Bela Breslau, author of “The Best Defense”, is part of a writing team with her husband, Stephen Billias. They recently published Pilgrim Maya, a novel about a young woman who after suffering a devastating loss, transcends her grief and embarks on a life of recovery and healing.
*****
“I need you to record and maybe video an encounter for me. Can you set that up?”
“A lawyer all the way,” Elizabeth’s brother Andy laughed. He put his arm around her shoulder as they walked and gave her a gentle squeeze.
Elizabeth jumped, gasped in pain.
“Are you okay?” Her brother stopped and faced her.
“Sprained my shoulder in tennis yesterday,” she lied. “Must be worse than I thought. I’ll be okay.”
When they got to the coffee shop, Elizabeth made sure to get a window booth. Was she being paranoid? She did know for certain she was being watched. Either by her husband Harry, or his Mafia clients. She sat in the window because she wanted to look normal and unconcerned to whoever was doing the watching.
At home, she had scanned her clothes for electronic bugs. Then on an impulse, she had stopped at Nordstrom’s and purchased the exercise clothes she was wearing – plus new running shoes, socks, a fanny pouch. Everything she had been wearing, her purse, jewelry, all of it fit snugly in her black signal-blocking backpack and finally into a large store shopping bag. The bag was on a hook near the door under her dressy work coat. She could keep an eye on it from the booth.
Elizabeth took out a couple of pain killers and swallowed them with her water.
She put an old photo album she had been carrying on the table.
“These are from Dad’s place. Before we get into anything else, I was hoping we could go over them. Later we can decide what to keep.”
Elizabeth took out a couple of pain killers and swallowed them with her water.
Andy looked confused, so Elizabeth smiled and laughed as if he had said something funny. “Here’s a letter Dad wrote to me just before he died. He listed all the ways he was proud of me, and how proud he was of you, especially when you graduated from NYU film school. Check out the last page.”
Elizabeth had inserted a typed page behind the letter that read:
- Keep smiling.
- What I am asking is very dangerous.
- Not sure how or where we can talk safely.
- Let’s meet next week at Dad’s bank. When I call and say I’m coming by to talk about it, that means meet me that day at 10 a.m. at the bank. Go directly to the safety deposit area.
Andy looked shocked for a second, and then forced a smile: “I’m not sure what to make of what you just showed me.”
Elizabeth took the letter and tucked it back into the photo album, slipping her last page into her fanny pack.
“I’ll be right back and then we can order,” Elizabeth said as she slipped out of the booth and headed to the women’s room. She ripped up the page and flushed it away. She cupped her hand in the water and swallowed another pain pill.
“Still working on that big case?” Andy was being as vague as he possibly could be, not knowing what he could say.
“You mean the mob case?”
Andy nodded and swiped his blond hair off his forehead.
“Yeah, it’s a difficult and I think dangerous one. Wish Harry hadn’t taken it on. Wish I wasn’t working on it.”
They ate their lunch in silence. The bowl of chicken soup Elizabeth had ordered smelled of comfort food. The aroma of strong brewing coffee normally would have been welcome, but today, just the smell made Elizabeth jumpy. After lunch, Elizabeth told her brother she was going back to her condo. Her shoulder was really bothering her. She would rest and change back into her work clothes.
*****
Instead of going back to her apartment Elizabeth headed down a side street near the Boston Common. She had told Harry she was meeting the interior designer she hired to measure for curtains and who specialized in storage and organizing closet space. Irene was parked in her plain white van on the street. They sat in the back on captain chairs that swiveled toward a small table. Irene had dark short hair and heavy black glasses. She looked to be in her forties. She had spent the morning in Elizabeth and Harry’s condo. Her glasses made her look more like a professor than a cybersecurity specialist.
“Man, your place is loaded with surveillance,” Irene said. “Who the fuck lives there? The Mafia? I’m sure I didn’t find everything. Your idea of measuring for curtains gave me a lot of time in each room. That was a great idea by the way. Sure you don’t want a job in my company?”
