Shattered Glass

by Dani Alexander

  “Your firm’d better give me a job after this,” I muttered to Angelica.

  “The firm would have given you a job long ago had you not shown your buttocks to one of the senior partners,” a modulated voice behind me said.

  My back instantly straightened, and I rotated slowly on stiff legs to face my father. “Maybe the senior partner shouldn’t have told a fifteen year old boy that he was an ass?”

  “I don’t see the correlation,” Desmond Glass said, giving Peter and Darryl a look so full of distaste, the tip of his nose nearly became one with the space between his eyes.

  “Really? Calling me an ass…me showing my ass? You got nothing?”

  “Your dad’s a silver fox, prettyboy,” Darryl informed me while giving my father the once, twice, and three times over. “If I was into old men, and he didn’t already have something long and hard stuck up his ass…”

  Maybe I could like Darryl.

  “Why are you here?” I asked my father.

  “Angelica has requested I represent your…friend. Which of them is it?”

  “Both,” Angelica said at the same time Peter and Darryl muttered, “Neither,” while I contributed my ever-intelligent, “Huh?”

  Everybody Hurts

  Angelica took the crossed-arms-hip-jut stance and made it formidable. And she did it at only a little over five-feet four inches tall and wearing a pencil skirt tight enough to show every mole. “Any minute now I’ll have the press outside, a boy fighting for his life in there,” she jerked her head to the door behind her, “these two boys questioned by federal agents and prosecutors, and a sixty-year-old man and his thirty-year-old son cannot manage a professional conversation?”

  “Are you thirty?” Peter asked with a jaw drop.

  “I’m twenty-six,” I said indignantly. “Twenty! Six!”

  “I apologize,” my father said diplomatically—to her. To me he nodded swiftly and then swiveled his gaze to Peter and Darryl. “I’ll need to be briefed before we meet with the prosecutors.” He pointed his leather attaché case down the hall and motioned for Peter and Darryl to move ahead.

  “Austin?”

  “Just go with him, Peter. And for God’s sake don’t lie to him. You can see Cai if he makes bond.” And if you’re not arrested. I was already suspicious about why he hadn’t been arrested yet. Even if they knew he wasn’t responsible for Nikki the Nail’s death, they had to assume he had some culpability. Maybe his age at the time was factoring in?

  Down the hall a stream of suits filed into a side room. From the way they held themselves and the dark suits they wore, I read FBI all over them.

  “Men in suits,” Darryl sighed, catching the line of men and pointing a slim finger. “Eeny meeny miney homo…”

  I almost felt sorry for the them. Them being the FBI agents.

  Catching Peter’s brief flicker of fear, I reached out and brushed my fingers against his just before he walked away. He fisted his hand, which was the only acknowledgement I got for the gesture. The last I saw of him was Darryl leaning over and whispering something in his ear.

  “With everything happening all at once, the pressing question in the front of my mind is: Do you love him?”

  “I met him a week and a half ago, Angel. Of course I don’t love him.” I laughed harshly.

  The marathon-long talk with Angelica over the weekend had been cathartic, yes, but between us both, the level of melancholy that settled in over those sixteen hours was draining. Now it was as if that feeling was a physical being possessing me; and instantly the sadness and guilt enveloped me.

  “Yet you’ll risk your job, me, your father, your friends for him?”

  I shook my head, “No. I took a few risks because of him, but not for him.” How did I explain this weight to her? As succinctly as possible considering she had to go defend Cai soon. “Since I was sixteen there’s been this heaviness in my chest. The second I’d meet a woman who wanted to settle down, the pressure eased. As it got closer to the point of actually getting married or moving in together, the pressure would start bearing down again. So I’d fuck it up and find another one and another.”

  I peeked into the courtroom to make sure we still had time—and maybe to gather myself. When I turned around she was leaning back against the wall, both hands wrapped around the handle of her carrying case resting against her thighs. “I didn’t have that with you, Angel. The pressure, I mean. Not in any unbearable way. Probably because you and I were something more than lovers. But last month it started to change. Right after that kid I told you about hung himself.” I took a place next to her, crossing my legs at the ankles while the wall supported me. “At first Peter was like that moment when the pressure eased, but it never quite lifted until I acknowledged I was gay.”

