J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 02 - No Time to Die

by J. D. Trafford

  Michael squeezed her hand, looked her in the eye, and then lied.

  “Damn right we’re going to win.”

  ###

  “What the hell was that?” Jane asked as the elevator doors opened into the main lobby on the ground floor. “You promised a client we were going to win?”

  “Unorthodox,” Michael said. “But what else am I going to say? She wanted me to say it.”

  “They always want you to say it, but you never do.”

  “You never do because of a malpractice claim,” Michael said. “You really think she’s going to sue us if we lose? We need her to be confident.”

  “If we lose? If we lose?” Jane pushed open the doors to the courthouse. She was starting to panic as they walked out of the court house’s air conditioning. It was like opening an oven door and stepping inside. “You meant to say when we lose.”

  “We just have to make sure to pick the right jury.” Michael reached into his suit pocket and removed a pair of sunglasses. He slipped them on. Initially, it had been odd wearing a suit, again, donning the lawyer costume. By the end of the day, however, it felt normal. It was easy to fall back into the old habits. He was an attorney again. An attorney being watched by the FBI for stealing over half a billion dollars, but still an attorney.

  “We can do this,” Michael said. “Just pick a good jury. That’s all we have to do.”

  “The judge was dead-on. We don’t have causation. We need causation. We need specific proof that Jolly Boy knew what was going on. All we have is a bunch of testimony about a bad sub-contractor and rumors. We need to connect everything to Jolly Boy. Jolly Boy is the deep pocket.” Jane’s face was tense. “What have you got on that?”

  “Same as I had yesterday and the day before that –”

  “And that would be, specifically, jack shit,” Jane said.

  “No, that’s not true.” Michael pressed a button on his key chain. The rental SUV’s lights flashed twice and the doors unlocked. “I have stuff, but it just hasn’t come together yet. What we really need is for your boyfriend to come through for us and work his magic.”

  “My boyfriend?” Jane shook her head. “You’re purportedly my boyfriend, and you don’t have any magic.” Jane opened the door.

  “I prefer the term, ‘lover,’” Michael said. “When I say boyfriend you know who I’m talking about. Mr. Justin ‘Justice’ Kent. My lover magic got us through the summary judgment phase. That was pretty good. Now we need Kent.”

  Jane put one foot into the rental, but paused. She looked at Michael.

  “We were lucky,” Jane said. “We were very lucky at summary judgment. We should have been dismissed.”

  “But we weren’t.” Michael smiled. “Because Judge Delaney likes your spunk. Now we need Kent. It’s the only way.”

  Jane wiped the sweat off her forehead and blew back the bangs that had fallen in her face.

  “Fine,” she said. “I will call Justin again, but he isn’t exactly pumped to help me out.”

  “He still loves you,” Michael said. “He’ll do it.”

  “We can’t bank on it.”

  “I can,” Michael said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Maus drove past the Law Offices of Jane Nance, looking. She was supposedly in Miami for a final pre-trial settlement conference with the judge, but Maus wanted to make sure she was gone. He didn’t trust anybody.

  Since the lights were off, Maus confirmed that his information was correct. He looked down at the sheet of paper with the list of names. Both parties to the lawsuit were required to file a witness list with the court. Dylan McNaughten had given him a copy of the list and told him what to do. Maus didn’t have a choice, but at least he got more money this time.

  He took Main Street to Fourth, and then cut over to the highway. Within minutes, he was driving a gravel road cutting through the middle of Jolly Boy’s fields.

  Maus drove for another 15 minutes until he found Field No. 130. He pulled his police cruiser to the side of the road, and got out. A few minutes later the field supervisor was there.

  “You got ‘em?”

  “Si.” The supervisor nodded his head. “They’re at the picnic table. I told them they could take an afternoon break.”

  “Good.” Maus put his big hand on the small supervisor’s shoulder. “Take me.”

