The Ambition Read Online Free PDF

and walked so fast down the corridor that his shins began to ache. This is a murder — a crime syndicate killing. What could be more despicable? This is the first and only time.
    He stepped into the empty elevator and the doors slid shut. He leaned against the wall and took several deep breaths to clear his head. The elevator had already started to descend to the lobby when he suddenly remembered something.
    Tom reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat, removed the micro–recorder, and clicked it off.
    III
    Dom Bugatti, eyes blazing, slammed his fist on the kitchen table; a glass jumped and tumbled off the edge, shattering on the floor.
    “Who does he think he is? I’m payin’ him to get that case to Sepulveda — and if he doesn’t, I’ll rip his head off! I swear, I’ll march in there and break his face!”
    Tom, clad in a blue cloth robe, inched backward until a wall halted his retreat. It was after two in the morning, and again Dom had pounded on his back door and barged in.
    He smelled of cigarette smoke and whisky mixed with the sour tang of heavy cologne. His boots crunched shards of glass as he strode to Tom and shoved his fist in his face.
    “This is your problem too. You understand? I gave you a job, and you better make sure McKelvie does what he’s told.” Dom’s black leather jacket fell open just enough for Tom to glimpse a shoulder holster.
    Color drained from Tom’s face. “Look, I … I did what you told me to. C’mon — I can’t control the presiding judge of criminal court. I gave him the money; like I told you, he’s doing all he can. Everything depends on the computer.”
    As a lawyer for a lot of unsavory characters through the years, Tom was accustomed to interacting with the street crews of the Chicago mob, but usually it was on his terms, in his office, when it was in their best interest to shelve their tempers so they could collaborate on concocting a defense.
    They generally kept their appointments, they paid their bills, they smiled at the receptionist, they wore a mask of civility as best they could. But having the tables turned like this churned his gut. Dom probably didn’t know the meaning of the word civility — literally.
    Dom had heard enough about McKelvie’s refusal to guarantee anything; he turned toward the door. “Bill’s gonna call me from the courthouse later this morning,” he said, referring to his nephew’s lawyer, William Geyers, one of the most expensive criminal defense attorneys in the city. “He’d better have good news — or else.”
    He yanked open the door, took a step outside, and then he hesitated. He looked over his shoulder at Tom, but now his demeanor suddenly changed. His anger subsided and his voice mellowed to a friendly tone. Once again he was the genial host that Tom knew from the high–stakes poker games in the smoky back room on West Taylor Street.
    “We gonna see you Friday night?” he asked, his lips curling toward a smile.
    Tom could only manage to nod and replied without thinking, “Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll be there.”
    “See you there — Tommy O.” With that, Dom was gone.
    Tom slumped into a chair and cinched his robe against the cool night air. Dom’s outburst got his heart thumping, but it was his closing question that left Tom’s head spinning. After all this, he expected Tom to show up and play poker as if nothing had happened? What, so he could dig himself deeper in debt and line Bugatti’s pockets with his losses? So he could risk breaking the law again and getting disbarred?
    And that’s when it hit him. His automatic response had been to say yes, of course, certainly, absolutely. Nothing could stand between him and a deck of cards and a pile of money. No problem, Dom — barge in anytime and throw around threats and, sure, we’ll have some drinks over poker Friday night so I can borrow more money and let you control my life.
    That was the moment Tom O’Sullivan realized what his father must have felt