The Pelican was a classic diner, an old railroad car complete with aluminum facade and neon sign. Tony and Han nah, a Polish couple from Chicago, had bought the place a couple of years before. Time had eroded the shine on the outside, but Tony polished the facade regularly and made the old place as appealing as possible to the casual passerby. There was a long counter facing the front door as you walked in and booths to either side. Hannah kept the interior spotless, although the plastic covering the cushioned booths was held together here and there with duct tape.
Throughout the downtime of the past year, the diner had always been a wonderful little respite for Jack. It was where his Uncle Bill hung out.
It hadn’t taken Uncle Bill long to find a friend after he moved from St. Petersburg. He met Eddie the same day he moved to town. Eddie was seventy-eight, a retired Army supply sergeant who never forgot his calling. His pockets were always full of watches and pens, assorted jewelry, old coins-you name it-that he had traded for or secured in some other way unknown to the average man.
Eddie and Bill were like the odd couple: always together and always arguing about something or other. Jack got a kick out of listening to them. Jack would usually sit at the counter and talk with Hannah. On this particular morning, Eddie and Uncle Bill were sitting at the booth behind him, carping at each other.
“I had three wives,” Eddie was telling Bill, “and none of them could cook.”
“I had five,” Bill countered, his deep voice sounding like Moses addressing the Israelites.
Eddie ignored him. “I did all the cooking,”
“I had a wife in San Diego,” Bill mused. “One day I told her I was going out to get a paper. Never did go back.”
“People pay good money for this type of entertainment,” Jack told Hannah at the counter.
“Yeah, well, if somebody pays us good money, they can have the place and the entertainment,” Hannah replied.
“I was good to my wives,” Eddie went on back at the booth.
“Didn’t do you any good,” Bill offered. “They still left you.”
The two old men were certainly amusing, especially for Hannah, who was obliged to be there. Jack was a different story. Why, Hannah wondered, is a vibrant, talented man like Jack spending so much time at our place?
Jack rose before dawn and threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. For some reason he grabbed the Yankees baseball cap hanging on the bedpost and put it on. He always wore a hat when he was out on the water, but not this hat. This hat was Pat’s. She had been a Yankee fan her whole life, back to the Mickey Mantle days. She and Jack had often kidded each other as to who was the bigger Yankee fan. Jack, like so many boys his age, idolized the Mick. He just couldn’t believe that Pat, a girl, could possibly have the same affinity.
He set out on the river in the dinghy, maneuvering through the already brisk traffic heading to the lake until he came to his turn. He hesitated for a moment before steering the little boat under the brush and into the cove where he and Pat had spent so much time. He hadn’t been there since he’d spread her ashes over the water almost a year before. He didn’t know why exactly. They had always gone together. Maybe he wanted to keep it that way. He wasn’t sure.
Nor did he know what he was doing there that morning. He parked the boat in the middle of the inlet and waited for the sunrise.
As the crickets ceased their symphony and the silence set in, a brisk wind began to pick up. Jack could tell a storm was coming fast. In an instant, the normally placid lagoon was ruffled by the rush of heavy winds as thick black clouds raced across the sky. This was not the place to be in a small boat. Jack moved to start the engine. As he did, a gust of wind blew his cap off-Pat’s cap. He saw it drifting in the distance. Going after it at this point would be dangerous; visibility was starting to fade, and the wind was whipping the water. Still, he had no choice. Just then an osprey swept down and scooped it up in its talons. Jack’s heart sank, but as the osprey flew over the small boat it let go of the cap. It floated down and landed in the water right next to the boat. Jack simply leaned over and picked it up. When he had it in his grasp, he looked up and saw the osprey hovering high above. Then it disappeared into the darkness.
42
“I don’t need you to babysit me anymore,” Jack told Henry that Friday night when Henry showed up for the weekend. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” Henry replied, surprised by Jack’s feistiness but reassured by it as well. “That’s not the reason I’m here. You know, Pat was right. This place gets in your bones. Besides, I like to fish.”
They spent most of their weekends fishing out on the lake in the Sea Ray. Henry usually piloted the boat on the trip out while Jack prepared the fishing gear.
“Not too many black folks driving a boat like this,” Henry had remarked one morning when he was getting looks from some of the other boat pilots on the river.
“They would really be envious if they knew you could buy a whole fleet of these boats.” Jack laughed.
“Yeah. They’d probably vote all those legislators out of office if they found out where I got the money.”
“I don’t think so, Henry. I think most people would think you deserved the money.”
“That’s where you and I differ, Jack.”
The following Saturday the weather was bad and they decided not to go out on the water. Jack was in the kitchen eating and Henry was reading a book in the living room when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Henry yelled as he headed for the door.
A short, stocky, middle-aged man was standing there. He was dressed a little too warmly for the weather.
“Can I help you?” Henry asked.
“Yes, I’m looking for Jack Tobin. Am I at the right address?”
“Yeah, you are,” Henry told him. “Why don’t you come in?”
