CHAPTER 30: BUILDING BLOCKS

MONDAY

MICHAEL:

I’ve been trying to reach Lance ever since Friday night. He hasn’t been answering. I need him to hack into the bank’s system to erase any information about that fucking safety deposit box. I’ve been sitting in this fucking cell, waiting for my arraignment. Apparently, because someone from Brian’s building called them saying that I was causing a disturbance, they revoked my bail. But I still have to go before a judge so that my bail request can officially be denied. It’s bullshit!

But while in here, the cops have been yapping about getting in touch with the owner of the box with my mother’s name on it. When it was discovered that it was the reason for my arrest the first time, the police decided to go through it. They called for a search warrant, and for whatever reason it was granted almost immediately. I thought it should have taken a lot longer than it did. But anyway, I really need to get the fuck out of here before my supposed trial, but I have about as much a chance of that happening as I do of Brian finally coming to his fucking senses. I can only hope that they- Claire, Craig and Lance- keep their fucking mouths shut. Or maybe I should sing like a canary before they have a chance to…

“Guard, I want my lawyer!” I call out, interrupting the coffee clutch going on at the desk.

“That’s about the smartest thing you’ve requested since you got locked up, Novotny. Your legal aid lawyer will be here just before it’s time to take you down to see the judge.”

“Legal aid? But I have money. I can afford my own attorney,” I huffed. I don't want some State-given hack, whose sole duty is to put me in a position to become Bubba's bitch!

He laughs, along with the other officers. “No, you don’t. What you had was other people’s money, and your all of your accounts have been seized. Hate to break it to you- not really, but- nothing is moving in or out of those unless it’s back to the people it actually belongs to. We’ll let you know when your attorney gets here.” He turns his back on me and goes back to his conversation with the others while what he says registers.

They fucking seized my accounts? Fuck! I have to get to either Lance or Ma. I need them to sell some of the collectibles off to get me some ready cash. “I need to make a phone call!” I yell out.

He turns back to me with a smirk on his face. “If it’s the same person you’ve been trying to reach for the last few days, the one staying at the Hilton, he’s not there.”

“What? How do you know?”

“We picked him up this morning. Looks like your fellow pea in a pod is in some trouble of his own. Seems someone filed a complaint against him for stalking. And before you ask, we’re keeping him in a separate part of the precinct since he’s the same man who bailed you out last week. Can’t have you two comparing fairytales and concocting new delusions of grandeur, can we?”

FUCK! This just keeps getting better and better!

LANCE:

I knew I should have left on fucking Friday. I knew it! I’m usually smarter than this; I can’t even figure out what compelled me to stay. But now everything I’ve worked for over the years is in jeopardy, and for what? Michael? Oh I know he’s been finessing me to get what he wants over the years, but it was the only way I could get to know about Brian. I don’t even understand why I still have this obsession, honestly. I suppose it’s because he’s everything I’m not. Oh I know I’m okay looking, but Brian Kinney is like a god among men. He commands attention and respect from the moment he walks into a room, and has since I’ve known him. Am I jealous of him? Yes. Do I envy him?  Hell yes, I do! But there is also some elusive quality about him that draws me to him like a moth to a flame. And I can’t stop it.

I think back to the first time Michael mentioned Justin’s name to me. From the way he described him, I could already tell that there was something different about the kid. Michael kept going on and on about how Justin’s presence ruined his special time with Brian. But as I sit here in this cell, I wonder if there was ever any truth to Michael’s versions of events. When I peeked into Brian’s loft via the webcam Michael installed, I always noticed a closeness between Brian and Justin. It was something that was missing when they were in public during the early days of their relationship, before I left Pittsburgh. And yet, behind the closed doors of the loft, it was visible in the way that they each glowed from the inside out.

