Jeremy 15
Maybe it’s the change in scenery, but Glenn Garibaldi appears more impressive in Detroit than in New York. It’s costing me a small fortune to get him here, but he’s the only guy I trust to do what I want him to do, no matter how distasteful it might be.
We take the elevator up to the executive floor of the Detroit Concert Hall, and I show him the way to the conference room where we’ve been asked to meet. And there, already sweating a river, is Dipshit Doug. Sitting next to him is the guy I recognize as the Detroit Philharmonic’s legal counsel, Brady something or other. And doesn’t he look precious in his Brooks Brothers suit and tie? The two lawyers exchange greetings and I learn that his last name is Bell. Seriously? Brady Bell? I feel like I’ve walked into a low budget porn flick.
We sit down and Lisa comes in with a carafe of coffee, setting it down with some mugs in the middle of the table. She makes a point of dropping something on the floor and grabs my thigh under the table. I stifle a smile and try not to get myself too … excited. When she leaves the room, Brady opens his folder, scans it, and looks up with a smile.
“Mr. Corrigan, do you know Jimmy Woo?”
“Please, call me Jeremy, Braaaady,” I say, putting emphasis on his pansy ass name. “Of course I know Jimmy. He delivers Chinese food. A lot of the orchestra members have it ordered in the night of a concert when they can’t get home for dinner before the show.”
“I see. And have you had any dealings with him outside of that context?”
“Not that I can recall.”
“Huh.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s just that we believe he stole Jennifer Ruiz’s instrument and then tried to pawn it.”
What? He said someone else tried to pawn it. That little motherfucker!
“Wow. I’m surprised. He seems like such a good kid,” I feign surprise.
“Mr. Corrigan – Jeremy – he claims you paid him two-hundred dollars to take the horn from the hall and put it in a dumpster on the other side of town.”
Dead. He is so fucking dead.
“Well, that’s bullshit. Obviously, he’s scared, and he’s just desperate to find a way out of trouble.”
Brady Bell nods thoughtfully. “The thing is …” he begins as he opens the laptop he brought in with him. “The thing is that we have surveillance footage from the hall and neighboring businesses that would appear to show you speaking with Jimmy.”
Before I can respond, he hits a key, and there I am. Blurry and black and white, but it’s me alright. Talking to Jimmy that night after he took the horn, and then there I am in the alley with him. Fuck me!
He’s watching me for a reaction, but I’m expressionless. He’s waiting for an explanation, but I don’t offer one.
“How do you explain that?” he finally asks.
Glenn, who’s been jotting notes on a legal pad looks up.
“There’s nothing to explain. My client knows Jimmy, he’s spoken to Jimmy. What else do you need to know?”
“So, you’re denying that this footage has anything to do with the missing horn?”
“Do you see the missing horn anywhere in that footage?” Glenn queries.
Brady sits back and considers both Glenn and me carefully.
“How do you explain the exchange of money in that first clip?”
“Is that money? Looks a little grainy to me,” Glenn comments, almost before Brady can finish asking the question.
Brady sighs in frustration. Good, I’m starting to get on his nerves.
“So, you’re denying any involvement in the missing instrument?”
“Absolutely,” I declare confidently.
“I see. Well, based on your previous record …”
“I’m sorry, what record is that?” I lean forward, brows knitted together.
“Uh, well, the death of Calvin Burridge …”
“Was I arrested for that and I didn’t know it?” I ask Glenn next to me.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Glenn plays along.
“Then, you can hardly call it a record, can you now, Braaaaady?” I taunt. “What’s in that little folder of yours anyway? Hmm? Nothing that indicates I’ve ever had more than a speeding ticket. And that was when I was sixteen-years-old. So, unless you’ve got something else to show me, I’ll be leaving now,” I inform him, getting to my feet.
“Actually, I do.”
“You do what?”
“I do have something else to show you. So, if you’d please just indulge me for a few more minutes,” Brady requests.
I look to Glenn who nods, so I sit down again.
“Can you please get to it already, Counselor?” Glenn grits in his best ‘irritated New Yorker’ accent. “Seems to me you should have something better to do than harass one of the top musicians in the world.”
“You’re correct, Mr. Garibaldi. I wouldn’t have requested this meeting if it weren’t important. So, let’s just get down to it, shall we?”
