Justice Lost (Darren Street #3)(12)
I’d never set foot in the Portal before the night I went to see whether Dr. Nicolas Fraturra might be there. I was operating on a very strong suspicion that he would, based on my conversation with Jenny Diaz, but I wasn’t certain. I hadn’t really started my serious recon of Fraturra, the kind of recon that ultimately leads to a killing. I knew where he lived, but I’d only driven by once. I knew a little about his family situation from Jenny, and I knew, of course, what he did for a living and where he worked. But I hadn’t really decided to kill him until earlier that day when I met with Stephen Morris, the district attorney, and realized that Morris wasn’t going to give me any satisfaction. But since Morris had turned me down flat, I had to figure out how I was going to kill him and get away with it. If I screwed up and the cops were going to be able to come after me, I knew I’d have no trouble putting a bullet in my own head. My attitude about going back to jail hadn’t changed since my release from prison. I would rather die than go back.
The restaurant was noisy when I walked in at 7:00 p.m. There were a couple dozen people sitting in the lobby, waiting, and the bar was packed. I’d dressed for the occasion—a navy-blue suit, white shirt, and navy-blue tie—the lawyer’s uniform. The bar was to the left, and I walked past the hostess’s station and looked around the large, ornately decorated room. There was an avant-garde sort of vibe in the room. The bar was a big square, constructed of river rock with a granite cap. Hanging from the ceiling above the bar was a model of a dirigible. It was lighted purple on the inside, and it cast a soft hue over the entire room. The walls were exposed brick covered with old gears and fans and copper piping and mechanical drawings.
I spotted Fraturra within twenty seconds. He was sitting on the other side of the room at a counter, facing away from the bar. I expected a woman to be sitting next to him, but instead, he was deep in conversation with a man in a suit that was very much like the one I was wearing. I recognized the man immediately. It was Stephen Morris, the district attorney who had looked me in the eye earlier that very day and told me he didn’t know Fraturra.
That twitch back at the office. I knew Morris was lying then, and now, here was proof in the flesh. I felt my heartbeat rise and told myself to try to keep it together. I didn’t need to go to jail, but how I longed to walk over there and smash Morris in the face. A day or two in jail might have been worth the satisfaction of breaking his jaw.
I squeezed between a couple of people at the bar and finally managed to catch the eye of a bartender. I ordered a beer and stepped back, trying to decide exactly what to do. It didn’t take long. I decided to do what I usually did when I was angry—confront the situation head-on without thinking it through—and I worked my way around the bar toward the two men.
When I got to them, I stood directly behind Morris, facing toward the bar so he wouldn’t recognize me, and then I turned.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I said, and both of their heads shot around. I looked at Morris. “This is a hell of a coincidence, isn’t it, Stevie? A few hours ago you told me you didn’t know this guy, and here you are, having a drink with him. You must have just met, right? How are you two hitting it off?”
“Get out of here, Darren, before I call the police.”
“People say that to me all the time these days,” I said. “Go ahead—call ’em up. While you’re doing that, I’ll call the News Sentinel and see if we can get a reporter down here. Get both sides of the story in the paper.”
I looked at Fraturra. “On call again tonight, Doc? Ignoring your phone?”
Fraturra looked at me like he wanted to spit in my face, but he didn’t say anything.
“I asked old Stephen here to charge you with reckless homicide for killing my girl and my baby,” I said. “He made up a bunch of bullshit excuses why he couldn’t do it, so you’re safe. Doesn’t look like you’ll be going to jail. He’s a good friend. I just thought you should know that. You have a good friend there.”
I looked back at Morris. “Where did you guys meet, anyway, Stephen? High school? Frat buddies in college? Hook up in the bathroom of some bar? Was that it? Love at first sight?”
“Darren,” Morris said, “I swear to God if you don’t walk away right now I’m going to bring a shit storm down on you that you’ll never forget.”
“Really? What are you going to do? Frame me and put me in prison? Blow my mother to bits? Kill my girlfriend and baby? Because those are all things that have happened to me, Stephen. Really. They happened. I’ve been through those experiences. What would you possibly think could be worse?”
“I . . . I . . .” He had no answer. “What do you want, Darren? What are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to check this place out. I’ve heard such good things about it, you know? I’ve heard the people who come here regularly are stuffy and a little sleazy and think they’re better than other people. I was hoping I’d fit right in. And you know what? I feel like I am fitting in. I think I’ll come here every night, just to feel superior and sleazy and say hello to my good friend Dr. Fraturra.”
Fraturra rose from his seat and hurried away toward the entrance.
“Are you leaving?” I called after him. “Please, don’t leave! I was hoping we could bond!”
He walked around the corner of the bar in his gray suit, and I turned back to Morris.