J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 03 - No Time To Hide

by J. D. Trafford

  ###

  Michael read the document, looking for typos. He quietly read it aloud, making sure it flowed. He revised and then read the document again. It needed to be perfect. Michael looked up at the clock, and then back at the computer screen. He decided that it was time.

  Michael pressed print.

  The light on the laser printer flashed to yellow, and then to green as its little internal fan spun to life. The librarian looked over. She had gotten used to Michael’s routine, and this was different. He didn’t usually print during the day. Usually Michael only printed in the evening.

  Michael met the librarian’s eye and smiled. “Found a really good case today.”

  “Great,” the librarian said. “We’ll add it to your bill.”

  Michael watched as the printed sheets of paper rolled out of the printer. He gathered them, and read them one last time, looking for errors.

  Satisfied, Michael closed the document and the word processing program on the computer without saving. He picked up the printed document and turned to the back page.

  There was signature line at the bottom with his name and attorney license number as well as all of the old contact information for his former law firm.

  Michael picked a blue pen out of a cup near the computer. He thought for a moment about the line that he was about to cross, and then he crossed it.

  Michael signed his name and dated it. The date of his signature was five years earlier, before the incident and before he had ever set foot on the beautiful beach at the Sunset Resort and Hostel.

  CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

  Quentin was already in the small conference room when Michael arrived. Michael put the new stack of paper down on the table. “Last batch.” Michael tapped the pile, and then sat down. “Any word?”

  Quentin shook his head. “No offers, Michael. I’m sorry.”

  Michael shrugged his shoulders. He hadn’t expected any miracles. Brenda Gadd had been clear. When Quentin and Michael had rejected twenty years at the minimum security facility in Maine, they were told it was over. Gadd, in that sense, was a woman of her word.

  “Are you ready?” Michael asked.

  Quentin removed his glasses. He rubbed his eyes and nodded. “I’ve reviewed everything. The witness list is long. Kermit and Andie are on the list, but I’m not sure they’re going to be called. I personally wouldn’t call them.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “They’re unknowns.” Quentin folded his arms over his chubby belly. “Gadd can’t be sure what they’re going to say on the witness stand. Plus she’s got all that paper to testify for her.”

  Michael looked at the stack of documents on the table. I’ve got paper, too, thought Michael, but he didn’t say it.

  Quentin paused. He lowered his voice as if he was sharing a secret.

  “The exhibits are overwhelming, Michael. The documentation is thorough and the forensic accounting is clear.” Quentin started to go further, but stopped himself. “They just don’t need Andie and Kermit. They could probably get the conviction with five witnesses, maybe seven.”

  “But this is the government,” Michael said. “They don’t know when to stop.” Michael looked Quentin in the eye. “And that’s going to be where they’ll go wrong.”

  “You seem pretty confident.” Quentin stared at Michael. He examined his client. “Please don’t embarrass me.”

  Michael shook his head. “I’m not going to embarrass you.” Michael glanced at the stack of paper on the table and then back at Quentin. “Just keep demanding that Gadd produce all relevant documents in her possession, everything.”

  “I have been,” Quentin said.

  Michael nodded. “Good. Keep doing it, and memorialize each request with a letter.”

  Quentin lowered his shoulders and sighed. “As you wish.”

  ###

  The meeting continued for another hour. Quentin and Michael talked about jury selection, witness order, and gossiped about the judge. “He’s old.”

  “Like how old?” Michael responded, as if it were a vaudeville joke. He’s old. How old? He’s so old that when God said ‘let there be light’ the judge hit the switch.

  “He was appointed by President Ford fifty years ago.”

  “So a hundred-year-old judge is going to be deciding my future?”

  “He’s not one hundred.” Quentin stood. “Only ninety-one.” Quentin laughed a dark laugh and then he picked up the stack of paper on the table. “What do you want me to do with this stuff?”

