The Winner: Part Eighteen

I spend the next two hours sitting in the interrogation room, bored out of my mind until the lawyer Sergei got for me arrives. A short, fat, sweaty Jewish guy storms in with Agent D’anci in tow.

“Sir, I must implore you to give us at least one more hour with Mr. Peanutz. The lives of two children might be at stake.”

The lawyer sticks his hand out to me, “Mr. Peanutz, I’m Simon Hirsch, your attorney.” He gives my hand one firm pump, then turns to back to Agent D’anci. “If you want any more time with my client, then I’m afraid you’re going to have to charge him. That is, if a crime was even committed. Didn’t Ms. Clements just give a statement to the affect that this kidnapping did not even occur and was just a way to seek revenge from my client because of some personal redress?”

“She told one of the officers that,” Agent D’anci says. “But we suspect that it was given under duress. Until we have actually seen that the babies are safe, we’re going proceeding as if they are still in danger.”

Hirsch shakes his head, “Mr. D’anci, the only proof that this crime even happened came from Ms. Clements statement. Now that Ms. Clements is backing down from it, what makes you think her inconsistent statements are more valid than my client’s inconsistent statements. Mr. Peanutz, please get up. We’re leaving.”

“We are permitted to detain Mr. Peanutz for at least four more hours.”

“For a crime that may not have even been committed? Unless you let me and my client out of this station now, I will file a formal complaint with the Justice Department in the morning before I go do twelve holes on the links with this district’s federal prosecutor. He owes me ten-grand on our last golf game and I’ll see if there’s a different way he’d like to fulfill his debt to me. Good day.”

Hirsch grabs my hand and starts leading me out of the police station. My fucking angel, swooping down and rescuing me from the cops. At least I now know that Apple did like I told her to do and tell the cops she was lying. They don’t believe her, but it gunks up their case enough that they don’t know what to do now.

After stopping at the window to sign out the rest of my belongings (basically my car and house keys and the receipt for the BB gun from Wal-Mart), Hirsch takes me out to his car, a late model BMW sedan.

“Get in here, Peanutz. I’ll give you a lift home.”

He unlocks the doors with his remote. I hop in the passenger side. “Thanks for giving me a lift home. Goddamn I’m tired.”

“Don’t thank me,” Hirsch says, jamming his keys in the ignition and gunning the engine on. “Because when I get you home, you’re gonna march right upstairs and cut me a check for four-thousand dollars.”

“Four thousand?” I gasp. “Sergei told me this would only be two grand.”

“Two grand is for waking up in the middle of the night when I’m home asleep with my wife to get some schlmeil out of jail for a DUI. Four grand is for when I go to the jail and find out he’s not there for a fuckin’ DUI but that he’s caught up in a federal kidnapping investigation!”

To punctuate his displeasure with me, he takes the next corner hard to the left, pushing me up against the door.

“You stupid fuck,” Hirsch goes on. “When I found out what you were really in there for, I nearly turned around and walked out the door. Your lucky I’m fuckin’ brilliant, otherwise those feds would keep you detained long enough to charge you. They still might unless I start preparing a half dozen motions to drop off in the federal prosecutor’s office first thing Monday morning…”

“Well, I appreciate the effort…”

“Fuck the effort!” he screams. “Tomorrow is the Sabbath. There’s only two things I do on the Sabbath; synagogue and golf! My wife is gonna kill me! She’s gotten on this orthodox kick lately. She’s making me fuck her through a sheet for the last six months! A fucking sheet! She won’t even let me do that if she finds out I’m working on the fucking Sabbath!”

I’ve had enough of this hebe. “Hirsch, would you do me a favor?”

“What now?”

“Shut the fuck up. I could care less about your wife or whatever Jew problems your having. I’m your client now and you’ll spend whatever time it takes to get your paperwork done.”

Hirsch hocks a wad of phlegm out the window of the Bimmer. “I’ll wait until I have a check that I’m sure won’t bounce in my hand before I consider you a ‘client’.”

“Did Sergei tell you who I am?” I snap back. “I got all the cash I’ll ever need.”

