Damaged Goods by Stephen Solomita

Later on?”
    Moodrow shook his head. “Back then, you didn’t kill a cop.” He turned to Ann Kalkadonis. “I know you’re hurting, Ann, so I’ll try to keep it brief. After I finish, we’ll talk about what we’re gonna do.”
    Slowly, with many pauses, they established a list of Jilly Sappone’s friends and relatives. The list, of course, was fifteen years old, the last time Ann Kalkadonis had had any contact with the family, but it was a place to begin. When they were finished, Moodrow leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.
    “Have the feds told you about Jilly’s call?” He waited for a nod, then continued. “Jilly wants you in the apartment. He wants you to answer the telephone next time he calls. I need to know if you’re gonna go, if you’re gonna give Jilly a target?” The questions were purely rhetorical, Ann Kalkadonis having no choice in the matter. Moodrow received a nod, then continued. “If your other daughter, Patricia, is still in Boston, bring her back. There’s at least a chance that Jilly could find her. Just like he found Carol Pierce. Just like he found you. ”
    Leonora started to say something, but Moodrow motioned her into silence. “From what I hear, Ann, you want me to be your bodyguard. We both know that won’t work. I have to locate Jilly and I have to do it fast. The FBI has your apartment wired. They’ll stay with you twenty-four hours a day. The same goes for the New York cops.”
    Ann Kalkadonis mumbled something that Moodrow didn’t catch. He leaned closer, asked her to repeat herself, then came up laughing.
    “What did she say?” Leonora asked.
    “She said, “I’m Sicilian. I don’t trust cops.’ ” He turned back to his client. “In this case, you’ve got the cops and the FBI agents to watch each other. Just make sure Patricia doesn’t decide to stroll through the neighborhood. If we’re careful, Sappone will never know she came back.”
    Outside, in the hallway, Moodrow tried to think of a nice way to break the bad news. He’d gotten what he wanted, access to Ann Kalkadonis, and now the committee had to go. It was really that simple, but simplicity didn’t make it easier. Leonora was sure to be pissed off and he didn’t need that. Nevertheless, as the committee was waiting in the cafeteria, he plunged on.
    “Hold up a minute, Leonora,” he said to her retreating back, “I’m not going down there with you.”
    “Now what, Stanley?” She spun around, faced him with her shoulders squared. “What’s the game?”
    “I’ve decided to take the case pro bono. That means the foundation is out. I’m not reporting to anybody but my client.” He folded his arms across his chest, absorbed the full force of Leonora’s glare.
    “You know, you’re really a prick. I’ve been playing your game for the last two days.”
    “And now it’s my turn to play yours?” He hesitated, searched for an inoffensive way to phrase what had to be said. “Look, those people have nothing to contribute. Nothing. I’m not putting them down, Leonora. They offered Ann refuge and that’s all to the good, but they can’t find Jilly Sappone. I just don’t have time for them.”
    “That’s great, Stanley. I can see your reasoning. If you don’t want their money, they have no hold over you. But somebody’s got to tell them and if that somebody is me, I’m going to smack you so hard, you’ll forget about what happened to the back of your head.” She stared up at him through narrowed eyes. “It’s really that simple.”
    It went better than Moodrow expected. He began by thanking the Haven Foundation for all they’d done on behalf of Ann Kalkadonis, then carefully explained that client confidentiality obliged him to report directly (and only) to Ann Kalkadonis. Even the cops had no real claim, though he fully intended to use them whenever necessary.
    “Time is what it’s all about,” he concluded. “Days, maybe a week at the outside. I don’t wanna insult