At the time, I would call Michael and tell him when they were fucking so he could go and interrupt them before it became more than just that. Upon entering the loft, Michael would stand at the bottom of the steps and just watch them before intervening. I knew he was picturing himself as the recipient of Brian’s dick in those moments… hell, so was I. But there was something so sinister about the way he was doing it. It wasn’t just with envy towards Justin, but a look of pure unadulterated hatred towards the both of them. Justin, I could sort of understand, but Brian? Not really. I mean, it could have been that he was heartbroken by the fact that Brian had continuously been breaking his self-imposed rules for someone who wasn’t him. But still, there was more to those looks that I am only just now realizing… looks, unfortunately, that I’m beginning to read too late for my own good.

“Guard, I’d like to phone my attorney please,” I call out.

“Is he local?”

“No. I’m just hoping that he can get here before I am arraigned.”

“Then you should call him now. We can hold you twenty-four hours before you have to be brought before the judge. If he’s not here, then we can get you a legal aid lawyer to fill in during your plea.”

I nod. I was well aware of what the Miranda laws meant. “I’ll see if I can call my uncle to represent me until my attorney arrives then.” He lets me out of the cell before ushering me over to the desk where the phone is. I close my eyes as he handcuffs me to the metal bar on the side. He asks me what number to dial, and I give him the number to the law offices of Harry Donaldson. After answering all of the secretary’s screening questions, I’m finally put through. “Hello, Uncle Harry. It’s me, Lance. I’m in here at the 27th precinct, and in some trouble. Can you represent me?”

HARRY:

As I listen to my nephew detail what he’s being charged with, I close my eyes in exasperation. Yes, I’ve known for years about his obsession with Brian Kinney, but not his friendship with what apparently is his fellow stalker-in-arms. But the worst of it is not that Lance has been an idiot… NO! It’s that the man who he’s been stalking is Melanie Marcus’ child’s father! I have a decision to make. I shake my head. This is the first time in my thirty year career where I’m actually torn between doing what’s right and doing my job.

I have to talk to Mel. The last thing I want is for her to see this as some sort of betrayal on my part. Especially since Lance is involved with the idiot who threatened her son’s stable home. It’s times like this I want to punch my sister in the head for not listening when we all told her he had fixation issues back when he was a kid.

“Look, Lance. I have to deal with something else before I can come and see you. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I tell him before hanging up the phone.

I sit there for a few moments trying to figure out how to approach Mel about this. It’s not that I don’t think Lance deserves to pay for everything he’s done. I do! But I also know that no matter how smart he is, he’s sick. That’s not to use as an excuse, but it is a fact. However, he needs to pay for his part in the robbery and subsequent role in the embezzlement of Justin Taylor’s funds. The question is: If I get Lance to accept a plea deal, will Mel, Brian, and Justin go for that? Or will they lump him into the same category as Michael and want the book thrown at him? Honestly, I can’t blame any of them if it’s the latter choice they make. Lance was just plain fucking stupid! But as I sit going over what he told me on the phone, I also think I’m missing something very important here. It’s time I find out just what that is.

FRAUD SPECIALIST JOANNE CARVER:

The problem with this case is that on the surface it looks pretty cut and dry. All of the information the clients and their attorneys gathered is straightforward and well-organized. At first, it all looks like a case of revenge on an extreme level. But it’s in the other files that I’ve received on Michael Novotny that tells me it’s not so simple after all; that the embezzlement charge from the Taylor-Kinney Corporation is just the tip of the iceberg here. With that thought in mind, I go to find the arresting officer, Carl Horvath, from Friday night to see just what he knows.

When I arrive at his desk, I almost laugh. It looks incredibly similar to mine at the moment. The files are in danger of spilling off of the desk, which will make the reorganization of the information just as hard as making head or tails of it all. It seems imminent, but that’s the nature of our jobs, and our desks never seem big enough to hold it all. But strangely, as long as I’ve been an officer, I never thought that a homicide detective, who also backs up many other departments, would have a desk reminiscent of that in the fraud department. Somehow I always had the impression that they would have other kinds of evidence on their desk, but not a desk full of papers.

“Trying to follow a money trail?” I ask, smirking as he lets out a muttered expletive.

“Sorry you heard that. I try hard not to cuss in the presence of a lady,” he says, smiling.