“As a matter of fact he did. You’re that guy who won the lottery a couple months ago. So fucking what? I’ve been an attorney for twenty years. I’m sure my net worth is at least three times what yours is. Your just a flash in the pan who’ll be broke and working some shit fast-food job this time next year.”

Hirsch is really starting to piss me off. “Well excuse me for arguing with a Jew over money…”

“Shut the fuck up you Hitler-loving cunt before I strangle you and leave your body in a fucking dumpster.”

I roll my eyes. Whatever. Hirsch looks like he’s gonna have a heart attack behind the wheel of the car, but at least he shuts up so I do the same. As we drive along, I suddenly have an idea. It’s probably a bad idea, but it can’t be worse than any of the other ideas I’ve had in my life.

When we pull up to my building, Hirsh looks at me scowling. “Peanutz, I’m waiting here until you come back with my check made out to four thousand dollars. If I have to come up there to get it, I will beat your ass to a fuckin’ paste and let the FBI have you.”

I’m exasperated, “Relax, I’ll get your money you…” I was about to add something like “Christ Killer” but I bite my tongue. Part of my bad idea does involve making nice with this tempermental jerk off.

Anyway, I step out of his Nazi-sled and unlock the front door of building’s entrance. I go up to my apartment, write out Hirsch’s check, then come back downstairs to his car. He’s left the engine running, I lean in the window and hand him the check.

“Here you go,” I say.

Hirsch looks over it, then his eyes widen. “Whoa, Peanutz. I said four thousand dollars. This check is for ten thousand. What gives?”

“Besides being fucked over by them, I haven’t had much experience with lawyers. Is six-thousand dollars enough of a retainer so I can take you on as my attorney?”

“Yeah. Six thousand is good start. For six thousand, I won’t only file with the prosecutors. I’ll try and get your record expunged.”

“Actually, I have something else in mind,” I say. “Do you mind if I we go for a quick ride around the block so we can talk?”

“Why can’t we talk here?” Hirsch asks.

“I don’t feel safe talking here. It’s better to do it elsewhere, if you get my drift.” After all, I’m pretty sure Burke has some guys if not following me 24/7, at least staked out and doing surveillance on my place.

“Whatever you want. Get in.”

I get back into his car and Hirsh starts to drive around with no real purpose. I lean over and turn the radio on just high enough that it might screw up any bugs that might have been put in the car. I also keep an eye out for cars that might be following us.

“So, what’s going on here?” Hirsch asks. “First off, are you involved with this kidnapping? We’re under attorney client privilege now and I really don’t care whether or not you are. I work cases for the Russians all the time. I got fucking Boris Davidovitch cleared off a RICO case for christssake.”

“No,” I say. “I’m not involved in the kidnapping. Or at least, I’m not involved in that I didn’t kidnap the children myself or have anyone do it on my behalf.”

“So how are you involved?”

“I can’t tell you. And believe me, you wouldn’t want to know. The less you know, the better.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“I need you to arrange a discreet meeting between me and the FBI in the next couple of days.”

“What the fuck?” Hirsch yells. “I just spent all night getting you away from the FBI. If you wanted to talk to them, why didn’t you do it at the police station when they were questioning you?”

“I can’t tell you why, but I couldn’t talk to them there,” I say. “Listen, just believe me that it’s important that I talk to them and that it will help get Apple’s children back as well as prevent a whole bunch of other shit from going down.”

Hirsch looks at me suspiciously, then takes another corner just a bit too quickly (for which I’m glad, it should be easier to spot someone following us if he turns often and suddenly). “What are you supposed to be, Peanutz? Some sort of spy or informant or some shit?”

I roll my eyes. On the other hand, giving that impression might make it easier for him to handle this with some discretion. “Sir, the less you know the better off you are. Just make sure this is handled as anonymously as possible. I don’t even want to know where I’m meeting these people until the last minute. You don’t realize, I’m being watched all the time.”

“Watched by who? This doesn’t have to do with the Russian mob does it? I’m their lawyer, I can’t go against them.”

“Look shithead, use your head. If I was trying to bring down the Russian mob, would I have called Sergei?”

“You and I both know Sergei isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. You could be using him…”

I groan. “This has nothing to do with the Russian mob. I’ve got nothing against them.”

