Chapter Eight
Andre Palermo sat in the holding cell with three other men. One too old to look like he would break the law. The second, masculine and tall, who stared down at him and demanded to know, “What the fuck are you looking at?”
A man is brought into intimate contact with himself in moments of danger. In the artificial world padded with comfort, security, and privilege, a man like Andre ruled with such aura of invincibility. When those layers of protection were removed one by one, he was left with the skeleton of a rumbling and shaking edifice which could barely bring itself to look at the man. He said, hurriedly, “I am sorry.”
The third man in the cell fell somewhere in between Andre and the intimidating man. Dressed in a cheap suit. Andre didn’t dare ask. Certainly not his business to know. Not in the presence of the man standing at the corner, itching to pick a fight with him.
The one call privilege he had, he used it to phone the family lawyer, Roberto DelPero. A man who was adept at knowing how to protect the Palermo family for decades in exchange for a lucrative living arrangement. In the beginning, over forty years ago, he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He was plucked from a yellow page, and the luck of the draw brought him in contact with Antonio Palermo. With a name like Roberto, there had to be some kind of relations, Antonio had reasoned. Distant family, a role he eased into over time. The glory days were behind the Palermo family, but they had escaped the violent years with the family intact, in large part due to the creative deals Roberto constructed to gain immunity for his client while still saving face among the community.
“You say you are in jail?” Roberto had asked, surprised by the call from Andre. He had dealt with any number of Andre’s transgressions in the past. None that resulted in jail time. He knew immediately this was going to be serious.
“Yes, they brought me here. Without any explanation. Nothing.”
“What are they saying?”
“Assault and attempted homicide. I have no idea what they are talking about.”
Roberto had prepared his ears for any number of challenges he was going to face. This was nothing he had expected. He knew not everyone in Boston Police was a family friend, and that they had their enemies within who were waiting for the right moment to strike. Whatever the root cause, whatever the original sin, he knew this was serious trouble. One that would require all his skills and wit to protect the family.
“Alright. Don’t say a word to anyone. Did you tell them anything yet?”
“No, I said nothing, as Il Capo always says. They were laughing at me. Is this serious, Roberto?”
“We will know soon enough. Who is the victim? Did they tell you?”
“Alyson Crawford. We are friends. Never did anything to her.” Andre said, choking on his tears.
Roberto swore quietly. This was not going to be easy.
“Keep your mouth shut. Don’t say a word to anyone. You hear me? I will talk to your father.” So Andre returned to sitting silently in the holding cell praying to a Madonna and the Savior he never believed in.
The night had gone so nicely. He had upped his score to five girls in a span of the evening and ended up with Caroline. Everything seemed to have clicked nicely. The power of alcohol and few lines of bliss snorted from the flat and hot belly of a girl who was about to give her all to him.
Everything was a blur in his terrified state. He knew at least Alyson had been the surprise of the night. He had no expectation he would see her. And yet when he saw her he was consumed with the urgent need to deflower her. Whatever the status of her virginity, he could tell from the way she looked at him and smiled, behind the violet red mask, she hadn’t known what it was like to be with a man. A wholesome girl of a conservative family who didn’t frequent parties all that much. Not the secret ones for sure. When Caroline whispered into his ear about who she was, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
All he could now remember, feeling the cold of the metallic bench he sat on and the terrifying realization that he was walking on thin ice, about the plunge into the cold world of criminals he had no understanding of. If it were like the old days, he might have picked up on the family business and learned a thing or two about the darker shades of life. The lessons his father was eager to shield him from would have come in handy. At least staring down a beast who he was sure would punch him any minute.
A medium height and barrel-chested officer came to the door and unlatched the key. “You, Andre Palermo?” Andre nodded his head. The tall guy smiled with a face of recognition. He had been staring at Andre wondering where he might have seen that face. Judging by the physical fitness, he assumed he was some random guy he had seen on one of his many stints through the correctional system. But there was a softness about his face and hands and the way he looked like he was about to piss on himself that made him question that assumption. There was no toughness to the physical demeanor. One built at a fancy gym on the outside than the bare knuckle survival struggle of the inside.
“Come here. Your lawyer is here to see you,” the officer said waiting for Andre to get to the door. “Your hands?” He said with a surprised look on his face. The man inside the cell knew for certain this was fresh meat. Probably never saw anything like this before. He was proud of himself for having reasoned his way to figuring the nature of the man. Spending a lot of time on the inside makes a man pay attention. And the man was beaming with pride. “First time, huh?”
“Shut the fuck up!” The officer shouted and put the handcuffs on Andre’s hands. Andre didn’t dare look back to see the man. He was relieved to go away and hoped he would never come back.
“What is that? Treating my client as a criminal. Can you take off the cuffs please? Where is the dignity?” Roberto said. It was hard not to listen to him. Tall, built and tanned. Wearing an expensive suit with a gold bracelet and gold Rolex watch. The officer was intimidated. The handcuffs came off as soon as Andre was led inside the tiny room with two chairs, and a square shaped small table taking up about one-fourth of the space in the room. No windows and one bright overhead lamp.
“How’re you doing? Hanging in there?” Roberto asked, still standing and looking at Andre intently. He had never seen him this scared before.
“I am so scared. I did nothing wrong.”
“Well, they don’t have any hard evidence. Some unidentifiable eye witness, apparently. They are doing this to save face and try to get back at us. Don’t worry you won’t be here all that long.”
“I don’t want to be here. Please, Roberto.”
“I have requested for an immediate bail hearing. They can’t keep you here with only what they have got. Now, I’m not gonna ask if you did anything or not. We need to get your story straight. What have you told them? When they picked you up? When they took you inside?”
“Nothing. I told them I didn’t do anything wrong and asked for my lawyer.”
“No admission of anything?”
