"So you're breaking up with him because you found out some of his businesses are illegal? I mean, you already knew that, right?"
Martina is sitting on my couch with her legs curled under her. I'm across from her sitting in a surprisingly comfortable leather and chrome chair that looks like one of those Scandinavian designs you see in museums.
We are on our second glass of wine.
Between the fact that I was almost forced into a car in broad daylight and the confidential nature of what we're discussing, I decided it made more sense for her to come over to my place than for us to go out to a bar or a restaurant after work.
We left her car at the office, and I drove straight into the parking garage. The security in this building is really good, but I still looked around, uneasy, when we got out of the car and walked to the elevator. I have this feeling all the time now that someone is watching me, but I haven't seen the man who followed me since I got away from him on Monday, and I haven't seen anyone else suspicious lurking around outside my office or the condo building.
It's almost scarier, though, when you feel like someone is watching you, but you don't see them.
I look at Martina and nod.
"I knew it intellectually, in a vague sort of way. He'd told me that there were some deals his father made that he had to honor, but he'd also told me about his legitimate businesses, like the club and the security business he owns with Gabe. A couple of wineries where he's really more of an investor. It was easier to ignore the fact that the illegal stuff was out there when I didn't know any of the details."
"So, is this about something that happened in Vegas? Because I know you've been with him since then."
"Not exactly, although that's connected." I take a long sip of my wine and stare for a moment out the window before turning back to Martina.
"I found out about a specific instance of violence. A person who was pretty seriously injured."
"On Max's orders?" she asks, and I know her mind must have gone immediately to whether Gabe did it as part of his "security" role.
"No. Not on Max's orders."
She leans forward to set her wine down on the coffee table, her brow creased slightly as she tries to figure out what I'm getting at.
"Max did it himself," I tell her.
"Seriously?" She takes this in. "Did he have a good reason?"
"Does that matter?"
"Of course it matters. There's a difference between, say, breaking someone's kneecaps because they didn't pay protection money - although frankly I can't see somebody who's the actual boss doing something like that personally - and punishing somebody who stole money from Max or betrayed him."
She pauses, picks up her glass and takes another sip, then looks back at me.
"It would make a difference to me if the person deserved it."
"So in your opinion, Max just gets to decide, by whatever moral compass he's using, that some guy deserves to be beaten, then he does it?"
"Oh. My. God." Her eyes widen and her mouth practically drops open.
"What?"
"It was Ramon Suarez, wasn't it? Max beat the shit out of Ramon Suarez."
"How did you know that? Did Gabe tell you?"
"Gabe was involved?" She asks the question but doesn't look shocked or upset. "No, but when you put two and two together, it adds up. I mean, I'm sure Max didn't take you along with him to witness something like this, so how would you even know it happened? But Monday, after you met with the state attorney and then had the interview with Suarez, you just seemed off. And then Tuesday morning, you told me you and Max are done.
"It doesn't take a rocket scientist to make the connection."
I guess not.
"Martina, it's not just illegal, it's wrong. We have a court system. Ramon was arrested, charged with a crime. I negotiated a plea deal that puts him on probation and requires him to attend anger management classes. If he does anything like this again, he'll do jail time. And that's only because this was a misdemeanor charge. Unlike his injuries, she didn't have any broken bones. Just bruised ribs, a black eye and a strained wrist."
"Just?" Martina looked shocked. "Like that's not bad enough?"
"No, I don't mean it that way. What happened to her - to Ashley - was horrible. I felt ill when the assistant state attorney showed me the photos. All I'm saying is because nothing was broken and it was a first offense, the penalties are less severe. I'm not saying I agree, but there are legal standards that apply."
"Do you really think a slap on the wrist and some anger management classes would be enough to change him?"
"Maybe not, but that's how the system works. I believe in the system. What I don't believe in is the kind of vigilante justice Max was dishing out. Everything Ramon did to Ashley, Max did to him, but about ten times worse."
"I'm sorry, but after seeing the photos of his ex-girlfriend that the assistant state attorney showed you - which you just told me made you sick to look at - can you actually tell me that Ramon didn't get exactly what he deserved?"
"It's not up to me to decide what someone deserves. And it's not up to Max, either." I can't believe Martina is being so cavalier about this. It doesn't seem to bother her at all.
"I don't know," she says. "I just can't get too upset about that little dick Ramon Suarez ending up with his face battered and his arm in a sling."