  ###

  The supervisor led Maus to a picnic table. Six Mexican migrant workers, three on each side, sat talking, drinking water, and eating a little bread.

  One of them turned when they saw Maus and the supervisor enter the small clearing. The others sensed his tension, and the conversation stopped. They all turned to look.

  Maus raised his hand in the air.

  “We have some information that there are individuals working illegally here in Collier County,” Maus said, lying. “I need to see some papers. Please stand in line, and then I’ll take a look. If everything is in order, you can go about your business. If something’s not right, I’ll have to take you in and hand you over to the federal authorities.”

  Technically, a local police officer had no authority to do anything on behalf of the federal immigration services. But that didn’t matter much to the supervisor and the migrant workers. Maus had a badge. That was all that had mattered, and Maus knew that they would follow his instructions.

  The field supervisor translated the instructions, and the six Mexicans stood in a line. Each removed dirty papers and faded cards from their back pockets. Some of the papers looked more authentic than others, but all of the documents were fraudulent.

  Maus took each in his hand, one by one. He made a good show of examining the papers. He squinted his eyes. He made guttural noises, as if the job personally pained him. He held the documents up high in the sunlight as if he were searching for a watermark.

  Then, much to the surprise of the workers, one by one he handed the documents back.

  “These look good. You can go back to work.” Then to the next one. “This is fine.” Then to the next one. “I’m not sure about this card, but I’ll let it slide.”

  He did the same routine for all of the workers who had been brought to the picnic table, except the last one.

  “Mr. Roberto Estrada.” Maus shook his head. “I’m afraid these papers don’t look quite right.” Maus took his handcuffs off of his belt, and then cuffed Roberto Estrada’s hands behind his back. “Everybody else is free to go, but I’m afraid Mr. Estrada needs to be taken in. Sorry about that.”

  Maus nodded toward the supervisor, and then started to lead Roberto Estrada back through the fields to his car. Roberto Estrada was in front. Maus behind him.

  They walked for about 50 yards, and then Maus leaned forward and whispered in Roberto’s ear.

  “Now I’m afraid you’re going to end up like your cousin.”

  Roberto Estrada lowered his head.

  “I know.”

  ###

  Maus waited until the sun started to set. He’d prefer working in the dark, but he needed some light so that he could see.

  Maus drove for 20 minutes. He turned off of one gravel road, and then onto another.

  He drove another hundred yards, and then he slowed. Maus looked at his mother’s house up on the hill. It was the house where he had grown up. Most of the lights were off, but the lower windows flashed with blues and greens from the television.

  Maus checked his watch. Wheel of Fortune.

  Then he looked at Roberto Estrada in the back seat. His passenger was quiet now. The fight was kicked out of him. Roberto Estrada’s forehead was bruised. His nose was broken. Red streaked from his upper lip, across his mouth, and down his chin. The bleeding had stopped for the moment and the blood was dry.

  With his hands cuffed behind his back, Roberto Estrada had no way of stopping the blood or wiping it away. Probably not a good idea, breaking his nose like that, thought Maus. It was fun, but it was also a mess. Always making messes, Maus thought. Gotta stop that.

 
; Maus pulled his police cruiser to the side of the road near a patch of Cypress trees. It was his spot.

  He got out, popped the trunk, and got out a shovel. Then he went around to the back passenger side door of his cruiser. Maus opened the door and ordered Roberto Estrada out.

  At first Roberto Estrada didn’t move. He sat in a daze. Maus ordered him out, again.

  This time Maus hit him in the nose. Roberto Estrada screamed in pain, and new streams of blood began to run.

  “Get out now.” Maus grabbed Roberto Estrada by the shirt and pulled. Estrada wasn’t physically able to fight anymore. He was a rag doll.

  When Maus got him to the edge of the back seat, Roberto Estrada fell head first onto the ground. Maus looked at some of the blood that had gotten on the back seat of his cruiser. He cursed, and then flipped Roberto Estrada onto his back with the toe of his boot. Estrada’s eyes were clouded, but he was still alive.

