I remembered the tenor of DiSalvo's voice over the phone, wizened from age but still sinister. He'd told me I was a cunt for taking Castille's case, that I should have thought more instead of chasing the dollars like a stripper at a pole. He'd grown more unpleasant as he'd aged, no longer even trying to maintain the friendly grampa demeanor. Now he'd let the image drop entirely, spewing his venom freely and without remorse. He was cold. More than that, he was worried. The link between his sister, himself, and his son, whom DiSalvo had left in charge of his empire, was getting more traceable by the moment. Even the nastiest creature would fight to protect its children. DiSalvo was as nasty as they came.
I turned my idea over in my mind, pretending it was a coin. On one side, the metal was shiny, new-I could do the right thing and let the case play out fairly. The other side was dirty and scratched, the image clear but ruined. Fear told me which side to choose. Ever since Sherman, I had been ruled by that one emotion, doing anything within my power to never feel it again.
I sat up straight, willing conviction into myself. "I have a plan."
Chapter Eight
LINCOLN
I waited for Jonesy. I sat in his dark interior office. The room was cramped. The desk was too large for the space, so that only Jonesy's desk chair and one other chair fit inside.
The walls were covered with mementos from cases, commendations from the attorney general, and even a presidential letter. Jonesy had only been prosecuting for a few years and he was already moving up the chain, doing the right things. It was too bad I was going to have to hurt him.
The hall lights flickered on, and legal assistants and paralegals began their day. Other attorneys strolled by and didn't even peer inside. The light was off, so no one was home.
I let that familiar anger roil under the surface, but I controlled it. It didn't control me anymore. I still let it escape sometimes, like steam rushing from a valve, hot enough to burn if you're not careful. Jonesy hadn't been careful.
I heard him coming down the hall, throwing out greetings like candy at a Christmas parade. He was up, feeling good. No Monday doldrums for him. He must have been feeling pretty fucking great about trying to sink my case and my chances with Evan at the same time. I wanted to crack my knuckles. Instead, I stood and leaned against the wall in the darkness, waiting.
Sure enough, he strolled in and hit the light switch. I grabbed his wrist, wrenched it up, and aimed a vicious jab at his ribs. He didn't have time to cry out. He only made a whooshing noise as the air left his lungs. I swung the door shut behind him.
"Fuck . . . you . . . doing?"
I put my forearm to his neck and pinned him to the wall. Jonesy was a large man, but anyone can go rag-doll when you cut off their air supply. He struggled and landed a few blows to my ribs, the side of my head. I let him. His flailing slowed as less and less air made it past his windpipe. I wanted to hurt him, to really hurt him. But anything I had in mind was too much. The rage didn't control me anymore. If it had, Jonesy would have already been a bloodied pulp on the floor.
"I warned you to stay away from her." I said it calmly, methodically. The only violence was in my movements.
"Fuck you."
"You don't seem to understand she doesn't want you." I flexed my forearm for emphasis, cutting off more of his precious air. "It doesn't matter what you tell her, she's going to come back to me every time."
"You don't . . . deserve her." He was struggling to maintain consciousness.
"I know." Jonesy was right about one thing, at least.
There was a sharp rap at the door, and Wood's voice boomed through the wood. "What's going on in there?"
I released Jonesy, who doubled over and gulped in deep breaths of air.
"I'm not after her. I don't know if you really believed that shit story you gave her or not. But I'm telling you right now. Whatever you think you know about my investigation is wrong. Six months, hell, one month ago? You would have been dead-on. But now, you're wrong. I wouldn't do anything to hurt her."
Another knock at the door.
Jonesy righted himself. "It's all right, Wood."
"You sure?" Wood was unconvinced.
"I'm sure."
"I know Lincoln's in there. I swear to God if either of you idiots have destroyed any government property during your little lovers' quarrel, I'm going to take it out of your hides!"
Wood retreated. Jonesy and I stood and eyed each other. He wasn't afraid. He should have been, but he wasn't. I respected it.
"I'm not convinced you aren't out to get her." He tried to straighten his now-rumpled tie.
"I don't give a shit."
"I won't let you take her down. I know she's done some dirt in the past-hell, she's probably even doing some now. But it's never been enough to get her so much as brought before the bar disciplinary committee for a wrist slap. You've got nothing on her."