"It was more serious than that. Max put him in the hospital. He broke his ribs. He broke his arm in three places with a lead pipe, Martina."
Martina shrugs. "And you can't get past that." It's more of a statement than a question.
"Don't you get that my whole career is based on making sure every criminal defendant has their due process rights protected and gets their day in court? Do you think the police should be able to beat people up when they arrest them just because the cop is sure the person did the crime?"
"No, of course I don't think that. Hadley, I'm not saying what Max did was right. I'm just saying it's not awful. Ramon's a bad guy, and I think he got what he deserved."
I settle back in my chair. "I guess we just have to disagree. It doesn't bother you that Gabe is part of this sort of thing? That Gabe picked Suarez up after Max took care of his bail, then took him directly to Max who was waiting in some out-of-the way warehouse to break his bones? How many other times has something like this happened for reasons that Max decides justify it?"
Martina shakes her head. "I just can't come up with any sympathy for Ramon Suarez."
"That's not the point." How does she not get this?
"It's not that I care about Ramon - even though he is my client, I know scum when I see it and he's scum. It's the fact that Max has this level of violence in him, and a complete disregard for letting the legal system work."
I shake my head again, and finish off my glass of wine.
"He just used me to play a part in it." And that hurts almost as much as finding out how deeply he is entrenched in a criminal world where violence is an accepted way of doing business.
Martina tilts her head. "What do you mean, used you?"
"My job was to negotiate a plea deal that kept Ramon from doing any jail time. I thought it was because Max needed him to do a job, but it wasn't."
"Why was it, then?"
"It was so everybody on the loading dock would see him struggling before his broken bones and ribs healed, before the swelling and bruising on his face went away. Max was sending a message to all his employees that if you abuse women, this is what happens."
Martina sighs, and finishes off her wine as well. "It's not a bad message, Hadley."
"He said this was giving Ramon a second chance." I lean forward again. "What happens if one of his employees - or a competitor - does something Max decides is unforgivable, something where there is no second chance?"
And I'm thinking again about how Max said his father handled problems, with a drive into the everglades and a bullet in the back of the head.
"Hadley, this is one incident. You don't know that Max has ever killed anyone."
"I don't know that he hasn't.'
"Maybe you should ask him."
"I did. Max promised he'd never lie to me, but he also said there are things he's not willing to tell me."
"And?"
"And he wouldn't answer that question."
"Hadley, if you're so upset about what Max did to that Ramon guy, and really worried about what else he might be capable of, why in the world are you to New York with him?"
"I don't really have a choice." Then I tell her how I accidentally walked in on a meeting he was having with some serious mob guys when we were in Las Vegas, and that Max covered it by introducing me as his lawyer. Before I knew what was happening, I was reviewing a contract and making suggestions.
"And now, these guys that are high up in the mob have requested that I come along with Max for another meeting on either this deal or something else. I'm not sure."
"Wow," Martina says, "that's like it's right out of one of those mob movies. Like, when they ask you to do something, you can't say no.'
"Yeah, that's what Max says. And if someone with as much power as Max says I can't say no, then I believe it."
"But you're not seeing Max anymore. I mean, you're breaking it off. And now you have to spend a weekend with him in some fancy hotel in New York?"
"Don't say a word to my grandfather about this. He's been warning me off Max since he found out I was dating him.'
"Yeah, right, like I'm going to walk into Mr. Reese's office and tell him his granddaughter is spending the weekend in New York City with reputed crime boss Max Bennett. You've heard the term 'shoot the messenger?' I like my job and I don't want to get fired."
She uncurls her legs, puts her feet on the floor.
"Plus," she says, "don't you know I've got your back?"
"Yeah, I do." I really feel like I have a true friend in Martina. And it's nice - especially now - to have someone I can talk these things through with. Even if she doesn't feel that same way I do about recent events, at least she's not judging me. I can't think of a single friend in Philadelphia I could call up and say, hey, I'd like to discuss the ethical dilemma of a criminal defense lawyer dating a Miami crime boss with connections to the Mafia.
Of course, I'm not dating Max anymore.
"So how are you going to handle it?" Martina asks.
"What?"
"Spending a weekend in a hotel room with Max Bennett and not sleeping with him. You think he'll get a separate room for you? Or at least a suite with two bedrooms?"
"Yeah, probably," I say, but I'm not sure at all. In fact, I'm pretty sure he won't.
I know Max won't do anything if I say no.
But I'm betting he'll make it as difficult as possible for me to stick to that.