  Maus pulled him to his feet, and they started to walk. Roberto Estrada’s knees buckled a few times, but Maus kept him moving toward a patch of trees.

  “Since you’re such a good worker,” Maus looked at the shovel and tightened his grip. “I got one last job for you.”

  ###

  Miggy heard the car. There weren’t that many cars in this part of Collier County, and the other spirits had told him that Maus would be bringing more. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, but the spirits were always right.

  Miggy crawled out of a small tent to get a better view.

  The tent was actually a plastic tarp that he had fastened to one end of a picnic table with the other end staked to the ground. This was where Miggy lived when he didn’t have business in town. It was a break area for the migrant field workers. Far better than the shelters in Miami, thought Miggy. Safer. He could sleep in the break area, and then clear out early in the morning before anyone arrived. If he timed it right, some of the van drivers would even take him back into town after dropping off the workers.

  The break area one of the dozens that Jane Nance and Community Immigrant Legal Services, Inc., had fought for 10 years ago. They had been her first project when she got to Jesser.

  Jane had also gotten the growers to create shaded spaces for workers to eat. Each space also had a place to go to the bathroom, a Porta-Potty.

  Miggy used his crutch to pull himself to his feet. He grabbed his green knapsack, slung it over his shoulder, and then worked his way through the fields toward the grove. When he was about a hundred yards away, he saw the silhouette of two men. The big man was Maus. Miggy didn’t know the other man. It looked like he was hurt, but he was also the one who was digging.

  The spirits swirled around the cypress patch. They darted around the sky in bright yellow streaks, cutting toward Miggy and then back, again.

  They howled in Miggy’s ear, screaming at him to act, but Miggy stayed hidden. He waved them away, watching as he had done before.

  After 10 minutes, the digging stopped. Miggy saw Maus take the shovel away and toss it to the side. Then he kicked the other man’s legs, and he fell to his knees. There was shouting, but Miggy was too far away to hear.

  Then there was a gun shot. It was a single pop that broke the quiet of the fields for a moment.

  Miggy watched the man on his knees fall into the ground, and then the spirits went wild.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Food helped. Food always helped.

  Michael ordered two pizzas from Speedy’s. One pepperoni and one Italian sausage, mushroom, and green pepper. The pizzas were loaded with cheese and greasy as hell.

  Michael, Jane, and Kermit sat around the folding tables in the center of the room and ate in silence.

  When Jane had returned from the Sunset Resort & Hostel, she had simply rented her old office. The board had been removed and the broken front window had been replaced. The painted sign out front for Community Legal Services, Inc., had also been replaced. It now read, The Law Offices of Jane Nance, Esq. Other than those two things, nothing else had changed.

  While the case against Jolly Boy worked its way through the Miami-Dade County court system, Jane had quickly learned how to do personal injury lawsuits involving everything from car accidents to food poisoning. She had also learned how to do wills and adoptions, and had continued her immigration work. This other work generated only enough fees to keep the lights on and prevent her from being homeless.

  The wrongful death lawsuit against Jolly Boy was her focus. It was the big case with a big payout that would theoretically stabilize the law firm and her life. That was the plan, anyway.

  Over the past year, nearly every spare moment was spent building the Tommy Estrada case and responding to motions and requests for documents. Jolly Boy had an army of attorneys working the file hard. Harrison Grant and his minions at Greene and Thomas, LLP, had the dream job: a rich client with a lot to lose. It was the perfect opportunity for them to rack up gigantic legal bills, which would be promptly paid without complaint.

  The slices of pizza disappeared one after another, and nobody talked until the pizza was about half gone. Everybody knew that they’d be working late. There’d be plenty of time to talk after dinner.

  When Jane finished eating, she looked up, took a sip of soda, and set the bottle down on the table.

  “Sorry I snapped at you,” she said to Michael.