  “Did you look at any of it?” Michael wasn’t expecting that Quentin would have reviewed it closely, but figured that he would have been curious.

  “I’ve scanned it,” Quentin said. “Looks like financials. A lot of it’s the same as what the government has already produced.”

  Michael nodded, suppressing a smile. “I figured that.”

  “You had asked me to just put it in a box, and so I have been,” Quentin said. “It’s sitting in the corner of my office. Anything else you want me to do with it?”

  Michael nodded. He looked at the stack of new documents in Quentin’s hand.

  “Just put the new stuff in the box with the rest of it,” Michael paused. “Then tell Andie it’s time to get rid of it.”

  “Like throw it away?” Quentin looked confused.

  “No,” Michael said. “Just tell her to get rid of it. Andie will understand.”

  CHAPTER FORTY NINE

  It was getting dark. Vatch had already had a long day, but the rumors about Anthony had become more serious. He watched, from a distance, as Anthony left their apartment building, and then Vatch followed.

  Anthony, Spider and three other boys met in front of a pizza shop. They messed around for a few minutes, and then they walked together to the park around the corner.

  Vatch continued to watch them from a safe distance, unnoticed. Anthony wasn’t on the periphery any longer. He wasn’t an outsider. Anthony was one of them. He sat on the park bench next to Spider and another kid, while the others stood around. They shared a joint, laughed about nothing, and harassed anybody that dared to walk by.

  After fifteen minutes, Vatch turned and started home. There wasn’t any reason for him to stay. He had seen enough. Vatch rolled home and wondered if he was too late, whether Anthony was already lost.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  On the morning of trial, Kermit lingered in the bathroom. He looked scared. His eyes narrowed to prevent a tear. They widened and then narrowed, again, as he stared at his reflection. Kermit’s body was still wet from his morning shower.

  He stood in front of the bathroom mirror. A small towel wrapped around his waist. An electric razor was in his hand.

  Andie knocked on the door. “You okay?

  Kermit didn’t respond.

  Andie knocked, again. “Kermit?” She carefully opened the door and peeked inside. “Did you do it?”

  Kermit looked at the razor, and then turned his sad eyes toward her.

  “Sure I gotta do this?”

  Andie understood that she had asked him to sacrifice a core piece of his identity. She had endured hours of discussions about bosons and quantum physics. She had to affirm Kermit’s beliefs in numeric equilibrium, then general semantics, and now sub-atomic chaos and magnetic fields. Then Andie had to posit counter-arguments and justifications for what Kermit had to do. “I’m sorry.”

  “I mean …” Kermit shook his head. “My dreads, man.” He touched a strand of tangled hair. “It ain’t right. Just seems like there’s a million disguises to which the K-Man can fit the profile without doing such a drastic deed.”

  Kermit thought for a moment. “Like pizza guy. I already look like a pizza guy. Just give me a box and one of those insulated bags they got. No need to fix the follicles for that action.” He paused. “Homeless dude. That’s another one. People always think I’m a homeless dude for some reason. How about we change the plan to incorporate a ninja transient? You know, somebody who fights the powe
rs with a series of improvisational kung-fu grips and wicked metaphors related to unsustainable wealth disparities and inequitable resource distribution?”

  “I didn’t know you were a socialist.”

  Kermit shook his head. “Don’t matter what I am.” He cocked his head to the side. “It’s all part of the back-story created for the character needed to bust Michael out of jail, yo.”

  “Well,” Andie looked at the electric razor. “Unfortunately the character we need can’t have the—” Andie stopped herself, trying to be sensitive. She rephrased. “Unfortunately the character we need for this master plan — which is pretty set at this point —needs to look very different from how you currently look.”

  “You mean that I need to be a dork.”

  “Yes.” Andie nodded her head. “A dork with a lot less rhythm.”

  Kermit shook his head. “No can do.” He set the razor down on the bathroom counter. “Not today.”

  “Then I’ll need to talk to Michael and tell him there may be a delay.”

