The case involved the December 16, 2000, armed robbery of a Quick-Mart convenience store. Since none of the defendants possessed criminal records as adults, the court had released them on bail. Ian Decker had never received so much as a parking ticket. The Rubinskys had committed numerous offenses as juveniles, all fairly minor, the majority having occurred during their early teens.
In the past, juvenile records were inadmissable in adult proceedings. Laws had recently been passed, however, that allowed the court to consider both the adult and juvenile histories of an offender when rendering decisions regarding bail or sentencing. As long as the defendant’s juvenile offenses didn’t involve acts of violence, or weren’t reflective of a specific pattern of criminal behavior, Judge Spencer didn’t attach a great deal of weight to them.
Two of the defendants, Ian Decker and Tom Rubinsky, were each twenty-one years old. They had been childhood friends who had only recently renewed their friendship. Tom’s brother, Gary Rubinsky, was twenty-five. Neither of the Rubinskys had been employed during the past year, leading Joanne to suspect that they were far more entrenched in criminal activity than their records indicated.
Decker, on the other hand, had been attending welding classes at Franklin Junior College as well as holding down a job as a busboy. From what Joanne had been told, the Rubinskys’ parents had disowned them, so they weren’t getting money from home. This meant Ian Decker was the only one of the three who had any legitimate income prior to their arrest. The question that kept nagging at Joanne was how Decker had come up with enough money to hire Arnold Dreiser.
Joanne read through the list of witnesses, knowing she needed to focus on the business at hand. At least the trial was not fully under way, which would have made her tardiness even more serious. The present stage of the criminal proceedings was technically referred to as voir dire—the process of selecting a jury.
While a young Hispanic housewife was being questioned by Dreiser, Joanne’s gaze drifted over to the three defendants. Ian Decker was a pale, meek young man, with dirty blond hair, a narrow face, and a dull look in his murky brown eyes. In contrast, the Rubinsky brothers stood over six feet, had bulging biceps and crude tattoos, their appearance more or less in line with the crime they were accused of committing.
From Joanne’s experience, robbers looked and behaved like robbers. They moved around in their seats with restless energy, laughed inappropriately, and spoke when it was in their best interest to remain silent. Individuals who committed crimes such as homicides or rapes were harder to profile. The crime of robbery required a high degree of boldness. Fast money, she called it, especially when the suspects targeted a convenience store.
Robbery was on Joanne’s list of what she called stupid crimes. It wasn’t like a murder, where, in the majority of cases, the only witness was dead. When a person confronted their victim face-to-face, it was usually only a matter of time before they were apprehended. The odds grew even greater with convenience stores, gas stations, and establishments that stayed open late at night as most of these places had security cameras. The defendants in this case had lucked out. The videotape from the Quick-Mart had been so severely distorted, Joanne had decided not to introduce it as evidence.
The three scruffy defendants might not be bright, but they had nonetheless grown up in the technological era. According to the clerk at the Quick-Mart, Gary Rubinsky had pointed what appeared to be a cell phone at him, advising him it was actually a firearm. When the poor man decided to call their bluff, one of the Rubinsky brothers had pushed a button on the decoy phone and fired off a round. After several months of research, the ballistics division reported that the weapon the clerk described had first surfaced in Europe. Since it wasn’t legal, the authorities knew the gun was being traded in the underground market. The police had not recovered this new deadly device during their search of the defendants’ property, which would have made Joanne’s job far easier. They had the bullet, though, so they had sufficient evidence to prove that the crime had been committed with the use of a firearm.
Seeing Ian Decker slouched in his seat, Joanne wondered if he was under the influence of narcotics, also a common denominator in most holdups. Decker turned around and stared at her. Joanne felt a chill, but it wasn’t menace she saw in his eyes. He seemed to be attempting to communicate with her.
During breaks, the Rubinskys acted as if Decker didn’t exist. He stood several feet away from the other men, his arms dangling at his sides. Crime partners were known to stick together for a number of reasons. Something about these men struck Joanne as strange.
Several more jurors were examined before Judge Spencer recessed for lunch. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, a bedraggled look on his face. Voir dire was one of the more tiresome stages of the criminal process, and Arnold Dreiser seemed to have been moving at a snail’s pace. “I’d like to accomplish something by the end of the day. We’ll reconvene promptly at three,” Spencer said, giving Joanne a stern look.
TWO
Friday, December 15, 2000, 11:55 P.M.