“Ah, an officer and a gentleman. How rare! But if it makes you feel better, I can cuss loud and long in a way that will make sailors run for cover. Though I appreciate the effort, you never have to curb your tongue around me, Detective.”

“I’ll remember that…”

“Joanne. Joanne Carver from upstairs in the fraud division.”

“Ah, nice to meet you. I’d just heard your name not five minutes ago. I take it you’re here regarding the Novotny case?”

“I am. How did you know?”

He looks at the pile of records in the chair across from where he’s sitting, and shakes his head. “Perhaps we ought to move this conversation to the conference room.”

“Sure, but what is all this anyway?” My curiosity is getting the better of me about what he’s working on other than the Novotny case.

“Oh all of this, and I do mean ALL, is related to the Novotny case.”

“A-All of it?” I stutter.

“Indeed. I have a feeling between the two of us, the conference room is probably about to become our joint office of sorts. You should be getting an email within the hour about it.” He says as we enter the large room. He waits for me to take a seat, before joining me on the other side of the table. “I’ve just been asked to hand over all of my other open cases to a few of the other officers. This case is rather extensive and as convoluted as I’ve ever seen.”

“What can you tell me so far?”

“That the embezzlement is the least of Novotny’s real worries.”

I whistle. “How much more time is he looking at beyond the ten to fifteen he will be facing based on the amount of money he stole?”

“If each charge is taken one by one, Michael Novotny could be facing up to twenty-five years combined. I don’t know how much of that he will serve, but I do know that the D.A. trying the case is going to request that none of the sentences run concurrently. Based on the evidence accumulated so far on my desk alone, this guy is a true menace to society, only he doesn’t generally use violence himself. Sure, he’d have no problem getting someone else to do it for him, but no. Novotny uses something much more dangerous, and that’s manipulation. In his mind he looks innocent, therefore he must be innocent even if he’s guilty as hell.”

“You seem to know a lot about him.”

“I never met him before Friday, but that’s the read I got off him. Instead of spending the time explaining why he was trespassing into the building on Tremont and had filed a false report, he spent the entire ride justifying why he was within his rights as Brian’s best friend to do everything he did.”

“Brian? As in Brian Taylor-Kinney?”

“One and the same. When we kept reminding him of Brian’s new and official last name, he refused to acknowledge it. Now that’s not to say that’s against the law- both of us know it’s not- but it did give us more insight into the motive, even if he didn’t mean to. The thing is, criminals like that won’t see anything they did as wrong. And he’s done A LOT of wrong.”

“So basically the only thing easy about this case is that he did it, but the reasons why are convoluted?”

He nods. “Yes and no. With Justin, it’s obvious that it’s hate. I'm talking the kind that burns white-hot and is pervasive. However, Novotny can also be insidious in such a way that by the time you realize you've been had, it's too late which is how Justin ended up working with the creep in the first place. You should read up on the young man's history to get a clearer picture of how Novotny was able to do dupe him. But with Brian, his reasoning could mean the difference between being charged with a crime of passion, or something a lot more sinister. As for the blackmail portion of the case and enforced and coerced prostitution…”

“Enforcement and coercion? Brian Kinney?”

“No. His ex-hustler-turned almost son, James Hunter Montgomery.”

“Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Possibly because his mother, Rita Montgomery, is tied into this. But more importantly, she served time for attempted murder of her ex-husband some years back.”

“And she ties into all of this how?”

“Apparently, Michael made a deal with her to coerce Hunter into going back with her. She arrived at the place where Novotny and former partner, Ben, the man who really wanted to adopt Hunter, were living at the time. She had the police with her. Michael was supposed to turn Hunter over to her, but Hunter balked and bolted. According to the journal we retrieved from Novotny’s apartment, Michael first became a sort of savior to Hunter to gain his trust before pimping him out.”

“Why would he do that?! That’s so fucked!”

“Yes, it is. But even worse was who he pimped Hunter out to.” At my expectant look, Carl utters the name I wish to a merciful God he didn't. “Lance Freeman.”

Oh fuck! Carl wasn’t kidding when he said this case was convoluted. Lance, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?!