Dylan paused for a moment, thinking.
“Of course I do,” he said. “I called Brian from jail last night. We talked about everything. It’s recorded. The cops should have it.”
Jane rose to her feet.
“Your Honor, the plaintiffs do not have that recording. We’d like an order from this Court to require the police to release this taped conversation. It’s relevant and I need it for my rebuttal.”
Judge Delaney looked at Harrison Grant. He enjoyed the humiliation.
“The motion is granted, Ms. Nance. The police shall produce the recording for this court immediately.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“Tell it again.” Kermit lifted his bottle of beer and banged on the table top. “Tell it again. Tell it again,” he chanted.
“Okay,” Michael said. “If Jane isn’t going to brag a little bit more, then I’ll do it.”
Kermit and Miggy clapped. Kermit’s dreadlocks danced as his head tilted back with laughter.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down, mi amigo.” Kermit lifted his bottle up, and Michael clinked it with his own beer. “Carry on.”
“Okay.” Michael took a breath and held it for dramatic affect. “Picture it: The great Harrison Grant, standing at the podium. He goes like this –” Michael put his nose in the air, squinted his eyes, and pouted out his front lip. “You don’t have anything at all, do you?” Michael relaxed, put his arm around Jane, and then Michael continued the recap much to the delight of Kermit and Miggy. “Then Dylan McNaughten goes, ‘I called Brian from jail last night. It’s recorded.’”
“Yes.” Kermit laughed wildly, and then pounded on the table some more. “Justice.” He shouted at the other patrons of The Box. “Never whisper justice, my friends, never whisper justice.”
Jane looked around the bar.
“You’re going to get us thrown out of this place.”
Kermit waved her off.
“Nonsense.” Kermit blew a kiss at the heavyset waitress. “My honey has got our back, baby. We’re royalty here.”
“Well, this princess has to go to bed.” Jane checked her watch. “It’s late, and this thing isn’t over. Judge Delaney is letting us recall the witnesses he didn’t let testify, and then we have to prepare for whatever Harrison Grant comes up with after that.”
Michael nodded.
“Grant’s probably got a dozen associates up all night, researching objections and motions,” he said. “His client is desperate, and he’s going to bill the hell out of them before they go bankrupt.”
Jane slid out of the booth. She picked up her purse.
“I’ve gotta go to the bathroom. Meet me out front?”
Michael finished his beer, and put it down on the table.
“I’ll pay up and see you in a minute,” he said.
“Fine,” Kermit said. “You two lovebirds go. Miggy and me’ll shut it down.” Kermit turned to Miggy. “You got any more party left in you?”
“Si.” Miggy smiled. “Very much party left.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
This night was just like any other night.
The gang of losers sat around Frankie’s basement playing Xbox. Frankie’s mom was gone for her monthly ladies’ night, which he didn’t really want to know much more about. Frankie’s dad was in a crappy studio apartment in Fort Lauderdale, trying to save money to pay his lawyer to get the divorce finalized.
The unsupervised group of six teenage boys sat in a semicircle. They pretended to shoot people that flashed across the screen and they sipped glasses of vodka and Mountain Dew. They wanted beer. Beer seemed more like what real guys would drink, but there was no way they looked old enough to buy. And swiping beer from the refrigerator was too risky. They’d get caught. So vodka it was.
Before Frankie’s mom would get home, he planned on refilling the vodka bottle with water. His mother would never know the difference.
Frankie sat there, swirling his drink.
The night wasn’t bad. It was just the same.
“I’m bored.” Frankie leaned back in his bean bag. He kicked out his legs and rolled his head, staring at the ceiling. One of the other boys suggested that they check out some porn on the computer, but that idea was rejected.
“I don’t want to watch porn with a bunch of dudes,” Frankie said. “I’ll get blue balls if I get all worked up and can’t … you know.”
Frankie finished his drink, and then started swirling the ice cubes that remained in the glass.
“We could go pay our friends a visit,” Frankie said, thinking out loud. “We could mess up the place real good this time. Watch ‘em all go nuts again.”
The fat boy with glasses paused the game.
“Been there, done that.” The fat boy pointed at the screen. “Plus I’m close to beating your high score.”
Frankie waved him off as the fat boy resumed playing the video game.
“I’m thinking of something different this time, different than shit-in-a-bag or spray paint.” Frankie smiled, watching the things blow up on the television screen. “Something big that’ll get in the papers, maybe even get that hot chick reporter from News 7 back here.”
The fat boy scrunched up his nose.
“The one with the big tits or the small tits?”
“The big tits, of course.” Frankie shook his head at the absurdity. “Why the fuck would I want a chick with small tits?”
“I kind of like chicks with small tits,” said the fat kid with glasses. “They’re more … manageable.”
Frankie rolled his eyes.
“Like you would know.”
###
Jane came out the front door of The Box.
“Mind if you drive home?” She put her arm around Michael, and pulled him closer.
“That’s fine,” Michael said. “I’m parked back at your office.” They started walking across the gravel parking lot. “Want to leave your car here?”
“Sounds good,” Jane said. “We can pick it up tomorrow on the way to court.”