The most memorable event in all of Ian Decker’s twenty-one years had occurred the night before he’d driven Gary and Tom to the Quick-Mart. The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen had appeared on his doorstep.
It was late, almost midnight. Ian had already gone to bed. He was wearing a white cotton T-shirt and the bottoms to his green-and-blue flannel pajamas. His hair was rumpled and his eyes were puffy from sleep.
“My name is Trudy,” the girl said, her voice soft and lyrical. “Gary Rubinsky said you might not mind if I spent the night here.”
For a long time, Ian left her standing outside, gawking at her as if she were an apparition, certain if he blinked his eyes, she would disappear. She looked young, almost like a teenager. “Ah,” he said, letting the word hang in the air, “how do you know Gary?”
“He’s not my boyfriend or anything,” she said coyly. “I met Tom and Gary years ago at a dance club.” She thrust a paper-wrapped bottle with a bow on the top toward him. “Here’s a little gift for you.”
Ian clutched the bottle to his chest, his eyes feasting on her gorgeous face, her flawless skin, her shoulder-length black hair. She was not only real, she’d brought him a present! Even if it turned out he was dreaming, for once he’d found a dream he never wanted to end.
“My girlfriend dropped me off at this house about five blocks from here,” Trudy told him. “The people were supposed to be having this big party. I must have got the date wrong. By the time I realized no one was home, my girlfriend was gone. I called Gary to see if he could give me a ride because I know he and his brother live around here. He said I should crash here tonight, then he’d borrow your car and take me home in the morning. I guess Tom and Gary sold their car.”
Ian had picked up only a few words out of the dozens the girl had spewed out. He tried to say something, anything. The words seemed to be stuck in his throat. He felt light-headed, confused, disoriented. “I could drive you now.”
“I live all the way down in Los Angeles,” Trudy said, lifting one shoulder and tilting her head. “Besides, I might not be able to get into my place. My roommate has the key, and I think she’s going straight to her boyfriend’s house. Can I come in?” She wrapped her arms around her chest, then moved her body from side to side as if she were shivering. “It’s chilly out tonight, isn’t it? This coat isn’t very warm.”
“Oh …sure … I … ” Ian stammered, opening the door and stepping aside for her. What was he supposed to do? Why would a girl like this possibly ask to spend the night at his apartment? Wasn’t she afraid he might hurt her?
Trudy brushed past him, heading straight to his kitchen. Ian followed behind in a trail of perfume. She smelled like vanilla ice cream. Most girls wore such strong perfume that it made his eyes water.
No wonder she was cold, Ian thought. The fabric of her coat was transparent and he could see the outlines of her shapely body underneath. Ian was so bedazzled, he didn�
�t remember opening the bottle she had handed him. Other than an occasional beer, he didn’t drink or use drugs. It was hard enough for him to follow people’s conversations without polluting his mind. He realized with surprise that Trudy was flirting with him. The more nervous he got, the more parched his throat became. Each time he emptied his glass, Trudy reached over and refilled it. He asked her why she wasn’t drinking.
“I don’t like alcohol,” she said, running a finger down the side of her neck. “Smoking pot makes me feel sexy. I already smoked a little with my girlfriend in the car. I’m really disappointed about this party. They told me there would be a lot of important people there, like movie producers and agents.”
“Are you an actress?” Ian asked, flabbergasted.
“I’m supposed to be,” she said, sighing despondently. “Gary tried to convince me he could get me a part in a movie. He was only trying to impress me. Guys pull that stuff on me all the time.”
Ian remembered Gary using the same line on another girl. “Have you ever been in a movie?”
“I’ve gone out on a few auditions,” Trudy continued. “No one has ever called me back, though.”
“You’re gorgeous!”
“Thanks,” Trudy said, flashing a little-girl smile. “I have some pot if you’re interested.”
“Ah …no … ” Ian stammered, holding his glass in the air. “This stuff is fine with me.” He purposely coughed so she wouldn’t think he was a prude. “I’d smoke some, see, but I just got over a cold.” He held up a hand. “I’m fine now. I won’t give you a germ or anything.”
They talked in the kitchen for awhile, then Trudy removed the long black coat she was wearing and flopped down on his sofa on her stomach. Her rose-colored silk dress looked more like a slip or a nightgown, and the way she was positioned, her breasts spilled over the top. Ian marveled at her body. Her waist was tiny, her hips perfectly rounded. When he realized he had an erection, he switched off the light in the kitchen and stood watching her from the shadows.
