materials in the mouth of the buildings, the materials are processed just like food passing through the bodies of a giant concrete and metal mollusk, and the indigestible effluence is shit out into the alleys. Alleys are the outhouses of the great buildings in cities. 

What better place to hide a brother in-law. 

Frank smiled at the sign over...

“I think we might need to circle the wagons, Frank.”

Frank Cole looked away from the window of his office towards his personal assistant.

Below him, Battery Park was starting to light up again as the city came to life again.

“Yeah, I’m sure we probably need to to, Marty.”

Just as he spoke, the intercom on his desk beeped.

Frank pressed the button.

“Yes, Greta?”

“Mr. Lawrence is here, Mr. Cole.”

“Thank you, send him in.”

“At least now we can find out how deep the shit we’re in goes.”

“I’m hoping ...

The weather forecast in the city was for another hot, humid and uncomfortable day, so Frank Cole decided on a lightweight suit by Giorgio Armani. He studied his appearance in the mirror whilst he added his Cartier Santos cufflinks and was satisfied that his appearance was that of a man of influence. He said goodbye to his wife, Beth and left his home.

He had arranged to meet Ed, (Edward T Broderick, Mayor of the City of New York) at New York’s most exclusive restaurant, Rao’s, for dinner at six....

His chauffeur pulled up in front of Rao’s Restaurant on the corner of East 114th Street and Pleasant Avenue, in Manhattan just as the mayoral car drove off. 

Ed was chatting to Rao’s co-owner, Frankie Pellegrino Sr who was sitting outside the restaurant’s small front door on its cement patio. Frankie was class personified, dressed in his usual attire of black blazer, white shirt, grey slacks, gold bracelet, and signet ring. His typical black velvet smoking slippers and a glass of Chivas on the t...

Judge Andrew Clinton was concerned, he had arrived at work half an hour late due to delays in the traffic on a day with back to back appointments. He felt rushed as he struggled to make up the time lost. He was usually so punctual and hated tardiness in anyone, especially himself. 

Just as he was getting things under control, he received a phone call from the Mayor's Office, which resulted in him having to reschedule things to accommodate a meeting with Frank Cole.

He felt pretty sure that the o...

The mayor’s secretary phoned to advise that she had scheduled an appointment with Judge Andrew Clinton for midday.

Frank arrived at Clinton’s courtroom and chambers in the 100 Centre Street building at the appointed time and presented himself to the reception area. After a short wait, somebody showed him into the office of Judge Clinton.

As they shake hands, Frank notices that Clinton’s body language and demeanour are guarded and unfriendly.

Frank gets straight to the point and explain to Clinto...

“As long as the Jews don’t run over any more black kids, it’ll be fine, right?”

“You asking a question, Mayor?” Commissioner Thompson had sworn his oath to the police department, but never forgot how he got the job. An appointment from the Mayor was an honor, but could also get you in line for upcoming opportunities, even if the administration changed. 

Mayor Broderick spun in his chair – a box-shaped leftover from the sometimes-chic ‘modern’ office furniture style of the mid-80s. He pulled on h...

“All rise!” 

The packed courtroom followed the bailiff’s orders as Judge Clinton entered and took his seat. 

“Be seated!” 

Several rows back Frank Cole turned to his lawyer. “In persona Cristi. This asshole thinks he’s as powerful as Father Jacobs thinks he is. Stand up. Sit down. This court wouldn’t have any say in this town without my family, and he knows it.”

“That was 65 years ago, Frank. You’re too loud - there are ears everywhere.”

“You know this is just a power grab by the Mayor, Danny. R...

Otis Johnson sat alone, far enough back to disappear, but not so far that he’d miss a single word. The sharp sound of a women’s heels hurried down the aisle. Sweat on her forehead, Angela Bennet was never late - even if she had to run. She took the only empty space in the first row and opened her notes for a final review. Her spot was tight. She didn’t notice her knee touching the old man next to her. He did, and moved just enough to make room. 

“There she is, the only integrity left in New York...

“Mr. Cole. I would be remiss if I did not say ‘good morning,’ and yet I find it hard to share such kindnesses. Let’s go over what we’ve got here, just so we’re clear. You’re a very prominent man, Mr. Cole, through no fault of your own.”

Frank fidgeted in the wooden chair behind the counsel’s table. 

“You’re accused of rigging contracts. Counselor,” he turned to Angela Bennet. “Remind me of the charges against Mr. Cole.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” She stood, flipping through her folder, pulling out...

Kirsty Anderson leaned back against the bark of a white birch tree. She stretched out her toes into the dark brown soil and ruffled the fallen leaves that littered the floor of the Duke forest. It was the labour day weekend, and she had flown to Durham, North Carolina from NYC to be with her boyfriend Darren. The flight was over seven hours long and she had not rested during the flight at all. She had been feeling too excited at the thought of being with Darren again. They had not seen each othe...

Andrew Clinton sat at the head of the family table. His wife Amy had been labouring all morning it seemed, in the kitchen with the roast lamb joint. His wife had Welsh ancestry. She enjoyed lamb as it reminded her of the meals her late mother Bronwen Lloyd, who was born in Wales cooked. Of course it wasn’t authentic Welsh lamb. But nonetheless it reminded her of her mother and that was enough. Amy their daughter, was home from Columbia university for the Labour weekend she ambled into the kitche...

Otis Johnson straightened his tie. He was having a woman friend round for his Labour weekend dinner. He was fussy about what he ate and preferred to cook his own meals, or to order food in from a few select restaurants. He had a delicate constitution and it became more unsettled when he was stressed, as he had been for a few weeks now. He was feeling under pressure from his boss the Mayor, regarding the Frank Cole case. Frank was rich and knew a lot of people. People who could help finance a fut...

Kirsty sat at her desk. Daydreaming just a little about her few days with Darren. Her favourite Duke sweater lay against the back of her chair. Judge Andrew Clinton had nodded at her briefly on the way to his office, but had barely met her eyes. He had poked his head out the door to say that Otis Johnson will be visiting chambers shortly.

 “Show him in and prepare some refreshments. No snacks are necessary, but some decaffeinated coffee, and my usual expresso would be nice.Thank you” he said.

Five minutes later Otis wearing a dark grey suit, which showed of his athletic build to perfection, came into the chambers. Kirsty got up and came round the front of her desk. She smoothed her knee length burgundy pleated skirt and greeted Otis.

 “ hello Mr.Johnson, Judge Clinton has been expecting you. Please follow me”

Kirsty knocked on the door and announced that Mr. Otis Johnson was here. The judge came to the door and motioned Otis to come into his office. The inner sanctum of his chambers....

Seated with his back erect, Frank Cole smirked, his fingers plucking David Bowie’s “Can’t Help Thinking About Me” in his trouser pockets. Playing imaginary rock guitar wasn’t something he usually did during voir dire, but the ambience around him was pregnant with such boredom he couldn’t resist it. Being a courtroom regular emboldened him to step up in his class act. The Coles had a proven track record of bailing themselves, himself included, out. The problem was… was there any unforeseen proble...

A petite woman with olive skin stepped forward. Danny eyed Frank. The woman looked familiar to Danny, but he wasn’t sure who she was. He glanced at Frank, who averted his glance.

Angela spoke. “Your Honour, I challenge the appointment of Miss Donica Dominiguez for cause—”

Frank fidgeted.

“For the past four years, she’s often spotted by the staff at Coleslaw Tower, which is the defendant’s office headquarters, but her name had never been on the staff registry. There is a great likelihood of an un...

That evening was only four years ago, but Frank made it his life’s secret mission to remember it. He and Beth had gone to a Tex-Mex diner to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary, or so it seemed. The press got wind of their firstborn son smoking weed on campus and TV anchors were harping on such juicy gossip, and teachers had told them Albert was bullying his fellow students. This well-timed dinner was merely a diversion from their incessant bickering on how to parent such disgraceful b...

Donna found the memo after she’d gone home. She had some idea that Frank Cole was a famous name, but never in her wildest dreams did she consider ever getting hold of his number. She called him straightaway.

“I’ve been expecting you, DD,” said the familiar masculine voice on the other end. “I can’t forget your beautiful smile. My wife loved it.”

Donna blushed. “I…”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, yes,” she said, nodding. “Thank you, sir. Have a nice day.”

“Tell your supervisor you want to stay back after wor...

It was midnight, and Donna’s colleagues and boss had left the restaurant. She was mopping up the soup she had accidentally spilled in the kitchen galley when Frank slipped in through the back door in a plain grey tee and black glasses. Donna was about to scream but Frank hushed her.

“How can I wake up in time for tomorrow’s work?”

“It’s really a waste for you to work here, DD,” said Frank. “How long have you been in the US?”

“Siete... no, six years? Or seven?”

“How old are you?”

“23.”

“Actually,...

Sunrise. Two raps on the door. “Quick,” came the reply.

Midday. Donna handed the college finance office a cheque before lunchtime. Turned out, it paid off her college loans.

Sunset. Frank called Beth saying he’s working overtime at the office. She suffered him.

Midnight. Two flashlights in Coleslaw Tower. Voices talking about a particular folder. Never found.

The days thereafter: Condoms in Frank’s waste paper basket. Donna started working for a minor “independent” accounting firm.

The months th...

Frank woke up from his sweet fantasy when Angela touched upon the missing folder. Angela said, “Evidence of cooking the books eventually turned up at the mayor’s offices. Your Honour, may I call the witnesses forward?“

“You may,” said Clinton.

Angela turned to the witness stand. “Janet Hancock, come forward.”

The witness was a stocky, plainly dressed woman wearing thick spectacles. One could tell she had failed to fit in with New York City culture.

“Miss Hancock, at the office party on 24 Decemb...

Otis Johnson had suspected that something was going on between the mayor’s office’s latest recruit and the limousine that visited his accounting firm every day. He could have asked questions, but he wasn’t going to risk his future in politics as a minority representative to satisfy a little curiosity. Ask too many questions and one can kiss dreams of rising to power goodbye.

As the staff cluttered and decluttered the office of Thanksgiving and Christmas gifts, Otis noticed a new yellow folder on...