She looked to be in her forties. She had spent the morning in Elizabeth and Harry’s condo. Her glasses made her look more like a professor than a cybersecurity specialist.
Elizabeth managed a weak laugh, looked around the van and down at her bag with her backpack. “Can we talk here safely?”
“My van is like being in a bank vault. It’s safe. Let me summarize for you: I spent as much time as I could in the main rooms and in your closet. Every room is loaded with both cameras and listening devices. Your closet looked safe, but just in case, I put in signal blocking panels and rearranged things. You should be able to make calls from the closet near the window.”
“Listen,” Irene continued. “I sent you a package. It will look like it is clothing and in fact it will be mostly clothing, a fashionable coat, a jumpsuit, all with special linings. There will also be a briefcase and a cell phone. Use that cell phone if you want to be sure no one is listening.”
“I need to meet and talk with my brother. If we go to a bank safe deposit room, will that be safe?”
“Should be if you can both go into the area with the boxes. There’s also a bar right in the financial district. Zachariah’s Den. It’s in the old bank vault in the basement of the Fisher Bank building. Great drinks and food. I meet people there when I don’t want to sit in the van. The massive metal walls make the place secure. The Den is a place where many clandestine conversations occur. To be doubly safe, wear the clothes you just bought or the clothes I sent. Leave your regular phone in your backpack in your car.”
*****
Late the next day, Elizabeth went to Harry’s corner office to drop off some papers on the Medina case. “You can never leave me.” Harry fiddled with some papers on his huge mahogany desk. Law books lined the shelves behind him. Elizabeth remained standing. She held a pen and pad. The pen was a recording device. She bit at the end to turn it on.
“How is that brother of yours? You saw him yesterday.”
Elizabeth felt a wave of panic. He wants me to know he’s watching my every move, but saying nothing I can get him on.
“We had lunch. Needed to go over some details about my father’s estate.”
“I told you to just give it all to our estate attorneys. You need to concentrate on your work.”
“I want to handle my own private affairs,” Elizabeth replied.
“You have no private affairs.” Harry smiled.
Elizabeth started to leave, then turned and asked: “How is it with the former Mrs. and your daughter Lisa?” Elizabeth wanted Harry to remember he had at least one loved one, his daughter. Someone he would want to protect although she doubted anything she said would make Harvey feel threatened. Elizabeth didn’t have the Mafia behind her. But she ventured on: “When I talked with Lisa, she didn’t think her mom would mind so she invited me to her final dance recital before her graduation from Bryn Mawr. Shall we go?”
Harry laughed. “Don’t think you’ll feel up to it.”
*****
Back in her office, Elizabeth sat at her desk and leaned gingerly into her oversized ergonomic chair. At least the headrest was comfortable.
There had been a warning. Two years back, just after they had married, at a birthday party for Harry’s daughter. His ex-wife, who like Elizabeth, had had one, or maybe two drinks too many, slurred her words: “He’s a sadistic bastard. Watch out. You’ll end up needing a good lawyer, like I did.” She took a gulp of their martini and added: “Or, dead.”
Why didn’t I listen? Elizabeth gently wrapped her arms around her mid-section and dozed off. She jumped when her office phone rang.
“Hi Liz. It’s Alice. I’m in town for a regional meeting. Sorry I didn’t call earlier.” Elizabeth’s body relaxed. Alice had been her best friend in law school, Harvard Law School. She was working in DC with the DOJ’s office in the Interpol division. “Meet me after work? I’ve got some news.” After a silence that lasted a tad too long, Alice added: “Are you there?”
“Yeah, sorry, just drifted. Distracted.”
Alice continued: “Meet me in the lobby at the Ritz Carlton. Can you believe it? They put us up in the Ritz for this meeting. Five-thirty?”