  Saturday, during our long discussion, we had talked about her affair with my father. We talked about Jesse and Dave. I held her while she cried. But she didn’t ask about Peter. And we didn’t discuss my new found sexuality.

  “Just like that?” She asked.

  “As terrifying and painful as our breakup was, the pressure evaporated,” I snapped my fingers. “I wasn’t obsessed with, or in love with, or even enamored with Peter. It was that feeling of relief that I was chasing.” I wasn’t going to explain to her that it was more than that now. Things were too strained.

  Neither of us would be over this soon. That much was clear by the awkwardness of our stances. While we were dating, and even before that, we would hold hands or I would wrap my arms around her shoulders, and she would lay her head against my arm. Now we stood shoulder-to-shoulder, both hurting and missing what we had, neither of us reaching out to comfort one another.

  “This is a good case,” she said quietly.

  “It is,” I agreed.

  “After this I need time, Austin. It hurts to see you.”

  It wounded to hear that. “Okay. I’m here. Always. Whenever you want.”

  She took a deep breath and brushed her shoulder purposefully against mine, before pushing off the wall and stepping through the courtroom doors.

  The Lying Onion

  “He’s with me,” Angelica told the bailiff at the doors when he stopped my entrance behind her. I followed her in, acutely aware that I had just tried to open my jacket and flash my non-existent badge. I couldn’t remember the last time I had worn a suit and not had it, and my gun, weighing along my belt.

  Inside, the courtroom was empty save the necessary people: myself, three at the defense table, two at the prosecutor’s, two bailiffs and a court reporter. The only person out of place sat primly on the bench behind the defense table.

  Rosafa Strakosha, for that was who the woman behind the hijab had to be, sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Only part of her hair was covered, the black tresses matching neatly with the hijab’s silk material and appearing almost part of it. Like Cai, her nose was wide and long, her lips full and broad. I set her age at late thirties, early forties—and only because I did the math using her son’s age as a guideline. She could pass for thirty, easy. She turned red-rimmed eyes to me and then lowered them. Her reaction made me curious as to how we would mesh living together. A gay man and an Islamic woman. Something else to worry about, along with the plethora of other things.

  I slid into the bench across from her. Not because she made me uncomfortable, or that I wanted to appear in favor of the prosecution, but so that I could read Cai’s face throughout the bond hearings. He wouldn’t be able to speak much, that was Angelica’s job, but I wanted every opportunity to judge him. In fact, the whole thing wouldn’t take longer than maybe ten to fifteen minutes—not enough time to get a superb read on the boy. Which reminded me—I twisted in my seat to check out the gallery. Why was the courtroom so empty?

  I should have known then that something was different about this whole case.

  When the deputies brought Cai in, I studied him closely, seeking signs this kid had put bullets in the back of two men’s heads. His skin looked taut an
d his eyes hollow. Stress was not playing kindly with him. Orange did him no favors, either. The vibrant color against his olive skin made it almost seem jaundiced. There was an air of innocence about him—maybe in the way his shoulders were hunched or the constant blinking? I couldn’t place what it was. He dragged his bottom lip through his teeth multiple times; his lips were red and raw from the gesture. He never raised his eyes, even when the judge entered.

  I understood why Angelica was so adamant about my standing up for this boy. He was way out of his element.

  "All rise. Superior Court of the State of Colorado, County of Denver, the Honorable Judge Morris D. Whitaker presiding, is now in session. Please be seated and come to order."

  Judge Morris Whitaker was a tall, heavyset black man in his early sixties. I’d been in his courtroom many times, and he’d been to dinner at my parents’ house, with my father, on different occasions. He was a genuine believer in the justice system, but he was fair—and liberal, something I never believed my father could handle in a friendship. And something that would benefit the defense.

