The 13th Hour: A Marston Thriller (The Marston Series Book 4)

by Brigitta Moon

  Cheers rippled through the green team. Shouts of support were thrown out to the batter from the red team.

  Little Johnny leaned forward, wound up again for the pitch. He bit his lip, concentrating on striking the batter out.

  “For a man who has no children, you sure spend a lot of time at the ball park.” Crystal brushed at Jessie’s shoulder as if removing lint. She tilted her head and fluttered her fake lashes. A long smile crept across her face as she swept her lengthy, stiletto, acrylic nails up and down his muscular biceps. “Married yet?” She licked her glossy, painted lips. “Girlfriend?”

  “Cut it out. You know I’m too busy for any of that commitment stuff. I have to look after these boys.”

  “They’re not yours.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Doesn’t matter. These boys need a male figure in their lives. The earlier the better.”

  “But—”

  “No.” Jesse moved her hand from his arm, as gingerly as if he was removing a poisonous snake. “These boys need me. Isn’t that your son out there at the batting plate? Where’s his father?”

  Crystal pursed her lips.

  “Yeah, right. Do you even know who his father is? According to Mark, he has never met the man.”

  “But—”

  “Save it, Crystal.”

  Jessie heard rumblings from the crowd. He looked out toward the field. The batter was running from second base to third. He picked up speed and slid home in a cloud of dust. The crowd roared.

  “This is what I’m talking about; instead of you watching your son while he is out there in the hot sun trying his best to be a good ballplayer, you’re over here trying to get laid. I don’t have time for this. I have a team to coach. He ran off to the dugout.

  “Did you see, Coach? I did it! I hit a homerun!”

  Jesse squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “You sure did. I’m proud of you.”

  “Coach Jesse,” a young woman called from the stands. She was moving fast to catch him before he got involved in the game again. When she was facing him she said, “I just wanted to thank you for everything you are doing for our sons. They need a strong man like you—a father figure.”

  Jesse’s cheeks pinked up. He was fair skinned. Always dressed nicely in jeans and a polo or shorts and a tank or a crew neck tee. Broad shoulders and muscles that rippled with his movements was the draw for the women, but he had no interest in them, other than their sons. According to Jesse these young boys need a strong, successful, male figure in their lives to survive the neighborhood.

  “No need to thank me.” Jesse stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  The woman was what the men called big boned. She was shapely and had a friendly smile. Her hair was short, black, and caught glints from the sun. It laid flat around her head with bangs that landed above her eyebrows.

  “May I ask why you volunteer all of your time to our sons?”

  Jesse rocked heel to toe. “Sure. I was one of them. The only problem was I didn’t have someone like me to guide me through. I’m not saying that mothers are lacking. It’s just that there are some things a boy needs a man for—to show him the ropes, teach him how to avoid trouble, and guide him through making it out of here alive.”

  The woman was nodding. “You’re right. There have been many nights that I have thanked God for you before I laid my head on my pillow.” She held out her hand. Jesse took her fingers in his as if she was a queen and brought them to his lips.

  “The man who let you get away was a fool.”

  “I’m Gloria. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Jesse. Likewise.”

  The woman turned away walking toward the stands. She glanced back over her shoulder. Coach Jesse was watching the game.

  Chapter 7

  Three to one was the final score. Jesse was ecstatic. Finally, his little league team had won. The boys in red were champs, and Jesse planned to celebrate.

  Before each game, he would reserve the community room at the local library just in case his boys won. After each loss, the room stayed empty. But, not this time. They had won. Now, all he needed to do was grab a cake, some chips, and juice.

  Jesse had given out flyers to all the boys to alert their mothers of the confirmed celebration. From the beginning, it was agreed that there would be a celebration with every win. If they had no wins, then there would be a big party at the end of the season to commend their dedication.