“See you then.” Elizabeth hung up her phone. She pulled her blonde hair up and twisted it up into a loose bun on top of her head. She closed her eyes. She could see Alice standing in her new kitchen. Was it just a year ago? She replayed their meeting and conversation. Alice had looked beautiful. Tall, Lanky, almost bony. Her black work dress and jacket hung elegantly on her long frame. She’d been in Boston for a few days for work and stopped by to see the new condo.
“I guess Harry doesn’t mind that you spent a bloody fortune on this place.”
“Well, you know,” Elizabeth said, “He likes to impress. Every time there was a choice, he wanted it bigger, grander, more expensive. The whole project became his. He hired an upscale interior designer. His money. But I got the kitchen because he didn’t really care about it. I got my suite of rooms. Imagine, I have ‘a suite of rooms’ – an office, extra bedroom, my crazy big closet, my own bathroom. At least the building is old and lovely. It was built in 1926. Has good bones. I think it held up its end of the bargain.”
“It’s all great. But Elizabeth, how can you even think of quitting? You were number one. I know that all too well.”
“You were number two. And look at you. More beautiful than ever. Climbing higher and higher at the DOJ in DC.”
Alice had put her glass of red down on the white granite with a clank. “It’s one thing to marry the old guy, but to think about giving up your place in the firm?”
Elizabeth opened her eyes. Harry was standing in her office doorway.
“You’re having a drink with Alice? Say hello from me, will you?”
“Harry, you know you’re still a darn handsome man. You remind me of a middle-aged Marlon Brando. Maybe that’s where the thrill of your Mafia connections comes from.” Elizabeth took up her pen and turned the recording feature on.
Harry walked over to her desk and leaned in close: “Be careful my beautiful dumb blondie. Shit happens you know.”
Elizabeth did know. She wrapped her arms protectively around her bruised mid-section, looked into his eyes and took a deep breath as she clasped her hands together. The impulse to slap him across his handsome face was so strong. She closed her eyes and imagined how hard she could hit. How good it would feel. How much her hand would hurt.
“Wow that hurts. I guess graduating first in my class at Harvard does make me a dumb blonde. Or was it marrying you that makes me the epitome of dumb?”
Before he could answer, she pressed the intercom button on her phone.
“Hey Mattie, I’m leaving, can you bring those papers in right now? Sorry to be so abrupt, but I want to take them with me. And why don’t you take off a little early?”
Mattie was at the door in seconds, nodding to Harry as he strode rudely out of the room.
*****
Elizabeth crammed herself into the booth. She hadn’t been in one of these “Take your own photo” stalls since she was a little girl visiting her cousins in New York City and was amazed to find one at the mini-mall next to her building. When they were kids, it cost two quarters. She still had the little square black and white photos, both cousins crammed into each frame with her. This modern booth produced color photos and cost four dollars. Instead of selecting a colorful background, Elizabeth chose plain white. There would be no digital footprint.
She took off her coat and pulled her dress down below her hips and unhooked her bra. She took two sets of photos of her bruised and battered torso. Looking at herself made the hurt, both physical and psychic, escalate. She could hardly breathe. She put the pictures in her backpack briefcase next to the thick envelope of papers Mattie had given her, threw her bra in on top, pulled her dress up and put on the new coat Irene had sent.
Alice was waiting in the lobby at the Ritz. They kissed on both cheeks.
“What, no hug?” Alice laughed.
“Bad shoulder sprain from tennis,” Elizabeth lied once again. “Hey, I know a cool place near here. Mind a short walk?”
Zachariah’s Den was in the original grand vault in the basement of the Fisher Bank building. There was a bar along the side and tables lining one of the walls. The steel walls were polished and shiny, left exposed.
“This place is great,” Alice said. They took a table near the wall beside the heavy vault doors that had 1910 in big numbers on them. “I guess I better put this phone away. Not going to get a signal in here.” Alice slipped her phone into her purse.
A waiter brought their Grey Goose martinis and a calamari appetizer.
Alice took up her glass. She stayed silent, watching Liz.