Frank Cole riffed David Bowie again as Danny coolly explained away the oddities in the supposedly incriminating folder — without making any reference to Donna. “As you can see, Your Honour,” said Danny, “my client is in the clear.”

Heaving a sigh, Clinton said, “The trial of Cole versus New York is adjourned to next Wednesday, after the weekend.” He shook his head. Clinton couldn’t say this out loud: he was quite sure he had no misgivings about Frank Cole’s actual legal and moral standing, but h...

On the 23rd floor of Vulture Mansions, on Fifth Avenue, Tom Bennett wiped the sweat from his brow with a scarlet, monogrammed gym towel and took a deep breath before starting his tenth and final set of crunches for the day. “Will you look at the sun?” he pointed at the red orb disappearing behind the row of apartment houses on the west side of Central Park, ”It looks like one of those Chinese paper lanterns floating into the void.” 

Across the room, Angela was mechanically pedalling the exercise...

When Angela emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a Belgian linen bath sheet, her face tingling from the body scrub, she found Tom still dressed in his Lycra gym pants and shirt, glasses perched on the end of his nose, studying the case files on her laptop. He looked up at her.

“I think I’ve found a way through this,” he grinned, “Fresh eyes often see things tired eyes miss.”

Angela looked at Tom and shook her head. Her husband was a hunk, all her girlfriends said so—he could have been a male mo...

“You stinking, hypocritical bastard!” Angela slammed down the lid of the laptop and confronted a startled Tom. She waved the photographs in his face and scrolled the series of WhatsApp messages under his nose. She was so angry she could hardly speak.

“What… the…fuck… are you up to? You’re not only having a gay love affair—and exposing me to AIDs by the way—you’re trying to ruin my career! Did you set up those photos? Have you been in it with Miss Dominguez all this time?” Tom looked back impassi...

It was a hell of a morning to be out of coffee.  Tom had used the last remnants of their sole can of Maxwell House yesterday morning to make a disappointing pot of weak coffee.  Angela chastised Tom for even trying to make a full pot, when if he had just made 2 cups it would have been strong enough to actually get them going in the morning.  As it was, the amber, impotent liquid only managed to wake her up just enough for her to make a lethargic trek to the office.  Once there, she was mercifull...

Judge Clinton had had more than enough bull for one day. Cole and his attorney obviously got truckloads of manure shipped from Texas and Wyoming. Quite possibly Montana as well. 

With a shake of his head, he disrobed and gathered a few things to take home before heading to his car. As he started his car, his brand new Motorola MicroTAC flip phone rang. More than likely it would be his wife Amy wanting to know when he’d be home. With a smile at the thought of surprising her, he let it ring. He co...

"I told you to get the older ones, just the MILFS -"  

"I got what I could, Instagram influencers don't come cheaper by the dozen, you know. We've had to pay 'em all extra just to stand next to each other." 

The window in the waiting room gave them a clear view of the crowd outside courthouse. Standing next to him, Danny could smell his client's personalized spray tan, Rey del Mundo. Sickly sweet, like funeral lilies, he thought.  

"There's some nice pickings out there, Danny. Good job. You get ...

Angela Bennett wasn't happy. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger as she stared down at the piece of paper in front of her. The stamp on the document was real, the document was genuine. The title deed to the St Catherine's Orphanage building, on one of New York's finest pieces of heritage land. Transferred to ColeCorp, Frank Cole's holding company for $150,000, just a month ago. 

"It's legit, I told you." Ed Broderick was sweating under his collar, whether from guilt or middle age it w...

Frank Cole waited in the interview room with Danny Lawrence, as his glamor team fussed about like butterflies, dabbing, spraying, patting.  He watched the young woman opposite him deliberately cross and uncross her long legs, the tops of her lace stockings just visible. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, watching herself on her phone, ignoring him. 

"People, people! I need some help here. Someone?  Some attention, here?" Donna called, to no-one in particular.  She was used to getting what sh...

They left the interview room walking as a tight pack, Beth stalking ahead, Donna slipping in behind her to take Frank's arm. 

"Not now, love," he whispered, shaking her off and striding alone.  

Donna lagged back. "But -" 

"It's OK," Alice stepped forward and took Donna's arm.  "It's hard when you're the new one," she said.  "Sit with me, it will be fine." 

Donna sniffed and walked alongside the small woman. The new one? Who's that? Anyway, be good to be seen with the family, she thought.  No go...

Judge Andrew Clinton was a man secretly, easily, impressed much as he hid the fact behind a hard line, no nonsense approach, the Man in Charge. 

He straightened his robes as he stared into the mirror, squinting a little for effect.  Years ago, he'd had ambitions to move up to the Appellate Division but somehow, he'd been stuck at 100 Centre Street, dealing with crimes at the coal face. 

Crimes at the Coal face, that's what he'd said when they'd interviewed him for Night Line, when he'd been Some...

Waiting impatiently, he composed his face, waiting for the one moment of real power he every day. His one moment of complete control of the courtroom. 

Three small knocks, the secret code. One minute. 

He stood, ramrod straight, as the door swung open. 

Looking at his shoes, he readied his face to look up, sweep the courtroom with a disdainful, distant gaze.  

He stepped forward boldly and looked up, then hesitated, feeling his face soften from disdain to shock as he realised his courtroom today...

So far so good, thought Beth Cole as she settled back to watch Angela Bennett. Her case had been unremarkable for its lack of detail, something Beth thanked her lucky stars she'd managed to make sure of.  No detail meant no case, except for this damned Orphanage. Frank had been greedy; Madelaine had been stupid.  How had she missed this one? 

Beth checked her twitter feed to see if any of the Trustees had released any information about the deal.  There was nothing.  No sign, good. She hoped she'...

As a judge of criminal proceedings, Andrew Clinton kept his tendency to be impressed well hidden.  Major criminals, famous lawyers, sometimes the sheer gall of a crime would impress him but he realised the moment Billy Bento walked in that he would struggle hard to remain impassive with the biggest - and nicest - man on the planet sitting ten feet away from him. 

Billy Bento.  If he thought Frank Cole was a good guy, then maybe he was. 

Except Andrew Clinton knew he wasn't. 

Frank Cole was a bad...

Billy's towering frame dwarfed the small witness box, but he sat complacently after being sworn in, seemingly oblivious to its lilliputian dimensions.

He nodded at Frank, at Danny and Angela, at the jurors. Respectfully around the rest of the room. To those watching, he really did seem as nice as he was on Instagram. 

"Good morning, Mr Bento."  Danny stood his back to the Defense table.  Behind him, Frank Cole leaned back as Beth whispered something in his ear. He nodded and swung back to the ta...

Madelaine Eager wasn't really a Sister of any religion, nor in fact, did she have any sisters at all.  Rather, she'd been a Vegas chorus girl when she'd first met Frank Cole twenty four years ago and they were both youngsters - she being the gift his father had procured for him to celebrate his eighteenth birthday, his arrival at adult manhood.  

Rather than having sex, Frank junior had settled for a big joint, a bigger glass of Johnnie Black and a chat.  They'd been firm friends ever since.  Su...

"Sister Eager, good afternoon. Thank you for coming." 

Madelaine looked mildly at Danny, her mouth a small, but gracious smile. 

"Good afternoon." 

"And you are acquainted with my client, Mr Cole?" 

"I am." 

"And how long have you known him?" 

"Over twenty years." 

"And in that time, have you been involved in many business transactions with him?"

"I have, many times. Charity work is what we do.  I represent My Cole in several charity ventures."

"And in that time, how would you describe Mr Cole's...

"Sister Madelaine Eager, lovely to meet you, even in these circumstances." Angela paused, smiling kindly.  "You do such a lot of good work for the city."

"Thank you." 

"And you're a good friend of the defendant?"

"Yes, I think so." 

"And you're a good friend of ColeCorp?"

"I don't understand the question." 

"You're a good representative of the defendant's company, ColeCorp?" 

"I don't represent anything, except the work of the Lord. And the charities Mr Cole asks me to be part of."

"Objection, s...

Although he didn't mind appearing in court, even for actual crooks like Frank Cole, the summing up of a case was the trickiest part, thought Danny. A false step, a wrong word and the opacity of his cleverly woven half-truths would rip apart and the reality of his story would be exposed; the jury would know instantly he was lying.  He never felt as vulnerable as he did when summing up a case.  And he knew if he got this one over the line, it could be his last.  

Glancing at Angela Bennett as he a...

Outside in the corridor, it was a sea of phones and selfies. Frank was in his element, Billy on one side of him, influencers jostling to get their shots with him and Billy.  Beth, across the hall, was talking animatedly into her phone, smiling broadly. Madelaine and Alice stood nearby, old friends catching up. They'd hardly made it into the crush of the corridor when it seemed the jury's decision was imminent.  

Filing back into the court room, Frank was boisterously calling out, holding his fin...

Frank walked in through the door, flanked by two prison officers. He looked down at the floor, trying not to make eye contact with anyone as they escorted him in. He felt like he was totally out of place, the sound of his Salvatore Ferragamo shoes echoing round the room as he came to a stop at the admissions desk. The chain from his handcuffs broke the otherwise silence as he looked up as the officer called his name. 

“Frank Albert Cole the third”, he’d only heard that name in full less than an ...

NEW YORK CITY, 1991

"Oh, Tony this is perfect!" 

Louisa doesn't squeal, but comes delightfully close. Tony can't help but smile as his wife's face lits up at the decorations in her favorite lilac-and-peach, the tasteful yet festive flower arrangements, the cheerful corner set up with kids' games. She's just come from the hairdresser or the estheticienne or some such feminine activity and looks remarkably young for her newly-minted 41 years, still adjusting shakily on her mind. Yes, Tony sees the incipient bags unde...

Sal arrives soon after. Tony offers him a drink in his ground floor study.

"All ready?," he asks, unnecessarily. Sal has organized everything for today, from the catering to the music to the guest list. There are some names in that guest list that Tony is very anxious to see turn up in person.

"Ed has promised he'll show up, but later, after four," Sal says, sipping his bourbon. "Town Hall meeting. But Otis will come right after brunch."

"Oh, good." Tony wanted the mayor for the social aspect of...