  Jesse parked on the lot, grabbed his jacket from the backseat and headed into the market. There was a big chill from the air conditioning just as he had expected. Music played overhead. It was a seventies Motown song. Jesse grabbed a shopping cart and headed for the bakery. As he scanned all the premade cakes, he bobbed his head to the song. Those were the good old days, he thought. The days when songs made sense to the average person. The days when words were encouraging and respectful.

  He looked the cakes over—white frosting with colorful letters. Happy Birthday. Happy Anniversary. Not one with congratulations written on its face.

  “You must be Coach Jesse,” a woman said from behind the counter. Her voice held a bright smile and her white apron was smeared with a rainbow of frostings.

  “How—”

  “I got a call from one of the mothers from your team.” The older woman’s face gleamed with joy. “She described you to the letter.”

  “But—”

  “She calls every time there’s a game. Tells me to keep a blank cake ready just in case. Well,” the woman poked out her chest, “today, she told me to whip out my frosting pens and work my magic.” She wiped her hands down her apron. “I feel as if I could cry for those boys. I have been waiting all season for this day.” She locked eyes with Jesse. “Congratulations, Coach.” She handed him the sheet cake.

  Jesse’s heart warmed hotter than the summer heat that his team had braved during the game. “Thank you.” He put the cake into his cart as gently as he would have placed his own child if he had one, and turned toward the snack aisle.

  With so many brands and flavors of chips, Jesse could not decide which the team would prefer. He knelt down in front of the shelf and started gathering one of each to load into his cart.

  “Hey, Coach. Good game.” The man stood behind him and spoke just above a whisper.

  Jesse stood up and dropped the chips into his cart. The man’s hand was outstretched. Jesse shook it.

  “One of those boys on your team is mine.”

  “Which—”

  The man’s mug flipped down. He was many shades darker than Jesse. “Never mind which one. Just know that I appreciate what you do for my boy.”

  Next to the man doing all the talking was another man. Golden skin. Bronze hair. Jesse looked him over. He wore a salesman smile and clothing that was too expensive for this run-down part of Marston. Since he was white and not a cop from what Jesse could see, his alert bells went off.

  The man claiming fatherhood said, “Look, my brother, I just want to give you a little something.” He reached inside his jean pocket and came out with a wad of bills.

  Jesse threw up his hands. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but—”

  “Nothing—”

  The white guy cut in. “We just want to donate to your cause. James here just wants to pitch in a little something for his son.”

  James held out the cash.

  Jesse reached into his pocket. “I have a fund set up for the kids. Here’s my card. You can send your donation there.”

  “Man, I don’t have that kind of time,” James said.

  The man’s friend reached out and accepted the card from Jesse. He took the cash from James and stuffed the bills inside an envelope from his pocket. “If you won’t take the money for the kids, give it the boy’s mother.”

  “Which one?”

  “Ah, that got his attention,” said the friend. “Such altruism.

  James scanned the store. His eyes honed in as if peering through a telescope. Worry lines creased between his brows
. “Dude, we need to split. Make the drop,” he whispered to the friend.

  “What—”

  “No time,” James responded. “Let’s move.”

  The two men’s attention went abruptly back to Jesse.

  “Congrats on your win, brother,” said James.

  As the two men brushed past him, Jesse felt his jacket sway.

  “Get down on the ground!”

  Jesse’s head snapped around, looking for the origin of the voice. The man was dressed in black jeans and a black polo. He had a gun pointed at Jesse’s face. He heard the slap of shoes running.

  “Hands high. Slowly get down on your knees.”

  Jesse watched the gun. As he lowered himself down to one knee and then the other, the gun followed. He was thinking the man had to be an undercover cop. Any white man in this neighborhood with a gun displayed as this man’s weapon was, had to be Five-Oh. But, why would the cops want him?

  “Down on your stomach. Spread your arms and legs.”

  Jesse did it. His heart pounded against the cold cement floor. He had never had a brush with the law. His thoughts ran rampant, and then slowed to a crawl when he saw the expensively dressed man standing at the door in cuffs.