“Liz, what’s wrong? Something’s wrong.” Alice reached across the table and took Elizabeth’s hand. “Tell me Liz. You’re not yourself.”
Don’t cry. Be strong. Fight back. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes closed. Don’t cry. Be strong. Fight back. Don’t cry. Be strong. Fight back.
Finally, Elizabeth opened her eyes and squeezed Alice’s hand. “We’re here because this place is a safe place to talk. At least I think it is. Alice, I’m scared to death – for myself, for my brother, for you, for everyone I love.” She took the photos out of her purse and slid them across the table to Alice.
When Alice finally looked up, her eyes were dark, almost black, and wet with tears.
“That son of a bitch. Tell me.”
Elizabeth took a few sips of her martini. “He changed. It was gradual. Sex had been great, while we were dating, with just a hint of danger. Now it’s rape, violent sadistic rape. It was about a year after we married. He started with careful hitting, slapping with his hands, then gradually with his belts. Always on my torso and my breasts so no one can see.”
Elizabeth started to shake: “Alice, he’s in deep with the Medina family. Defending them in this biggest of cases. He had our apartment bugged.”
“How do you know?
Elizabeth explained about Irene and having the apartment checked out.
“Harry told me he will make things happen, accidents, to my brother, to you. Maybe he’ll just have me killed. He seems headed in that direction.”
They sat in silence. Elizabeth ordered two more martinis and some food. She needed to kill the pain. She needed something to ground her.
“Alice, I’ve been researching killing in self-defense. I asked my brother to set up my own recording device in the kitchen. I’m going to kill Harry in self-defense. I’m going to shoot him in the legs, the balls, watch him die. Record the whole thing.”
Alice sipped her martini. Elizabeth waited. She knew Alice was processing, coming up with all the reasons murdering in self-defense wouldn’t fly and maybe, just maybe, a better solution. Finally, Alice said:
“Liz, you know self-defense killing is tricky. Not easy to defend. You don’t look good in orange. It isn’t the new black. Not for you. Too risky. But there is something I may be able to do to help. I wasn’t going to tell you yet.” Alice continued, “I’ve changed departments. I’m in the criminal division now. Also working with the FBI. I carry.” When Elizabeth looked surprised, Alice added, “Maybe I’ll do the shooting and we can both watch him die.”
The tension broke, and they started to laugh uncontrollably, a long unrestrained almost hysterical laughter; mixed with tears.
When they got control of themselves, Alice went into action. She told Elizabeth to get in touch with her brother and call off the recording session.
“I’m not sure why Harry is having you bugged so thoroughly. There may be something else going on,” Alice said. “I’ll need these pictures, information about the Medina case, and contact information for Irene. She may need protection.”
Elizabeth pulled the envelope her secretary had given her out of her bag. “Medina case info.” She said as she slid the file across the table to Alice.
“We have been following the Medinas recently. Strange how this is all coming together.” Alice took Elizabeth’s hands in hers.
Back at the Ritz, Alice rang her boss, who was staying on in Boston for a few more days.
An hour later, they were in the boss’ suite of rooms and Alice was outlining the situation to a very sweet looking man. Gary Williams was wearing a purple silk robe. He pushed his reading glasses up top of his curly blond hair. He was handsome, almost delicate, and about the same height as Alice. Elizabeth could hear someone talking on the phone in the bedroom.
“Alice, Use my computer. Send everything to me right now.” Gary said. “Send all the domestic abuse stuff to the Suffolk County DA’s office. Don’t send them the mafia stuff. There could be attorney-client issues. We need to review everything first.” Gary addressed this to Elizabeth who shrugged. She didn’t care about that. There must be some defense as a victim or potential victim. Besides, she just didn’t care.
Alice went over to a side table with Gary’s computer. Gary looked at Liz and said, gently, “Come with me.”
In the bedroom suite, an Asian man, with straight black hair tied back in a ponytail, sat dressed for going out to dinner. He smiled, nodded briefly.