Tony is smiling and sweating a little under his double-breasted suit. The party is on full swing; so much so that there are parked cars two streets away. The guests, a bit uneasy at first, soon relax under the influence of good food and plenty of drinks. The children have been playing noisily in their corner but now the older ones have gone up to Lizzie's room. Louisa, prettier than ever under the influence of gifts, praise and pink champagne, is chatting up wives, refreshing men's drinks and te...

Louisa has gone around to look for Mark. She knows her youngest son likes to get away whenever there's a fight, whenever there's shouting. She's calling for him as she rounds the corner to the front yard and sees the car and something small running across the headlights. It's a split second in which she feels the weight of a whole world ending. 

And then she hears a thud and a noise that must be her heart, stopping. Breaking. She screams. She runs to the small crumpled figure on the floor as the...

There he was Danny Lawrence, Frank’s attack dog, if he was Sicilian he’d look just like a Dobbie, sleek, smart and vicious, in a nice way. Nice suit but not ostentatious. “Who is he waving at, the freaking bailiff is blocking my way. Who would my lawyer be waving too? Frank ordered him to represent me. He should be looking at me!” 

“Get out of your own head man. You gotta chill,” like Danny said. 

That first day at the police station. The cops started acting right when he walked into the intervi...

Otis gripped his coffee mug with determination.  That’s what he’d taken to calling it to make himself feel better for the probable carpal tunnel he was giving himself.  The thermos was slightly warm, as he’d been sipping on it lightly for most of the morning.  He sighed as he took another sip.

He sat on a park bench across from the Court building, laying out the pieces to the conversation that was about to happen.  While he was here on official business from the Mayor’s office, the entire meetin...

Judge Andrew Clinton wasn’t a large man by any means, he was shorter and pudgier than Otis, but there was something about his mousey hair and build that gave off a sense of having lived and worked in a court room for a long time.  He came off as authoritative and judicial.  Especially, as Otis’s eyes snapped open to see Judge Clinton standing above him.

“Good morning Otis,” said Judge Clinton, sneaking a smile.  “I hope I haven’t made you wait too long.”

“Not at all, not at all,” replied Otis, g...

The humid evening air hit him as he walked onto the street.  He had gone into the Judge’s chambers with a purpose, and although he hadn’t wanted to shake the Judge down, he had a feeling the Judge had shaken him down.  It wasn’t clear if the Mayor’s message for the Judge had sunk in.  He took a deep breath.  At least the Judge understood that the Moore case was important.  The rest of it though, was a little unclear.

He walked towards the Mayor’s office, deciding to take the long route as he tri...

“Please rise, the honorable Judge Andrew Clinton presiding.” The bailiffs voice filled the room and echoed off the back wall. Judge Andrew Clinton made his way out of chambers and towards the bench. He took his job seriously, it had become more than just a job. It had become a passion.  The conversation with Otis Johnson chewed at the back of his conscious as he pushed the thoughts away and began to get his mind ready for the long day ahead. Pre-trial mornings always dragged on but he needed to ...

“How do you plead? Guilty or not guilty?” Judge Chambers scribbled a note for a hot cup of coffee to be waiting in his chambers.  

Joel Saunders rose before he placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. “Guilty.”

“Your honor,” Angela Bennett interrupted the proceeding as she stood to address him.

“Ms. Bennet?”

“The prosecution believes it would be in the best interest to accept the plea deal.”

Judge Clinton looked down at his docket again.  As clear as black and white a plea bargain had not been entered into the court prior to the trial. This was not how things were done in his court. He glared at Ms. Anderson as his gaze searched the courtroom before settling back on Angela Bennett.  

“Counselors, a word in my chambers.”

Judge Clinton stormed from his courtroom out the side door, his robes an angry dog, yapping at his heels. The two counselors followed in his wake. Kirsty quickly gave him a steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee before exiting the room. He slammed the coffee down before he flung out his robes behind him and sat in his chair behind the ancient oak desk. It had been in his family for generations and that seemed to ground him somehow. What he did, on a day to day basis was going to affect people for...

After giving a quick summary of the conference in chambers, the judge continued with the court proceedings. 

“I understand there is a plea bargain agreement in this case. If for some reason I choose to reject this agreement, any plea you have entered may be withdrawn and a plea of not guilty may be entered to the charges. Is that understood?” 

Judge Clinton watched Angela strain to hold back her objection. But there were policies and procedures and those must be followed. There would be no fault...

Clinton sat at the desk in his chambers, thinking about what Johnson had said.

He thought about it, and he frowned, and he thought about it some more. Thinking about it was, he realised, fruitless. The number of convictions wasn’t something he could control, it was up to the Police and the DA to bring plausible, compelling cases to trial. Cases with the right amount of evidence, following due process, which could realistically secure convictions. It wasn’t for him to plug the gaps in their shodd...

Outside the building, on Centre Street, taxis seemed to be in short supply, and Clinton began to wonder if he’d made a mistake in not getting Anderson to phone a service for him.

But after a couple of minutes, he saw one coming his way, waved it down, and climbed in.

He gave the driver the address, and sat back in the cab’s rear seat, glad for the air conditioning.

“Hot enough for you?” the driver said from beyond the plastic screen that separated them, and smiled as if he was the first person e...

By the time Clinton arrived, it was more like forty minutes than the thirty he’d asked Anderson to predict, but on arrival he was expected and welcomed as if he was on time, and an assistant escorted him to the Commissioner’s office.

As the Commissioner wasn’t strictly a sworn member of the police force, he’d taken it upon himself to keep his office as far away as possible from most of the other officers in the building. The assistant led Clinton down a corridor, away from the overpopulated open...

Judge Andrew Clinton stared at the closed door to his chambers. He knew he had work to do, but he couldn’t settle. He was restless and just wanted to pull on his track gear and go for a run. Instead, he stared at his door and steepled his fingers to his mouth.

When Andrew first met Amy all those years ago, she helped him learn to recognise these moments. He had always been strictly rational, applying logic to whatever problems he faced. Amy taught him to use his intuition as another source to in...

Kirsty was startled when Judge Clinton’s secretary called her to say he wanted to see her straight away. She dropped what she was doing and raced to his chambers, convincing herself on the way that he was going to fire her. She must have looked a state when she arrived  as she could barely keep her voice steady and couldn’t sit down. To hide her nerves, she stood in front of an Andy Warhol painting and pretended to look at it. The secretary — Julie (bless her) — wasn’t fooled and offered a glass...

It took less than two days for Kirsty to find what she as looking for. In her excitement, she stood beside Judge Clinton’s chair as she laid out her findings on his desk.

“The police left out crucial evidence in their submissions to the court. Look...” She pointed to a copy of a police report on the table.

“The officers on the scene report that Scott Moore initially agreed to talk with them, but then attempted to run when they asked about Mark Salerno. So we have implied consent, then probable c...

“What time does it leave? Uh huh… Okay Jason, I’ll see you there.”

Danny Lawrence frowned as he replaced the receiver, glanced out of his office window and muttered a curse; the traffic was crawling. 

He told Maybel, his personal assistant, to re-arrange his day’s appointments, except for the last one; his daily briefing with Frank Cole.

“Can I tell them why?”

“No, sorry.” Danny said, and smiled to lessen the sting. Maybel liked to be in the know and when she wasn’t his coffee often arrived weak...

Jason Fishman watched from the deck of the Princess Of The Sea as Danny parked his Porche. Watched as Danny walked over to the booking office as the bright red car’s soft top locked into place. Jason wasn’t envious per se. Sure, he’d have liked a Porche, but this was New York, and there were far too many scuzzoids who took pleasure in demolishing other peoples’ toys.

Ten minutes later Danny, wearing cut-off jeans and an old NYU T-shirt, arrived beside him at the railing on the upper deck.

“So, w...

Frank Cole was sitting behind his oversized walnut partners desk smoking a large Havana and sipping a glass of what was probably single malt when Danny finally arrived. 

The journey back had been a nightmare of bumper to bumper traffic, and even though it was sweltering Danny had had to put the roof up and use the car’s air-con to avoid the exhaust fumes. Even listening to Mariah Carey’s new CD hadn’t helped his darkening mood.

“You’re late, Danny.” Frank Cole said mildly as Danny slid into the ...

Danny Lawrence was worried. With the meal and speeches over he watched the body language of those sitting on the Mayor’s table and his worry deepened. Frank was sitting to the right of Mayor Broderick—an honoured position—yet Broderick was ignoring him, talking instead to his chief adviser Otis Johnson, and occasionally smiling at Otis’s partner. Finally, Danny saw Frank turn to the lady sitting next to him. She began to smile as Frank turned on his charm.

The orchestra started up, and soon coup...

Danny rubbed the heal of his hand over his eye. He could feel the start of a headache coming on, and it wasn't going to be good. 

Paula King sat in the chair across from him. Her long legs, which he knew for a fact were just about perfect, were hidden inside a pair of slacks. But fortunately for him, the blouse she wore was about as see-through as you could get and still be legal. The swell of her breasts was visible since she left just enough buttons undone. Her dark hair cascaded around her sh...

“Yeah yeah babe, I’ll be home for dinner… No I’m not going to be late… I swear, just gotta tie up some loose ends… Yeah? Yeah… Okay babe...Yep, tell Alice I said hi...Okay, love you… Buh bye.” 

Frank slammed the car phone down violently, wiping beads of perspiration from his brow with his other hand. The leather seats of the stretch limo, usually cool, were doing nothing to lessen the profusion of sweat soaking through the back of his Armani jacket.

“Damn it Linus, what the hell is wrong with th...

Out the tinted limo windows rose a regal but dilapidated row of Brooklyn brownstones. Evidence of recent renovations lay in the wrapped windows and abandoned Bobcat blocking the sidewalk.

“Pop the trunk, Linus. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Frank’s oversized leather briefcase swung by his side as he ascended the brittle stone stairs. Fumbling with the realtor's lockbox in the dwindling light, he finally pushed through the antique door into the dark entryway. The heavy door closed behind him with ...

“Danny, am I getting fat?”

Frank Cole was looking down at where his protruding gut was preventing him from scooting his rolling leather chair up to the expensive walnut conference table.