  “Tell him whatever you want.” Kermit shrugged. “I need more time to think about this.” Kermit turned and took a step toward the door. “On second thought, don’t tell Michael that there’s a problem. Brother’s got enough on his mind. Just give me some time.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY ONE

  The guards woke Michael up earlier than usual. He ate breakfast alone at a table in Pod 3. It consisted of stale Cheerios, a banana, and milk. Then he was escorted out of Pod 3, through the security doors, and down to a garage underneath the detention center.

  There were six men scheduled for court. Others would be transported later in the morning, and even more would be transported in the afternoon.

  A white, unmarked fifteen-passenger van served as the shuttle. It had no windows in the back. The van looked like a delivery truck, which, in a way, it was.

  Michael and the other five turned and faced the wall, as instructed. They put their hands behind their backs and spread their legs a little wider than normal. The guard cuffed their hands with a plastic tie.

  The narrow band was pulled tight. It cut into Michael’s wrists. Then Michael and the others were instructed to sit on the ground and wait.

  Everything was routine. They followed refined procedures created for institutionalizing and controlling people, and it worked.

  Michael cooperated. With each command, Michael obeyed. Logic dictated that he obey. Obedience made life easier in an institution. There was no point in fighting it.

  “Stand.” A guard slid open the door to the van as the driver started the engine.

  Michael and the others stood and shuffled inside.

  In the beginning, there weren’t prisons, Michael thought as he sat down. Early criminals were just maimed or killed. They weren’t always warehoused under the guise of education and reformation.

  Progress?

  As the van pulled away, Michael tried to figure out which system was worse.

  CHAPTER FIFTY TWO

  The procedure at the courthouse was a little different this time. Michael wasn’t arriving for an arraignment or pre-trial hearing. Michael was there for trial.

  The deputies separated him from the other men.

  They led Michael down a different hallway. They walked through the bowels of the courthouse, and then to a room with ten brown lockers.

  “Your attorney sent these over.” The federal marshal pointed to the first locker on the end. “I assume they’ll fit.” He then cut the plastic ties off of Michael’s wrists, and he told Michael that he had about two minutes to change clothes.

  “Judge Husk is always ready to begin on time. Hates it when people are late.” The guard walked away from Michael. “That judge is going to live forever.”

  ###

  Michael stared at his reflection in the elevator doors. It was clear that Andie had picked out the suit and tie. Michael never liked trendy suits or elaborate, patterned ties. He liked dark blue suits, maybe a subtle pinstripe, and a conservative striped tie. That was the costume.

  Andie had complied with his fashion requests, although she deviated slightly. Rather than a striped tie with two diagonal lines (either dark blue and maroon or forest green and yellow), Andie’s tie had something beyond the requisite diagonal lines. From a distance, it simply looked like an extra narrow yellow line, but up-close it was actually a series of very small yellow suns all in a row. It satisfied Michael’s fashion requirements, but Andie wanted to remind him why he couldn’t give up the fight. Sunny Mexico, Michael thought, message received.

  He stared at the reflection of himself in the metal elevator doors. It was odd seeing himself as a man again, and not as a prisoner. It had been almost three months since he had worn anything but an orange jumpsuit.

  The polished metal doors slid open. He was led down another hallway, then into a secure courtroom on the twentieth floor.

  The federal marshal then guided Michael toward counsel table. Quentin was waiting.

  Michael stayed focused on his attorney, ignoring the other people packed in the rows of seats in the gallery.

  He sat down. Quentin slid Michael a notepad and a pen, so that they could communicate with one another during jury selection, and then there was a knock.

  The clerk of court rapped the gavel three times. “All rise, the federal district court for the State of New York is now in session, the Honorable Harold G. Husk presiding.”

  Everyone in the courtroom stood.

  A door behind the bench opened, and then Judge Husk emerged.

  His skin was thin and paper white. His face was gaunt. His back hunched, seemingly pressed down by the weight of his robe.

