The Mayor of Lexington Avenue (38 page)

“Are you going to make us show up, or what?” Jimmy snarled. He was tiring of the game he had started.

“Nah,” Jack replied. “Just send me a letter stating that your clients intend to take the Fifth and they won’t have to show up.” Jack wasn’t through. “There’s another reason you should be thanking me, Jimmy.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“I’m going to make you famous. When this indictment comes down, it’s going to be national, maybe international, news. You’ll be a household name before it’s over.”

“You’re probably right,” Jimmy replied, realizing for the first time that this might be his big chance to hit the national scene.

“There’s only one downside to that,” Jack teased.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“You better not fuck up. Goodnight, Jimmy.” Jack hung up the phone.

The grand jury brought back an indictment for first-degree murder against Clay Evans and Wesley Brume on that Friday afternoon. It didn’t hit the national press until Monday, but it hit with a bang. CNN led the evening news with it. It made the broadcasts on NBC, CBS and ABC as well. By Tuesday, Bass Creek was crawling with news trucks, reporters and television crews. Jack knew the case was going to generate publicity—he just didn’t realize how much.

He wanted Rudy’s murder to be a public issue and he knew he had to be a part of that, so on Tuesday afternoon he gave his first interview to the Associated Press.

“I can’t talk about the specifics of the case,” he told the reporter, a blonde who looked young enough to be his daughter. “But I can tell you that these men will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. This is a nation of laws, not of men. The message everyone should take from this indictment is that nobody is above the law.”

“Have you spoken with the governor? Isn’t there a possibility he could remove you from office for indicting a sitting federal judge?” Jack knew somebody had planted those questions. He only answered the second one.

“I think the governor will let the judicial process take its course. He’s a man of integrity. He’s not going to interfere with the pursuit of justice.”

At that moment, in Tallahassee, Bob Richards was reciting the same script Jack had given him just a few days earlier.

“Jack Tobin is a capable lawyer and I’m sure the men who have been charged have capable lawyers. If they are innocent, the judicial process will vindicate them.”

Jimmy DiCarlo was the last to weigh in, but his statement was the most quotable of the day and was the one that led the news reports that evening.

“Jack Tobin once represented Rudy Kelly. He argued his appeal before the Supreme Court and lost. Rudy Kelly’s execution was a mistake but it was a mistake at many levels. Jack Tobin cannot accept that. He’s looking for someone to blame. He shouldn’t be on this case.”

Dressed in his black Armani, white shirt, and silver silk tie, his jet-black hair slicked back, Jimmy looked like a very fleshy movie star.

The day didn’t end at the office for Jack and Maria. Dick was at the wheel when they pulled into the driveway at home and encountered a whole new circus—a crowd of reporters, TV trucks and gawkers spilling over the front lawn.

“I guess our nice, comfortable lifestyle is over,” Dick mused.

“This will blow over soon,” Jack told him.

A week later they were still there, however, and everybody in the house started feeling a little claustrophobic. Jack, Pat and Joaquin couldn’t go jogging, and Dick, who had stopped drinking and started exercising when the job began, couldn’t go swimming. Nobody could go out of the house to do anything. Even shopping was a major project. There didn’t seem to be any end in sight, either. After the indictment, arrests still had to be made, pleas had to be entered, and motions had to be filed. There was plenty to keep the press buzzing.

“I’ve got to do something,” Jack told Pat one night when they were lying in bed. “I can’t put everybody through this for months.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Yeah, there’s a fellow I used to fish with a while back, Steve Preston. He owns a big ranch—thousands of acres—about twenty miles outside of town. His son was his foreman and when he got married, Steve built him a big house right on the ranch, a couple of miles down from his own place. Well, the son’s wife didn’t want him to be a rancher anymore and they moved to Atlanta and the son took a job with Coca-Cola. Steve was crushed.

“As far as I know the house is still vacant. Steve showed me the place when it was still under construction. It’s a huge house—bigger than this. I think I’ll call him tomorrow and see if he wants to rent it.”

“That’ll be a change,” Pat said noncommittally. “Have you discussed this with any of the others?”

“Not yet. I wanted to talk with you first. What do you think?”