Danny was partway through a reticent shrug when Frank answered his own question. “Eh, gah ta hell. I look fabulous.” He gave his head an ironically flamboyant swish, throwing back long hair that wasn’t there. “The more expensive the suit, the more they shrink, am’I right? Too bad, I really liked this one.”

Danny...

“Justice?” said Kirsty. “What is that?”

Judge Clinton sighed. “Ms Anderson. I’m not a function. Call me Andrew, or call me Judge Clinton if you want to be formal. Please don’t call me ‘Justice’.” He looked over the intern’s shoulder, across the skyline to where the erection of the Cole Tower was pushing ever upwards. At the mid-level of the tower where they were beginning the glazing, builders, their yellow hard hats making them look like tiny push pins, crawled along the scaffolding, and far be...

The courtroom stank of stale stone, wood varnish and the lingering fug of cigarette smoke, which coiled blue and angular in the mid-morning light. Briefcase buckles snapped and pens clacked against tables, the stenographer tested her clattering apparatus, the court artist coughed and sharpened his weapons, shucking slivers of pencil to the floor with his X-Acto knife. Every sound, muffled and echoed by the volume of the room as it was, felt to Cole like the clicking of a stray insect beside one'...

Otis entered Judge Clintons Chambers. Pausing, he took a moment to take in the full splendour, dignity and space of the room, the floor to ceiling shelves filled with leather bound legal, political and history books. The photos of family and friends scattered around the room and the personal touches that made this Judge Clintons. Otis got a good sense that Judge Clinton was comfortable here after almost ten years in office, a home from home and he smiled, something to store away at the back of h...

Danny tugged at his collar. He would have liked to remove his suit jacket, but that would have only drawn attention to the scorch mark on his shirt. He should have given more thought to his wardrobe. It was times likes this he missed Annabeth. She would have laid out a suit and tie, and remembered to make sure he had a clean shirt. It wasn’t until he was half-dressed that Danny realized he had two clean shirts to choose from: one had returned from the cleaners with scorch marks, the other one wa...

Visions of sleep faded. The reality that had been tangible and full of sensation was now nothing more than a fading memory. She woke up feeling flushed and the tips of her fingers was still tingling. As her eyes slowly opened, she winced at the daylight that poured through the window. The space next to her in bed was vacant — Tom must have gone for a weekend run in the park.

Angela Bennett put on her robe, shuffled her feet to the kitchen, and slowly made herself a bowl of oatmeal. She then pour...

A heavy wall of humid heat blasted Kirsty Anderson when she exited a cab near the south entrance of New York City’s 100 Centre Street courthouse. The sidewalk was already packed with wannabe spectators. Court wouldn’t be in session for another half hour, but people had lined up overnight to get a coveted spot for day two of Frank Cole III’s fraud trial.  

“Right this way, people.” One guard said, motioning the line of people towards the door. “One at a time…that’s it. Follow the signs to the ope...

Goddammit! What now?  Clinton scrunched the wodge of notes into the pocket of his trousers and quickened his stride. The secretary – Gloria? Gretchen? – scurried away, eager to be out of range of his annoyance at being interrupted by this barrage of identical messages, all impeccably hand-written onto neat squares of memo paper. By Gladys, that was it. A stack of notes, written by Gladys, all saying to call Amy, now. Scarlet robe swinging behind him, Clinton strode into his chambers, already wre...

Danny Lawrence looked flabbergasted at his files. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of the long day at court, or the boring and toothless attack of the prosecution. No, he thought. It was the last witness they had to present. He had expected more of an attack by Angela Bennett in the beginning. But now he knew why. As Danny glanced towards the prosecution he saw Angela lowering her chin just enough to hide the grin on her face. "She knows our witness is no good," muttered Danny.

"What's wrong?" whis...

After an hour long break the courtroom was filled again. The jury representative looked nervous as he stepped out and addressed the courtroom. "Based on the, uh, evidence we've seen and, uh, have heard today. We pronounce the defendant, Frank Cole, not-guilty"

A mixture of ahs and ohs filled the courtroom, but quickly died down and turned into a light mumble as the people present realized that they weren't such a large crowd to begin with.

As the prosecuting lawyer, Angela Bennett, began to pack...

The officer escorted him into the first of this afternoon’s bland spaces. Lots of ugly, functional furnishing - everything that could be was bolted down. Everything was designed to be wiped clean, but probably wasn’t. At least there seemed to be some aircon working somewhere; a relief in the current heat.

The first officer handed papers to another and left.

“Face the wall, hands on the wall!”

Frank complied and was patted down again.

“Take off your belt and shoes, place them in this box, then wa...

After the bureaucracy, searches, uniform and bedding issue Frank was grateful for an end to the tedium and a bit of time on his own. The day room for his group of cells was another sparse room, sticky and airless, with tables bolted to the floor, but he could at least stop answering questions. His cell might have had a marginally better atmosphere but Frank reckoned his senses were rapidly becoming dulled to the smell of damp and stale sweat. He placed his bedroll on the appointed bed, returned ...

On the way back, his thoughts returned to Danny’s nervousness. Frank knew that he didn’t often visit prison - Danny was mainly a commercial lawyer - though he’d done it before and during the trial. This place didn’t give you the mental space to think things through clearly. Everything was a potential threat and that spilled over into not trusting people.

It was not as if Frank had built his success on the back of naive trust, but he knew he had come to depend on loyal staff who made what he had ...

On arriving back in the day room, he found a magazine lying on a table unattended and picked it up. It was copy of “American Angler” from the winter. Fishing was of no interest or relevance to him here but it was something to hold while he continued to discreetly observe the room. 

As a result he spotted the man as soon as he came across - trying to look casual, but actually moving quite purposefully, Frank thought.

The man sat down next to him.

“Mr Cole?”

Frank nodded, and put down the magazine...

The tour of the limited facilities in the wing was necessarily short; the introduction to the “local rules” was short but necessary, and the constant anecdotes about fishing and outdoor pursuits were unnecessary but to be endured. Somewhat oddly (Frank thought) Rich had picked up the fishing magazine when they’d started. Nothing that had been said about the “rules” suggested that the magazine was of great value or at risk of theft. But this place obviously did strange things to your thought patt...

NEW YORK CITY, 1991

Anyway he wasn’t such a bad guy. Wasn’t really a bad guy – not bad, as in “bad”. There were necessary contingencies to be averted, terms and conditions to be renegotiated, and who the flip could blame him for negotiating from a position of strength, we’re not talking intimidation here, maybe the occasional harsh word, hints on attitude and behaviour. Individuals with an overdeveloped sense of impunity might see it as threatening violent extrajudicial consequences like, whatever, getting Hump out...

Today he is not feeling so good. Who would, the FBI come round in the night, they have some kind of silent helicopters and night vision equipment. They can see everything in the dark. It’s all green. They could be standing next to you as you lie in your bed asleep, next to your wife. Not for him, though. Not last night. He lay in his bed, wide awake, moving oddly under the covers like a flounder. A man shouldn’t have to flounder in his own bed. Sometimes the kids would come in when they were lit...

The party was fine. Children’s parties are always fine. Someone was sick, someone broke a vase, the Commissioner for Health, a scrawny fellow with an oddly lizardy gait, ate five helpings of Jell-o and was sick into a bonsai maple.

“What we need to do,” said Salerno to a man in a pinstripe, vest and all, “is acknowledge that a large percentage of that waste, that trash, detritus, crap, rubbish, slop and all the rest of it is merely going to get larger. And come from further afield.”

“If we had a...

“Where’s Mark?”

“Playing with the others I imagine. A healthy, curious boy of eight? Don’t you remember when Anthony was eight? Only four years ago?”

“You haven’t noticed that ‘the others’ have gone home? Too busy doing business. It’ll be nuclear waste next.”

It’ll be plutonium next, he thought. Sweet little Louisa’s mind ran on strange astronomical tracks.

“I’ll go and find the little bastard and–”

“Don’t call him that. You love him really.”

He loved him really.

He wasn’t a bad guy.

They can say whatever they like, I don’t give a hang. I don’t give a fuck. I love him. Of course I do. But I have to let him find the world for himself. See how tough it can be. If he’s to succeed me, I have to help him learn the rules. Little bugger.

Outside, beyond the carefully, but not ostentatiously, mown lawn, Mark was rubbing his backside while his brother retrieved the bike from a shrub.

“Dad! I did it! I rode the bike! Without the training wheels!”

“He did. It’s true. He was brilliant. Until he rode into that tree thing.”

Mark hopped on the new, but not ostentatiously new, Schwinn and pedalled into the quiet suburban street.

David Gawlor, 36, turned into 78th St. And accelerated. Bitterly. Women. His girl had finished with him becaus...

“All rise. The Honorable Judge Andrew Clinton presiding.”

The bailiff stood tall, his voice loud, echoing through the room along with the shuffle of the spectators standing to their feet. Scott stood, buttoning his suit jacket, resisting the urge to run his fingers through his hair. A habit of his when he’s nervous. 

Remember the rules. Eyes forward, do not react to whatever you hear, ignore the jury, and keep your mouth shut. 

Sounds easy enough. Unfortunately, Scott’s having a hard time comply...

The wide door closed behind Otis, the scent of aged books replacing the stale air of the courtroom. He glanced at the bookcase behind the desk, scanning the numbers on the spine and finding peace in the structure. The order. He didn’t understand how people could arrange books without logic. Or worse. Out of sequence. What kind of person shelves the 200s below the 400s? He shuddered. That person could not be trusted. Their books were a performance. His mind filled with images of the pristine ency...

Waiting on the corner for the light to change, Otis wondered what it would be like to jaywalk with a judge. Do they do that? He knew judges, and lawyers, who weren’t as particular about the law as Judge Clinton. “I am curious about something.”

“About Scott Moore?” The Judge sighed. He’d been waiting for this. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew the hit and run defendant had connections. The flashing red hand disappeared and they dove into the wave of oncoming pedestrians.

“If you were going to acquit, w...

The courtroom churned with people settling into their seats. The court reporter took her seat on the right side of the judge and the bailiff stood stoically on the left. Angela Bennett wore her grey suit and sat at the prosecutor’s table reading her notes and preparing her thoughts before announcing the decision of the office for this case. Joel Saunders sat with his attorney at the defendant's table. His boss gave him cufflinks that matched the crisp white shirt that matched his navy-blue suit ...