“The walk will be nice.” Michael took a breath. “The fresh air will sober me up a little, too.”
He looked up at the perfect sky. It was dotted heavy with stars. The nighttime temperature was perfect, not too cold and not too warm.
The streets of downtown Jesser were deserted. It was peaceful, and for a moment, Michael thought things were finally working out. They were going to win this case for Elana and Pace, and he was going to be able to move on.
They continued to walk, leaving the parking lot and crossing the street. It was about a mile from The Box to Jane’s office on Main Street.
For the first few minutes, Michael and Jane walked in silence.
“When did you know Justin was going to come through for us?” Michael asked after awhile.
Jane shook her head.
“I didn’t ever know for sure,” she said. “When we initially asked them, Justin convinced a few agents to start talking to their sources about Dylan, but I didn’t know that until this morning. He hadn’t told me. Then I got the call that they were going to make the arrest, but I didn’t know whether he’d talk. And I certainly never thought he’d do that to Maus.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Michael asked.
“You knew I was working on it.” Jane shrugged. “And I was in a weird place. I didn’t know where we were at.”
Michael stopped, and then Jane stopped too.
Jane wasn’t looking at him, and so Michael gently put his hand under her chin. He tilted Jane’s head up so that they were looking at each other eye to eye.
“You should’ve told me.” Michael kissed her softly on her forehead. “We’re a team.”
Jane closed her eyes.
“I know.” She nodded her head, and then she and Michael started walking again. A tear escaped, rolling down her cheek. It was dark, and Michael never saw the tear.
###
The truck’s horn sounded Dixie, and Frankie turned and shouted
at them.
“Chill out.”
He looked back at the stacks of boxes in the back of the garage. He rummaged through the stuff alone, looking for spray paint. He knew there was some in one of the boxes by his dad’s workbench, but he couldn’t find it.
The truck’s horn sounded Dixie again, and the engine revved.
Frankie shook his head. They were getting impatient. He didn’t want them to give up. He didn’t want to go back into the house and start playing video games again.
He saw a box that looked about the right size. It was up high in the far corner. Frankie took a few steps toward it, but stumbled as he reached. One of the lower boxes fell and knocked a rake and planter off a shelf. The terracotta planter crashed to the floor and shattered.
Frankie cursed. He tried to get the box again, and reaching with his fingertips, he finally got it down.
He flipped open the top, but it was just filled with old National Geographic magazines.
One of his friends started shouting at him.
“Hurry up, Frankie. I gotta be home by midnight tonight.”
Frankie felt his face get flush. He was frustrated.
Frankie took a step back and scanned the garage. He was looking for anything, now. He just wanted to go screw with somebody. Then, he saw it.
There was a can of gasoline next to the lawnmower.
Frankie smiled.
“Perfect.”
###
One of the gang had snagged a pack of cigarettes and matches off his old man’s dresser. They used one lit cigarette to chain light the others. They all smoked as they bounced around in the bed of the pickup truck, shouting and whooping it up as they went.
The nicotine and alcohol gave Frankie a buzz. His lips felt sort of numb, and for a moment he almost felt happy. He felt free – just him and his buddies raising hell. Long live the South, he thought.
Underneath the blare of the truck’s radio, he heard the gasoline slosh in the can wedged between his legs. Frankie smiled, but it was a cruel smile. Time to make the news.
The truck stopped in front of the Law Offices of Jane Nance. The driver killed the engine and the music stopped.
Frankie stood up. He wobbled at first, but caught his balance. He lifted the gas can above his head.
“Who’s ready to cook this place?”
Frankie expected a big cheer. He expected the rest of his boys to stand up with him, but they remained seated. A few of them smiled and laughed, but most of them just sat there, continuing to smoke their cigarettes.
Frankie clinched his fist, tightening on the handle of the gas can.
“Come on, who’s with me?”
Still no response.
“I thought we had a plan,” Frankie said.
The fat boy with glasses shook his head.
“Maybe you should chill out, man. I ain’t going to jail for this.”
Frankie felt betrayed.
“What did you think we were going to do?” He shook the gas can in front of the fat boy’s face. “You can only throw so many bags of shit at a window.”
Frankie put down the gas can, and then hopped over the side of the truck. He landed on the sidewalk, and turned to his friends in the truck.
“We gotta show these wetbacks who’s in charge. We gotta send this feminazi a message.” He pointed at one of the other boys in the back of the truck. “Give me the matches.” The boy hesitated, and so Frankie repeated the command. “Give me the matches.”
The boy handed Frankie his old man’s matches. Frankie stuffed them in his pocket. Then he picked up the red metal gas can and spun, throwing the can through the glass window. Shards cracked and fell. The noise echoed off the empty downtown buildings.
Frankie kicked out more of the glass. Then he kicked it a few more times, until the hole was big enough for him to step through.
Inside, Frankie walked over to a filing cabinet. It was against the back wall where he had spray painted his message to the immigrant-lover last year.
He pushed the filing cabinet over, opened a drawer, and spread the paper files over the floor. Then he walked back to the gas can. He picked it up, unscrewed the top and started pouring it out.