  Judge Husk’s law clerk held his arm and walked him up to the bench. They took tiny, deliberate steps.

  The clerk lowered the judge down into a large, black leather chair, which enveloped Judge Husk. He looked like a child in his father’s easy chair. The judge now seemed even smaller and more frail than when he had first come through the door into the courtroom.

  The law clerk placed several pieces of paper down in front of Judge Husk on the bench, and then held out a pen. Judge Husk’s hand slowly lifted, shaking, and eventually took hold of the pen.

  There was a long pause as Judge Husk remembered the words that he should say, processed them, and then mustered the strength to instruct the people in the courtroom to be seated.

  Relief.

  Another pause, as Judge Husk caught his breath and reclaimed his next thought. “Good morning.” Husk was still breathing heavily from the walk from his chambers to the bench. He looked down at the pieces of paper in front of him, and then back up. “We are here in the matter of the United States versus Michael John Collins.” Another pause. “Please introduce yourself for the record.”

  Michael sat and watched as United States Attorney Brenda Gadd noted her appearance. The judge struggled to keep his head up and his eyes open during the brief introduction.

  Michael leaned over. “You said he was old.” Michael whispered in Quentin’s ear. “You didn’t say he was half dead.”

  ###

  Before calling up the jury pool and beginning voir dire, which was a fancy lawyer word for jury selection, Brenda Gadd requested a moment of the court’s time to discuss, “preliminary matters.”

  Judge Husk rolled his cloudy eyes and looked at his law clerk. The law clerk, seated at a computer workstation to his right, nodded her head. This gesture prompted the judge, who then permitted Gadd to proceed.

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Gadd stood up. “We have noticed that there are several people in the courtroom that are potential witnesses in this case,” she said. “We would like them to be excluded at this time until their testimony has been obtained and there is no chance that they would be called as a rebuttal witness.”

  Judge Husk labored a few breaths, and then turned to Quentin. He didn’t verbally tell Quentin to respond. It was obvious that the judge needed to preserve every ounce of energy to keep hi
s own heart beating and other vital organs functioning. So Quentin stood.

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Quentin turned to Gadd. “I guess I don’t understand. U.S. Attorney Gadd hasn’t said who she specifically wants excluded and how this is going to be prejudicial to the government’s case. And even if they needed to be excluded during witness testimony, it doesn’t make sense to exclude them during jury selection or opening arguments.”

  Gadd didn’t hesitate. She didn’t wait for permission.

  “I’m concerned about witnesses colluding with one another to reshape their testimony. I want an order that says that nobody can speak about the testimony or the facts of this case with one another or be present during the testimony of others.” Gadd looked back at Andie Larone and Kermit Guillardo. “I don’t want to encourage perjury or risk a mistrial.”

  “Your Honor, it appears as though Ms. Gadd is already disparaging and impeaching witnesses that haven’t even testified. These are my witnesses, but they are also on her own witness list. And I think my client deserves to have his friends in the courtroom. This is a public trial. The public should be able to attend.”

  Judge Husk’s eyelids fluttered and then closed. His chin dropped. His head bowed. It appeared as though he had fallen asleep thinking about the motion.

  The courtroom was silent as everyone waited. Only a few seconds passed, although it seemed longer, and then Judge Husk opened his eyes. He turned and looked at his law clerk, who nodded at the judge to verbalize his thought.

  “All witnesses. …” Judge Husk took a deep, unsteady breath. “All witnesses…” He faded again. “All witnesses for both the defense and government shall be excluded from the courtroom until their testimony is complete.”

  Judge Husk looked at Gadd. “That applies to your witnesses as well.” A sparkle brightened his eyes. “You might say, ‘what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.’” The corners of the judge’s mouth curled into a devilish smile, and for the first time in months, Michael felt like he might be okay. It just depended on whether the law clerk made the decisions or Judge Husk.