The late winter evening saw Joel sitting at the bar and stirring a drink at a bar in midtown Manhattan. He looked down at the scotch and thought he would end the night early. He called out to the bartender and said, " One more shot of scotch and make it neat." The bartender turned around and poured out the scotch with a touch of tap water and slid it towards Joel. Joel drank the scotch and placed the glass on the bar. Then he turned around and saw a slender brunette sitting at the bar drinking a...

Judge Andrew Clinton banged the gavel to maintain the order of the court. He looked at the case notes. It was a he-said, she-said case of rape. The victim accused the plaintiff of sexual assault after a night of drinking. Judge Andrew saw that this could be his daughter Jean. She could be a poor rape victim after a night of drinking with the wrong guy at Columbia. Judge Andrew saw the well-dressed defendant with the dark double-breasted suit, cuff links and clicked back hair over a lightly muscu...

A surprised Joel greeted two detectives at his door a couple of weeks after the encounter with Mandy. Joel talked with the detectives and gave his version of the events. He did admit to having drinks with Mandy and going back to her apartment.   

Joel said, “Look, a hug led to a long kiss and then to the bedroom. It was a wild night with Mandy. She fell asleep and I put my clothes on and took a cab back to my apartment. I did not rape her. I wanted to keep in touch with her.”    

The detectives ...

Judge Andrew removed his robe, sat down and asked, “What type of bullshit deal is this?” Angela said, “We looked at the case and saw that a trial would be traumatizing for the victim. She hasn’t left her apartment for months. I have discussed with the victim the difficulty of a trial and the presence of alcohol that night. She’s O.K. with the plea deal. She didn't come to this hearing.” Malcolm said, “My client said that this was a consensual one-night stand, not rape.” Judge Andrew said, “Rape ...

Andrew grimaced and flexed his back, which stubbornly refused to give the satisfying crackle he was looking for, as he swiveled his chair to his desk. He began the task of sorting the material that had manifested on his desk over the course of the morning. Paper accrued like leaves in the fall every moment he was absent, it seemed. Yardwork never ends, he thought to himself, though not bitterly.

One file perched on its own and on it post-it with familiar hand writing read “For your amusement, -K...

Three hours later, Andrew got to the agreed-on book store ten minutes before the agreed-on time. He pulled a copy of Four Past Midnight off the new release shelf and settled on one of the shop’s browsing chairs with it. He was only far enough into the book to realize that it was short stories, not a new novel, when Commissioner Thompson settled into the chair next to him with a quiet clear of the throat.

“Commissioner, thank you for seeing me.”

Joseph Thompson smiled and his smile was as neat an...

It’s a bright sunny morning but Judge Andrew Clinton office feels cold. He walked in, sat in his chair and his head begun to throb.  He wondered how he would make it through the day. Yesterday he had to set Scott Moore free, again. This was the fifth case this month, which had aborted in his courtroom.  He looked out of the window. He was not focused on anything in particular.  His mind was racing on what the next step would be. The Scott case had been a disaster, yet he was sure the prosecution...

*click* *click* ... photographs of a document. Look carefully, you can see the faint shadow of a woman as she is bent over the desk and the open file with documents spread out.

The furtive photographer was holding a miniature “spy” camera, clicking it, cocking it to wind the film, clicking again. She was turning pages and photographing systematically. The file cabinet drawer was still open, the office door was ajar, the lock pick was back in her stylish handbag.

She worked as quickly as she coul...

*click* … a photograph of a swamp in northern New Jersey. Look closely, you can see small figures in yellow hard-hats with surveying equipment.

Behind the real estate photographer, Mr. Lawrence was struggling slightly, climbing the damp earth. “Excuse me, I’m supposed to meet Frank? Uh, Frank Cole…?”

The photographer took the camera from his face and gestured by jerking his head, “Boss is over there. The blue suit….”

Lawrence squelched his way over, envelope tucked under his arm.

“Danny!” Cole c...

*click* a professionally-taken photograph of a party, composed perfectly, at just the right angle to lead your eye from that woman in that cocktail dress across the sea of less distinct (but obviously wealthy) people and toward the logo of the charity. 

“Opportunities” is the word you can read from the blurb on the wall behind the decorations. It turned out that this was not the photograph that would be used in the newspaper coverage of the gala, but it came second in the editorial meeting.

Just...

*click* a photograph of two men, sharing a moment. Now this was the photo that the newspaper would run the next morning. Not the front page, but the first page of a later section, and with the caption, “Mayor Edward T. Broderick and property developer Frank Cole at the ‘Opportunities for All’ charity fund-raiser in Manhattan last night.”

The men in the photograph had their smiling mouths open slightly in friendly conversation. If photographs had sound, you might have heard the first one saying c...

It was supposed to be just another typical day at the office: Danny wearing his old jeans and a t-shirt. He had run out of unpressed shirts for today. That’s one of the things he missed from his marriage. Annabeth always made sure there were enough unpressed shirts to wear.

He was sipping an iced tea while comfortably seated at his desk chair. 

The phone rung calmly. Customers, no matter how important, were to be handled by the keepers outside his private office. Only his investigators were awar...

“Just don’t park near me,” Scott had said on the phone that afternoon. “I’ll park at the zoo and walk across the bridge to the ice skating rink.”

Frank recalled the shakiness of Scott’s voice. There was paranoia in it. 

Why? thought Frank. He’s scot-free…Scott free… 

Frank steered his car through the windy path of of the Great Central Parkway. He broke his focus on the road to see the headquarters of his childhood hero. The small, art deco building that housed Bob Moses’ Triborough Bridge Author...

The room had high windows which gave enough light so that it wasn't necessary to turn the lights on. Frank was standing in front of the mirror and hastily putting on his suit jacket. Some of the buttons seemed reluctant to fit their holes, and Frank fumbled with them swearing under his breath. 

Danny was leisurely sitting with a glass of whiskey at the small coffee table. They both were in the backroom of Frank’s office. Danny looked up from the newspaper he was holding: 

"Hey Frank, have you re...

The office doors flew open, and an athletic black man in his late thirties carrying a cup of coffee held the doors open for his two companions. He was in fact 43 years old but looked younger: his years in service left him fit and strong. It was Otis, the Senior Aide to the incumbent Mayor of New York City. 

He was not supposed to be here, in fact, as it was a state matter, since some of the public projects upstate were involved. But he had to try and reach the settlement. The Mayor had plans on ...

Frank Cole lowered his voice as he stepped into the lobby of a luxury apartment building in the Upper West Side. 

“It was anything but simple,” he seethed, hissing into the Motorola cellphone. “Simple would have been a phone call I didn’t have to make. But this,” he gestured vaguely at nothing in particular, “this runaround is anything but! I shouldn’t need to go to these lengths for a simple meeting.”

“Mr. Cole,” a doorman bowed slightly, his eyes on the ground as he opened a large glass door w...

Once inside, Cole stood patiently until a secretary told him the Judge was ready to see him and lead him into the chambers.

“The Honorable Judge Andrew Clinton,” the young man said in a stiff voice before backing out of the room and closing the door.

Cole flashed his most charming smile and held out his hand, “Your Honor, what an honor,” he paused briefly and chuckled, “Excuse me, I’m not accustomed to meeting Judges.”

“You’d be surprised how often it happens, Mr. Cole,” Clinton smiled agreeably...

In Danny Lawrence’s eyes, the New York Supreme Courtroom wasn’t a warm place to be in autumn, or any other season for that matter. 

He sat in his seat at the counsel table, staring at the dark brown wood panels lining the walls of the courtroom. He glanced at his watch, then back at the walls. The judge hadn’t arrived. His dark grey suit was ill-fitting, and he knew it. He fidgeted every so often, trying to get it to mesh to him to no avail. Next to him sat Frank Cole, his boss and now client. T...

Judge Andrew Clinton was making the final adjustments to his gown when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he bellowed.

The large oak door to the judge’s chambers opened a crack.

“Are you decent, Judge?”

“Why on earth would I tell you to come in if I wasn’t, Kirsty?” 

The door open fully and Kirsty walked in.

“Sorry to interrupt you Judge Clinton, but you’re running late now,” she said.

“I was already late when I got caught in that silly New York traffic. What’s going to be later than now?...

“Remember, I’m doing all the talking. Okay?” Danny said to Frank.

Frank shrugged, distracted by the seated Judge Clinton. He thought he wouldn’t have any feeling when he saw him again, but now realized he had deceived himself. He had resentment. Plenty of it.

“May the accused rise,” Judge Clinton instructed. 

Danny shot up, adjusting his suit. Frank followed reluctantly.

The judge cleared his throat and began.

“The defendant, Mr. Frank Albert Cole the third, is here today to face the felony char...

Otis stepped out of the cab into the bustling crowd and read the engraved inscription on the marble wall of the court building.

EQUAL JUSTICE FOR ALL MEN OF WHATEVER STATE OR PERSUASION

Fine words. They’re a damned lie, though. Justice isn’t equal, no matter how many times they say it is.

He walked into the building, sighing in relief as he left the sticky heat of the day outside. August in New York was a terrible time to be away from air conditioning. It wasn’t as hot as he’d ever felt, but damn, the humidity was a killer. At least there wasn’t a garbage strike on.

He enjoyed listening to the sounds of his fellow New Yorkers as they went about their lives, everyone talking lou...

Finally the day of Frank Cole’s trial arrived.  Angela managed to fall asleep after perusing her opening statement only to wake up with a massive headache. At first it lurked just out of eye sight as the morning light streamed through sheer curtains into the Bennett’s master bedroom, but when Tom groggily rolled over to sit on his side of the bed the beast suddenly roared into being and sank its razor sharp teeth into her skull.

“Tom, you big beast!”

Tom turned to see his wife clutching her head...

To her surprise Angela’s headache actually subsided to a dull throb by the time the car pulled up to the massive Criminal Court building. Traffic was not as bad as she feared so they made it to the courthouse with lots of time to spare. As she was about to get out of the car Tom put his hand on her shoulder. “Honey, are you sure you’re all right? I can get you something…”

She patted his hand with a decisive tap-tap. “Motion denied. Besides, today’s pretty easy-peasy.. Jury selection will probabl...