He didn’t have much furniture, yet he’d lucked out on the apartment. He was paying the same rent as he would for a studio except he had a separate bedroom. In the complex where he lived, the majority of the units were studios. Because he’d been on the waiting list for over a year, his mother had badgered the manager until she’d let him move into the first available apartment.
Trudy giggled as she kicked off her shoes. “Do you mind if I turn on the TV?”
“No …yes …go ahead.” The alcohol was kicking in, and Ian had to brace himself against the counter to maintain his balance. He was also drunk on the girl, swirling in a fog of feminine sexuality.
Trudy picked up the remote, then frowned. “I’ve never been able to figure these silly things out. Would you mind showing me how it works?”
Ian crossed the room in a trance. As soon as he was standing beside her, she scooted herself forward on the sofa and wrapped her arms around his legs. When he felt her mouth on his penis, he jumped in shock. “I …don’t …stop.” He reached down to pull his pajamas back up when she brushed his hand aside.
“Doesn’t it feel good?”
“Yes …but…”
Trudy locked her arms even tighter around his legs. “Then stop fighting me and enjoy it.”
Ian thought he was going to melt, as if all the bones had been extracted from his body. He’d never experienced such incredible pleasure. He’d masturbated, but it wasn’t the same. The greatest part was that Trudy seemed to like doing these things to him. Most girls just teased him, then pushed him away. My God, he thought, what if she was only a teenager? His mother had warned him repeatedly, telling him that if he ever had sex with an underage girl, they would send him to jail. Elizabeth told him that it didn’t matter whether or not the girl was willing. Even if she encouraged him, it would still be a crime. “How old are you?”
“Old enough,” Trudy said, her brown eyes gazing up at him. Then she saw the apprehension on his face and snapped, “I’m twenty-three, okay. Do you want to see my driver’s license? I look young, that’s all. Even my mother looks young for her age.”
“I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“I’d get arrested before you,” Trudy said. “You look about fifteen.”
Ian’s face fell. As usual, he’d ruined everything. He wasn’t going to cry, though. He’d made a big enough fool of himself already.
Trudy sat on the sofa, flicking the ends of her fingernails, plotting out what she was going to do next. Standing, she draped her arms around his neck. “It’s okay,” she said, her tone soft and consoling again. “I’m glad that you asked about my age. That shows you care. Gary was right. You really are a special guy.”
Leading him into the bedroom, Trudy nudged Ian onto the bed. Wiggling out of her slip, she climbed under the covers with him. When he didn’t move, she took his hand and guided it behind her legs, showing him exactly where she wanted him to touch her. “Slow down,” she whispered. “We have all night. Girls take longer than guys.”
Ian had never touched the intimate part of a woman’s body. He knew what it looked like, though, because he’d rented porno movies. He was glad the lights were off in his room. In the movies, the girls weren’t young and innocent-looking like Trudy, and the men used disgusting language. In addition, everything was bright, noisy, and phony.
Ian was still stroking Trudy when she suddenly arched her body upward, causing his fingers to slide inside her. She tossed her head from side to side. “Go down on me.”
“Where?” He thought she meant he should touch her somewhere else.
“Use your tongue,” Trudy said, pushing herself up with her arms. “You know, do what I did to you in the living room.”
With his feet, Ian kicked the covers off the foot of the bed. Trudy spread her legs apart. He knelt in front of her, but he still wasn’t certain exactly what she wanted him to do. His pajama bottoms were in the living room, but he was wearing his T-shirt. Trudy yanked on the edge of his shirt, then placed her hands on his head, moving her hips until she connected with his mouth. “There,” she sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “There, right there.”
It wasn’t bad. Ian liked it. He liked it because she liked it, and the more she liked it, the more he explored and experimented. And she smelled fresh, clean, sweet. He soon experienced something he’d never felt before, a sense of power. She was his, he told himself. She would do anything for him now. When he stopped for even a minute, she laced her fingers through his hair and begged him to do it again. He rubbed his genitals against the mattress.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Trudy cried out, her body contracting in a series of spasms.
When they finally had intercourse, Ian soared to another level—beyond sex, pleasure, even above the electrifying sense of power. He no longer felt inferior or alone. For a few fleeting hours, Ian Decker knew what it was like to be normal.
Copyright
Copyright © 2000, 2002 NTR Literary Inventions, Inc.
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Buried Evidence Page 37