“I guess it will be all right if you think it’s necessary.”

“I’ve
got
to do something. We can’t continue like this. Pat, why don’t you get out of here for a while? Take a vacation.”

Pat sat up in the bed and looked at him. She didn’t say anything for a few minutes, and he couldn’t tell if he’d said something to make her angry.

“Jack, how do you feel right now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re in the middle of this case. You’ve been through a hell of a lot. How do you feel?”

It was Jack’s turn to hesitate. He propped himself up and looked into her eyes.

“Losing Nancy and then Rudy has been devastating for me, and I know it’s been the same for you. But in spite of that, I’ve never felt more alive. I can actually feel the blood flowing through my veins. I know we’re doing the right thing.” His eyes were suddenly on fire. He was talking with his hands. “And it’s not just the fact that Rudy was innocent and that our criminal justice system is broken. It’s bigger than that for me now. I see the innocent and the guilty. It’s like I was just born and I’m looking at the world for the first time. I know this kind of thinking is nothing new. People have been saying it for years. But it’s new to me. We never ask ourselves why people commit murder. We don’t even see them as people. We don’t care if they grew up as animals, living in filth, squalor and hopelessness. We don’t question whether mom was a drug addict or a prostitute or whether her johns beat the shit out of her son every night—I’m not kidding you, this is the
normal
background for a lot of these people. We don’t ask because we don’t want to know—because we might have some responsibility there. It’s easier to just kill them.

“No, it’s not just about Rudy anymore, and it’s not about winning or losing because, frankly, I’m probably going to lose. This is what I’m going to be doing for the rest of my life. That’s what Rudy was trying to tell me in his letter.”

He took a deep breath and Pat thought he was finished, but he wasn’t. Not yet. “This new vision I have affects my whole life. I see people I never saw before. I care about them like I have never cared before. I see you. I love you so much it hurts. I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?”

Pat stroked his cheek softly. “Yes, Jack, I know. I’ve known for a long time. That’s why I’m not going anywhere. I think the others feel the same way, but maybe you should bring it up with them—just to get a feel for where everybody is on this.”

“I think you’re right.”

“But not tonight,” she said as she kissed him gently on the lips. “Tonight you’re mine.”

Jack put his arms around her as they slid back towards the pillows.

Before he could talk to the group, another problem arose that caused him to rethink everything he had said to Pat the night before. Dick and Joaquin brought it to his attention at breakfast the next morning.

They were sitting around the dining room table, each reading his own newspaper and eating scrambled eggs and hash that Joaquin had prepared. (Pat had suggested the separate newspapers. “If everybody has their own newspaper in the morning,” she’d said, “they’ll feel more comfortable, more at home.”)

“Have you read this article about you?” Joaquin asked.

“I glanced at it,” Jack said. “It’s a pack of lies.”

“Jack, this article says that you screwed so many people out of money when you were a defense attorney that some of them want to kill you.”

“I’ve had death threats during my career but nothing like they’re talking about here. This is just sensationalism.”

Dick and Joaquin just looked at each other. “He doesn’t get it,” Dick said to Joaquin.

“Get what?” Jack asked.

“Jack, this story was planted,” Dick said.

“So?”

“So, there was a reason it was planted.”

“Yeah, to smear me. So what? I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

Dick looked at Joaquin again and threw up his hands. Joaquin knew it was his turn to try and explain.

“Jack, why do you think somebody would want to plant a story that there are tons of people out there who want to kill you?”

“I don’t know. It’s part of their defense strategy, I guess.”

“Think about it, Jack. Your opposing counsel is Jimmy DiCarlo. Jimmy DiCarlo is a gangster. I know, technically he only represents gangsters, but we all know he’s either a gangster himself or he’s very close to those who kill people for a living.” Joaquin paused for a breath and Dick jumped in. It was like the old days when they’d teamed on so many homicide cases.

“If you were hit—murdered, that is—the obvious suspect before this article would have been either Evans or Brume. That kept the risk you and Maria and Pat are facing at a more manageable level.”

Jack was starting to get it. “Oh, so you think they planted this article to provide a little cover. Create a few more suspects. Come on, guys, isn’t that a little far-fetched?”

