that quickly never hap-pens unless you have inside help. And Blue is a frickin’ expert on such matters. If he figures out what we’ve been up to, he’ll dig deeper into our relationship with Moretti and then we’ll really be in deep shit.”
“Moretti can handle Blue.”
Barnes slid off the bar stool, walked over and looked out the large window fronting the golf course. He was now safely out of earshot of Willie and several tables of poker players that dotted the elegant lounge.
“Listen Vito, let’s just hold tight and see what develops here. This new administration likes to play Chicago style politics; they can get plenty rough if necessary. Alex will be taking on the whole Federal Government if he pushes too hard. He’ll snoop around for awhile and try to make us uncomfortable, but I don’t think he will press too hard right now. I’m sure he suspects that we have ties to the Moretti camp, but when push comes to shove, he’ll back off.”
“Let’s hope so, Barnes. We wouldn’t look good in prison stripes!”
“Calm down, Vito. Montrose knows what he’s doing. I gotta run, I have a 1:30 tee time. Keep in touch, Vito, and let me know anything and everything you hear.” He turned and hurried toward the members’ locker room at Meridian Hills Country Club.
“Okay, but I’m warnin’ you, Barnes, if….”
Barnes stopped quickly and pulled the phone tight to his ear. He interrupted his tempestuous friend, “Now you listen to me, Vito. You were nothing but a small time operator with a bad paper trail out of Chicago when I met you. Now you’re a rich man. If we hadn’t helped Moretti with those donations, you’d still be living in a one bedroom condo in downtown Indy. Don’t you ever threaten me again! Do you understand?”
Always intimated by Barnes, Vito was silent.
Barnes clicked his phone shut without saying good-bye and hurried into the locker room to change for his golf game with Bill Worthem, a frequent golfing companion and the head of the Democratic Party in Marion County.
Barnes threatening outburst toward Vito was not uncommon. A product of an Irish ghetto in the heart of the mean streets of Boston, he could play plenty rough when necessary. Brilliant as a child, he never had much of an affinity for the books, choosing instead to join an Irish gang at age fourteen. Fearless, and always aching for a fight, he soon became the gang’s leader. He remained leader until he was arrested on an assault and battery charge at age eighteen. The charge was the result of a brutal beating by Barnes and two other boys of a rival Irish gang member over a turf war on the Southside. His fellow gang members were eventually convicted on felony charges and sentenced to two years for assault and battery with intent to inflict bodily injury.
But lucky for Barnes, his father stepped in. Barnes’ father ran a popular meat market in downtown Boston and was well connected politically. He provided young Barnes with a good attorney, and after a brief hearing, he was able to get his sentence reduced to just six months. The judge in the case, smitten by the boy’s charm and good looks, had asked for the boy’s school records before final sentencing. Shocked by his 144 IQ and almost perfect SAT’s, the judge made an unusual ruling. The court ordered Barnes to either enroll in college and get a four year degree or go to jail. His father, wary of his son’s bad behavior, gladly enrolled him in Boston College for the fall semester. Aware of the many horror stories circulating around town about the Massachusetts’s penal system, Barnes took the deal offered by the judge and was soon a pre-law student at Boston College.
Sporting several scars, both physical and emotional, from his days as a gang-banger, the young Barnes immediately took to the more secure and civil environment at the ancient university. He was able to use his leadership skills honed on the mean streets of Boston to become president of his class both his junior and senior years.
After graduating cum laude in 1972, his application to attend the prestigious Harvard Law School was soon approved. In his senior year, he was elected Head of the Harvard Law Review and graduated with honors in 1974. After graduation, he was immediately hired by one of the most esteemed law firms in Boston, where he practiced law until he, and his wife Ellen, decided to move to her hometown of Indianapolis in 1989.
By all accounts, Barnes was considered to be one of the finest trial lawyers in both Boston and Indianapolis. The feisty litigator never forgot his days on the tough streets of Boston and was not opposed to using bullying tactics when he felt necessary. He would often confide to his wife Ellen that “courtroom battles were easy. If you win, nobody comes after you later with a stick and club. And if you lose, you don’t have to drag your battered body to the nearest emergency room for treatment.”
While at Harvard he became heavily involved in the Young Democrats organization. He carried his political ideologies, spawned in the ultra-liberal Boston area, into his law career. He served brief stints as a prosecuting attorney in both Boston and Indianapolis. He gave generously to the Democratic Party and hoped to someday be appointed ambassador to his beloved home country of Ireland. With a new liberal President from Illinois just elected to office and the current Ambassador to Ireland about to retire, his chances seemed better than ever to fulfill his dream.
Vito Taglioni, a childhood friend of President Moretti, had initially introduced Barnes to President Moretti a few years earlier at a fund raiser in Indianapolis. The two hit it off almost immediately. It wasn’t long before the then candidate, Moretti, and Barnes were speaking openly of the possibility of an Ambassadorship to Ireland. Just recently, Barnes had received a personal, hand-written note from the President reassuring him that he had not forgotten their discussions. He also thanked him for his “most impressive” support during the campaign. Barnes was elated, showing the note to anyone and everyone who would look at it. With his passions excited and his goal very much in sight, the determined Barnes was not going to allow anyone to stand in his way of becoming Ambassador to Ireland.
………
Beads of perspiration glistened on Vito’s forehead. He shoved his BlackBerry into its waist holster and gripped hard on the wheel. The dressing down by the ill-tempered Barnes had upset him, but with the pending audit by Blue and Gates, he had to be on the best of terms with Barnes. Having Barnes displeased with him, if only briefly, only served to heighten his anxieties. Tough and macho looking on the outside, Vito, in many ways, was still just an insecure kid from Chicago.
Vito glanced up at the large sign on the front of his office building as he swung into the parking lot. It read First Financial Securities, with an inscription below reading, Trust Is Our Middle Name.
Parking in his reserved spot, Vito hurried inside. He hoped he could make it to his office near the front of the building without being stopped by one of his secretaries or young associates. With everything that was coming down, he needed the respite of his cluttered office to make a few very timely phone calls.
As he hurried toward his office, the large open area was buzzing with activity. The big board, stationed high above the room on the east wall, was the center of attention for many of the coatless brokers as they looked skyward from their small desks to see if there had been any changes since they looked at the board just a few minutes earlier. Other brokers talked animatedly on the phone with prospective buyers and sellers, hoping to land that one big deal that could move them from their small condos in downtown Indy to the more exclusive enclaves of Carmel and Zionsville on the north side. With the recent blow-up of the bond market and the impending new regulations by the feds, time was running out for these wannabe dealers as they sought their fortunes in the fast-paced world of securities dealing.
Vito’s hopes of clear sailing to his office were interrupted at the last second by a shout from his office manager, Cliff Stone.
