Red Bull, crumpled the can with ease, and smirked at Matt. “Stick around, Fido. I hear there’s an in-flight movie.”
Matt shifted on the bench.
“Temper,” I whispered.
“General Franco,” Matt muttered, shooting me an unreadable look. “Now I’ve got this guy’s number.”
TWELVE
STILL chained to the rail behind me, I maneuvered my body as much as I could to get a view of the hallway outside the holding room. Through the half-open door, I saw Franco and Hong conferring with a fortyish Hispanic man in an unbuttoned trench coat—an assistant district attorney I’d seen once or twice before. There was a fourth man, too, a preppy type in his early thirties.
By now it was close to ten at night, but the preppy new-comer looked fresher than just-squeezed breakfast juice. Blond hair impeccably coiffed, designer suit cleanly pressed, he carried a slim attaché case in his right hand and sported a Harvard ring on his left. His chiseled features displayed one of those slick smiles that almost always carried some kind of noxious threat behind it.
I knew we were in trouble when the ADA departed and Franco ushered the preppy into the room with an almost merry disposition. Detective Hong followed, closing the door behind him.
“Bad news, people,” Franco began. “But first—the introductions.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the Ivy Leaguer. “Meet Chip Castle, a lawyer for the management company that owns the property you two were trespassing on. It’s the same company that employs the doorman Rover here assaulted.”
“I hardly tapped him,” Matt muttered.
Castle eyed Matt, then me—pretty much like we were bugs. (Of course, the stench of garbage still lingering on my Boyz N the Hood ensemble wasn’t exactly a public relations booster.)
“We’re pressing charges against you both,” Castle announced with a kind of gleeful spite. “Criminal trespass. Felony assault.”
I blinked, Matt cursed, and Castle grinned through a fortune of pearly orthodontia.
“Nothing personal,” he added. “My clients have no choice but to pursue the matter through the legal system. It’s in the insurance agreement for the property, you understand? We’re required to do this.”
Franco stepped forward. “Matteo Allegro, you’re charged with felony—”
“Screw you, Generalissimo!” Matt barked straight into Franco’s face. “You’re letting this A-hole lawyer railroad us because she’s doing your job for you!”
“Matt, don’t make it worse—”
“She’s trying to solve a case you can’t, or won’t, solve yourself.”
Franco lunged for Matt, fist cocked. He’d finally gotten a taste of having his own buttons pushed. Unfortunately, Matt’s strategy—to nail Franco with police brutality charges—also meant he’d have to endure a beat down.
“Stop it, Franco! Chill, man!” Hong threw himself between Franco and Matt. “The guy’s in cuffs! You can’t touch him!”
“Touch me, Generalissimo!” Matt yelled. “Come on! Smack me around! You’re just a tin-pot dictator like your Spanish namesake! You want to, Generalissimo! Do it!”
That’s when I noticed the lawyer. The smarmy grin never left Castle’s face, but now he was backing toward the door.
Okay, boys, playtime’s over!
“EXCUSE ME!” I shouted at a level of female shrill that was disturbing enough to cut through the testosterone-fueled bellows. “I have something germane to say to Mr. Castle!”
Fists clenched, Franco broke free of his partner’s grip, but he stepped away from Matt instead of toward him. (Thank goodness.) Hong froze. And Castle stopped inching toward the door. He regarded me for a silent moment.
“I’m listening,” he finally said, his tone still insufferably superior. He even made a show of glancing at his watch. “You have a germane comment, do you?”
“I’m a businesswoman, counselor,” I replied, “so I know the score.”
Actually, I’d learned the score from Matt’s mother. Before teaching me how to run a shop in the heart of Manhattan, Madame Dreyfus Allegro Dubois had run it herself for half a century—that meant decades of dealing with corrupt inspectors and mobbed-up garbage handlers; unethical real estate developers and slip-and-fall lawyers. Channeling Madame was getting to be a habit, and taking this guy down was going to be a pleasure.
“Your clients are forcing you to press charges because they’re afraid of rate increases from the insurance company,” I said. “But what if this insurance company found out how easily I was able to breach your clients’ building security? Wouldn’t that raise rates, too?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“For starters, you have no security gate blocking access to the courtyard from the street—”
“We had some construction going on a short time ago. That’s why there’s a Dumpster on the side of the building, as well as the—”
“You have bins positioned against the back