Gold Coast

"Do what I say!"

Vi

Le

I looked at my watch. They were probably at Foley Square by now, but the booking process, even if it was speeded up, still had to be done according to law; there would be a body search, fingerprinting, photographs, a personal history taken, and forms to fill out. Only then would they haul Bellarosa in front of a waiting judge. So it was possible for me to charge into the courthouse, find out where Bellarosa was to be arraigned, and get into the courtroom on time. It was possible.

I remember I had a house closing in Oyster Bay once, and my car broke down… but maybe that's not a good comparison.

Well, but what could I do? I took down the licence plate numbers of our escorts, stared back at them, then picked up a newspaper lying on the seat. The Mets had beaten Montreal and were two games out of first place now. I said to my friends up front, "Hey, how 'bout them Mets?"

Vi

We did baseball chatter awhile. I knew we had to have something in common besides the same boss and the fear of our lives.

There was a car phone in the rear, and I could have called Susan, but I had no desire to. The next time she heard anything of me would be on the afternoon news. But then I remembered she didn't read, hear, or watch the news. But maybe she'd make an exception in this case. Thanks for the challenge, Susan. We approached the tu

CHAPTER 27

We lost our escort at the Midtown Tu

The streets and sidewalks were crowded, and many of the people in this section of town were civil servants of the city, state, or federal government who, by nature, were in no particular hurry. However, there were a few other Brooks Brothers ru

The marshal, an older man who probably thought all marshals should look and act like Wyatt Earp, stood there with his thumbs hooked in his belt, chewing a wad of something. Despite his cowboy pose, he was not wearing boots or spurs or anything like that. Instead, he was dressed in the standard marshal's courthouse uniform, which consisted of grey slacks, white shirt, red tie, and a blue blazer with the U.S. Marshal's service patch on the breast pocket. His shoes were pe

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yup. I have a client being arraigned this morning."

"Is that so?"

"It is. And in fact, I don't want to miss it, so -"

"Why're you all sweaty?"

"I was actually ru

"You nervous about something?"

"No. I was ru

"Yeah? You got some kind of identification?"

"I believe I do." I pulled my wallet out and showed him my driver's licence with my photo, and my bar association card. A few other marshals were standing around now, watching me and the money. Wyatt Earp passed my driver's licence around and everyone took a look. Needless to say, a crowd was gathering, enchanted by the green stuff, so I closed the briefcase.

After my licence made the rounds, including, I think, a passing janitor, I got my ID back. Earp asked me, "Who's your client, Counsellor?" I hesitated, then replied, "Bellarosa, Frank."

The marshal's eyebrows arched. "Yeah? They got that sucker? When?" "He was arrested this morning. I really want to get to the courtroom before he comes before the judge."

"Take it easy. He'll be lucky if he sees a judge by lunchtime. You new around here?"

"Sort of." I added, "I need to speak with my client before the arraignment. So I'll just be on my way." And I was.

"Wait!"

I stopped. The marshal moseyed over to me, sort of bowlegged as if he'd been on a horse all morning, or maybe he had haemorrhoids. He said, "You know where the lockup is?"

"Actually, no."