Frankie pulled a blue bandanna out of his back pocket. He dipped it into a pool of gas on the floor, and then he lit it on fire.
He tossed the bandanna on the ground, and then turned. Frankie ran. As he jumped out of the broken window, a whoosh of flames went up behind him. The power pushed Frankie, and he fell to the sidewalk.
Frankie looked up at the truck.
“Start the engine!”
He got up, grabbed the side of the truck, and pulled himself in.
A fire alarm sounded. A loud bell clanged and white lights flashed.
“Drive.” Frankie ignored his friends’ stunned and silent faces. He pounded on the window on the back of the truck’s cab. “Drive! Get out of here.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
“So, where are we?” Jane looked at Michael. She pulled him a little tighter.
“I don’t know.” Michael’s thoughts drifted back to Hut No. 7 at the Sunset. He was ready to go home. The novelty of practicing law again had worn off. He was tired of wearing a suit and tie. He was tired of the drama and arbitrary deadlines.
“If I’m being honest with myself … and with you, I don’t think I can stay here.” They kept walking together, but Michael felt the space growing. “I can’t be a lawyer.”
“But you are a lawyer,” Jane said. “And you’re good at it. You have a gift. You could help a lot of people.”
Michael shook his head.
“There are other ways to help people.” Michael stuck one of his hands in his pocket. “My problem is that I like to win too much, if that makes sense.”
“No.” Jane shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Lawyers have rules they have to follow. I’m not good at following rules.”
“You won this case. Tommy Estrada’s wife is going to have a different and better life because of you. That’s got to be worth something.”
Michael disagreed.
“You won this case. You built it, you and Justin Kent. You got the feds to do the right thing. I don’t know how, but you did.”
Jane felt a knot in the pit of her stomach grow.
“You know the feds are still looking for that money. Justin told me about the money from New York.” Jane rubbed Michael’s hand, keeping him close. “You know I don’t care. We can work through it, figure something out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out.”
“It’s a lot of money, “Jane said. “They have questions. They see you living in Mexico. They see you flying around. It makes you look guilty.”
Michael knew she was right, but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t just look guilty; he was guilty.
He had shared his past with Andie, and he had gotten burned. Now she was gone. He had shared his past with Father Stiles, and Father Stiles had almost ended up in jail.
Michael wasn’t sure he was entitled to be open. It was better if it just remained bottled up, compartmentalized. Michael knew he needed to take the advice that he had given to too many clients: When in doubt, shut the hell up. “If you answer their questions, just go in and talk with them, maybe everything will just straighten itself out,” Jane said.
Michael didn’t respond. It was similar to what Kermit had told him back at the Sunset when he was deciding whether to help Jane with her case. He just wasn’t as optimistic. The federal government wasn’t known for forgiving and forgetting.
They walked another half-block in silence.
“You’re not talking to me now.” Jane stopped and grabbed Michael. She pulled him toward her. “After everything. You don’t trust me. You’re not saying anything.” Jane shook him. “Say something.”
Michael looked at her. He felt a weight pressing against his chest, a pain. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted her to be close. He wanted the chase to be over.
He wanted resolution.
But, Michael pushed the thoughts away. In the real world, things don’t work out like that.
Michael took a step back. “I’ve got –” He started, but stopped.
There were sirens off in the distance. Michael noticed that the night sky was no longer clear. The stars were hidden behind a thick wall of smoke.
Michael pointed.
“Is that coming from your office?”
Jane looked up. She saw the smoke and started to run. Her office was just a block and a half away.
She ran down Second Avenue. Jane was in the middle of the street. She was in a full sprint. Michael chased behind her. He shouted at her to wait. He told her to get back on the sidewalk, but Jane wouldn’t stop.
As she crossed Seventh Street, Michael saw her flooded with light.
Tires squealed.
Jane screamed and jumped.
A truck tried to swerve out of the way, but it was too late. The front left corner of the truck caught Jane square in the chest and threw her 15 feet in the air. She flipped over, a time and a half. Then she landed. Her head hit the curb, and Jane started to bleed.
Michael ran to her. He picked her up and tried to elevate her head to stop the bleeding. It didn’t help much. Her warm blood ran through his fingers.
Michael looked at the truck. It was the same white pickup truck that he had seen on the first day he had met Jane. It was filled with the same group of small-town boys who had thrown a bag of feces at Jane’s office window. Michael locked eyes with a fat boy with glasses who sat in the back.
Michael started to yell at them, but the words caught in his throat and the truck sped away.
Michael watched the taillights disappear, and then he looked down at Jane. He was helpless.
He found his voice and screamed for help. Michael held Jane close, telling her it would be okay. He felt the tears roll down his cheeks as he rocked her.
Time passed.
It seemed liked an hour, but it was probably less than a minute before Michael was surrounded. An ambulance, three squad cars, and a half-dozen suits appeared out of nowhere.
The EMT pulled Michael away from Jane. Another EMT slid a padded board underneath her, stabilized her neck, and then got Jane on the stretcher.
J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 02 - No Time to Die Page 19