But time was not on Angela’s side. Judge Clinton kept the proceedings moving forward until all 12 members of the jury as well as the alternates were sitting in the box by mid morning after which he called an early recess for lunch. Angela spent most of the break on the phone trying to get in touch with Winchester with no luck. To top it off, her headache was back and she rubbed her temples with an unhappy sigh. Of all days to get a headache, she thought as she sat down at the prosecutor’s table ...

Visions of sleep faded. The reality that had been tangible and full of sensation was now nothing more than a fading memory. She woke up feeling flushed and the tips of her fingers was still tingling. As her eyes slowly opened, she winced at the daylight that poured through the window. The space next to her in bed was vacant — Tom must have gone for a weekend run in the park.

Angela Bennett put on her robe, shuffled her feet to the kitchen, and slowly made herself a bowl of oatmeal. She then pour...

It was a hell of a morning to be out of coffee.  Tom had used the last remnants of their sole can of Maxwell House yesterday morning to make a disappointing pot of weak coffee.  Angela chastised Tom for even trying to make a full pot, when if he had just made 2 cups it would have been strong enough to actually get them going in the morning.  As it was, the amber, impotent liquid only managed to wake her up just enough for her to make a lethargic trek to the office.  Once there, she was mercifull...

Goddammit! What now?  Clinton scrunched the wodge of notes into the pocket of his trousers and quickened his stride. The secretary – Gloria? Gretchen? – scurried away, eager to be out of range of his annoyance at being interrupted by this barrage of identical messages, all impeccably hand-written onto neat squares of memo paper. By Gladys, that was it. A stack of notes, written by Gladys, all saying to call Amy, now. Scarlet robe swinging behind him, Clinton strode into his chambers, already wre...

“All rise,” the bailiff announced, followed by the sound of people shuffling and moving themselves into a standing position. “Honorable Judge Andrew Clinton. Court is now in session.”

  Frank Cole fumbled with the jacket button on his Kiton sharkskin wool suit. His stubby fingers worked against the strain at his waist, and he sighed with relief as the jacket opened and allowed for a bit of breathing room. He’d wanted to go with a trendy cut for his court outfit, but his lawyer advised sticking w...

The phone on his desk jangled, startling him out of his focus. He looked up from the briefs and realized it was late. “Judge Clinton,” he rasped, his voice thick from lack of use over the past several hours. 

“I was afraid you were still there,” Amy stated. 

“I’m sorry, hon. I…” 

“Just lost track of time,” she finished.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand across his face, rubbing his eyes so he could see the clock. Seven thirty. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll wrap it up and head out now.” 

“You forgot, didn...

Danny Lawrence called his first witness. After being sworn in, Joey Miggatone stepped to the witness box. His broad shoulders overwhelmed the space. He sat in the chair and threaded his fingers together in front of him, his pointer fingers outstretched in a steeple. 

The 20-something had close-cropped black hair, a scar over his eyebrow, and a nose that looked as if he had broken it multiple times.

“Tell us how you are acquainted with Mr. Cole,” Lawrence asked. 

“Uh, I’ve worked for Frank for a ...

One of the two corrections officers already in the processing room when Cole was brought in pointed to a stainless steel table bolted to the concrete floor. “Take your clothes off and put them there.”  

Cole sucked in a breath, rubbing wrists that were still complaining about the recently-removed handcuffs. “The hell I will. I’m just in for the weekend. You—” 

The other officer across from him, tall, burly, sergeant stripes on the short sleeves of his gray-blue button-down stepped in front of Co...

A minute later, Cole stood naked, cheeks burning, his hands crossed below his bulging belly. His bespoke Brioni suit had been searched, the ten grand worth of the finest Italian fabric unceremoniously folded on the table, his belt and the stripped laces from his two grand Meccariello’s looped on top. 

The first officer gestured to a set of footprints painted on the floor at one end of the table. “Stand there.”

“Why?” he said, defiance creeping into his voice again. He would make sure his lawyer,...

Two hours after he’d entered this shit hole—printed, photographed, prodded, poked, showered, then finally shown to his solo cell in the priss wing—a guard opened the door to a visitation room. He came face to face with Danny Lawrence, seated behind a table, for the first time since he’d been cuffed in court and led away.

Lawrence stood as Cole entered, the guard closing the door behind him. “Frank, are you all right?” 

“I want names, Danny. Every damned guard who processed me. I’m gonna sue them...

Cole stewed the whole way back to his cell, the presence of the guard just off his left shoulder contributing to his foul mood. He should be teeing up his first wall-banger at Barbetta’s right now, sharing a pasta dish with voluptuous DD, an appetizer for later events, before eventually heading home to a sleeping Beth and Albert. Instead, he was about to go through three miserable nights, and no doubt weeks of tabloid headlines after.

Cole had been back in his cell for less than a minute, reclined on his bunk, brooding as he stared at the bottom of the empty one above him, when he heard a rapping on the metal plate that contained the locking mechanism for his cell. He sat up, hoping a guard was about to tell him that Lawrence had found a way after all.   

Instead, he found a fellow prisoner at the entrance to his cell, approximately his own height, dark haired, a thick chest which stretched taut the fabric of his orange priso...

Tour concluded, they were on their way back to Cole’s cell when Gianulli stepped inside the empty dining hall and motioned for Cole to join him. “Hey, I gotta ask you something, and I’m sorry if it seems rude.”

Cole studied the man before shrugging.

Gianulli reached into his back pocket, and for fleeting second, terror rising in his throat, Cole thought the man was reaching for a shim or a stiv, whatever it was they called those homemade prison weapons. Instead, the man produced a square piece o...

Back in the VIP wing, Cole entered his cell while Gianulli hung back at its entrance, his gaze wandering about the small room. “This wing’s a safe place.” As he leaned against the open doorway, the man continued. “But you still need to be careful—accidents have been known to happen. And some guys manage to suicide—a damn shame, and a sin against God, rest their souls.” 

Cole, seated on his bunk now, felt the worms begin to churn in his gut.

Gianulli fixed his gaze back on Cole. His face appeared...

NEW YORK CITY, 1991

"Oh, Tony this is perfect!" 

Louisa doesn't squeal, but comes delightfully close. Tony can't help but smile as his wife's face lits up at the decorations in her favorite lilac-and-peach, the tasteful yet festive flower arrangements, the cheerful corner set up with kids' games. She's just come from the hairdresser or the estheticienne or some such feminine activity and looks remarkably young for her newly-minted 41 years, still adjusting shakily on her mind. Yes, Tony sees the incipient bags unde...

Sal arrives soon after. Tony offers him a drink in his ground floor study.

"All ready?," he asks, unnecessarily. Sal has organized everything for today, from the catering to the music to the guest list. There are some names in that guest list that Tony is very anxious to see turn up in person.

"Ed has promised he'll show up, but later, after four," Sal says, sipping his bourbon. "Town Hall meeting. But Otis will come right after brunch."

"Oh, good." Tony wanted the mayor for the social aspect of...

Tony is smiling and sweating a little under his double-breasted suit. The party is on full swing; so much so that there are parked cars two streets away. The guests, a bit uneasy at first, soon relax under the influence of good food and plenty of drinks. The children have been playing noisily in their corner but now the older ones have gone up to Lizzie's room. Louisa, prettier than ever under the influence of gifts, praise and pink champagne, is chatting up wives, refreshing men's drinks and te...

Louisa has gone around to look for Mark. She knows her youngest son likes to get away whenever there's a fight, whenever there's shouting. She's calling for him as she rounds the corner to the front yard and sees the car and something small running across the headlights. It's a split second in which she feels the weight of a whole world ending. 

And then she hears a thud and a noise that must be her heart, stopping. Breaking. She screams. She runs to the small crumpled figure on the floor as the...

“All Rise.” 

Conversation stopped, replaced by the sound of lawyers chairs being scraped backwards and the gentle swish of clothing as those on the public benches stood as directed. Judge Andrew Clinton strode the short distance from his chambers to the bench, notepad and a law book under his left arm, the hem of his black gown wafting behind him was he walked. He didn’t need the book, but, after nine years on the New York Supreme Court bench he knew that carrying it in gave him an air of gravit...

There are a myriad of small rooms off the central corridor of the New York City Supreme Court and all have doors made of the same, dark oak that adorns the rest of the building. Only a small sign on each door tells them apart, Court Officials, Councillor Interview Rooms, Police. Tony Salerno and his entourage headed towards one marked Councillor Interview. He had no Councillor to speak to but the name Tony Salerno had influence, even here and, if Tony wanted a private room, well, he got one. 

Th...

The Court reconvened exactly 30 minutes later, Judge Clinton sweeping onto his bench as the Clerk called the, “All Rise.”

Sitting, he glanced around the courtroom, checking that everyone was present. They were, as he knew they would be. People were not late for Judge Clinton’s hearings, not more than once anyway. “If we are all ready to proceed then we shall call the witness.”

The two lawyers nodded and Judge Clinton indicated for the witness to be summoned. The Court Officer, stepping from the ...

Judge Clinton pointed towards Angela, “Your witness.” 

Angela rose, taking a drink of water as she did so, “Please tell the court, officer, what you saw inside the house as you stood at the doorstep.” 

Esposito placed her hands on the top of the stand, “I was standing next to the suspect, just inside the doorway and my colleague was talking with Mr Moore. I looked down the hallway and saw, laying on the floor, what appeared to be a piece of bloodstained cloth halfway down, on the floor.”

“And pl...

“Summary, Council, you first Mr Lawrence if you please.” 

Danny almost jumped from his seat, “Yes, thank you, Your Honour. Officer Esposito has told this court that, at the time of the discovery of the evidence in question, my client was not under arrest and that he was in his own home. She further stated that she had not been given permission to enter my clients home. Whilst she states that the evidence was in plain view she admitted, under oath, that she was, ‘just’ inside my clients hallway w...