  Chapter 8

  Judge Mason removed her gold, wire rimmed glasses, folded them in her hand, and narrowed her eyes on the defendant. “Mr. Owens, am I to understand that you are standing in my courtroom claiming to volunteer your time with young boys, and then you go out into their community and sell drugs?”

  “That’s not true!” Jesse screeched.

  Next to Jesse, stood his lawyer. He wore an overpriced suit and a bored expression.

  “Mr. Brodsky, control your client or I will hold both of you in contempt.”

  The lawyer placed a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. He whispered, “Not a word unless she asks you a question.”

  Jesse looked down at the floor.

  Judge Mason had a reputation of no nonsense. She was a cut and dry judge. There was no in between.

  Seeing the scowl on Judge Mason’s face was worse than the night he had spent in the holding cell. Jesse’s stomach rolled over as he listened to her admonish the deemed punishment. Breakfast had been served at five a.m. and now it was nearly noon. He felt the burning of bile rushing up his esophagus toward his mouth.

  “Mr. Owens, you will be held in the Marston State Prison until your trial. No Bail.” She banged the gavel on the wooden bench, her way of publically announcing that her decision is final.

  “I’ll meet with you before you’re transported back to lockup, okay?” the lawyer said. He let out a thick sigh, thinking how his first pro bono case was a real dog.

  Jesse nodded. He was cuffed by the Bailiff, and led back to the holding cell. The lawyer gathered up his papers, stuffed them inside his briefcase, and left the courtroom as the next case was called. He sat his briefcase on a bench in the corridor. Just as he slipped his iPhone from his jacket pocket, planning to make a call, he noticed a woman standing a few feet away. Tears glistened in her eyes. She was nicely dressed in a pant suit and heels as if she was going to a business meeting. When she caught his eye, she ambled over and held out her hand. The lawyer touched her fingers lightly.

  “Hello, Mr. Brodsky.”

  “Have we met?”

  “No. I’m a friend of your client, Jesse.”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Owens.” He tried not to grimace.

  “You sound like his name leaves a bad taste on your tongue.”

  “I’m sorry.” The lawyer cocked his head. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Actually, I didn’t. It’s Gloria.”

  “What can I do for you, Ms. Gloria?”

  “Just Gloria, please.” She glanced around the corridor. It was pretty sedate considering it was so close to lunch time. Gloria looked up at the lawyer. “Jesse is innocent. There is no way he is a drug dealer.”

  “They’re all innocent,” he scoffed.

  Gloria straightened her spine. “I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Jeffrey Brodsky,” she paused, “lawyer for the uptown scum. Isn’t that what they call you?”

  Jeffrey squinted at the woman.

  She was not deterred by his expression. “That’s right, I looked you up. You got that coach off. He got away with rape. And now, you’re going to let Jesse fry because his pockets aren’t lined as well as those uptown folks? He’s not guilty. What will it take for you to put your heart into this case? This man has given his life to those boys. Don’t let him go to jail for a crime he didn’t commit.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but they have him on video making the deal. There’s not much I can do.”

  Gloria’s lips mashed together so tightly, they were pale. She took in a big breath, closed her eyes for just a second. When she opened her eyes, Jeffery was staring at her.

  She said, “There’s nothing you can do, or there’s nothing you care to do?”

  “You have it all wrong—”

  “No, I think I am spot on.” She put one hand on her hip and with the other, she pointed an accusing finger at the lawyer like a gun. “They let that white guy go, didn’t they? And what about the other black man. Did they ever track him down?”

  “I’m sorry, but there is not much I can do for Jesse.”

  “I bet there would be a lot you could do for him if the money was long. How much? How much will it cost to get you to work Jesse’s case?”

  Jeffery squinted at the woman. “Are you his wife? Girlfriend? Baby mama?”

  “Baby mama?” She sneered at the lawyer. “I’m none of the above, but I will be a pest worse than a home infested with mice if Jesse doesn’t get a fair trial with adequate representation.”