“Well, then who is it? I know you don’t want to tell me but if you think the FBI is gonna meet an alleged informant just because he says he’s got supposedly got something important to say, you’re on crack. For all I know, you’re gonna give them a copy of Loose Change or claim to know about the alien landings at Roswell or some sort of conspiracy crap.”

I sit, staring out the window for a moment. Hirsch is right; I gotta tell them something to make them believe a meeting with me is worthwhile. “Do you know who Carl Van Hertzwelder is?”

This seems to wake him up. “Carl Van Hertzwelder? Of course I know him. The guy is the ultimate shyster of the rich and powerful. The guy makes me look like fucking Thurgood Marshall for chrissake.”

“Well, I have information that implicates him and several high level government officials in crimes against the United States. I’m talking shit that goes all the way up to Oval Office, you understand?”

Hirsch doesn’t say anything.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“I think someone is following us,” Hirsch says.

“SHIT!” I mutter. I start turning around to look for myself, but Hirsch shoves me back in my seat.

“Don’t turn around, just look in your window. Black car. It’s been following us for the last three turns. I’m gonna try to lose him.”

“Don’t bother,” I say. “If they know enough to be tailing you, then there’s no point in trying to hide now. But do you believe what I’m saying to you now? I’m in some serious shit here and I have to talk to the FBI.”

Hirsch nods. “I believe you. Just promise me two things, you’re not gonna spout off some 9/11 conspiracy bullshit when you meet these people and two, you won’t implicate the Russians.”

“Done and done,” I say. “And you promise me you’ll be as discreet as possible.”

“Yeah, I can do this quietly. I know a few people at the Bureau that can fasttrack a request. It’s not like I haven’t fed them info in the past.”

Hirsch makes another turn and try to look out the side mirror to see if I can spot the car following us, but I can’t. I’ll just have to take his word.

“What should I do now? Should I just drop you off back at home?”

“Yeah, might as well. No point in trying to shake them, though you might want to if you don’t want them to know where you live.”

“If they have enough resources to put a tail on you, then they can probably find out where I live. Luckily, my neighborhood has a gate and some pretty good security so I’m not too worried.”

We haven’t driven too far away from where I live, so it only takes about ten minutes to get back there. I get out of his car, then poke my head back through the window. “When you contact me with the time and the place of the meet, don’t do it by phone. I think they have my phones tapped. And no emails either. Write it on a piece of paper and leave it some place I’ll find it.”

“No problem,” he says. I start to walk away and he calls out, “Oh and fuck you Peanutz. If this shit you’re into ends up blowing back on me, I’ll fuckin’ turn on you like that.”

I don’t say or do anything. Fuckin’ asshole. I just handed him ten-thousand dollars and he’s gonna talk shit to me like that. I deserve a little bit of respect. Well, maybe not. Fuck it.

I go back into my building, take the elevator up to my floor and go to my door. I go inside my loft and turn on the light. There’s something on the floor in front of me. It’s a cellphone, just like the one that Burke gave to me. Under it is a typed note:

I see you lost your phone Mr. Peanutz, after I told you not to. Well, here’s a replacement. Lose this one and there will be dire consequences. We hope you haven’t done or said anything stupid.

B.

I pick up the phone a quickly check each room, every closet, under the fucking bed to make sure there is no one in the house. My paranoia has just shot up another notch. While I’m sure that it’s probably a trivial thing to break into my loft (I suspect they’ve probably done it before today if they are watching me this closely) it still doesn’t make me feel good. This invasion is putting me off kilter. They are sending me a message, they can get to me any time, any where.

When I’m fairly certain that I’m alone, I turn off the lights and look out my balcony window. I’m four-stories up, but my balcony faces the street. I get on my hands and knees and peer down.

I’m upset to see exactly what I expected to see: a black car, windows tinted almost opaque. It hadn’t been there when Hirsch dropped me off. I’m almost certain this is the same car that was following us earlier. I’d never noticed it before. Had it been following since before even today? Fuck. All this is really screwing with my head.

I lay on the floor, watching this black car for hours until I fall asleep. I don’t wake up again for almost twenty hours.