Otis gripped his coffee mug with determination.  That’s what he’d taken to calling it to make himself feel better for the probable carpal tunnel he was giving himself.  The thermos was slightly warm, as he’d been sipping on it lightly for most of the morning.  He sighed as he took another sip.

He sat on a park bench across from the Court building, laying out the pieces to the conversation that was about to happen.  While he was here on official business from the Mayor’s office, the entire meetin...

Judge Andrew Clinton wasn’t a large man by any means, he was shorter and pudgier than Otis, but there was something about his mousey hair and build that gave off a sense of having lived and worked in a court room for a long time.  He came off as authoritative and judicial.  Especially, as Otis’s eyes snapped open to see Judge Clinton standing above him.

“Good morning Otis,” said Judge Clinton, sneaking a smile.  “I hope I haven’t made you wait too long.”

“Not at all, not at all,” replied Otis, g...

The humid evening air hit him as he walked onto the street.  He had gone into the Judge’s chambers with a purpose, and although he hadn’t wanted to shake the Judge down, he had a feeling the Judge had shaken him down.  It wasn’t clear if the Mayor’s message for the Judge had sunk in.  He took a deep breath.  At least the Judge understood that the Moore case was important.  The rest of it though, was a little unclear.

He walked towards the Mayor’s office, deciding to take the long route as he tri...

State prosecutor Angela Barrett and counsel for the defense both stood up. Barrett approached the bench first.

"The State, after due consideration and in consultation with counsel for the defense, will withdraw the charge of sexual assault in favor of the lesser charge of simple assault, on condition that the defendant plead guilty to said charge."

"That's a hell of a thing."

"Your honor?"

Judge Clinton looked Barrett in the eye. "A hell of a thing, counselor."

Barrett didn't flinch. "Your honor...

It had been a busy morning. Barrett was huddled in the hallway giving last minute instruction to one of her aides when someone brushed by them in a hurry.

"What the hell, Barrett?!"

She looked up to see Judge Clinton barreling away down the hall, robe tails flying. There was no reason for him to have rushed close by them like that.

Her aide looked after Clinton. "Uh-oh, that doesn't sound good." But when the aide turned back to her, the look of concern which had flashed across Barrett's face was...

City Hall Park drew a regular lunch crowd — over-dressed people,  men and women in nice suits, incongruously picking over pricey low-brow takeout.

Angela Barrett sat alone on her usual park bench — a shaded spot within earshot of the fountain — eating a light box lunch. Barrett favored this over closer-by locations like Columbus Park. Being some distance from the criminal courthouse, it afforded more psychological elbow room.

But she had only just started her lunch when Judge Clinton approached ...

Barrett stood up sharply. "I have to go. I'm due back."

He looked away at the fountain. "Of course."

A few steps away she tossed the white box in a nearby park trash can. She stepped back over to the bench.

"Are you heading back, also?"

Clinton did not turn to look at her. He recognized the calculation she had made and it angered him further.

"No, counselor, you go ahead."

Clinton closed his eyes and listened to the patter of the nearby fountain. He was angry. What was he trying to do? What did he want? A fight? She wasn't going to really stand up to him like that — could not afford to. She just waited him out, held back, did the calculation, took the hit. More expediency. Was there no escaping it? 

He drew a long breath and didn't know anymore if he was more angry with her or with himself.

Someone else sat down on the far end of the bench. Clinton looked again at...

It was late in the evening, sometime after eight pm. Judge Clinton didn’t know. He didn’t like looking at the clock after six pm when the majority of his coworkers had gone home. It made him feel guilty to know he had worked past dinner time again. His wife Amy didn’t like it when he worked late, but she didn’t call him when he did because they both knew it didn’t make things better. He was in his office sitting in his dark maroon leather chair and his eyes ached from staring at his computer scr...

Judge Andrew Clinton stared at the closed door to his chambers. He knew he had work to do, but he couldn’t settle. He was restless and just wanted to pull on his track gear and go for a run. Instead, he stared at his door and steepled his fingers to his mouth.

When Andrew first met Amy all those years ago, she helped him learn to recognise these moments. He had always been strictly rational, applying logic to whatever problems he faced. Amy taught him to use his intuition as another source to in...

Kirsty was startled when Judge Clinton’s secretary called her to say he wanted to see her straight away. She dropped what she was doing and raced to his chambers, convincing herself on the way that he was going to fire her. She must have looked a state when she arrived  as she could barely keep her voice steady and couldn’t sit down. To hide her nerves, she stood in front of an Andy Warhol painting and pretended to look at it. The secretary — Julie (bless her) — wasn’t fooled and offered a glass...

It took less than two days for Kirsty to find what she as looking for. In her excitement, she stood beside Judge Clinton’s chair as she laid out her findings on his desk.

“The police left out crucial evidence in their submissions to the court. Look...” She pointed to a copy of a police report on the table.

“The officers on the scene report that Scott Moore initially agreed to talk with them, but then attempted to run when they asked about Mark Salerno. So we have implied consent, then probable c...

“What time does it leave? Uh huh… Okay Jason, I’ll see you there.”

Danny Lawrence frowned as he replaced the receiver, glanced out of his office window and muttered a curse; the traffic was crawling. 

He told Maybel, his personal assistant, to re-arrange his day’s appointments, except for the last one; his daily briefing with Frank Cole.

“Can I tell them why?”

“No, sorry.” Danny said, and smiled to lessen the sting. Maybel liked to be in the know and when she wasn’t his coffee often arrived weak...

Jason Fishman watched from the deck of the Princess Of The Sea as Danny parked his Porche. Watched as Danny walked over to the booking office as the bright red car’s soft top locked into place. Jason wasn’t envious per se. Sure, he’d have liked a Porche, but this was New York, and there were far too many scuzzoids who took pleasure in demolishing other peoples’ toys.

Ten minutes later Danny, wearing cut-off jeans and an old NYU T-shirt, arrived beside him at the railing on the upper deck.

“So, w...

Frank Cole was sitting behind his oversized walnut partners desk smoking a large Havana and sipping a glass of what was probably single malt when Danny finally arrived. 

The journey back had been a nightmare of bumper to bumper traffic, and even though it was sweltering Danny had had to put the roof up and use the car’s air-con to avoid the exhaust fumes. Even listening to Mariah Carey’s new CD hadn’t helped his darkening mood.

“You’re late, Danny.” Frank Cole said mildly as Danny slid into the ...

Danny Lawrence was worried. With the meal and speeches over he watched the body language of those sitting on the Mayor’s table and his worry deepened. Frank was sitting to the right of Mayor Broderick—an honoured position—yet Broderick was ignoring him, talking instead to his chief adviser Otis Johnson, and occasionally smiling at Otis’s partner. Finally, Danny saw Frank turn to the lady sitting next to him. She began to smile as Frank turned on his charm.

The orchestra started up, and soon coup...

Danny rubbed the heal of his hand over his eye. He could feel the start of a headache coming on, and it wasn't going to be good. 

Paula King sat in the chair across from him. Her long legs, which he knew for a fact were just about perfect, were hidden inside a pair of slacks. But fortunately for him, the blouse she wore was about as see-through as you could get and still be legal. The swell of her breasts was visible since she left just enough buttons undone. Her dark hair cascaded around her sh...

“Just don’t park near me,” Scott had said on the phone that afternoon. “I’ll park at the zoo and walk across the bridge to the ice skating rink.”

Frank recalled the shakiness of Scott’s voice. There was paranoia in it. 

Why? thought Frank. He’s scot-free…Scott free… 

Frank steered his car through the windy path of of the Great Central Parkway. He broke his focus on the road to see the headquarters of his childhood hero. The small, art deco building that housed Bob Moses’ Triborough Bridge Author...

“I think we might need to circle the wagons, Frank.”

Frank Cole looked away from the window of his office towards his personal assistant.

Below him, Battery Park was starting to light up again as the city came to life again.

“Yeah, I’m sure we probably need to to, Marty.”

Just as he spoke, the intercom on his desk beeped.

Frank pressed the button.

“Yes, Greta?”

“Mr. Lawrence is here, Mr. Cole.”

“Thank you, send him in.”

“At least now we can find out how deep the shit we’re in goes.”

“I’m hoping ...

Kristy and judge Andrew are walking down the halls of the supreme court criminal term at the 100 centre street building.they are going through the judge's diary to confirm all activities of the day. Kristy’s jaw drops in shock when she finds out the judge will be meeting with Frank Cole. 

The judge looks at her surprisingly wondering why she had gone silent. “Kristy, you went silent, what is the matter?”

“I am sorry Mr Clinton, just that I see from your list of appointments there is one slated f...

Judge Clinton cracked open the side door that led from his chambers to the bench.

The bailiff, seeing the signal, intoned, “All rise.”

Although he was already standing, Judge Clinton reflexively straightened his spine and squared his shoulders.

“Hear ye, hear ye,” the bailiff continued.

Judge Clinton pulled the door open and strode toward the bench, climbing the two steps that led to the dais from which he would preside over today’s proceedings.

“All persons having business in this trial term pa...

Judge Clinton looked toward the bailiff. “Where is the defendant?”

The bailiff glanced at the defense table. “Sorry, you Honor, he must still be in holding.” He stepped to the door opposite the one where Judge Clinton had entered, opened it a few inches, and spoke to someone on the other side. Turning back to the judge, he said, “He’ll be here momentarily.”

Judge Clinton nodded. He turned to the prosecutor’s table and said, “While we’re waiting, welcome, Attorney Bennett.”

“Thank you, Your Honor...

Otis entered Judge Clintons Chambers. Pausing, he took a moment to take in the full splendour, dignity and space of the room, the floor to ceiling shelves filled with leather bound legal, political and history books. The photos of family and friends scattered around the room and the personal touches that made this Judge Clintons. Otis got a good sense that Judge Clinton was comfortable here after almost ten years in office, a home from home and he smiled, something to store away at the back of h...

Seated with his back erect, Frank Cole smirked, his fingers plucking David Bowie’s “Can’t Help Thinking About Me” in his trouser pockets. Playing imaginary rock guitar wasn’t something he usually did during voir dire, but the ambience around him was pregnant with such boredom he couldn’t resist it. Being a courtroom regular emboldened him to step up in his class act. The Coles had a proven track record of bailing themselves, himself included, out. The problem was… was there any unforeseen proble...