  “Attorneys of record?”

  “Angelica Jackson for the defense, Your Honor.”

  “Good afternoon, your honor, Will Schoemacher for the prosecution.”

  Judge Whitaker read through paperwork. I listened quietly as the bailiff read the case number.

  I was just getting comfortable in my seat when the charges were stated. My jaw dropped as I heard the words “Felony Murder with deliberation”. First degree murder. They were charging Cai with premeditation? I was absolutely sure that was only because of Cai’s history. I could see second degree murder, but not first. The boy had been raped.

  “Mr. Schoemacher, what is the state recommending for bond?”

  “Your honor, the defendant is charged with first degree murder with deliberation. He left the home of the victim, retrieved a gun, came back to the victim’s house and shot him execution style in the back of the head. In addition, Mr. Strakosha is a suspect in another premeditated murder and has a history of fleeing from previous crimes. He has a network of friends and family more than willing to hide his whereabouts from authorities. His mother has close relatives in Albania tied with organized crime, and the two men he has lived with for the last eight years have a history of criminal activities. We are asking for remand, Judge.”

  “Remand you say? Shocking.” Judge Morris smiled. The court let out a nervous laugh. “Ms. Jackson?”

  During bond hearings each side is heard only once. The point of the hearing is to decide bail amounts or remand/release. Remand in a felony murder case was sometimes granted, if the defendant posed no flight risk.

  “Judge Whitaker, Nikolaj, who just recently turned sixteen, trusted Mr. Alvarado, a close family friend, enough to get into a car with him, as he had done many times in the past. Nikolaj was driven to Mr. Alvarado’s home at two in the afternoon and assaulted for seven hours. His girlfriend was finally able to help him escape when Mr. Alvarado fell asleep from excessive narcotics use. Mr. Alvarado learned of Nikolaj’s escape,” Angelica continued, placing a hand on Cai’s shoulder, “and then dragged Nikolaj back, threatening to kill both my client and his caregivers. Nikolaj feared for his life.”

  “Is this your motion for an affirmative defense, Ms. Jackson?” Judge Morris grabbed a file from his desk and perused it, then shot Angelica a glance over his bifocals.

  “It is, your honor. Additionally, I would like to add that Nikolaj’s mother is here. Mrs. Strakosha has been in federal witness protection since becoming a witness against her husband and his partner. Her willingness to leave the program in order to be here speaks volumes as to family ties. She will also be residing at the home of a local decorated police officer, along with FBI and US Marshal protection.” She pointed in my direction. “Detective Austin Glass is ready to post bond for Nikolaj. I believe it speaks to Nikolaj’s intention to fight these charges that a decorated Denver police officer is willing to take the boy into his home and post his bond.”

  Oh yippee. A woman hiding from the mob. In my house. With a murderer. Joy. And speaking of Cai…

  An affirmative defense. So Cai did kill him. Not that I blamed the boy one bit. Hell, I’d go dance on Alvarado’s grave, if anyone bothered to claim his body, let alone bury him yet. I seemed to have made the right decision notwithstanding my previous objections.

  “What about your client’s friends, Ms. Jackson. Is he willing to adhere to a no-contact order?”

  “Judge Whitaker, the two young men in question have taken care of Nikolaj since he was eight years old. Furthermore, the prosecution’s characterization of two federal witnesses seems unduly harsh, seeing as how they have no criminal records after the age of twelve, and both Pyotr Dyachenko and Daniel Corozzo were set to testify against Nikolai Dyachencko before his demise.”

  Oh, Christ. Peter was like an onion of lying layers.

  “His demise?” Will sent a wide-eyed glare of incredulity at Angelica. “What Ms. Jackson fails to mention, Judge Whitaker, is that her client is the person responsible for Nikolai Dyachenko’s demise—which was accomplished with a gunshot to the head.”

  “Nikolaj is not charged in that case, your honor,” Angelica said with a serene smile. “Mr. Schoemacher is well aware of that fact.”

