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GEORGE SLOUCHED OVER his desk, head propped between his fists. He blinked rapidly at Angela’s cell phone on the desk before him, waiting for an answering text from September. Surely she’d received his note—or rather Angela’s note—to meet later today?
He’d not slept. Then his constant fidgeting in the pew next to his wife had raised eyebrows from nearby friends, and dark looks from the priest. He prided himself on his honesty and fairness as a judge. So rather than fielding Roxanne’s concern, and trying to lie about his distraction, he left early mass and headed to his office.
He had to figure out how to make things right, to protect himself, his reputation, and his family. He bit his lips, mouth dry, wishing for something stronger than coffee. Early in his career, ruthlessness paved the way to his current success. He’d only agreed to a couple of innocuous favors. The favors helped him win his first judgeship to the Appellate Court in Cook County. Finally, he could do some real good and make a difference in his district.
But after his ten-year term, facing reelection with ever-increasing demands from his benefactor, he decided to move back to Indiana. With his law degree from Notre Dame, and his Chicago experience, he’d easily won an appointment as a Superior Court justice and served two terms. From there, the Circuit Court became his home—for the past dozen years as his star continued to rise. The gubernatorial nominating commission just shortlisted him for consideration for the Court of Appeals. Nothing could get in the way of that appointment. He’d do anything to maintain the protective layer between his past transgressions and bright future.
He sat up in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck and loosening his collar. While awaiting September’s response, he’d deal with Detweiller, the lab owner Angela mentioned. He knew of him from his early years in Chicago, and some of George’s favors involved Clear Choice Labs. Bradley Detweiller’s contract with the city meant both criminal and family law cases used his services. George didn’t know or care exactly how Detweiller figured in Chris Day’s investigation, but the fact his name came up raised all sorts of red flags.
He unlocked the lower drawer on the desk and pulled out a tiny notebook filled with scribbles only he could read. In this age of computer hacking and virtual forensic specialists, George relied on old-school paper he could destroy with the flick of a Bic. He coded any payments associated with his benefactor through a dozen bank accounts to avoid any appearance of a pattern.
Equally careful, his benefactor never answered the phone, but rather communicated through a series of carefully phrased and forwarded messages. Southgate thought for a moment how to construct his request. It couldn’t be about protecting him. No, that wouldn’t move the needle. His concern must specifically impact his benefactor’s influence and business. He swallowed hard, trying to still the nausea, and carefully punched in the phone number of the answering service.
“I have a message for Kapu Enterprises from Pono.” He used the code name assigned to him more than thirty years ago, when he made those first innocuous rulings favorable to the owner’s business. Ever since, he’d fulfilled the company’s requests—actually demands—without fail or argument, recognizing the value of his benefactor’s behind the scenes influence. This message questioned the arrangement for the first time, and could rain down wrath unless played correctly. “With respect—be sure you say that,” he told the operator. “With respect, I understand your fee has doubled, and I appreciate your efficient and welcome services. May I request a week’s extension to fulfill this additional obligation demand from...?” He hesitated, not knowing the code name for the laboratory, and settled on, “...windy city’s clearly chosen test partner.”
George waited while the service read back his message, and once satisfied he disconnected. Suggesting that Chicago’s Clear Choice Lab owner breached confidence by contacting George, and demanded kickbacks to stay quiet, stomped hard on dangerous toes. Mrs. Wong would not only punish Detweiller, she’d scrub clean all trace of the records that involved their scheme, including George’s connection.
Reprisals came swiftly in this business, and he felt no more remorse than when sentencing a bad guy in his court. Southgate chose saving his own skin, and that of his family, over some lab rat overstepping his position. Kaliko Wong had a reputation for visiting punishments on entire families.