The man followed Henry from the foyer to the living room. “Have a seat,” Henry said, motioning to the couch. The man had no sooner sat down than Jack walked in. He stood up to introduce himself.
“Jack Tobin?”
“Yes.”
The man stuck out his hand, a smile on his face. “I’m Luis Melendez.”
Jack didn’t recognize the name. “What can I do for you, Mr. Melendez?”
“A long time ago you offered to help me, and I didn’t take your offer. In a way, I think I’m still paying for that decision. So I decided to come and ask for your help.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Melendez, I don’t remember you. I try to remember all my former clients, but your name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“Oh, I’m not a former client,” the man replied.
Jack was totally confused. “Then how do we know each other?”
“Do you remember the Lexingtons football team when you were a teenager?”
“Yes, of course,” Jack replied, still puzzled. “I played for them.”
“So did I,” the man said. “I went by the nickname Rico back then.”
Jack studied the man’s face. It took his brain a few seconds to race back thirty years. He remembered Rico, the tough, skinny Puerto Rican who had taken him under his wing. He looked at the man in front of him. Time had not been gracious to Rico.
He extended his right hand and touched the man’s shoulder with his left. “Rico, is it really you? God, it’s been so long. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize your name right away. I’ve been in a little bit of a funk lately. Sit. Sit. Can I get you some coffee?”
“Sure. Just a little milk, no sugar. Thanks.”
“I’ll get it,” Henry told Jack. “You guys obviously have some catching up to do.”
They were already back in the sixties when Henry brought Rico’s coffee to him. Jack was sitting next to Rico on the couch.
“I remember that championship game like it was yesterday,” Jack was telling Rico. “That kick!”
“Yeah. Jimmy Walsh came through for us, didn’t he?” Rico replied.
“You came through for
us, Rico. You created the new kicking team. You taught me to be a holder in, what, two weeks?” Rico didn’t say anything.
“You know, Rico,” Jack continued, “I took a lot of stuff I learned in that season with me in my life-stuff you taught me. Things like hard work, never giving up, always staying focused. I wanted to thank you a million times, but I never knew where you were.”
“I was a lot of places, Jack, some of them not such good places.”
“Well, you’re here now, so I can finally say thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Jack. But I didn’t come here for that.”
“I know,” Jack replied. “It sounds like you’ve got a problem, Rico-I mean Luis. Why don’t you tell me about it.”
Luis looked over at Henry, who was sitting across from him, and then back at Jack.
“It’s okay,” Jack said. “Henry is my investigator. You can say anything in front of him that you say to me. We’re a team.”
“Are you the guy Jack saved from death row here in Florida?” Luis asked.
“Yes, I am,” Henry replied. “How did you know about that?”
“I read an article in the New York Times about Jack and your case. That’s kinda how I eventually came to look for Jack.”
Henry nodded. He’d brought the article to Jack’s attention soon after his release. It was in the New York Times Magazine, and Jack’s picture was on the cover. Under it was the caption, “The Lone Ranger-the lawyer who fights for the condemned.” The story was all about Jack and his career, but a significant part of it covered Henry’s case. There was even a picture of Henry and Jack sitting at counsel table when they appeared before Judge Fletcher. Henry remembered Jack’s remark at the time: “Great. Now I’m going to have all kinds of people knocking on my door.”
Luis Melendez had been the first one to knock.
“It’s my son,” Luis continued. “He’s in a New York jail, charged with murder.”
“Your son? Murder? Knowing you, Luis, that’s hard to believe.”
“Well, unfortunately, I wasn’t the person you knew for many years of my life, Jack.”
Luis told Jack and Henry all about his life after football. “When Floyd was killed, I fell apart. I was angry. I felt guilty. If I had kept my mouth shut and if I’d let you help us, maybe we could have gotten out of going to Vietnam. Anyway, I was still in ’Nam, so I was scared too. I started smoking dope and eventually shooting heroin.”
Luis told them he had met a girl when he came back to the States, also a heroin addict, and how they’d hooked up and eventually had a kid-Benny.
“I don’t know how we did it, but we were together for two years after Benny was born. Then it fell apart completely. She just disappeared. It took me another ten years to get clean. Then I tried to find her and Benny. Her mother finally told me that Benny had been taken from her by the state and she eventually died of an overdose. Still, I couldn’t find Benny-until I saw his picture in the paper.”
“Didn’t you look in the foster care program?” Jack asked. It was the same question Benny had asked.
“Not at first. It’s hard to explain. Once you’ve been in the system-and I spent a few years in prison-you don’t even think about asking questions of the state for fear they’ll start looking at you again. When I got my feet under me and had enough confidence to go look, it was too late. Benny was gone.”
“Have you talked to Benny-explained these things to him?”
“I’ve tried, Jack. But Benny apparently had a horrible experience in foster care and he blames me for it.”
“I know about that experience,” Henry added.
“So what can I do for you, Luis?” Jack had an idea, but he wanted to hear it from Luis.