“Kaz,” Gary asked. “Would you mind making the dinner reservations we talked about? We can meet up in the lobby. Maybe half an hour?”
Kaz nodded and quietly left the room.
Gary turned to Elizabeth.
“Show me.” Elizabeth looked surprised, but slowly let her dress down so she was naked from the knees up. “Shit, fuck, awful,” Gary said as he clicked more pictures on his cell phone. “Okay if I use these? Pretty graphic.”
“Whatever it takes.” Elizabeth pulled her dress up and put on her coat.
Gary came over to her and gently put his hands on her shoulders. “You’ll be okay. Those you love will be okay.”
Elizabeth took out her phone, not the phone Irene had given her. She wanted her message to be intercepted. She emailed her brother and told him she was going to stay with Alice for a few days. A health issue for Alice had come up. He shouldn’t worry. She told him the case she thought she needed his help with was on hold. She’d be in touch when she returned.
*****
Before Elizabeth could finish punching in the entry code, the door opened. Harry stood in the doorway.
“Harry, so nice of you to let us in.” Alice smiled and pushed past Harry into the apartment. “Liz is coming down to DC for a few days. She’s going to help me out with some things. And Harry, I’m going to help her out.”
Elizabeth headed toward her closet. She grabbed the bundle with everything Irene had sent and her recently packed overnight bag hidden behind the mirror. She already had her computer and phone in her backpack.
A few minutes later, Elizabeth set her bags down near the door, wondering what their next steps were going to be. Taking her car? Getting a cab to the airport. She wasn’t sure.
“Let’s at least have a drink, before you go,” Harry said, smiling at the two women.
Liz took out three wine glasses, grabbed an expensive bottle of red wine. She stood behind the island counter, separated from Harry, and poured.
“Harry, I was just telling Liz how I’ve moved over to the DOJ’s criminal division. I’m working closely with the FBI.”
“Wonderful Alice,” Harry said, but his hand shook as he reached for his wine glass and knocked it over. Dark red wine and broken glass glittered on the white granite counter.
“Liz grabbed a towel, sopped up the wine, took all three glasses, including the broken one and put them in the sink.
“Alice, let’s not drink anymore. Nothing feels safe here.”
“I do notice two big black cars, outside,” Alice said as she walked back from the front window. One of them is FBI, my people. And the other, Harry? Your goons? Just not sure who is who at this point.”
“Liz, can I text from here?”
“Yes, but they’ll intercept everything.”
“What do you mean, they’ll intercept everything?” Harry looked surprised. “Who will?”
“Harry, you made it very clear you were watching my every movement. You threatened me. You threatened the people I’m close to.”
“You were being bugged, not me,” Harry laughed.
“I wouldn’t be too sure. I had the place checked. I think what they said was something like: ‘Who the fuck lives here? The Mafia?’”
“We’ve sent everything we have already.” Alice added. “To the FBI, the DOJ, the Suffolk County DA’s Domestic Violence section. Everything, including pictures of what you did to Liz.” She picked up her phone and walked to the far end of the living room. She needed to sort out who exactly was outside and what would be happening next.
Harry walked over to the dining room and sat down heavily. His hands gripped the wooden arms of one of the cushy end chairs.
Elizabeth stayed in the kitchen behind the counter. She had her recording pen in her pocket and surreptitiously turned the top to record. The open floor plan made it easy enough to ask: “Harry: what made you change? You became a monster, brutal and vicious towards me.”
“I didn’t. Change that is,” Harry said. “You should ask my ex-wife.”
He got up and took a few shaky steps in Elizabeth’s direction. She recognized the deranged, savage gleam in his eyes.
There was a knock at the front door. Alice held her gun in her hand pointed toward Harry.
She motioned to Elizabeth to move to the side of the door near her luggage. Out of what might be the line of fire. She walked over to peer through the keyhole, opened the door, and slowly, carefully moved to stand between Elizabeth and what was coming.
Six agents, with yellow FBI letters on their vests, entered slowly and cautiously, weapons drawn.
*****
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