  “This is a bond hearing, not a preliminary trial, counselors, save your arguments. I’ve heard enough. FBI agents, US Marshals and a detective vouching for the boy and taking him into his home is enough to convince me that he isn’t a flight risk. Wait,” Judge Whitaker chuckled when the prosecutor took a breath as if ready to speak, “The defendant will surrender his passport if he owns one, and he will wear a monitoring bracelet that confines him to Detective Glass’s home. Bond is set at one million dollars. That should be enough to ensure everyone gets Nikolaj to court.”

  A million dollars. Shit. The bang of Judge Whitaker’s gavel was like pressing a button on the toilet, with my money resting in the bowl.

  I left the courtroom before finding out the preliminary hearing date, and called to arrange a money withdrawal from my private banker. Due to the hefty balance in my account, getting the money wired wasn’t going to be an issue—even after hours.

  Revenge is Best Served Using an Albanian Woman and the Sociopath She Calls Son

  “Neat trick having the courtroom cleared,” I said to Angelica. “How’d you get Will to agree to that?” The fact that we weren’t surrounded by reporters was no longer shocking.

  “I threatened to petition a gag order, and he knew Judge Morris would issue it.”

  “Bought time to avoid the press.”

  “That was the idea.”

  We were standing outside the courthouse awaiting the completion of Cai’s paperwork so we could take his mother to my home. Rosafa had insisted on staying as close to Cai as possible, but after an hour inside, Angelica and I ventured outdoors into the evening sun until all were ready.

  “No coincidence that my father and the feds were questioning Peter and Darryl while that hearing was in progress?”

  “No, it wasn’t a coincidence,” she agreed. “Desmond and I made the appointment specifically. Cai asked me to keep Peter out. This seemed the best method.”

  “Clever,” I said. “You know the feds aren’t going to go after an eight-year-old case where an eight-year-old was the shooter.”

  “It’s doubtful,” she concurred.

  “Then why pursue an affirmative defense? He can’t be innocent, Angel, at the same time as declaring he did it in self-defense.”

  “I can’t talk to you about the case. And don’t badger Cai about it, either, while I’m not there. His Miranda rights are in effect.”

  I gave her a two fingered salute and shot off a frustrated puff of air. “What’s the mother like?”

  She truly grinned then, and my immediate thought was, ‘Something wicked this way comes.’ “Oh, Austin,” she laughed delicately, “I quite possibly have revenge without even intending it.”r />
  Whatever my response was, something akin to a parachute fail mid-fall, it made her laugh harder. “What does that mean? Because from where I’m standing, hounding me into allowing a killer in my house was fair enough revenge.”

  “I did not hound,” she hedged.

  “Angel?” My voice sounded desperate to my own ears, but she took no pity on me. Before she could answer, Rosafa exited the building with a contingent of black-suited men close behind.

  Cai’s mother held no judgment in her appraisal of me, but she turned to Angelica immediately after the once over. “Thank you, Miss Jackson.”

  “You’re quite welcome,” Angelica replied with an outstretched hand which the older woman took. Angelica laid a hand atop their clasped palms and inclined her head my way. “This is detective Glass.”

  “Austin,” I said, holding out my hand.

  Rosafa’s grip was as firm as her nod. “You paid the bond, Detective Glass?”

  “Austin,” I repeated, “And yes. It shouldn’t be long now before we hear my private banker weeping.” Either she was tired or she didn’t get my joke. That was okay, it was a lousy joke.

  “They said they will take Nikë in patrol car. The officers would not allow me to ride with them.”

  “You can ride with me,” I said, picturing Cai with the abject misery of someone who’d been arrested, jailed, and was facing life in prison, carted off once again in a patrol car.

  “Actually, Austin, the Marshal service needs to drive us. We also need to pick up her bags from the hotel and talk about a few things.”

  More than grateful to have less time around a woman who was examining me like I was belly-button lint, I offered a brief smile. “Peter and Darryl still in there?”

  “No. Your father drove them home.”

  “I’ll see you at the house.” To this day I maintain that I did not run to my car.