“My son’s attorney was murdered about six months ago, on the day of trial. The trial was held up while the state tried to determine if the murder had anything to do with his representation of Benny. They finally decided that he was probably killed by a loan shark named Beano Moffit. Although they haven’t arrested Moffit or even charged him, they’ve reset my son’s trial. And a public defender is representing him. Jack, I came to ask if you would consider being my son’s lawyer.”
Jack didn’t answer right away. There were several things he needed to bring up, and he wanted to sort them out in his head before speaking.
“Luis, I’m not a criminal lawyer. My background is as a civil defense lawyer. I represented insurance companies. This second career I have is as an appellate attorney representing people like Henry who are on death row. I know how to try a case, and I now know criminal law thoroughly, but here’s the distinction: criminal lawyers represent anybody who comes in the door. I only represent people who I believe are innocent. Is Benny innocent?”
“I don’t know. It looks pretty bad though.”
Jack started to respond, but Luis continued talking.
“You gotta understand this, Jack. I owe this boy. I wasn’t there for him when he was a kid. His mother wasn’t there for him. If he’d had a mother and a father behind him, he wouldn’t be where he is now.”
“You’re probably right, Luis, but he is where he is now. And if he’s a murderer, there’s not a whole lot I can do for him.”
Luis’s shoulders sank, and he dropped his head. For a moment Jack thought the man was going to cry. He hated being so direct, but he truly didn’t want to represent a murderer.
“Luis, what if he is guilty? I don’t want to put a murderer back on the street, even if he is your son, and I don’t think you do either.”
Luis didn’t lift his head. “I just thought I could give him another chance at life,” he said. “I’ve had that second chance. I’ve got a business now-I’m a framing contractor. I thought I could take Benny into the business and teach him the trade.”
“You wouldn’t be able to do that if he’s a hardened criminal, Luis.”
“He’s not,” he said looking up at Jack. “I’ve seen him and I’ve talked to him. He’s a lost soul, but he’s not a hardened criminal.”
“How long were you with him?” Jack asked.
“Five minutes maybe, but I could tell.”
Jack knew it was wishful thinking. He wanted to help Luis, but representing a murderer would be against the principle he’d established for himself.
Henry, who’d been listening intently to every word, jumped in. “Maybe what you could do, Jack, is hold off making a decision until you look into the case. You could learn all the facts first.”
Jack was annoyed at Henry’s interruption. He knew Henry was probably identifying with Benny-their childhoods were certainly similar. Henry did have a point, though. Maybe he was being a bit premature.
Luis kept his eyes focused on Jack.
“That’s a good idea,” Jack finally said. “I’ll look into the case before I make a decision. But if the evidence clearly shows that he’s guilty, Luis, I’m not going to be your man. Do you understand?”
Luis stood up, elated. “Yes, yes, I understand. I can give you a few thousand to get started. And I can get some more.”
“Put your money away,” Jack told him. “This isn’t about money. Let’s see what we can find out, and we’ll go from there.”
43
A week after Luis’s visit, Jack flew to New York with Henry.
“Why do you want me to go along?” Henry had asked when Jack first extended the invitation. “You probably don’t remember this, but I was in prison for seventeen years. I don’t like to fly.”
“Well, you are my investigator, and it will probably be a good thing to check out the place where the murder occurred. Besides, I’m going to have to make a decision while I’m there, and since you’ve already interjected yourself into that process, I want you to be with me and help me.”
“I don’t know about that,” Henry replied.
“Yes, you do, Henry. You’re going to give me your opinion anyway, solicited or unsolicited. I’d just like to have it beforehand. Sometimes you see things I don’t.”
<
br /> “All right then,” Henry sighed, still not overly enthusiastic about the trip.
Jack contacted the public defender’s office before they left for New York and made arrangements to review Benny’s file and meet with the attorney handling the case afterward. He and Henry spent most of their first full day in the city poring over the police reports. At four o’clock that afternoon, they met with Assistant Public Defender Bruce Sentner. Bruce was in his late forties, a short, slight, balding man who had spent his entire career at the public defender’s office. He appeared to be genuinely excited to meet both Jack and Henry.
“I’ve read about you, and I’m aware of your work,” he told Jack as they shook hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Jack replied, a little embarrassed by Bruce’s effusiveness.
“And Henry, your story is inspiring to those of us who work in this business. We’d like to get it right at the trial stage, though.”
Henry just grunted. He’d made his peace with Wofford Benton, but public defenders still weren’t his favorite people.
“I have to admit I’m a little perplexed,” Bruce said, turning to Jack again. “I thought you only did death penalty appeals.”
“Benny Avrile’s dad is an old friend of mine,” Jack explained. “Besides, I haven’t taken the case yet. I’m just looking into it.”
“Well, fire away. I’ll be glad to answer any of your questions if I can.”
“Why don’t you just give us your overall analysis.”
“Off the record?” Bruce asked.
Jack wondered for a moment what record he was talking about. Then he remembered that government workers were all paranoid. It was an institutional disease.
“Off the record,” he replied.
“Benny’s guilty. Or at least, he’s going to be convicted.”
The Law of Second Chances jt-2 Page 22