“Not really, Jack.” It was Joaquin again.

Jack just looked at them. “You guys are serious, aren’t you?”

“Dead serious,” they said, almost in unison.

“All right, all right, let’s just suppose you’re right. What are we going to do about it?”

“If they’re going to take you out,” Dick explained, “it will probably be on the ride to or from work.” Jack could tell now that the two of them had already discussed this. “Catch you on a side street or something,” Dick continued. “We’ve always felt that’s been the most vulnerable part of your day.”

“And Maria’s too, and whoever was driving!” Jack exclaimed. Both Dick and Joaquin nodded. “Oh no! This is getting way too dangerous. I’ve got to call this off.” Just then Maria came out of her room and joined them.

“What’s all this commotion about?” she asked. Pat was walking down the stairs from her bedroom.

“Yeah, what’s going on?” she added.

“These guys think Jimmy DiCarlo is going to have me whacked,” Jack said as nonchalantly as if he were asking somebody to pass the toast.

“What!” Pat cried out.

“You’re kidding!” Maria exclaimed.

“No we’re not,” Dick said. “We think it’s a real possibility.” Maria and Pat looked at each other in shock.

“I’m going to call this whole thing off,” Jack said. “I’m going to dismiss the case today.”

“Don’t we have a say about that?” Maria asked. They all looked at her, more than a little surprised. “Look, I didn’t want to be a part of this thing originally, but now I’m in it and I can’t explain it but I feel good about it. I think it’s the right thing to do.” Pat stole a glance at Jack as if to say
I told you so.
“Besides, as you told me once before, Jack, they’re not going to stop just because this case is dismissed. They’re still going to come after me at some point.”

Jack looked at Joaquin, who nodded in agreement. Dick nodded his assent too. “So what do we do?” he asked.

“One of my many jobs after retirement was being a bodyguard to the rich and famous,” Joaquin told them. “Many of them had these special cars that were bulletproof head to toe. You can order them in New York. They’ll deliver them in a week, even sooner if you pay extra. They’re expensive, though, and I’d want to include some extra modifications.”

Jack didn’t ask about the modifications—that was Dick and Joaquin’s specialty. Overall safety was his responsibility. “Never mind about the money,” he said. “Will this modified car solve the problem?”

“Partially,” Dick replied. “You’re safe at the office but this house has always been a bit of a problem. We’re sitting ducks here, although I can’t see us being attacked with that crowd outside. It’ll happen in the middle of the night if it happens here. We need extra guns, too. I can take care of that.”

“I’m already working on the house problem, though it was supposed to be for a different reason,” Jack said, looking over at Pat. “I have a friend who might have a vacant ranch house. It’s big enough for us and it’s fenced and gated.”

“That’ll work,” Joaquin nodded. “How soon can we move in?”

“I’ll call him today.”

“And I’ll call the car place,” Joaquin said.

Before he left the table, Jack looked at each one of them.

“Are you all sure this is what you want to do?”

Everyone nodded their assent.

Forty–three

Clay Evans and Wesley Brume were never arrested the way people like Rudy were. They were afforded the special courtesies reserved for celebrities and people from the upper crust of society. At a predetermined time, they appeared in court, whereupon they were formally arrested, a plea of not guilty was entered and bail was set at two hundred fifty thousand dollars each, a sum that the bail bondsman, who was also present, immediately paid. They never even came downwind of a jail cell. They simply had to face a gaggle of reporters and television cameras outside the courthouse, as well as a gathering of ordinary citizens, many of whom were actually cheering for them.

At this initial hearing, Jimmy DiCarlo took the opportunity to file a Motion to Dismiss the entire indictment, a motion that Jack had expected. Outside the courthouse, basking in his newfound fame, Jimmy told the press that he had filed the motion, which sent them into a feeding frenzy. They had no idea what the motion was about; they just knew there was action, and action caused a reaction, and they could report on all of it—Jimmy on the steps of the courthouse talking about the motion, Jack at his office commenting on it. It was kind of like a tennis match or some other sporting event, only the stakes were just a little higher.