  “Just a little stress.” Michael winked at her. “I have a thick skin.” He bit into his last slice of pepperoni. “I’ll get over it.”

  Kermit smiled, looking back and forth between them. “You two make the cutest little couple.”

  ###

  It was 2:00 am when they finally arrived back at Jane’s apartment. Michael undressed on the way to the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes behind him.

  He collapsed onto the bed. His head hit hard. The sheets and pillow were cool, and that coolness surrounded him.

  Michael laid there with his eyes closed, listening to the faint sounds of Jane brushing her teeth and washing her face. He thought about whether he should get up and join her, but then thought better of it. Personal hygiene would come in the morning. He was too tired to move.

  Michael heard the click of the bathroom light as Jane turned it off, and then she crawled into bed wearing only underwear and an oversized T-shirt.

  Jane pecked Michael on the cheek.

  “Good night.”

  Michael turned. He put his arm around her and kissed Jane’s shoulder. Then he rolled back.

  They laid still in the darkness for a minute, unmoving. Then Jane turned.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For your help. I couldn’t have made it this far without you. I wouldn’t be here, if you hadn’t agreed to come back.”

  Michael turned, opening his eyes. He saw Jane laying next to him. She was mostly shadow.

  “Don’t thank me until it’s over,” Michael smiled. “You may not be so happy when it’s done.”

  “I’ll be happy, win or lose,” Jane said.

  “I don’t believe you.” Michael laughed. “You want to win just as much as me.”

  Jane smiled.

  “That’s true.” She nodded. “I confess.”

  Michael closed his eyes. He turned away from her.

  It was quiet, again, but then Jane put her hand on his head, playing with his hair.

  “Hey Michael?” she asked, soft.

  “What is it?”

  “Where’d you get all your money?” she asked. “You said your mom died when you were in high school and you worked your way through with odd jobs and scholarships, so how are you paying for all these flights to Florida and for these witnesses to come up here?”

  Michael didn’t answer. He thought about the electronic trail of credit card transactions and withdrawals that he was leaving for Agent Vatch and an unknown number of additional federal agents. He also thought about Andie and how the truth had already cost him a woman that he had loved. The truth doesn’t always set you free, he thought. The Enlightenment is dead.
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br />   Michael rolled over and kissed Jane on her cheek.

  “It’s really late, and there’s not much to tell.” Michael looked at Jane. He told her that he’d talk to her about it some other time, but he didn’t mean it. Some things were better left alone.

  ###

  The sleep came on fast. The worries fell away, but not entirely. They swirled just below the surface like a riptide wanting to pull him back into the ocean, wanting to drag him below the water so that he couldn’t breathe.

  Michael hung there – weightless and twirling in the water. Problems pushed him further underwater. There was the money trail, the chase, his relationship with Jane; the worries were both present and distant at the same time. Then he was back in the rectory with Father Stiles.

  He was in high school, again, and Father Stiles was in the rectory’s study surrounded by books. Father Stiles worked on his sermon, while Michael was on the couch studying for his history exam.

  Father Stiles looked up from his papers.

  “It’s late, Michael, mind locking up?”

  Michael nodded. He set his book down on the floor next to the couch, and went out the door to the stairwell. He walked down the winding stone steps, lit only by candles.

  In the dream, the steps were narrower and steeper than in reality. The steps were uneven, and with each one, Michael’s foot turned slightly, keeping him off balance. He’d take a step, stumble, catch himself before he fell, and then repeat.

  Michael wound down. His breathing heavy, echoing in his head. His heartbeat thumping, a kick-drum pushing him lower toward the door.

  He made it.

  Michael saw the old, solid door in front of him. Five thick, wide pieces of oak strapped together with a band of hand-forged iron.

  He felt the pressure growing, and his pulse quickened. Every second mattered. Urgent, he reached for the lock. He turned it, and the click was immediately followed by an explosion of sound on the other side of the door. The knob shook. Scratching and shouting came from the other side of the door, screaming. Someone was trying to get in.