A petite woman with olive skin stepped forward. Danny eyed Frank. The woman looked familiar to Danny, but he wasn’t sure who she was. He glanced at Frank, who averted his glance.

Angela spoke. “Your Honour, I challenge the appointment of Miss Donica Dominiguez for cause—”

Frank fidgeted.

“For the past four years, she’s often spotted by the staff at Coleslaw Tower, which is the defendant’s office headquarters, but her name had never been on the staff registry. There is a great likelihood of an un...

That evening was only four years ago, but Frank made it his life’s secret mission to remember it. He and Beth had gone to a Tex-Mex diner to celebrate their twentieth wedding anniversary, or so it seemed. The press got wind of their firstborn son smoking weed on campus and TV anchors were harping on such juicy gossip, and teachers had told them Albert was bullying his fellow students. This well-timed dinner was merely a diversion from their incessant bickering on how to parent such disgraceful b...

Donna found the memo after she’d gone home. She had some idea that Frank Cole was a famous name, but never in her wildest dreams did she consider ever getting hold of his number. She called him straightaway.

“I’ve been expecting you, DD,” said the familiar masculine voice on the other end. “I can’t forget your beautiful smile. My wife loved it.”

Donna blushed. “I…”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, yes,” she said, nodding. “Thank you, sir. Have a nice day.”

“Tell your supervisor you want to stay back after wor...

It was midnight, and Donna’s colleagues and boss had left the restaurant. She was mopping up the soup she had accidentally spilled in the kitchen galley when Frank slipped in through the back door in a plain grey tee and black glasses. Donna was about to scream but Frank hushed her.

“How can I wake up in time for tomorrow’s work?”

“It’s really a waste for you to work here, DD,” said Frank. “How long have you been in the US?”

“Siete... no, six years? Or seven?”

“How old are you?”

“23.”

“Actually,...

Sunrise. Two raps on the door. “Quick,” came the reply.

Midday. Donna handed the college finance office a cheque before lunchtime. Turned out, it paid off her college loans.

Sunset. Frank called Beth saying he’s working overtime at the office. She suffered him.

Midnight. Two flashlights in Coleslaw Tower. Voices talking about a particular folder. Never found.

The days thereafter: Condoms in Frank’s waste paper basket. Donna started working for a minor “independent” accounting firm.

The months th...

Frank woke up from his sweet fantasy when Angela touched upon the missing folder. Angela said, “Evidence of cooking the books eventually turned up at the mayor’s offices. Your Honour, may I call the witnesses forward?“

“You may,” said Clinton.

Angela turned to the witness stand. “Janet Hancock, come forward.”

The witness was a stocky, plainly dressed woman wearing thick spectacles. One could tell she had failed to fit in with New York City culture.

“Miss Hancock, at the office party on 24 Decemb...

Otis Johnson had suspected that something was going on between the mayor’s office’s latest recruit and the limousine that visited his accounting firm every day. He could have asked questions, but he wasn’t going to risk his future in politics as a minority representative to satisfy a little curiosity. Ask too many questions and one can kiss dreams of rising to power goodbye.

As the staff cluttered and decluttered the office of Thanksgiving and Christmas gifts, Otis noticed a new yellow folder on...

Frank Cole riffed David Bowie again as Danny coolly explained away the oddities in the supposedly incriminating folder — without making any reference to Donna. “As you can see, Your Honour,” said Danny, “my client is in the clear.”

Heaving a sigh, Clinton said, “The trial of Cole versus New York is adjourned to next Wednesday, after the weekend.” He shook his head. Clinton couldn’t say this out loud: he was quite sure he had no misgivings about Frank Cole’s actual legal and moral standing, but h...

On the 23rd floor of Vulture Mansions, on Fifth Avenue, Tom Bennett wiped the sweat from his brow with a scarlet, monogrammed gym towel and took a deep breath before starting his tenth and final set of crunches for the day. “Will you look at the sun?” he pointed at the red orb disappearing behind the row of apartment houses on the west side of Central Park, ”It looks like one of those Chinese paper lanterns floating into the void.” 

Across the room, Angela was mechanically pedalling the exercise...

When Angela emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a Belgian linen bath sheet, her face tingling from the body scrub, she found Tom still dressed in his Lycra gym pants and shirt, glasses perched on the end of his nose, studying the case files on her laptop. He looked up at her.

“I think I’ve found a way through this,” he grinned, “Fresh eyes often see things tired eyes miss.”

Angela looked at Tom and shook her head. Her husband was a hunk, all her girlfriends said so—he could have been a male mo...

“You stinking, hypocritical bastard!” Angela slammed down the lid of the laptop and confronted a startled Tom. She waved the photographs in his face and scrolled the series of WhatsApp messages under his nose. She was so angry she could hardly speak.

“What… the…fuck… are you up to? You’re not only having a gay love affair—and exposing me to AIDs by the way—you’re trying to ruin my career! Did you set up those photos? Have you been in it with Miss Dominguez all this time?” Tom looked back impassi...

A heavy wall of humid heat blasted Kirsty Anderson when she exited a cab near the south entrance of New York City’s 100 Centre Street courthouse. The sidewalk was already packed with wannabe spectators. Court wouldn’t be in session for another half hour, but people had lined up overnight to get a coveted spot for day two of Frank Cole III’s fraud trial.  

“Right this way, people.” One guard said, motioning the line of people towards the door. “One at a time…that’s it. Follow the signs to the ope...

Judge Clinton had had more than enough bull for one day. Cole and his attorney obviously got truckloads of manure shipped from Texas and Wyoming. Quite possibly Montana as well. 

With a shake of his head, he disrobed and gathered a few things to take home before heading to his car. As he started his car, his brand new Motorola MicroTAC flip phone rang. More than likely it would be his wife Amy wanting to know when he’d be home. With a smile at the thought of surprising her, he let it ring. He co...

“All rise,” the bailiff announced, followed by the sound of people shuffling and moving themselves into a standing position. “Honorable Judge Andrew Clinton. Court is now in session.”

  Frank Cole fumbled with the jacket button on his Kiton sharkskin wool suit. His stubby fingers worked against the strain at his waist, and he sighed with relief as the jacket opened and allowed for a bit of breathing room. He’d wanted to go with a trendy cut for his court outfit, but his lawyer advised sticking w...

The phone on his desk jangled, startling him out of his focus. He looked up from the briefs and realized it was late. “Judge Clinton,” he rasped, his voice thick from lack of use over the past several hours. 

“I was afraid you were still there,” Amy stated. 

“I’m sorry, hon. I…” 

“Just lost track of time,” she finished.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand across his face, rubbing his eyes so he could see the clock. Seven thirty. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’ll wrap it up and head out now.” 

“You forgot, didn...

Danny Lawrence called his first witness. After being sworn in, Joey Miggatone stepped to the witness box. His broad shoulders overwhelmed the space. He sat in the chair and threaded his fingers together in front of him, his pointer fingers outstretched in a steeple. 

The 20-something had close-cropped black hair, a scar over his eyebrow, and a nose that looked as if he had broken it multiple times.

“Tell us how you are acquainted with Mr. Cole,” Lawrence asked. 

“Uh, I’ve worked for Frank for a ...

One of the two corrections officers already in the processing room when Cole was brought in pointed to a stainless steel table bolted to the concrete floor. “Take your clothes off and put them there.”  

Cole sucked in a breath, rubbing wrists that were still complaining about the recently-removed handcuffs. “The hell I will. I’m just in for the weekend. You—” 

The other officer across from him, tall, burly, sergeant stripes on the short sleeves of his gray-blue button-down stepped in front of Co...

A minute later, Cole stood naked, cheeks burning, his hands crossed below his bulging belly. His bespoke Brioni suit had been searched, the ten grand worth of the finest Italian fabric unceremoniously folded on the table, his belt and the stripped laces from his two grand Meccariello’s looped on top. 

The first officer gestured to a set of footprints painted on the floor at one end of the table. “Stand there.”

“Why?” he said, defiance creeping into his voice again. He would make sure his lawyer,...

Two hours after he’d entered this shit hole—printed, photographed, prodded, poked, showered, then finally shown to his solo cell in the priss wing—a guard opened the door to a visitation room. He came face to face with Danny Lawrence, seated behind a table, for the first time since he’d been cuffed in court and led away.

Lawrence stood as Cole entered, the guard closing the door behind him. “Frank, are you all right?” 

“I want names, Danny. Every damned guard who processed me. I’m gonna sue them...

Cole stewed the whole way back to his cell, the presence of the guard just off his left shoulder contributing to his foul mood. He should be teeing up his first wall-banger at Barbetta’s right now, sharing a pasta dish with voluptuous DD, an appetizer for later events, before eventually heading home to a sleeping Beth and Albert. Instead, he was about to go through three miserable nights, and no doubt weeks of tabloid headlines after.

Cole had been back in his cell for less than a minute, reclined on his bunk, brooding as he stared at the bottom of the empty one above him, when he heard a rapping on the metal plate that contained the locking mechanism for his cell. He sat up, hoping a guard was about to tell him that Lawrence had found a way after all.   

Instead, he found a fellow prisoner at the entrance to his cell, approximately his own height, dark haired, a thick chest which stretched taut the fabric of his orange priso...

Tour concluded, they were on their way back to Cole’s cell when Gianulli stepped inside the empty dining hall and motioned for Cole to join him. “Hey, I gotta ask you something, and I’m sorry if it seems rude.”

Cole studied the man before shrugging.

Gianulli reached into his back pocket, and for fleeting second, terror rising in his throat, Cole thought the man was reaching for a shim or a stiv, whatever it was they called those homemade prison weapons. Instead, the man produced a square piece o...

Back in the VIP wing, Cole entered his cell while Gianulli hung back at its entrance, his gaze wandering about the small room. “This wing’s a safe place.” As he leaned against the open doorway, the man continued. “But you still need to be careful—accidents have been known to happen. And some guys manage to suicide—a damn shame, and a sin against God, rest their souls.” 

Cole, seated on his bunk now, felt the worms begin to churn in his gut.

Gianulli fixed his gaze back on Cole. His face appeared...