When no one responds, he leans forward with his forearms on the table, pencil in hand. He taps the eraser on the table.
“As you know, Jennifer Ruiz’s horn was stolen. As I’ve just mentioned, Jimmy Woo has admitted to taking it and then trying to pawn it. The instrument was already on a police watch list, so we were tipped off by the pawnbroker and the horn was recovered. The police departments forensic unit confirms the presence of Mr. Woo and Miss Ruiz’s fingerprints only.”
Well that sounds good to me. Maybe they’re all here to offer me an official apology so I don’t sue the shit out of them for slander. Garibaldi is on that train too, apparently.
“We already knew that,” he grumbles with more than a hint of irritation.
“Yes, well, there is young Mr. Woo’s testimony,” Brady says.
“Please. His word against mine,” I mumble.
He ignores me. “And then there’s the audio …”
All heads swing to him.
Glenn is the first to ask. “What audio is that?”
“The audio from the wire that Jimmy was wearing when he approached your client outside of the concert hall the other day. The audio that has him clearly coaching Jimmy on how to lie to the police. The audio that clearly implicates Jeremy Corrigan in the theft of the instrument.”
Before either of us can comment, Brady Bell hits a button on a remote control and suddenly there is sound hissing through speakers mounted on the wall. I can hear the street noise in the background, and then Jimmy’s voice. And mine. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
Glenn senses where I’m headed, and puts a hand on my sleeve lightly. “Okay, Mr. Bell. If you’d wanted this to go to the police, it would have gone to them already. What is it, exactly, that you do want?” he fishes.
I know what he wants, and he’s not going to get it.
“Jeremy, it’s simple,” Brady begins with a smile. “We want you out. Same deal as before, you resign immediately, and we’ll pay out six months of your salary. No one wants any negative press associated with the orchestra, so you sign a non-disclosure agreement and we’ll agree, in writing, not to give any more information about your departure than a press release, over which you’ll have final approval.”
I lean across the table and fix my hardest stare on Doug, who is mopping his disgustingly sweaty brow with a handkerchief. “Seriously, Doug? You going to trust this suit to protect your … best interests?” I menace.
Brady waves a hand at me. “Oh, I already know about the threats, so don’t bother trying to intimidate Doug, Jeremy. And that, by the way, is non-negotiable. The second you even breathe in the direction of him or his family, or even his pets, we will take this recording straight to the police and prosecute you. And let me assure you, Jeremy, we may be trying to avoid the publicity now, but if we feel you are in any way a threat to this organization – or anyone in it, we will use our media juggernaut to destroy you.”
Brady slaps the folder in front of him closed, sits back in his cushy leather chair and taps his pen on the table.
“So, there it is, Leave now with your reputation intact and some money in your pocket. Or, leave later when you’re dismissed on the grounds of the morals clause in your contract and hauled into court for grand larceny and blackmail.”
Glenn clears his throat, glances at me, and then at his counterpart across the table. “We’re going to have to think this over,” he informs the other attorney.
But Brady Bell shakes his head. “This deal expires the moment you leave this conference room. I’m happy to give you a few minutes to consider right now, but if you walk out that door without signing the agreement I’ve drawn-up, the next visit you get will be from Detroit’s Finest.”
“Fine,” Glenn agrees, indicating that they should leave the room.
Doug goes the long way around the table so he won’t be within my reach. Little shit probably knows I’d like to strangle him right about now. He practically runs the last five feet.
When we’re alone, Glenn takes his glasses off and rubs his temples. “Jeremy, my friend, you never cease to amaze me,”
“What’re my options?”
He shakes his head without looking at me. “You don’t have any options. Not if you want to avoid a trial, possibly some jail time, and the destruction of what’s left of your career not to mention your reputation.”
He puts his glasses back on and looks me in the eye.
“These people want you out, and bad. I wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t set this whole thing up as one elaborate plot to paint you into a corner.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
“What? No! You can’t go around saying shit like that. You stay away from Doug Lavery, you hear me?”
“I was talking about Jimmy Woo, but Doug’s on my list, too,” I mutter through clenched teeth.
Glenn takes a deep breath before he speaks again.
“You, my friend, are well and truly fucked.”
So it would seem.