  Jeffrey picked up his briefcase. “I have to get to the holding cell to speak with Jesse.”

  “Go on.” Gloria shooed him away. “I’ll be here when you get back.” She sat on the bench where Jeffrey’s briefcase had lain, and crossed her legs.

  Chapter 9

  “I only have a few minutes for us to talk,” Jeffery told Jesse who was slumped down in a chair, staring at the floor.

  Jeffery sat his briefcase on the table, pulled out a chair and sat across from his client.

  “First, do you have a wife, a girlfriend, or any nut job I should know about?”

  Jesse’s head snapped up. “What? Naw Man, I don’t have time for a relationship. Why?”

  “Some woman accosted me in the corridor. Evidently, if I don’t get you off, she’s going to be worse than a pack of vermin in my house.”

  Jesse laughed. “I definitely don’t know her.”

  “Well, Jesse, my man, she knows you, and she is going all out for you.”

  “It can’t be my mother. She passed years ago.”

  “No, definitely not. You would be too old to be a son of hers.”

  “Describe her,” Jesse said.

  “My height, maybe a little shorter.” Jeffery’s head was level with Jesse’s shoulder when they stood side-by-side in court. “Really pretty. Brown skinned. Short, black hair...”

  “And?” Jesse prompted.

  Jeffery was lost at how else to describe the woman. He held his hands out like cups in front of his chest briefly before thinking better of it and then folding his hands on the table. “And.” Jeffrey paused. Thinking. “And, she’s got a lot of junk in the trunk. Is that how you say it?”

  “Jesse burst out laughing. “I can’t imagine who that could be. No woman would go to bat for me. I don’t spend time with any.”

  “This one is serious. To be honest, she scares me.” Jeffery opened his briefcase. “Gloria. That’s the name she gave me.”

  Jesse’s face mashed up in thought. “Gloria? From little league?”

  Jeffery shrugged. “Beats me. Since she’s going to be waiting for me when I leave here, I guess I can ask her, and I should get to work on your case.”

  “How do you know these men?” Jeffery asked Jesse.

  “I don’t. They just start
ed talking to me in the market.”

  “Have you ever seen them anywhere?”

  “No, and shouldn’t we have had this conversation before I went in front of the judge?”

  “Yes, but, I had just received your case last evening. I thought it was high time for me to do a pro bono case. To be honest with you, this is my first one.”

  “Please, tell me this is not your first case.”

  The shock on Jesse’s face was not lost one the pro bono lawyer.

  Jeffery chuckled. “Ms. Gloria knows more about me than you. She has looked me up. Somehow, I find that scary.”

  Jesse settled back down. “Well, dude, when a sister looks you up, you had better be damned scared.”

  “Okay then, let’s get to work,” Jeffrey said.

  Chapter 10

  Gloria didn’t bother to stand when she noted the lawyer walking towards her with a black, leather briefcase at his side. He stopped in front of her, looking down into her expectant eyes. She peered up at him. This time when she saw his face, his expression didn’t seem as bored and put-out as it had earlier. He was even wearing a warm smile. Jeffery sat down on the bench sideways next to Gloria. He placed his briefcase at his feet.

  “Well?” Gloria pursed her lips.

  “Ms. Gloria—”

  “It’s Gloria. I told you that before.”

  “Okay, Gloria, Jesse didn’t know who you were at first.”

  “What’s your point, lawyer man?”

  “I’m just wondering why you are going so far out of your way for a man who barely knows you exist.”

  Gloria leaned back on the bench and rested her head against the wall. “He’s a good guy. Many of the boys in our neighborhood live in single parent homes headed up by a mother. No father-figure. No man around at all. One day, Jesse comes around and starts asking the boys what they want. A ball team is all their little hearts requested.”

  Jeffery was nodding. He liked sports when he was younger, also.

  “You know what? Not only did he put a team together for the boys, he took an interest in them. Before they could practice, they had to do their homework, and he helped the ones who needed extra assistance.”