The Boy Who Glowed in the Dark

CHAPTER 47

Johnny studied the menu at the Tropicana Diner. A man knew he was in the right place when they offered a rib-eye steak for $11.95 as a side item for breakfast. The waffle finger was interesting, too. A crispy waffle and three chicken fingers with all the butter and syrup a man could justify. A southern touch to soothe a man’s soul in Elizabeth, New Jersey. Johnny had been planning to stick with his egg whites, but the prospect of representing a cop stressed him sufficiently to demand some quality carbohydrates on the side. When his client didn’t arrive by 9:00 a.m. sharp, Johnny placed his order for six egg whites and a short stack of golden brown pancakes. Hold the butter, he insisted. The folks who ordered the waffle finger would undoubtedly use it.

Johnny hoped the pancakes might temper his apprehension, too. Nadia still hadn’t called him with an update. She was probably in the thick of it now, whatever that meant. He wondered if she was all right. He wondered how Bobby was doing. He hoped the rich man was coming through for them. He wished he were there with them, wherever they were.

Richard Clark sauntered in fifteen minutes late wearing a black nylon warm-up suit, white cross trainers, and a shit-eating grin on his face. A cop on the verge of being arrested should have looked concerned. He should have been on time and reeked of humility. But he wasn’t and he didn’t. Instead he slid his bodybuilder-gone-to-pot physique into the booth, rubbed his unshaven face, and grinned like an entitled child armed with a badge and gun. Johnny regretted opting for the short stack instead of the full monty.

“You know,” Clark said, “you’re a lot older in person than you look on your company website.”

“Occupational hazard. Can I see some ID?”

The grin turned into a laugh, then morphed into a look of disdain. “Are you for real?”

“Are you in need of my services?”

Johnny checked Clark’s badge and driver’s license, not just to verify the man’s identity, but to establish the upper hand. And to punish him for being late and to piss him off a bit, too.

Johnny’s waitress delivered his pancakes and eggs. She greeted Clark with familiarity — she called him Richie — and a complete lack of enthusiasm. Evidently he tipped like the asshole he was. She poured him a cup of coffee. Clark didn’t bother looking at the menu. He ordered his usual, two eggs over easy and the rib-eye steak on the side.

Johnny didn’t wait for Clark’s food to arrive. He slid the egg whites onto his pancakes, poured syrup over them, and dug in.

“My boss said we know each other,” Johnny said. “I can’t seem to place you. Refresh my memory.”

“Your boss lied. Or you weren’t listening. I never said I knew you. I said I knew of you.”

Cops knew criminal defense attorneys by reputation. The more successful a lawyer was in defending alleged perpetrators, the more they hated him. Until the day they needed his help, that is.

“What do you know about me?” Johnny said.

“I know you were the lawyer for the James brothers, two of the biggest scumbags ever to walk the sidewalks of Elizabeth.”

“Reformed scumbags.” The James brothers had been notorious drug dealers but had cleaned up their act. They owned and operated a chain of car washes now. Johnny glanced at Clark. The shit-eating grin still hadn’t vanished from his face. “You know, for a guy who’s staring at an indictable that might cost him his career and land him in jail for who knows how many years, you don’t seem concerned. You want to tell me your story so I can see what I’m missing?”

Clark took a sip of coffee and leaned back, spreading his arms along the top of the booth as though he didn’t have a care in the world. “Sure. I’ll tell you my story. It’s simple. I’m not worried because you’re going to be my lawyer.”

The certainty in his voice struck Johnny as offensive. Johnny gave Clark his own shit-eating grin. “You sure about that, are you?”

“Absolutely. What you’re missing is that my case is just as important to you as it is to me.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah. That’s right, counselor. You see, I know the magic word.”

Magic word. Clark’s arrogance soured the syrup on his breakfast cakes. Johnny sighed. “What’s the magic word, Richie?”

Clark broadened his grin. “The magic word is Nadia Tesla.”