Page 66 of Witness 8

The man threw the butt of his cigarette into the street. The muscles in Mr. Christmas’s jaw twitched. He didn’t like litter. Throwing trash onto the ground was a symptom of an unevolved mind.

The man appeared irked, but he let go of the pistol in his jacket and placed his right hand into his pants pocket and came up with a Zippo, which he snapped open on his thigh and then lit, in a practiced back-and-forth whipping movement.

‘Thank you,’ said Mr. Christmas as he held the cigarette to the flame.

The man flicked his wrist to close the lighter.

‘Pardon me for asking,’ began Mr. Christmas, ‘and I don’t at all mean this question to sound flippant, or compendious – I’m genuinely interested to hear your answer. Tell me, sir, what do you think of Marlon Brando?’

25

Harry

Before the young conman had come into Harry’s life, he’d felt as if his path was settled. He had grown up poor, in the back of his father’s Buick while he drove all over the South preaching the gospel. Harry didn’t have much in the way of an education, apart from the paperbacks his mother loved to read. She liked racy novels, with titles likeTexas Two-StepandAnything Goes, much to the annoyance of Harry’s father, who made sure those books were safely locked in the trunk when they stayed in a town for a week or so. At first he objected to her choice of reading material, but he knew better than to argue with Harry’s momma. That was a road no man ever wanted to walk down. But it was James Baldwin’s books that caught Harry’s attention. It was as if someone was writing just for him – a young, poor African American in the South.

Harry got out and into the US Army, just in time for the tail end of the Vietnam War. He saved a lot of men and progressed through the ranks. He left the military after the war and got his high-school diploma and a college education. Then the bar exam and he was off, flying high in his own law firm and fighting the injustices that had haunted him for most of his life. He built a reputation for an implacable knowledge of the law, a great empathy for his clients and a respect for the constitution. He rose to be a judge, but during this time in his life there was something missing. He was no longer in the fight.

He began drinking more, and his marriages tumbled into the abyss, one after another, until one day a young man spoke in his courtroom, pretending to be a lawyer. He destroyed a witness on the stand. Harry remembered feeling the blood pop in his veins as Eddie took apart that guy’s testimony. Here was the best natural talent he had ever seen in a courtroom.

Harry had no children and his relationship with Eddie wasn’t really a father-and-son type of deal. They were best friends. Eddie’s recklessness, his vibrancy and his disregard for the law were appealing to Harry. It kept him young. Or at least feeling that way.

He liked the electric juice – the thrill of working with the young man. And, in truth, he loved Eddie. And he believed in him.

And that was all that mattered.

Harry reminded himself of this as he walked through the lobby of the Cardozo Hotel.

Eddie knew people all over the city. A booking was required at the hotel, to make it easier for Harry, Bloch and Eddie to get through the front door in the first place, and then into the members’ club. Residents were not permitted, and Harry suspected Eddie was paying off the concierge to get them in, and even this small thrill made Harry feel more alive.

Bloch peeled off, took a seat in the hotel lounge opposite Gabriel Lake, who had been there for some time, making sure there was no one in the lobby who might pull out a gun on Flynn. There was still a price on his friend’s head, and Harry was glad that all precautions were being taken.

Eddie walked slightly ahead of Harry as they made it to the end of the lobby, then turned left down a long ornate hallway to a set of double doors markedPRIVATE MEMBERS ONLY. The man in a suit on the door checked Eddie’s room card, nodded and let them both through.

The private members’ dining room had low lighting, large circular tables with four chairs at each one, the full silver service, low jazz playing in the background and the smell of cedarwood and good food.

Todd Ellis sat at a table by himself, three empty chairs around it. Business suit, red silk tie over a white shirt. Head shaven and catching the light from the candles on the table. His head was down, looking at his phone. A single glass of water had been placed in front of him.

There was no way to get to him apart from either accosting him on the street or breaking into his office. He wouldn’t take an appointment with Eddie, so there was no point in trying. This was his safe space, and the only place to offer an opportunity to talk.

‘Mr. Ellis?’ said Eddie.

He raised his head, looked at Eddie and Harry, said, ‘Yes, what is it?’

Harry didn’t like this guy. Money didn’t buy manners.

‘My colleague and I would like a minute of your time, if you don’t mind,’ said Eddie.

Ellis’s gaze returned to his phone as he said, ‘Make an appointment with my office.’

Before Eddie could say anything else, the waiter appeared beside Ellis, and put down a large plate of salad, scrambled eggs and caviar. The waiter didn’t even have time to take a step away before Ellis started complaining.

‘These eggs are overdone,’ said Ellis. ‘Take them away and do it again.’

Harry could see the eggs weren’t overdone. They were cooked just right, moist and glistening in the atmospheric light.

‘Sir, the eggs are—’

‘I don’t give a fuck what you say. Take these fucking eggs, throw them away and do the entire dish again from scratch. You just blew your tip, by the way.’