Rage of Angels
“Sorry,” Jennifer replied. “No deal.”
“You think you’re gonna get more from the old lady?”
“No,” Jennifer said. She looked him in the eye. “Only one of us is in this for the money.”
It took six weeks of hearings and psychiatric consultations and conferences with four different state agencies. Jennifer brought in her own psychiatrists and when they were finished with their examinations and Jennifer had laid out all the facts at her disposal, the judge reversed his earlier decision and Helen Cooper was released and her estate restored to her control.
The morning of Mrs. Cooper’s release she telephoned Jennifer.
“I want to take you to lunch at Twenty-One.”
Jennifer looked at her calendar. She had a crowded morning, a luncheon date and a busy afternoon in court, but she knew how much this meant to the elderly woman. “I’ll be there,” Jennifer said.
Helen Cooper’s voice was pleased. “We’ll have a little celebration.”
The luncheon went beautifully. Mrs. Cooper was a thoughtful hostess, and obviously they knew her well at 21.
Jerry Berns escorted them to a table upstairs, where they were surrounded by beautiful antiques and Georgian silver. The food and service were superb.
Helen Cooper waited until they were having their coffee. Then she said to Jennifer, “I’m very grateful to you, my dear. I don’t know how large a fee you were planning to charge, but I want to give you something more.”
“My fees are high enough.”
Mrs. Cooper shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” She leaned forward, took Jennifer’s hands in hers and dropped her voice to a whisper.
“I’m going to give you Wyoming.”
17
The front page of The New York Times carried two stories of interest, side by side. One was an announcement that Jennifer Parker had obtained an acquittal for a woman accused of slaying her husband. The other was an article about Adam Warner running for the United States Senate.
Jennifer read the story about Adam again and again. It gave his background, told about his service as a pilot in the Viet Nam War, and gave an account of his receiving the Distinguished Flying Cross for bravery. It was highly laudatory, and a number of prominent people were quoted as saying that Adam Warner would be a credit to the United States Senate and to the nation. At the end of the article, there was a strong hint that if Adam were successful in his campaign, it could easily be a stepping-stone to his running for the presidency of the United States.
In New Jersey, at Antonio Granelli’s farmhouse, Michael Moretti and Antonio Granelli were finishing breakfast. Michael was reading the article about Jennifer Parker.
He looked up at his father-in-law and said, “She’s done it again, Tony.”
Antonio Granelli spooned up a piece of poached egg. “Who done what again?”
“That lawyer. Jennifer Parker. She’s a natural.”
Antonio Granelli grunted. “I don’ like the idea of no woman lawyer workin’ for us. Women are weak. You never know what the hell they gonna do.”
Michael said cautiously, “You’re right, a lot of them are, Tony.”
It would not pay for him to antagonize his father-in-law. As long as Antonio Granelli was alive, he was dangerous; but watching him now, Michael knew he would not have to wait much longer. The old man had had a series of small strokes and his hands trembled. It was difficult for him to talk, and he walked with a cane. His skin was like dry, yellowed parchment. All the juices had been sucked out of him. This man, who was at the head of the federal crime list, was a toothless tiger. His name had struck terror into the hearts of countless mafiosi and hatred in the hearts of their widows. Now, very few people got to see Antonio Granelli. He hid behind Michael, Thomas Colfax, and a few others he trusted.
Michael had not been raised—made the head of the Family—yet, but it was just a question of time. “Three-Finger Brown” Lucchese had been the strongest of the five eastern Mafia chieftains, then Antonio Granelli, and soon…Michael could afford to be patient. He had come a long, long way from the time when, as a cocky, fresh-faced kid, he had stood in front of the major dons in New York and held a flaming scrap of paper in his hand and sworn: “This is the way I will burn if I betray the secrets of Cosa Nostra.”
Now, sitting at breakfast with the old man, Michael said, “Maybe we could use the Parker woman for small stuff. Just to see how she does.”
Granelli shrugged. “Just be careful, Mike. I don’ wan’ no strangers in on Family secrets.”
“Let me handle her.”
Michael made the telephone call that afternoon.
When Cynthia announced that Michael Moretti was calling, it brought an instant spate of memories, all of them unpleasant. Jennifer could not imagine why Michael Moretti would be calling her.
Out of curiosity, she picked up the telephone. “What is it you want?”
The sharpness of her tone took Michael Moretti aback. “I want to see you. I think you and I should have a little talk.”
“What about, Mr. Moretti?”
“It’s nothing I’d care to discuss on the telephone. I can tell you this, Miss Parker—it’s something that would be very much in your interest.”
Jennifer said evenly, “I can tell you this, Mr. Moretti. Nothing you could ever do or say could be of the slightest interest to me,” and she slammed down the receiver.
Michael Moretti sat at his desk staring at the dead phone in his hand. He felt a stirring within him, but it was not anger. He was not sure what it was, and he was not sure he liked it. He had used women all his life and his dark good looks and innate ruthlessness had gotten him more eager bed partners than he could remember.