FiFty Fifty

Chapter Four

EDDIE

Bukowski led me down a corridor with more of the same nicotine-covered tile. Behind us I heard a cop calling for the next legal team to go audition for their client. I slowed down because I wanted to see who was coming.
Theodore Levy and a young fair-haired kid followed a tall cop along the corridor. I'd come across Levy in the hallways of Center Street, but we'd never tried a case together. We were both defense lawyers, and Levy was at the high end. He worked for white-collar criminals who would pay a fortune for his services. Levy knew this case would catch the headlines, and he needed cases like this every once in a while to raise his profile. Getting your face on the front page for six months usually meant more work and you could add twenty percent to your hourly rate for the following year.
I kept walking, but let Levy catch up. At the end of the corridor Bukowski took a right and we went up two flights of stairs. Until a few years ago, there used to be four holding cells on this floor. The NYPD had dug out the old individual cells to make way for offices. The six-hundred-and-forty-pound iron doors that secured each cell had been ripped out. And they had gone missing. Cops or contractors. Who knew? But somebody made money in scrap metal and it sure as hell wasn't the city. Now, as well as additional office space for the detective squad, there was a bank of five new interview rooms.
Only two were occupied. You could tell by the whiteboard in the middle of the doors, just below the single viewing panes. I resisted the urge to glance in at my client and waited for Levy.
'Eddie Flynn, isn't it? I'm Theodore Levy,' he said, extending a hand.
We shook hands. Levy tucked his thumbs into his waistband and pulled his pants over his stomach. He had close-cut black hair, wore thick black-framed glasses behind which two large eager eyes moved over my body, head to toe, like he was an undertaker sizing me up for a coffin.
'Good to meet you,' I said.
'Is it dress-down Friday?' he said.
'I'll change before the arraignment. My clients don't hire me for my
wardrobe.'
'Just as well. Say, you got the sister?' he said. 'Good luck with that.'
 
'Do I need luck? You sound like you know something I don't. I was wondering why half of Manhattan's criminal bar was auditioning for your lady. Want to enlighten me why most of them want one sister over the other?'
'Look, Sofia has had her problems. Anyone who knows Frank Avellino will tell you that. It's common knowledge. Alexandra was his golden girl. She's a face in Manhattan, and she's a sure bet in this. Sofia is the crazy black sheep. This is only going to go one way. I think it would be a good idea for you to talk to Sofia about a plea bargain. Save us all a lot of time.'
'I haven't spoken to Sofia yet. We'll see what happens.'
'Alrighty, good luck,' he said, and with that he gestured to the tall cop who opened the interview room door and stood aside. Levy led his associate inside – a good-looking young man who was carrying a set of papers. I stepped closer so I could take a look at Alexandra Avellino.
Even as she sat behind the desk in the interview room, I could tell she was a tall young woman. Dyed blonde hair, but a good dye job in this case. There was a reddening around her eyes, and her lipstick had faded. Otherwise Alexandra looked fit and healthy, with a milky, almond skin tone. Given the circumstances, she looked well. A certain confidence in her expression. A woman who could handle herself, and others. I could smell some residue of perfume as the door opened.
The tall cop closed the door, stood with his back against it.
'Okay, Eddie, this is Sofia,' said Bukowski as he slid the key into the lock and opened the door.
I went inside.
Sofia Avellino looked smaller than her sister, but not by much. She had dark hair contrasting with a pale complexion. The eyes were the same. Both women had their father's eyes – which were narrow, but bright and keen. She didn't smile. Her lips were thinner than her sister's, her nose too. They both looked the same age, and I seemed to recall that Frank's daughters were born within a year of each other. I wasn't sure how I knew that, but it was likely I'd seen them, or one of them, in a magazine or news article.
She looked at me suspiciously, but said nothing. Sitting opposite her was a lawyer I didn't know, but he looked as rich and as successful as the others. He gathered up his papers, said, 'You're making a mistake not hiring me,' and stormed out.
I ignored him, focused on the young woman in front of me.
'Hi Sofia, my name is Eddie Flynn. I'm a defense attorney. Officer Bukowski told me you don't have a lawyer. I'd like to talk to you a little and see if I can help. Would that be alright?'